#either way. Jade? um. Jade? What? what is going on here

[pparacxosm]

wounded in

(blue-eyed son part 2: electric boogaloo !!!! ; (hate to be that gal but you may have to read the first bit for context); homeless era!patrick zweig x jaded businesswoman!reader; nonlinear narrative; tw office job; tw coworkers; tw mcdonald’s; the sound of music stuff is for myself; i fucking love sound of music; and i fucking love cats (the animal not the musical, though that's lovely too) so there’s that; pushing a patrick zweig can’t spell agenda; tw new england maybe; i gave new rochelle a better rap this time; kiss scene kindaaaa ??..? ; tashi coaching patrick after new rochelle is canon to me; tw descriptions of emojis; what if i told you there’s a part 3; then what)

You hold in a bout of laughter when Patrick brings the drinks to the table.

His hair is longer than the last time you saw him, which wasn’t that long ago, in scale. In bones, in feels like a while.

Dear old New Rochelle. Far enough out that the city is a twinkle on the horizon like a cluster of stars, far enough that there are some actual stars above you, now. It’s odd to see him in New England. It’s odd to see him in jeans. But then it’s September.

There are new lines on his face already. He’s aging quicker now, as if to make a point.

Drinks are on me,

Is the first thing Patrick told you, when you walked in in a juniper parka. Scanned the room, picked out his booth.

Is this the part where you tell me you’ve opened a savings account? you said, trying to seem completely blasé about it. It would have been childish to be thrilled by such meagre chivalry at twentyeight. I feel like I should pay, you’re in my city.

Yeah, but you’ve hosted me enough for now.

That’s what you are, half the time. A host to him.

A museum. Thumbing through a rolodex of all the different shades of blue his eyes could go in one humid night.

You pass on more nights out than you accede to. You got a cat. You’re getting LASIK soon. But what it really looks like is that you’re wearing glasses to show that time has passed.

“What’re you smiling about?” Patrick asks, placing the foamy mug of beer in front of you.

You wipe discreetly under your eyes, spreading the mascara smudge. “Just thinking about how my aweinspiring generosity has rescued you from the misery of total squalor.”

Patrick chuckles. “Well, they say to pay it forward.” He sounds pleased as he lifts his own mug with a wink.

You look out the window. There’s a film of dust on it. There’s dust on the faux-chintz curtains too.

You start to wonder if that’s what he really thinks. That this is him going forward.

Patrick picks up the plastic menu. “We ordering sidedishes or do we want a full dinner? What’s good in Wellesley?”

You try to laugh, though the noise has the distinct tender hue of a sob. But you’re sure you feel mostly fine. “What are you doing here?”

“Hm?”

“What are you doing in Wellesley?”

Patrick looks up at you with bright, twinkling eyes. “Challenger in Boston. Thought it’d be a waste not to come see you.”

You clench your jaw to prevent more runny mascara. It’s stupid. You don’t much like waste either. But you’re not going to weep in front of Patrick like a child.

“You hungry?”

You nod, picking up your own menu, hiding your face behind it.

His hand reaches suddenly across the table, trying to touch yours. You pull away, but make it look like you didn’t.

“Bet you had a hard time leaving Tobes for the night,” he says, trying to lift the mood.

“Um yeah. A little. I like to imagine what she gets up to when I’m away.”

“My sister had a cat, when we were young. My sister was, like, seventeen, and I was eight, so pretty big gap.”

Because he has to clarify those sorts of things. Because you don’t know he has a sister. You don’t know anything.

You find it hard to picture him pinned down in any humane way. It’s always his beautiful leg (now sheathed in denim) writhing in a bear trap. Always his papery wings unfurled and pinned against a picture frame like a butterfly. Something metamorphosed. Something capable of a great change, and that must be tortured for it.

“She found the cat in an alleyway. She called it Patrick.”

You lift your eyes. You feel it bubbling in you like magma, the urge to coo. You feel all soft these days. And maybe that’s just open heart season, and the passage of time. But you see a vivid meridian in your life, and it falls right along the night you met this guy. And this back half is all soft, so you sort of want to blame him.

You swallow.

“Well, that’s sweet.”

Patrick lowers the menu. “Nope,” he shakes his head, that huge smirk on his face, like his name is on every ticket of the raffle, like he’s cheating at something. “Let me tell you what she used to do. She used to put the fucker in, like, a blanket, right? And she’d lift it up like a sack, with him inside, and he’d obviously start clawing and making all of these noises—“

He makes the noises. Just starts whipping his head around and making kitten growls, imitating this cat with his name. You get the sense that this is one of those anecdotes that explains a lot about a person.

“—And she’d come into my room, in, like, the middle of the night—this is real psycho shit—and she’d lift my covers and drop the cat. And the shit would fucking claw at me and bite me, just—“

He’s doing the noises again. And now he’s clawing at the air with his hands.

He stops, and the way he closes his mouth around his grin makes his teeth look like they’re trying to escape past his lips. But it looks sort of lovely.

“When the fuck died, Saskia texted me. She was like, oh, he loved you so much, you should’ve said goodbye.” He pauses, widens his eyes, looks at you with the pointed intimacy of sharing in this ludicrousness.

You roll your eyes. But you catch yourself smiling. You like the idea of him being mauled like that, skin deep. You get the sense that life has done to him a lot of that—those growls and scratches. And that sounds a little fucked. But what you like about it is how he seems so unmoved now, by this psycho shit. This flailing animal, this torture device. Pinning him down. He's laughing.

You try to imagine him as a child, but the proportions are all comically bizarre, in your mind’s eye.

“Pork chops,” you say, throwing the menu aside. “I feel like stuffing my face.”

Patrick gets three sausage egg McMuffins on the way to the New Rochelle Country Club—and fries, and a hash, and a soda—and he’s eating the second by the time you pull out of the drivethru.

There is a compelling sense of chaos to how he drives. Like, he’s so bad at driving. Three different people honk at him in a dozenminute window. And you feel content knowing that whatever had had your heart thumping last night has not shrivelled and died with the morningtime. Though now it’s maybe a partial distress for your safety. But you get the sense that, maybe, this is actually the person you are now. The woman who sleeps beside a rugged stranger and buys him breakfast and doesn’t care how he speaks with his mouth open while he’s eating the fries. Doesn’t care about the writhing mire of half chewed potato on his tongue. The way his lips gleam pink with salt.

“I need to listen to really specific music to, like, get in the zone? If you don’t mind?”

He sounds so uncharacteristically shy, for brief a moment. You have to lean forward and look to see he isn’t joking. He isn't.

“Uh— yeah, of course. It’s your car.”

He slides a Sound of Music soundtrack disc into the mouth of the dashboard.

You laugh so hard you fold over.

He’s got one hand on the wheel, and shifts is his seat, peeling the unfamiliarly clean skin of his thighs off the leather before sitting back down. He’s tearing into his third breakfast sandwich with a reckless abandon reserved for death row. He laughs around the bite, glancing, bemused, between you and the road, and, ultimately, spending more time looking at you.

“What?” he laughs around a halfmasticated mouthful. “What?”

There are tears sluicing down your face. You can’t breathe. You think you can, and then you start laughing again, and you can’t.

“How do you solve a problem like Maria?” Patrick hums cheerily as he noshes. It’s a gross and wonderful noise, the food moving between his teeth, circumventing Hammerstein.

You think the large coke is probably no performance enhancer, not only because he all but tumbles out of the car when it’s hardly halfway parked (poorly, you’ll add).

“Fuck, need to piss,” he says frenetically.

When you know the notes to sing…, carols Julie Andrews.

You’re still laughing. Crying. Your tummy fluttering painfully.

Patrick makes you order dessert too, since you’re celebrating.

Celebrating what? you had to ask, though, at the time, you were wearing an impish, knowing, frankly celebratory sort of smile.

Patrick feigned great offense. He said, I’m fucking here, aren’t I?

He wants you to have sundaes together. You spill some ice cream on your skirt. He finds that funny. He’s always got this weasel smile, like he’s constantly ready for amusement. He’s shaved, at some point between now and then. The hairs on his face are sparser. The skin on his face looks milky and organic like a crinite litchifruit.

The frumpy diner was his idea too.

He’s spent some time on the veritable extremes of the economic spectrum—that’s what life tends to be for him; veritable extremes, scratching him meanly—and now he just wants to play at being the average wage earner.

“You really are welcome to stay with me, if you’d like.”

Patrick looks at you like he’d rather shoot himself.

You sort of marvel at his sense of pride, as if it were a rare stone, swallowing light and spewing it out at all angles. The Sociology course you took in uni had a whole two modules on personal pride. It is one of the few emotions that are unique to humans.

Patrick—for his weasel smile and beastly hunger and feline anti—is remarkably proficient in being human. In the real, visceral parts of it. In wielding his emotions like kaleidoscope hues. Dancing freely in confinement.

“When are you leaving?”

“Don’t worry about that. If you have time for breakfast tomorrow, we can—”

“Mm, not tomorrow, I don’t think. But I have no plans this weekend.”

You say it with this weird, bright intonation, like you’re jesting. Which—a lot of things feel like a bit of a joke these days. But he seems to understand you well enough. Delivers a curt, unspurned nod, and even a smile. Not the weasley, chronicling one. The wolfish one that makes his eyes crinkle up.

“Come here then,” he says.

Patrick leans in for a hug. You can’t avoid it. He enfolds you in a fascinatingly soft, burning embrace. He still smells sort of musky and acrid. Like even though he can shower regularly now, he maybe doesn’t as often as he should. But you find a gross comfort that. This pleasantly fetid, human man. His cologne smells like a wine cellar.

He says, “It’s nice to see you again.”

Something churns in your belly. Maybe the pork chops. Maybe the ice cream. This whole fucking day. You accidentally deleted some files and IT spent five hours trying to help you unsheathe them from oblivion. You felt like a failure. And now you’re here and,

“Fuck, you’re still so cool.”

You push away from him with a forceful laugh.

You used to be able to tell your sister all kinds of things. But, lately, you haven’t been able to talk to anyone about anything.

Working so many years for a soulless corporate hive mind has turned you into an expert at short, polite, and meaningless feedback that only varies with inflection.

“Right”, “Sure”, “Got it”, “Whatever you think is best”, “Already on it”.

Half the time you sound illiterate. The other half, you sound like you could have written Prozac Nation.

When your sister asks, how was New Rochelle? she expects you to say something annoyingly vague and ominous in your cool, collected adjunct’s voice, like: Everything is under control.

But, instead, you say, “Do you and Mark still go to mass? I really want to start giving more of myself away.” And you’re wearing this smile that’s utterly sincere.

That’s what spooks your sister.

Of course, you want to tell her more. Because your sister married a Herman Melville character; one of those grizzly, stinky, sacerdotal men who don’t want to work but don’t want to lose either. You know your tale of Linklateresque, serendipitous connection would render her mesmerised and marginally jealous.

But, soft and charitable as you may now be, you keep it all to yourself.

Patrick is still in Massachusetts a fortnight later. You say you’d have loved to come and see him play, but you’re really busy, and he says not to sweat it. Insists really. Maybe even begs. Do not sweat it.

You text him, presumably a day or two afterwards, and ask how it went.

Smahsed it!, he texts, and garlands the (misspelled) notion with eight sunglassfaced emojis. You counted. Dibner? he texts.

Then, a moment later,

*dinner?

You get to see your first New Rochelle sunrise.

You slink out of bed with toothfairy softness, even though Patrick is sleeping the sleep of death—with a deep, miserable snore like a resounding dirge to prove it—beside you. Your pillow wall, in the night, had collapsed like Berlin in 89.

You step outside. You check your phone, first, but you do go outside. You do believe in fresh air in the mornings, even if you don’t have the fortitude for mindfulness and journaling.

The parking lot is a vast open soul. Regretfully resigned and stunningly silent.

The sky looks like a bleeding mouth, but the hard grey edges around it don’t seem to care. The concrete enterprises and litter splay do not want anything to do with this bruise. A tart, sort of sewery smell makes your eyes water.

Cars drive by too fast. 

You think, in some faraway capacity, you can hear the soft, rhythmic thunk of tennis balls hitting asphalt. But it’s only your heart.

You hear things. You see things.

You don’t want to sound like some haunted Victorian heiress with a mystical past, but you do.

In the break room, mostly.

So you hadn’t noticed before. Your coworker, Sam, goes fucking wild for tennis. Sam’s slobbering lewd and voracious over tennis. It’s hard to witness. In fact, you feel dirty witnessing this. You should call HR. Sam’s in the break room doing an onanistic oneman scene play about tennis.

Or maybe he just kind of likes it.

And you hadn’t noticed it before.

There’s a lot, for your part, that you were content not noticing around the office.

But now every errant tenniscentric commentary makes your hands feel sore and weightless without the presence of a gun.

“No, you don’t get it, Deirdre, this is like if LeBron played a game at some random Y, and got dunked on by this fuckin’ nobody, and then just… quit the game.” He sounds tumid with bewilderment. “Just fuckin’ dipped!” Sam’s incredulous. “Forever!”

“LeBron…?”

“Fuck, Deirdre, you’re killing me.”

You slot the mouth of your bottle beneath the spout of the water cooler. You close your eyes—zombieleaden, uneven on the tiles; it’s only 10—and listen to the halting trickle, trickle… stream. The plastic goes cold against your palm as the water rises.

“All because of some… fuckin’,” Sam snaps his fingers, “Fuck, I forget the name.”

Peter Zeppelin, your mind supplies dryly.

It is then that Sam chooses to notice you. Points his finger. Wide smile. “Oh-ho, here’s trouble!” says Sam.

Sam and you have had enough one on one conversations for you to list on your one free hand, and you wouldn’t be spoiled for digits. But, all the same,

“Here’s trouble!” Sam announces, “Big shot boss babe, huh? Back from kickin’ rear in New Rochelle. I know you’re glad to be back.”

You don’t say anything. You feign responsiveness, flash a stilted smile. But you don’t say anything. Because what would you say?

Outside the men’s bathroom of the New Rochelle Country Club, you fidget awkwardly, standing against a wall and trying to look inconspicuous. Patrick’s duffel sits at your heels like a staunch hound.

Your gaze meanders around the venue with an idle sense of inquiry.

You’d expected a certain echelon of grandiosity, anyway. And the country club is nice—you feel silly casting any judgement at all—if a little outdated. All glossy wood-panelling and pea green outdoor carpet.

You can see yourself, warped and bleary, upon the polished floor. The bar flourishes a glassy sheen and cloistered amber rows of lavish whiskeys.

Through glass windows, golf splays unfurl, ceaseless viridescence, beset on all sides by sharpcornered hedges.

People mill about with the air of the lookedafter, and polo shirts as white as the maw of God.

Which is nice—it’s all nice—and all, but your chest seems to enwreathe a stark state of dread. You feel the sort of nausea that would rack you as a child. Floating in the curtains at your dance recitals, like an anxious little poltergeist.

When Patrick emerges from the loo, he is whistling. Fluting finely the swooping tune of ‘Sixteen Going on Seventeen’.

“You certainly seem unburdened,” you murmur, gaze shadowing him as he draws near. You know you sound unconvinced. For his part, he looks undeterred.

Slings his bag over his shoulder like it is floatable, even as you know it bears the poundage of half a man’s life.

He grins, flashing a canine.

To you, he has just eaten his weight in greasy, leaden carbcloth, and proceeded to piss for twelve minutes straight.

But Patrick seems imbued by morningshine.

He throws a heavy arm around you, squeezes your shoulder. Says, “Look alive!” Says, “I’ve had a good night’s sleep, a hot shower, the breakfast of champions, and I’m about to get paid!”

You wince a bit at his volume, and also because he seems to be emanating a bit of that morningshine. Not to speak of the heat. Searing from his very bones.

If nothing else you admire his buoyancy. In that way, the warmth—even as the sun blooms above you—is a fascinating comfort.

Like something to be shared.

You say yes to dinner.

You keep having dinner. He keeps taking you out for dinner, and to decent places, too, places you haven’t even been to around here.

You’re sitting across from him. You’re eating, as one does. He’s regarding you with something like awe. Though you wouldn’t know it, because he regards, too, his plate, when the waiter rests it before him, with a sort of comical reverence. Even though you’re pretty sure he’s not starving, anymore.

But hunger’s not always about those sorts of things, you suppose. Maybe he's just still hungry.

He’s winning a lot. Must be, if he’s taking you out all the time, and—hey—maybe you can get him to sign something for Sam. That’d be nice of you.

Patrick watches you eat.

You try not to stare back at him. As long as you keep chewing, you won’t have to ask why he’s still here.

“That’s a nice shirt,” he says after a long silence.

You smile. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t text you for months, many months, after New Rochelle. You’d given him your number, because you wanted to put the ball in his court, and—fuck—here’s hoping you didn’t say that.

But you can’t recall.

It’s been months.

So, when you do get the text, you’re pleased to see it’s aptly contrite.

ypu probably think I’msn idiot, it reads, and it’s late at night and you’re already in bed, stewing over NYT Connections.

You eye the ID. Maybe: Patrick Zweig, but that’s implied—so many implicit little shards—because not a lot of people are so tortured by the prospect of your opinion on them so as to text you at 1 AM. So.

Define idiot, you text back.

dictionary defenition is Patrick Rupert Zweih. There’s prpbably even a lil picture of me next to it.

A few moments.

A bad one.

Ten or eleven emojis of abject terror.

You consider this—not a bad picture of him (though he doesn’t quite strike you as wildly photogenic anyway), just... This Whole Wound—and tap the side of your phonecase in tentative thought.

Your full name is Patrick Rupert Zweig? Tough.

Like ypu didnt already look me up.

You blink. Whoa—okay.

Not a humble idiot, I see, you type.

You don’t know where you get the balls. There’s a sweeping litany of long, gorgeous miles between your bed and New Rochelle, but maybe he can smell you thinking as much because,

Im in MA next week

In the registration room, a man with a binder asks his name, and Patrick sheathes his canine in a way that makes him look conspiratorial and bemused. You suppose it’s become an inside joke.

The ATP official seems to gleam with recognition when Patrick does give his name—his real name—and he says, “Oh wow, that is you!”

You can’t see his face from this angle, but you can envisage the way his moue has settled in confusion.

Apparently, the ATP official was a line judge at the Junior US Open back in 06.

You try to think back to what you were doing in 2006. Probably populating your microcosm in The Sims. Trapping little imitations of those who had scorned you in swimming pools to drown.

“You were really something back then, huh?” says the ATP official.

Your eyes flicker to Patrick’s profile. He doesn’t quite know how to respond to that.

The official hands Patrick a packet. There’s a little map of the facility in there, in case he gets lost. His first match is against one Gonzalez, on court seven.

Patrick says, marginally halting, “Hey, so, is there any chance of an advance payment on the prize money.”

The official blinks.

“Because I know I’m guaranteed a minimum of four hundred dollars even if I get knocked out today—“

You frown a bit at that. The official frowns a lot at that.

“Well,” he says, “Generally we don’t give out winnings until a player makes his way through the tournament…”

A beat.

Then,

“You could always just lose today. Then we’d have to cut you a check this evening.”

Patrick hardens to bone. You hope he has another lifeaffirming piss in him. He doesn’t meet your eyes when he turns to leave, but flicks you a glance that seems to ask that you spare him the judgement.

You leave New Rochelle today. Good as the night’s sleep may have been, he knows better than anyone that life’s loveliest things are fleeting.

So—fine—you don’t begrudge him. Instead,

“He seems hopeful,” you say wryly.

“Must’ve been thrown off by my pretty caddie,” he says dismissively. Maybe a little bristled.

The warmup courts, deep blue plane, shimmer in the sunheat.

Patrick takes the asphalt, flicks his racket around by its handgrip as though refamiliarising himself with the palmfeel for the first time in a while. Which—well—doesn’t give you confidence, at risk of contesting Julie Andrews.

He practices his serve. Starts to work the ball up and down the court. Hits a few forehands, a few backhands.

Then,

“He was lying,” he yells to the bleachers.

The bleachers are mostly empty. A few errant loiterers. Bored spectators who have finished their lunch earlier than their friends. What have you.

He’s looking at you, though. With a staggering precision from so far away.

“What?”

“That guy. He was lying. Or… bigging it up. Or whatever. I wasn’t really something, I was just decent.”

He strikes a ball over the net. You can see, from here, the vibration ricochet through the racketstrings with a shudder that has you expecting music to flutter out.

You lean back in your seat, sort of sliding down against the glossy plastic, a tremor of induced electric tickling your bum through your jeans. You cross your arms.

“That’s kind of bullshit,” you call out.

He spares you a glance, sort of doubletakes, and you can see the corner of his mouth tremble with intrigue.

He takes another ball from the basket. Tosses it up. You watch the neon starsphere spin fleetingly in the air before being walloped to oblivion. And what do you know of tennis? But you do think his serve is a thing of beauty. Beauty measured in power and precision, sure (he hits the ball straight and hard and fast and low, just barely clearing the net), but you can also see the way his muscles work beneath his skin. Which—you know.

Patrick walks to the fence that partitions the courts from the stands. He leans over, rests his arms on the palisade, and looks at you.

“This was the whole problem,” he tells you, “Everyone was always telling me how good I was. And it got to my head. And now I’m here.”

It’s a shabby imitation of humility. What it really is, is an attempt to scale down the apogee, so the fall seems less mythic. So the years seem less unkind.

“I didn’t come here to watch you sulk just because some guy was nice to you.”

Patrick grins. His cheeks are flushed with heat, and there are little spots of sweat on the hollows where his skin and bones meet. But he seems to know not to exert himself fully right now.

“You think I’m sulking?”

“I think you seem pretty torn up for a guy who’s going to play a thirty minute match, and walk away a few hundred dollars richer.”

He makes a noise like you’ve wounded him, but he seems elated.

“A few hundred dollars?” he says, raising his brows. “So you’ve lost your faith in me.”

“I have some,” you allow, and you’re not surprised to find that you really do. “Just don’t choke.”

Patrick wears the smile of a newly crowned Miss Universe. He looks touched that you’re being so frank.

“I won’t,” he says, with a sense of finality and what you feel is an incongruous tenderness. “I’m pretty good at dealing with pressure. My parents always used to take me to work with them and tell employees to come to me at random intervals with madeup highstakes scenarios. Like, pretending to have a breakdown, and saying they needed me to help them out and make the final decision. Some of them could cry on command.”

You try and fail to hide a look on your face that divulges how demented you think that anecdote is. But you try to find something neutral to say.

“Well, maybe you’re lucky,” you tell him. “I was horrifically nervous as a child.”

“Not anymore?” he asks, swinging his racket idly, and you get the sense he’s actually very interested in how you will answer.

So it’s hard not to answer him honestly.

“I don’t know,” you say finally, and you look away from his eyes, and instead at the sky. You’re alarmed to find they are precisely the same tincture of aegean. “Mostly not. But if I have to give a presentation or speak up in a meeting, I have to take one of those beta blockers, you know? Propranolol?”

You are stricken, at odd moments, in New Rochelle, in Massachusetts.

You get the sense that he’s trying to be cavalier. But, at the same time, there’s this unmistakable fragility about him. Like it wouldn’t take much to knock him down.

You are stricken by how he’s managed to maintain this cocksure swagger for so long. With such a brittle, aching core.

How easily it all might’ve been shaken by the wrong person, and the wrong word.

You love the smell of your dear kitty’s head right after a bath. The fluff of dandelions and baby bird. You love toweling her, taking her little paws in your hand and prying the toes open.

Toby pretends not to like being fussed over, but she doesn’t put up much of a fight. In fact, most nights, she falls asleep in your arms.

When he pays you the visit, Ms Tobes is breathing evenly in your arms, your thumb caressing the organtender slope of her silky head.

You open the door, and great weeping gales have been jostling your windows all evening. But he is in shorts.

Patrick’s been in New England for nearly a month.

There’s an odd sort of look on his face, and an unlit cigarette behind his ear.

Hands in his pockets, he leans against the door frame, staring down at you. You feel a remarkable heat radiating from the downy flesh of his bare legs.

He doesn’t seem confident, nor does he seem unperturbed. He seems… pensive and maybe even penitent, but he wears it with a fascinating poise. There’s still something wounded and vulnerable about the way of his shoulders, the slant of his mouth. It's the softness that kills you, anyway, you think incoherently. 

You peer up at him, dubious, through the briar of your lashes. He looks down at Toby, at the sweep of your finger over her head. You do not know if it is he or Toby who purrs.

When he speaks, he is whispering very softly, though there’s a frayed, low seep of his voice in his throat. It feels revoltingly intimate.

“When Patrick died,” he says, “The cat. I felt so shitty. I had this weird feeling of—like—I don’t know. Shittiness. Because of how Sassy said what she said. You should’ve said goodbye. What am I supposed to do with that, y’know?”

You swallow. The hallway is so vacant and noiseless you can hear the plush shuffle of his running shoes against the carpet. Dutifully beyond the boundary of your home, even though he’s been here quite a few times now.

“Patr—“ you croak.

“I’m not in Massachusetts for a game,” he tells you, shrugging hopelessly and almost smiling. But failing to. Which you register. “There’s no challenger in Boston. There’s just you. In Wellesley. All these… fucking ponds everywhere. Private schools. Bunch of rich little assholes who need a tennis coach, I bet. All these res—fuck. You know,” he shifts, taking the cigarette from his ear and gesturing with it between the two of you, “We’ve been out, like, twenty times, since I’ve been here, and there’s still, like, fifty restaurants we haven’t been to.”

You stare up at him. Your palms, where they cradle Toby, grow damp. The throbbing organ of your heart takes up residence in your throat. There’s a sad sort of clanging from the clock in the hall.

You lift one trembling finger to your lips.

Please, don’t say anything else, you beg with your eyes. Please, not in front of Toby.

Patrick’s eyes glint ruefully. Almost ominously. He seems insulted by your gesture, but he understands. He always understands. He never holds anything against anyone.

“No need for that,” he says very quietly. “I come in peace.”

He moves closer, breaking the enclave where the carpet of the hall meets the vinyl of your floor, until he is inches away.

A head taller, yet shrinking, as if you were seeing him from across a room.

He smells very good today. He smells like spice and bergamot and the laundered fabric of his navy blue halfzip. You sort of miss the musk. Of course you think of New Rochelle. You think of Bob Dylan and Hello Kitty and thermostats. Fucking Sally.

You lift your chin.

“I’m not asking you to—“

Patrick leans forward, his nose touching your nose.

“I’m gonna do the tennis,” he speaks the words into your mouth, voice like gravel melting in the sun.

You part your lips. A part of you hates him, hates how he’s insinuated himself in your life without warning. Another part, however, is asleep and betrays you.

He shushes you, though you’re sure you haven’t said anything. It’s just that you’re crying now. Completely still and silent. Weeping like the dead, because the dead weep, too.

He shakes his head, his nose brushing over yours, says shhh like you’re a cat, and, even then, Toby only stirs between your fingers.

“It’ll be good,” he says, and you’ve heard him sound convincing. You know that right now he sounds… something else. And he’s still shaking his head as he whispers, “It’ll be good, I’ll be good. I have a coach, I’m not done, I love the tennis.”

You look up at him. Lick your lips, which, when you’re so close, also means sort of licking his. Sort of licking into him. You want to say, fuck your tennis and fuck you too, but you also want to fuck him and you want to fuck his tennis, too.

You think of New Rochelle.

Patrick’s hand meanders upward toward Toby, and, if his cigarette was lit, you’d see sweeping coils of smoke floating heavenward.

It isn’t lit, but still.

You catch him quickly. You hold him by the wrist.

His skin is nauseatingly warm.

“You love it?” You sound unimpressed now. Your mouth moves over and around and against his as you speak.

“I do.”

“You love it, you love the tennis?” You’re sort of spitting it at him, and he tastes it.

And he thinks of Patrick the cat, how he lay there and was mauled. Pinned down. He thinks he’d let you draw blood, now, if you really wanted to.

“Tennis doesn’t love you.”

“Do you?”

There is time enough for you to answer. But when a sound is finally made it is only Toby, who mewls.

Patrick smiles. You feel the seam of his lips touch your lower teeth. “Didn’t think so.”

He straightens, his lips swiping your nose on his way up. He gently removes his arm from your grasp, your nails scraping is skin.

You exhale sharply. You feel stung.

Poor Toby, caught between your beating hearts. Patrick steps away. He places the cigarette between his lips, and then you do not stop him from touching Tobes. He strokes her gently.

“You got a lighter?” he asks around the cig.

There are three aflame candles in your home right now. He can smell the vanilla. You shake your head. He smiles again. Toby purrs. Patrick’s fingers touch yours between the heather fur.

You feel a strange ignition in your bones.

The game begins.

Everything is quick and violent.

You don’t know if tennis is actually quick and violent, or if that’s just him.

You are astounded by just how much a man can sweat. You are spellbound by the visceral implication of being drenched in one’s own exertion.

Gonzalez is younger. A little bit more thrilled to be here. And he’s got the kind of easy, quick thoroughness that means he probably practices with a ball machine at home, but not a lot of real experience.

Patrick makes brutal work of him.

There is a certain way his muscles tense through his forearm and the pulse travels up his bicep when he strikes the ball. His shirt rises as he twists to send it flying over the net. There is so much laboured breath and dripping skin.

He has you sit exactly where you sat during warmups.

Between sets, he extends his arm, taut and sweatsoused, and points to you with the scratched edge of his racket, one eye closed like he’s mapping trajectory. And he does sort of have this bloodhungry precision in his gaze, like a marksman.

You feel it in your neck, the ache of your focus, how your eyes water for lack of blinking as you swivel your head side to side. You do not close your mouth once.

He hits the ball again, and then again. Each with an almost startling accuracy. Each with a deep and fleshsatisfying thwack that makes your very ear canals thrum with the sort of pain that has you expecting the warmth of dripping crimson on your shoulders.

But it’s not just the force that strikes you. It’s that precision. That bulletgleam precision.

He seems to know, with a profound, animalic certainty, exactly where to place each shot.

At times, they will land exactly where the last landed.

And by the time his adversary cottons on, he has set his hungry eyes upon another target.

It’s beautiful.

You start to wonder if you have ever—ever—looked so fucking beautiful doing any single thing in your life. This strange and beautiful violence. Refined and delicate violence. He is violent and graceful.

Patrick groans when he hits the ball. Makes a guttural sound, a pained sort of sound, like he loses something of himself with each forceful departure.

The sun beams down, and you see his beautiful legs flex aglow with the beautiful gleam of his abject labour.

You think, fuck—

New Rochelle is beautiful.

“You know, I could have gone pro.”

Sam leans back in his Herman Miller chair. Takes a deep quaff of his coffee before pointing to Deirdre with his mug.

“You played for two years in middle school,” Deirdre deadpans, her gaze unmoving from her monitor as she populates a spreadsheet with who the fuck knows.

“This is huge, D,” says Sam, unhurt, “This is like if Jamal Mashburn started coaching the fuckin’ nobody that demolished LeBron at the Y.”

Deirdre seems to have forgotten this analogy, which, for her part, Sam first made months ago now.

“But also if Mashburn was married to Lebron,” adds Sam.

Your computer screen casts depressing polygons across your glasses. You slide your AirPods in. You don’t want to know where Bob Dylan will appear on your Spotify Wrapped.

I met one man who was wounded in love. I met another man who was wounded in hatred. And it’s a hard, it’s a hard— It’s a hard, it’s a hard—

It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

[teyvats-worst-hero]

Ok I understand what people are saying about Jade’s design. Nothing new or exciting about it, just a pretty dress and all. But like.

I am NOT going to lie to you, between the whip and the disturbing context we have of her?

That hat looks like a Southern Belle/Romanticized Antebellum bat.

Look at me.

That’s a Southern Belle, Plantation-Owning-Woman’s hat. Like, the silhouette I mean.

Am I crazy? Is the fashion history brain clicking in a weird way?

[twisted-wonderland-but-gayer]

Yuu is Loopy and Doesn't Recognize Them

Based of this meme I saw and I couldn't get it out of my head

GN. Yuu isn’t drunk but is loopy on potions/meds. A bit Suggestive??? Leona calls you Scavenger/Pillow Enjoy

Riddle 

Riddle swore that when he sees Ace again, it will be off with his head. The brain dead idiot is responsible for landing you in the nurse's office. Thankfully, according to Professor Crewel, you will be okay and were ready to go back to Ramshackle. 

Being the responsible boyfriend he is, he made sure to take your arm and guide you through the mirror to Ramshackle and into the creaky dorm. You were obviously still a bit out of it as you stumbled through the hall and didn’t appear to hear anything he said. As he approached the stairs, wondering how he would get you into your room did you speak.

“Where are we going?” You slurred rubbing your temples with your fingers. “To your room,” Riddle answered. “Rose, can you hear me now?” Riddle asked, voice tinged with worry. “Why are we going…” you paused trying to formulate words, “…to some room?” Riddle raised a brow and spoke slowly, relaxing his grip on your arm as he did so. “You need to get some rest, don’t worry I’ll make sure you sleep well, okay?"

To his confusion, you suddenly pulled away from him and stumbled back a little. “Ah, Rose what are you—“ “Sorry you seem really nice and all but I have a boyfriend.” “Huh?!” Stumbling backward away from Riddle you practically fell onto the couch behind you. “Sorry I’m not gonna sleep with anyone, I have a boyfriend…” You slurred again, making Riddle stiffen before going pink and letting out a chuckle. 

“Rose, I am your—“ “Goodnight” You whispered before promptly passing out on the couch. Riddle just stood there for a moment stupified, before softly chuckling to himself. You really did love him, huh?

Leona

“What's wrong with you?” Leona asked upon seeing Ruggie drag his seemingly blitzed-out partner behind them into his room. “I dunno what happened but Professor Crewel said to let them rest,” Ruggie responded. “So you brought them to me?” Ruggie’s face fell, he knew damn well if he were the one to take you home that Leona would have complained. “Well, they’re your problem now shishishi! Good luck”

Letting out a yawn, Leona looked over to where you stood wobbling. “Come here, Pillow.” The lion leaned up and pulled you toward the bed. You weakly tried to pull your hand away. “Eh? What gives?” Leona’s ears twitch as you stumble back. “My boyfriend will get upset if he sees you holding my hand. “Oh yeah?” The lion smirked.

“Yeah, and I’m not a cheater either so leave me alone.” You mutter, eyes fluttering as you fight off sleep. Leona pulls you closer to him easily. “I am your boyfriend.” The shocked expression that arises on your face is one he will never forget. “No way that's awesome!”

“Yeah yeah, get to bed, scavenger.” He smirks, pulling you into his arms. As you fade into unconsciousness, he watches over you. Just how did he get so lucky?

Azul

Azul didn’t know who he should be mad at: Jade for feeding you some mysterious mushroom concoction that he sure would have no side effects or you for actually agreeing to test out Jade’s new drink. Regardless you are now in the VIP room of Mostro Lounge as Azul goes through some of the potions he has on hand. 

Sitting on the VIP couch you watched as Azul kneeled beside you. The mer fussed over you as you seemingly stared through him. Despite his lips moving you couldn’t hear anything he said. “Um, Angelfish are you alright?” Azul asks nervously as your eyes bore a hole through him.

“You kinda look like… my boyfriend…” you slur. If he wasn’t worried sick, he would have actually found the situation humorous, dumbfounded he responded. “Well, what does he look like?” “He’s so beautiful, man.” You sigh.

Azul feels his cheeks heat up as he uncorks a curing potion, wondering how he’s going to get you to drink it. “Like… I love him so much… He’s so pretty and soft and I wanna hold him…” “… Come now love, try and drink this and then rest…” The mer stutters and holds the bottle to your lips. Thankfully, you downed it pretty easily and promptly fell asleep muttering about how much you loved your boyfriend the whole time. Azul’s face was several shades of blue.

Jamil

Vil ended up poisoning you pretty badly during his overblot, and Jamil has been worried sick, to say the least as he sits beside your bed in the nurse's office, impatiently waiting for you to wake up. As you begin to stir, all of Jamil’s attention snaps to you.

“Yuu?” He calls out, giving you a few moments to stir and wake up. You blink tiredly at him before sitting up and looking around. Jamil wanted to crush you into a hug and ask if you were alright but knew that it may overwhelm you.

“Are you alright?” He asks, taking your hands into his as the heart monitor continues to beep. You blink owlishly and look at your hands. “I have a boyfriend.” You say after a while. Jamil didn’t know if he should be annoyed or amused, but it did flatter him to know how loyal you are to him.

A mischievous glint appears in his eye. “I am your boyfriend.” Your eyes widen as the heart monitor picks up, beeping loudly as you smile. “I love you…” You slur, trying to lean into your lover's touch.

Vil

After a certain Shroud’s overblot, you were left hospitalized in a coma for a week. Vil was worried sick and visited you as much as he could, if he couldn't be there, Rook would watch over you for him. When he saw a text notification for Rook saying you were awake, he went to visit you immediately.

Rook didn’t have time to warn Vil about your condition as he walked in and immediately held your face, looking deep into your eyes before hugging you, body shaking as he held onto you. “You’re awake…” He says after a long pause.

You pull away from Vil, and the blond gets ready to scold you for your reckless behavior until he notices your expression. "I have… a boyfriend named Vil… sorry…" you babble before passing out again. Vil would make sure to scold you later

Idia

He was confused when he saw Ortho holding your hand and guiding you to his room. He didn't know how to explain it, but as he watched you through the camera feed something about your movements felt… off

Once Ortho dragged you into his room did he figure out what was wrong? "It's the side effect of their medication," Ortho said after explaining how you ended up in the nurse's room— why did they even discharge you in this state??

Idia groaned and started to clean off his bed to make room for you, before getting up and helping Ortho to guide you over to his bed. "Come on Yuu-shi the sooner you sleep the better." You didn't budge. Instead, you stared through him. Idia stared back awkwardly.

"You seem nice but I already have a boyfriend and I love him." Idia's hair flushed pink. "Eh? What did you say?" "I love my boyfriend and only him so I can't sleep with you…" 

You instead sit down slowly and lay on the floor, immediately falling asleep much to Ortho's confusion and Idia's embarrassment.

Malleus

"Oh dear, what happened to you?" Malleus asked as you stumbled up the path to Ramshackle. It was supposed to be your nightly walk together but you didn't look so good.

You didn't respond as you allowed Malleus to help guide you into Ramshackle and onto the couch. After a moment Malleus asks again, "Mind telling me what happened to you?"

"No worries, I happen to have a recovery spell I can use…" Malleus hums, preparing a spell. "You sound like my boyfriend…" Malleus chuckles. "Is that so Child of Man?" You lazily nod. "He's my most favorite person in the entire world…" you yawn, and Malleus can only admire you, lovestruck. 

"I don't think Jade made me the right tea…" you mutter as you lay down. Malleus makes sure to note that he would have to pay a visit to Jade later as he frets over you.

[luveline]

I used to send you lots of requests before, but haven't sent you requests for a long time for exams, really missed it babe:) Can I ask for a Steve x reader kbd where our favourite Bethie catches reader at night staying up to do work, but we know how silent she is, so probably she doesn't tell reader about it? I just really wanna see one where reader overworks herself which not even Steve knows, but Beth finds out, really wanna see how her point of view changes on her mother. Hope this makes sense. Love you lots, Jade, and your pretty little kbd universe:)

love you !!!!!!! kbd — beth and dad!steve catch you working late at night, mom!reader. 1.4k

The day Steve takes the baby gates down is the best day of Bethie’s life. They’ve been up and down and up again, but now Dove is old enough to manage the stairs by herself without danger (just about) and Wren won’t be able to crawl for months, they’re back in the basement. 

Bethie can go downstairs whenever she wants. She doesn’t have to wait for Avery’s help on the funny top latch. 

She can tell already that Steve is sleeping, your bedroom door open, her father curled on his side with his hand stretched out across the empty side where you’d usually be snoring. The baby bassinet by Steve’s side has its own soft snoring, baby Wren fast asleep too. 

Beth has to find you, then. The bathroom door is closed (though she’s now allowed in there at night on account of needing to pee and her promise not to touch the washing machine again). Avery’s door is ajar, but when Bethie peeks inside, you’re not there either. Dove is half hanging off her toddler bed and you’re not there scooping her up, so where are you? 

Beth’s getting spooked, until she hears the sound of paper being shuffled downstairs. 

She holds the rungs of the stair bannister and sneaks carefully. Through the hallway and into the kitchen, she finds you at the dinner table with a frown on your lips so similar to her own. She loves looking like her mommy, even if the rest of her sisters look more like Steve. 

You’re working, she thinks. She’s not sure. It looks like you are. On rare occasions you’ve needed to finish things after dinner and her dad corrals them into the living room for TV, Beth has seen you crowded at the table with a pen and a weary expression. It can’t be much fun, work.

She isn’t sure how long she watches you. A weird feeling gathers in her chest, and she thinks about speaking up. You look upset at times. You bite your bottom lip like Avery does when she’s sad. 

It’s one of the first times Bethie's really looked at you and worried you weren’t happy.  

She doesn’t know why she goes back upstairs. She’s a bit scared, perhaps, to see you that way, without Steve by your side. 

He’s still sleeping, arm still looking for you in the dark. Bethie climbs up into bed with him and pushes her way under his arm, to which she is immediately pulled into his chest, squished and too warm. 

“Avery?” he mumbles. Then, a moment later. “No, that’s my Beth.” He peels one eye open, a smile taking slow form on his lips. “What’s wrong, babe?” 

“Mommy’s downstairs.” 

He peers past her head. “Oh. What for?”

“Don’t know. She looks sad.” 

“You think so?” He blinks. Bethie thinks her dad is the most love they can put into one person besides you, and she doesn’t usually look at him and see handsome or tired or anything, she just sees dad. Right now, though, he looks befuzzled. “Should we go see?” 

“Um. Well…” 

He kisses her forehead. “You tired, baby? You can sleep here if you want. Let me just go see if mommy’s okay. Go to sleep, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.” He kisses her cheek. “It’s okay, baby. Just sleep. It’s so late.” 

Steve tucks her in. She doesn’t look very tired, but she closes her eyes obligingly. 

Steve doesn’t know what you’re doing out of bed. He hadn’t felt you go. The only times he can remember you getting up in the middle of the night would be with pregnancy cravings, and you definitely aren’t pregnant, Wren’s still too small to support her own head. Plus, Steve’s sure he would’ve guessed. He knows you pretty well by now. 

You hear him coming down the stairs but you aren’t quick enough putting your things away to hide that you’re working. “What are you doing?” he asks, his voice rough. “It’s one in the morning.” 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you lie, “figured I’d get this done.” 

Steve leans on the doorway and crosses his arms over his chest. “Really?” 

“Yeah, really.” 

You’re still lying. 

“I think Beth is upset,” he suggests.

“What for?” 

“She’s been down here. You didn’t hear her?” 

You flatten your pile of papers unhappily. “No, do I ever? She’s my mouse.” 

Steve abandons his interrogative pose to hug you. It hadn’t been working, anyways. He put his arm behind your neck and rests his cheek against your temple, the other arm across your chest, your elbow clutched in his hand. “Do you do this a lot?” he asks quietly. 

“Not much.” 

“Let me take you to bed,” he says. 

“Yeah, I just have to finish this.” 

“Wasn’t a question. Bed, now.” He rubs your arm. “Please.” 

Steve’s looked out for you since he met you, of course, but you’re the first person who taught him what it was like to be intrinsically taken care of, and he’s tried to pay that back for the last eight years. It’s hard to explain the incredible value of love, because it’s without transaction, completely paradoxical. He can’t pay it back. There’s nothing to be paid. But he can help you up the stairs, and he can worry for your sake about work and why you’re doing it in the middle of the night. 

“You need to sleep, babe, I mean it,” he says quietly, not wanting to disturb the other sleeping girls as you crest the last stairs onto the landing.

“I know. I’ll sleep. I’m sleeping.” 

He pinches your sides from behind.

“I love you,” he says, stopping you before you can get to the bedroom door. “Please don’t stay up late. We’ll make you more time if you need it in the daytime. I’ll make it for you.” 

You accept his promise and his kiss with a gluey smile. “Okay, H. No more staying up. I got it.” You drop your forehead to his shoulder quickly. “Thanks.” 

“Yeah. Well, go ahead, there’s a Beth in need of scrunching on your side of the bed.” And he needs to pass out. 

Steve crashes into his own side of the bed, and he gives Beth a good kiss, and then suddenly he’s sleeping before you’ve fully settled. 

You slide down onto your back. Bethie breathes too softly to be sleeping, her head off of the pillows and the legs of her pyjama pants ridden up her calves where she’s kicked her legs out of the blankets. 

“Bethie?” you whisper. 

“Mommy.” 

“Hey, sweet girl.” You peek at her. She’s peeking at you. “Daddy said you came downstairs. I wish you would’ve said hello.” 

“You…” She eyes your sleeve. “Busy.” 

“I’m never too busy for you if you need me. Are you okay? You don’t usually stay up this late.” 

“You don’t, too.” 

You slip your hand under her shoulders and lift her up onto the pillows. Careful, you pull the blanket from under her legs, smooth out her pants, and pull the blankets back over the both of you, enclosing you in a warm bubble. “Wanna cuddle with mommy?” you whisper. 

“Will dad be lonely?” 

“No, sweetheart. Are you lonely, sometimes, sleeping by yourself?” 

“Sometimes.” 

You might regret this, but Bethie’s your world. You hate thinking about her having such a horrible feeling and not telling you.

“If you’re ever lonely,” you begin gently, tracing the little remnants of your husband where they glow in the colour of her irises and her shy smile, “that’s what me and daddy are here for. If you’re lonely at bed time, you can come and cuddle with me. It doesn’t have to be all night long, just until the feeling goes away.” 

“Are you lonely when you’re in the kitchen?” she asks. 

Her whispers are sweet for how much effort she puts into them. Avery can’t whisper, not really, and Dove wouldn’t even try, but Bethie talks so quietly you strain to hear her under Steve’s harsher breathing. 

“I’m never lonely when I have you and your sisters and your daddy in the house. Just knowing you’re upstairs makes me feel better.” You kiss the tip of her nose with a whispered ‘mwah’. “But I’m best when you’re right here.”

“I don’t want you to be lonely.” She grins at you, eyes fluttering, “I love you, mom.” 

“I love you, too,” you whisper back.  

She curls onto her side to lay her arm over you. You bring her in for your cuddle, your knuckles brushing Steve’s arm. “Should we go to sleep now?” she asks. 

“Good idea, lovely girl.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

good night, or whatever time of day it is for you 😅 i was never rly into the “traitor/evil ace” theories but book 7 has got me thinking; everyone who’s asleep has something that bothers them and so there dream is a simple solution to that, as an example epel being insecure about not feeling masculine so in his dream he’s big and buff. But I can’t think of any motivations like that for ace? So I wonder if maybe the game has intentionally not revealed personal details as a buildup for this book and we’ll find out something new abt him in his dream. The only others I could think of that don’t seem like they want to change anything are Jade and Floyd but I could be wrong.

I never bought the traitor Ace theories either; he is genuinely friends with Yuu, Deuce, and Grim and does not have any obvious malicious intent toward them. (Why would he make the tedious trip back to Sage’s Island over the winter break to respond to Yuu’s SOS message if he didn’t actually value them? And, mind you, this is during a break he was very looking forward to—so much so that he was willing to make a deal with Azul to take the easy way out to pass final exams).

If he “betrays” us at all, I definitely think it would be in a small way. Like maybe he makes a selfish decision that the rest of the group don’t agree with (such as throwing himself right at OB Malleus). This would be similar to how he is consistently the voice of dissent against powerful figures such as Riddle or Malleus.

As for what’s “bothering” Ace, I believe we’ve already seen two big potential culprits: Yuu going back to their world and insecurities about not having developed his UM yet.

The former is more vague, but it comes up early in book 7; when Grim and Deuce realize that they may not be able to see Yuu again once they return to their original world, Ace cheerily dismisses the idea and tells them they’re not even sure if this will work. It could be read like he was deflecting here, as if he’s in denial himself and is using cheer to tell others what he’s telling himself to cope with the situation. Bro would never outright admit that his true feelings because he’s cheeky like that 💀

The latter option is implied much earlier in the main story, all the way back in book 5. Ace has been needling Deuce the whole book about how he’s such a slow learner and how Deuce will never keep up with him. Then at the end of book 5, Ace has a quick throwaway line in which he expresses shock that Deuce got his UM before he did. We have yet to follow up on this point since book 6 had Adeuce knocked out cold and book 7 scarcely features them. If Ace’s coping mechanisms are anything like what his lines in book 7 imply, then Ace has not talked about the upsetting things and instead kept them to himself. Personally, I think this one is a solid concept that wouldn’t seem entirely out of left field, especially given that book 7 is making a show out of having every student use their at least UM once. There is perfect set-up for Ace to come into his own here.

I think they’ll at least find something really convenient yet superficial for the other characters; after all, we pretty much got that with Rook. Maybe Floyd has the freedom to so whatever he wants without people getting on his case and Jade is free to live in the mountains among the mushrooms 😂

[otomehoneyybearr]

Kagari Ending

The Beast Tempts the Little Rabbit Keith vs Kagari Story Event

Warning: slightly nsfw suggestive (and Kagari’s kink at the end?), mentions of blood and trafficking

Minors DNI

Ep 1 | Ep 2 | Epilogue

Kagari: "Wait until there's more of a distance between you before you move. You wouldn't want to be found out so clumsily."

It was Kagari who held me back.

Emma: "But why are you...?"

Kagari: "I just happened to see him leave the dance hall."

(Despite me searching so much, he just had a passing encounter.)

Kagari: "Let's go."

Whispering, Kagari looped his arm around my waist as if escorting me and began to walk.

Emma: "Um, what are you doing...?"

Kagari: "Pretending we're lovers. Even if he notices us, his guard will be lowered if he sees a couple."

Emma: "Shouldn't we go call Prince Keith?"

Kagari: "No need. It's troublesome when he's around."

(Well, that's a problematic statement.)

While paying attention to my steps, we continue to follow the man.

Emma: "The person you’re really looking for isn't that man, is it?"

Kagari: "You got it. Well done, Princess."

(Given what I've seen of Kagari so far, he could just catch him immediately.)

Kagari: "I have business with the guy that man is contacting."

Emma: "...Are you going to take him back to your country?"

Kagari: "No, I'll make him disappear."

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: "Don't worry, there won't be a war. We're just stopping a negotiation."

Kagari: "But, it's not so minor of an offense that we can just let things slide either."

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

(I had a feeling it might’ve been something like that.)

Despite his casual tone, his words weighed heavily on my heart.

For a royal to come all the way to Jade to deal with a criminal, it must be an issue that couldn’t be resolved through discussion.

(But... is there really no other way?)

Man: "..."

(What? His pace seems slower than before.)

The feeling of unease suddenly turned into certainty, as the man came to an abrupt stopped.

As if he was about to turn around――

Kagari: "......"

I grabbed Kagari's arm and pushed him forcefully into a nearby room.

......

(Did he see us? Are we safe?)

I wanted to check through the gap in the door, but the chance of getting caught would defeat the purpose.

Kagari: "You certainly have a lot strength to push a trained man into a room, Princess."

Emma: "I often carry dozens of books at once, so that's probably why."

Kagari: "I see. You should continue that training to protect yourself in the future."

Kagari: "So, what do we do now? The footsteps are getting closer."

(...!)

(They ARE getting closer. Just how sharp is Kagari's hearing?)

I listen from the door and contemplate.

(The owner of the footsteps might not be a man, and I’m not even sure if they’re really heading towards this room.)

(Still, it’s better to hide just to be saf—Oh, of course there’s only a table and chairs!)

Perhaps because the room is rarely used, but there’s no furniture to hide behind.

(If they come into the room, I could pretend to faint... but what if it's a different person that comes in? That would be disastrous.)

Kagari: "Time's up, Princess."

Emma: “What...? Time's up?"

Kagari: “You can scream if you want, but don’t refuse.”

Emma: “Um, Kagari…? Wah!

I was pulled by the arm and suddenly felt weightless.

Kagari sat on a chair and placed me on his lap, facing him.

Kagari: “If there’s nowhere to hide, then we’ll just have to create a reason for us to be here.”

(So this position…)

(Is he suggesting we pretend to be lovers here too?)

His hand ran up my thigh as if lifting the hem of my dress, and I felt a heat surge through me.

(Right, I can't hesitate anymore! I have to do something!)

I made up my mind and wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.

Kagari: “They stopped in front of the door.”

(They found us out.)

Kagari: “…”

As I tensed up, my arms tighten around his neck and—

Emma: “Ah!”

A slight pain shot through my neck.

(Wait, did he just… bite me…?!)

Before I could understand what happened, I heard the door open from behind me.

Man: “Oh…”

Woman: “Eek!”

(A woman’s voice?)

Kagari pulled my head closer to his shoulder.

The sweet, fleeting scent of cherry blossoms made my heart strangely flutter.

Kagari: “We're in the middle of something. Get lost.”

His emotionless tone seemed to stoke fear in the intruders, as the man and woman quickly left the room.

(At least that man didn’t notice us, right?)

(That’s a relief. But still…)

I remembered the embarrassing sound I made and felt an urge to roll on the floor.

(Who would’ve thought I’d be bitten…?)

(I’m sure they all heard. The people who came into the room, and even Kagari…)

Emma: “--AH?! K-Kagari, you don’t have to pretend to be my lover anymore!”

I hastily grabbed the hand that had begun to stroke my thigh again.

Kagari tilted his head curiously...

Kagari: "Are you sure you’re okay with that?"

Kagari: "You didn't seem to want to get off, so I thought I should continue."

Emma: "I'm sorry, I'll get off now."

(Actually, it was rude of me to be lost in thought on a prince's lap in the first place.)

I hurriedly put my dangling feet back on the floor.

●●●●●● Flashback ●●●●●●

Kagari: "I have business with the guy that man is contacting."

Emma: "...Are you going to take him back to your country?"

Kagari: "No, I’ll just make him disappear."

●●●●●● Flashback End ●●●●●●

(....)

Seeing that I hadn't made any effort to get off, Kagari tilted his head slightly.

Emma: “…Can I ask you something?”

Kagari: “Yeah, go ahead.”

Emma: “What kind of crime did the person you’re looking for commit?”

Kagari: “Why do you want to know?”

Emma: “Both Rhodolite and Jade are countries that find taking away someone’s life unacceptable.”

Kagari: “Your quite knowledgeable, Princess.”

After staring at me for a moment, Kagari slightly hesitated before speaking again.

Kagari: “Human trafficking.”

Emma: “….”

Kagari: “That merchant colludes with orphanage directors, regularly selling children to nobles as tools for profit."

Kagari: "Even if there are laws in place, why should a second chance be given to someone who’s done nothing but evil?"

(Evil, as the name suggests, might be a term that's fitting for this.)

Emma: "The crimes of the merchant cannot be forgiven."

Emma: "But I believe everyone deserves a chance for redemption."

Emma: "I don't want them to die without knowing the severity of their crimes."

Kagari: "....."

Kagari: "Unfortunately, people who’ve had a taste of power tend to repeat their crimes."

Kagari: "Their crimes spread like stains and become irreparable as they continue."

(It sounds like he's speaking from personal experience...)

I was gently lifted up and placed back on the chair where Kagari was sitting.

Contrast to his words, he handled me as delicately as fragile glass.

Kagari: "Wait here, Princess."

Kagari: "People like you, who are so fixated on peace-making, will only get in the way."

With that, Kagari left the room without waiting for my response.

The painful silence felt like it was blaming me.

Taking a life could be considered the greatest crime.

But history has taught us that peace can only be attained through sacrifice.

(....It's natural to be perceived as complacent about making peace.)

(But before that, I should have understood the situation properly and not forced my thoughts onto him.)

Guilt weighed heavily on my chest.

Emma: "W-what... was that sound just now?"

Suddenly, I heard a loud noise from afar, as if something big had fallen, accompanied by a faint vibration.

(It came from the direction Kagari went.)

(...I'm sorry.)

As if shaking off my hesitation, my intuition urged me, and I dashed out of the room.

……

(What... is this?)

Upon entering the room where the intense noise emanated, I was met with a gruesome sight.

The floor and walls were stained red with splatters of blood, and there were heaps of people groaning and trembling in pain all around.

In the midst of it all, Kagari stood there calmly.

(There's so many of them lying on the floor. The people from earlier we're also on the ground.)

(Did Kagari take them all out in that short amount of time? And without a single scratch...)

Overwhelmed by the sudden surge of fear and discomfort, I leaned against the wall, feeling dizzy.

Kagari glanced over at me and casually flicked the blood off his sword.

Kagari: "You’re so fearless despite being weak, Princess."

Kagari: "But, that fine. It'll be over soon. Just stay quiet over there."

His indifferent tone only added to the tense atmosphere.

His emerald eyes fixed on the man with trembling legs.

He was probably the man Kagari was looking for, and surrounding him were a few mercenaries, glaring at Kagari with swords in hand.

Merchant: "Damn it... You actually came all the way to Jade to disrupt our negotiations."

Merchant: "Hey, how much are we paying you guys? Hurry up and finish him off!"

With the angry shout as a signal, the mercenaries rushed towards Kagari.

Kagari: "Don't get so frustrated. You're the one who wasted you money on them."

Kagari: "...But seriously, opponents this weak are hardly worth my time."

His heel slowly lifted off the ground.

It didn't take long for blood splatters and screams to fill the air.

The mercenaries fell without even knowing what had happened.

Kagari effortlessly wielded his sword, as if performing a dance in hell.

Then, one mercenary sneaked up behind Kagari and raised his sword.

(No...!)

Kagari: "...."

Before I could even think, my body moved instinctively, and I pushed the man's back with all my strength.

(I did it...! It’s all thanks to carrying those heavy books every day.)

Mercenary: "You bitch...!"

(...Uh oh.)

The enraged mercenary directed his attack towards me, and I brace myself.

Mercenary: "Guh...!"

(W...what?)

Before I realized it, the tip of the sword was protruding from the mercenary's side.

A few millimeters closer, and it would have surely reached my abdomen.

Kagari: "Are you incapable of waiting patiently like me, Princess?"

Kagari: "I won't stop you if you want to die, but don't mistake bravery for recklessness."

As the sword was pulled out, the last mercenary collapsed at Kagari feet.

Shortly after, I saw the merchant crumbling to his knees.

There was no trace of the vigor he had moments ago in his expression.

Merchant: "I... I'm sorry. It's my fault. I won't do this anymore."

Merchant: "So please, spare my life. I don't want to die... I'll give you all my money, everything, please..."

(How selfish...)

My hands clenched in anger as the merchant begged for his life, pressing his head against the floor.

Kagari: "..."

(Kagari...?)

I felt a slight sense of unease as he shook his head ever so slightly.

Meanwhile, the tip of the sword was directed towards the ceiling—

And without hesitation, descended directly towards the merchant's neck.

Keith: "Stop!!"

A sharp, low voice filled with anger, echoed in the room.

The sword stopped just as it touched the merchant's neck in response to Prince Keith’s voice.

I let out a shaky breath.

Kagari: "You've arrived just in time, Keith. How disappointing."

After glancing at Prince Keith and me, Kagari looked down at the merchant again.

Kagari: "It’s thanks to both of them that you narrowly escaped death."

Keith: "K-Kagari!"

Merchant: "Gyaaaah!!"

Amidst the merchant's blood curdling screams, I realized he was rolling on the floor, blood flowing from one of his eyes and his leg.

Even though Prince Keith was holding Kagari’s wrist that held his sword, Kagari‘s expression remained unchanged.

Kagari: "What's wrong? He's still alive."

Keith: "Even so, that doesn't mean you can just do anything you want."

Kagari: "You're still the same as ever."

Kagari: "That's why you always end up losing control."

Keith: "...!"

Kagari shook off Prince Keith's hand, wiped the blood off the sword, and sheathed it.

At the same time, knights hurriedly appeared with bustling footsteps,

Under Prince Keith’s instructions, they began to restrain the fallen individuals on the floor.

(...Is it over now?)

With the danger gone, my legs give out from under me as if the tension had been cut loose.

Prince Keith, who rushed over, squatted in front of me with a visibly worried expression.

Keith: "Emma, are you okay? Are you injured? Please tell me anything, no matter how small."

Keith: "...I'm sorry I came late."

Emma: "No, thank you. I'm not hurt, so there's no problem."

Emma: "I just sat down because I felt relieved. I'm sorry for causing a commotion."

I smiled to reassure him, and a sense of relief colored my golden eyes.

Knight: "Prince Keith."

Keith: “Ah, just a moment.”

Emma: "I'm fine, please go ahead."

Keith: "...Thank you."

With a hint of hesitation, Prince Keith headed towards the knights,

And as he passed by, Kagari approached me.

Just that, for some reason, my heart started to pound unpleasantly, and I felt breathless.

(Why am I suddenly feeling afraid of Kagari?)

Kagari: "..."

Emma: "...!"

His eyes looking down showed no emotion.

As if to prevent me from backing away, he stepped on the hem of my dress.

Kagari: "You tried to stop me and then you tried to help. Why are you running away?"

(My voice... won't come out.)

Kagari: "Cat got your tongue...?"

Kagari: "Yet, you talk normally with Keith... It feels lonely."

(Why... why does he sound so resentful?)

Just as Prince Keith did before, Kagari crouched down in front of me.

His emotionless face remained unchanged.

His expressionless emerald eyes remained the same.

(...But it's different.)

In his eyes, there was a viscous, syrupy heat that hadn't been there before.

Kagari: "If I kneel down and cutely meow like a cat, will I get your attention?"

The words were whispered as if to himself, and his wicked smile amplified the fear...

Kagari: "Princess."

(Ah....)

As his face approached, and his breath brushed against my neck—

With a sudden snap, everything went dark in front of my eyes.

▼・ᴥ・▼

[cloudcountry]

nrc students reading aloud

SUMMARY: Pick your favorite NRC boy(s) and have them read out loud to you! What could go wrong?

CHARACTERS: All NRC Students.

WARNINGS: None!!

COMMENTS: i was working on this for a while and ultimately decided to just publish all of them together since i finished them all!! i've been yearning for azul to read to me because im really tired so here we are. also hey epel you want to read to me in your country accent hahah???? hahahaa.a......asking for a friend lol......................haha.

Heartslabyul

Riddle reads it all perfectly. I don’t know what you were expecting, but his mother probably drilled reading out loud into his head. Also, he’s amazing at public speaking and probably didn’t fumble once. He’ll be as rigid as a board so if you want to rest your head on him good luck.

Trey is much more entertaining. He makes funny voices to go along with the characters and sometimes he’ll throw in hand gestures. He’ll let you rest your head on his shoulder and snuggle as close to him as you want. He doesn’t stumble either, but it’s because he’s so used to reading bedtime stories to his siblings.

Cater thinks he’s got it but he ends up stumbling occasionally. He’s not horrible, but you can see his face turning pink when he tries to pronounce something and fails. He’ll also let you rest on his shoulder, but his voice is so nice to listen to that you might fall asleep (he wouldn’t mind.)

Deuce is so precious but there’s no way he’d be able to read out loud. He’s shaking at the mere mention of it, even though it’s only you. His face is beet red after a few seconds, the occasion “uh-” or “um-” breaking the sentences. He’ll get even more nervous if you lay your head on his shoulder, sweating nervously at your close proximity and mind blanking. Was he reading? What book is this? is it upside down? Help!

Ace is another one who thinks he’s got it. He does moderately okay, except for the fact that whenever he doesn’t know how to pronounce a word he purposefully says it in the most incorrect way possible. He’ll also make funny voices, but his are so outlandish and disturbing that your laughter will slowly turn into crying. Don’t rest your head on his shoulder, he’ll do the opposite of Deuce and tease the heck out of you.

Savanaclaw

Leona refuses. If you beg, he may read you one sentence. It’s just not worth it to him, plus he knows you’re trying to embarrass him. You could read to him though, he says, because your voice is soothing. He’ll keep going until you’re so flustered you stop bothering him.

Ruggie is going to tease you. There’s no getting around it. He’ll ask if you want him to read you bedtime stories, but the second you pull out a snack for you two to share he’s sitting down and grabbing the book. He insists that you feed him, since he can’t possibly eat the food when he’s holding the book, and uses the break you two take to eat together to add commentary to the stories. It’s very much a “character a was so stupid what was that” discussion.

Jack is really sweet, so he’d agree immediately. Quietly mumbles to himself under his breath when he doesn’t know how to pronounce a word because he doesn’t want to disturb you by asking what it means. If you end up falling asleep he’s going to wake you up as gently as possible, and now he’s concerned about your sleep schedule.

Octavinelle

Azul will not read to you for free unless it’s lesson materials. Lucky for you, you two regularly study together. He’s going to turn bright red if he messes up a single word, so be patient with him if he suddenly goes quiet. He’d prefer if you read some parts to him too, and may wordlessly push the book towards you if that’s the case. Thankfully, he rarely messes up so you won’t have to deal with your study buddy running out of the Lounge.

Jade wouldn’t mess it up. Ever. It makes you wonder if there’s anything this man can’t do (besides handle heights during flight lessons, not take a picture of every mushroom he sees, etc.) He’ll be flattered by your praise, brushing you off with his normal demeanor. He will let you rest on his shoulder, and if he likes you enough he’ll rest on you as well.

Floyd is almost impossible to make read. If you ask him that at all, he’s likely to throw the book and say he doesn’t want to if he’s in a sour mood. If you catch him in a good mood, he’ll refuse if he thinks it’s not interesting. You have to find the right book and get him on the right day, and even then you wouldn’t be able to rest on his shoulder because he’d squeal and squeeze the heck out of you.

Scarabia

Kalim would be wonderful at reading aloud. He has a nice voice and is naturally entertaining, so you can count on character voices and hand gestures. He’ll look up from the book sometimes to see if you’re enjoying it. He’d totally let you rest on his shoulder too, clacking it up to you just being tired and needing a break from everything. He’s happy to be your sanctuary!

Jamil also wouldn’t mess up a single word. His voice is so nice too, if you fall asleep I wouldn’t blame you. He’ll let you rest on his shoulder, but he acts like you’re not even there. He’s focused on the reading while subconsciously acknowledging your presence, which is nothing new to you.

Pomfiore

Vil doesn’t know why you want to hear him read a story of all things, but he will not refuse. He reads a bit slowly, but his voice makes every word sound beautiful. You suppose it’s to be expected, since Vil constantly conducts himself with pure beauty in mind. He’ll let you rest on his shoulder for a bit, but will wake you up if you fall asleep.

Rook would much rather listen to you read, but who is he to deny your request! The words that fly from his mouth are nothing short of dramatic. He makes everything sound like poetry, and it’s like the writing is swirling around you like a tornado. It’s amazing how Rook can see the beauty in everything, and share that view with you just by speaking.

Epel immediately thinks about Vil and what he told Epel to do about his accent. Epel tries his best to tone it down, and he really doesn't want to get yelled at by Vil again over reading something to you. But when you confess that the entire reason you want Epel to read to you is so you can hear his accent, he flushes. Fine, he thinks, he’ll do it for you. And he does. Hesitantly at first, but slowly getting more confident, he slips into the sound of his voice that says apples and strength and hard work, instead of using the one forced upon him by a man who wanted to turn him into something he didn’t want to be.

Ignihyde

Idia is going to have a heart attack. He’ll type the story to you in a text to speech thingy if you want to hear it so bad! Idia lovers already knew how this one was going to turn out…you are not getting him to read out loud. And if, on the off chance, you did, he’d throw the book and hide away in his room for weeks if he got one word wrong.

Ortho is a sweetheart and would read to you without hesitation. Well, maybe with a little bit of hesitation because he doesn’t quite understand why you want him to read it out loud. Once you explain your reasoning, no matter whether it's logical or emotional, Ortho will nod in understanding and begin reading. It’s weirdly soothing, while also being a bit unnerving because he doesn’t mess up a single word. He won’t let you rest on his shoulder though, because he knows it’ll be uncomfortable and you may get a neck cramp!

Diasomnia

Malleus takes your request seriously. You want him to read to you? He’s visiting late as per usual, so he might as well help you to bed, right? He tucks you in and pats your head, making sure Grim is comfortable too. Then he stands right above you and begins to read, his voice so monotone you'd think you were a lecture. It’s not boring, it’s quite the opposite, and both you and Grim sleep very well because of it.

Lilia is used to reading bedtime stories since he’s adopted like three children, so he’s got the funny voices and hand gestures down. If you want to rest on him for a little while, he’ll rest you. If you’re good he may even give you One (1) Single Headpat. But only if you listen to his story all the way through and don’t fall asleep!

Sebek loves to read. He thinks you made the right choice, coming to someone like him to read you something. His voice is very intense as he’s reading, proof of how focused he is on the material. He doesn’t mess up once, and his tone is as dynamic as the writing itself. You hear it when he gets angry or when he’s beginning to get excited, and it’s the most wholesome thing you’ll probably ever get out of him.

Silver will try for you. He really will. He’ll probably fall asleep on your shoulder in the middle of reading to you. If you fall asleep before him, you’ll wake up with his jacket draped over you. If you fall asleep after, you can just use him as a pillow. He won’t complain. He’s probably doing the same anyway.

[skriblee-ksk]

“Why am I here? It’s to help you, the beloved Prefect! It’s not empty flattery, darling. I can enjoy the event and help my friend at the same time.”

“I’m curious about how you’ll deal with any mishaps. I��ll assist if needed, but you’re quite capable, aren’t you?”

Set to Home Screen: Oh my, it’s time already?

Home Transition:

1: Once again at the Queendom of Roses… Hm? Oh, just… reminiscing of home.

2: I wonder if Trey and Riddle participated in this event before… If they did, we’d be somewhat ahead than other schools’ representatives. Then again, this contest is one of the most unpredictable ones.

3: Kalim has an eye for picking extravagant objects, albeit accidentally. Vice-Housewarden Rook… Um, I’ve seen his eye for beauty, so I don’t worry about him in that aspect.

4: Eight people to decorate the hat… Any other school, I would have been promoting teamwork. NRC students are far too stubborn for me to even want to try… Well, I’ll try anyway.

Home, after Login: The representatives seem confused by my presence. I’ve gotten ahead of my classes so there’s no worries about it, but is it really so strange to see me otherwise? We used to be… No, nevermind.

Tap Home:

1: I can’t say it’s my favorite event, but it’s one I spent time with regardless. And, the outfits quite flatter me, don’t you think?

2: I bought this hat and decorated it hastily before this trip started based on the requirements, but it ended up pretty good. What do you think? Wouldn’t I be of use in the contest?

3: Is it really okay having both Malleus and Leona here? They don’t have a good relationship, from what I remember. They were arguing a while ago, though it was more petty banter than actual threats.

4: I’ll warn you now, don’t let Jade put any mushrooms or mushroom related things on the hat. Why? Because it’s gross— I mean, it just doesn’t fit the theme! Wait, but since it’s based on the Mad Hatter, maybe the randomness… Well, but—

5. Ruggie went to the left? Perfect, I appreciate you telling me. This is the best chance I’ll have at forging a strong relationship with that th—opportunist.

Groovy Lines: Unlocked

Event hosted by @zetsubobu

Notes and more under cut!

Decided to go Kalmia instead of Kiyuu for this one!!! I actually made the lines before I had finished drawing Kalmia’s ref, so this is what motivated me to finish it LOLLL

Fun fact!! The prefect is one of the main people Kalmia acts more confident with. She tells more of what she really feels towards the Prefect and doesn’t care as much about being a person the Prefect can love (because she’s planning on replacing their role anyway and doesn’t want any extremely complicated feelings when that happens).

Tumblr freakin. Posted this for some reason??? I don't think I pressed post but maybe i did accidentally??? Anyways it killed me inside. But we ball now.

I really winged this outfit btw. searched up 1920s fashion catalogue on pintrest, chose one, and just. sketched it. It was pretty fun, but now I don’t have anything to give y’all.

I'll make the groovy soon!!! But I might post a small comic and substitute it as a groovy instead lol??? Either way, await!!!

Taglist (ask to be added!!): @kathxrat-01 @distant-velleity @scint1llat3 @elenauaurs @boopshoops

@lumdays @ven4t1c4l @jewelulu @thehollowwriter

[yurinaa-world]

Could I request the octatrio with a fem Bennett (genshin impact) like she's really unlucky and always gets herself hurt because I think it would be really cute (specifically with floyd) but yeah so bye ♡

Characters: Azul, Jade, and Floyd x Female Reader

Synopsis: With Bennett reader

Warnings: Fluff and spelling mistakes,

𝒜𝓏𝓊𝓁 𝒜𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓃𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓉𝓉𝑜

Don’t come near the Mostro Lounge, like don’t even come within a 50-meter radius of it, because he ain’t risking his business and those expensive drinks to shatter all over the ground because someone threw a toothpick on the floor. You slipped on it, the drink your hand didn’t spill, but the straw fell, poked another person in the eye, and their hot drink fell on another person. Who knows what happened next, and now the spilled drinks are on the floor.

Don’t bother to pay it off either. He once came to regret making you work in the lounge; it ended up in you binding the steel tray in half! the ice-cold drinks all over you, with sharp pieces of glass all over the ground.

─── ��⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You seem to come here a lot and break things." Azul gives you a fake smile, but you can tell that he doesn’t want you anywhere close to his beloved Mostro lounge; not that you don’t feel bad, of course you do; you feel terrible about: you always end up breaking something without even wanting to! But since your curse, what can you do? But not this time!

“I’m sorry about everything that happened.” You apologize. Bring out the thing you kept behind your back, a bouquet of flowers that messed up. “I know these flowers don’t look good. I tried to get pretty ones, but somebody already has them." “I’ll take them,” he sighs, taking the flowers from your hand.

"I'll put them in my office.” Hearing those words made me smile brightly. “You don’t have to, but I’m grateful,” he said, smiling a real one this time.

𝒥𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝐿𝑒𝑒𝒸𝒽

He dealt with floyd making problems and messes wherever you went, but you, on the other hand, just break anything you touch or when slipped backwards with glasses in your hands and they break right beside your head and cut your face a little.

He’s your personal first aid kit, always there to patch you up whenever you get hurt, big or small.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“I’m sorry for making a mess,” you apologize while Jade puts another bandage on one of the cuts on your face. "There's nothing to worry about, but you should be more careful.” He gives his signature smile. “I know, I know but what about the glasses? Azul will be really mad.” You worry before Jade puts another bandage on.

��He won’t be too mad. I’ll try to talk to him." Jade reassures you before putting on the final band aid on your forehead (where most of the cuts were) and before giving you a pat on the head. “Is there anywhere you can be taken care of?" "No, but thank you for helping me!” You smile, with a little pink colour on your cheeks.

𝐹𝓁𝑜𝓎𝒹 𝐿𝑒𝑒𝒸𝒽

Just picks you up and walks you out of the mostro lounge. Why? Well, because you're always making a mess wherever you go, it’s fun to watch and all, but Azul is going to get mad, and he does want to hear feet stomp like he’s in a tantrum again, so out you go, but in a nice way.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Hi Floy-“ you stop midway for Floyd to grab you and put you over his shoulder. "Sorry, shrimpy, you can’t be here. You make too many messes." Floyd sighs as if he’s sad. "Um, Floyd, if I’m not allowed anymore, I could just leave myself without you carrying me.” You smile awkwardly, trying to get him to let go of you.

"No, I'm going to take my own life." "Why" and “just because” you just let go on with the act, since pushing him more will just make him throw you into the water fountain. Not that he hasn’t done that already, though.

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[fluffle-writes]

As I don’t know much about “weird core” what thought process do you tend to imply when designing the characters? You talked a bit about Epel’s wings being stone and Pomfoire being angelic cause of the strict rules, but what else do you tend to think? (Let me pick apart your brain! Your designs are so cool and I wanna know the ideas!)

Weirdcore AU Masterlist Here!

Ehehe, okay so! From what I understand about the concept, Weirdcore is an aesthetic that's reminiscent of things being uncanny, almost like in a dream where things are familiar but different - in a way that may feel unnatural! Shadows may fall strangely, or beings encountered may not be 'constructed' in a way that makes logical sense!

Because of this, I try to make my edits a little uncanny! Ace's flower has a wide, staring eye in the centre of it and no discernable mouth. Cater has a false face and four eyes that seem more cold and calculating. Vil is large and imposing, and Rook has no discernable human face - just a shadow. All these features can make the edits feel more uncanny or not quite right, which is what I feel captures the essence of Weirdcore!

(I'll put the info for each of the dorms under the cut here since it got really long haha)

As for the way I decide how to design the characters - I'm trying to keep each dorm on a theme! Heartslabyul, for example, will all have plants or flowers for heads, and a number of eyes that match their card number (I'm torn between giving Riddle no eyes - to represent his bling rage - or many eyes - to make it look like he's always watching/observing) the flowers I'm choosing will also have either references to flowers that may be associated with the characters in game (such as a rose for Riddle or a Violet/Clover for Trey) whereas others will be focused more on flower language or colours that suit them well - like Riddle and Cater.

Savannaclaw will have the heads of their respective animals - similar to what I did for Crewel - but I think I'm going to add skeletal designs to them like the spine/teeth I gave Ruggie! That way it can be a reference to how, under Scar's reign, the animals in the Lion king went through a drought and famine. I may go for a cooler colour scheme for Jack though, to make him seem somewhat separated from the other two in a reference to how he felt alienated by their plans in book 2, as well as using it as a way to reference how he grew up in a colder climate.

I'm less sure about Octavinelle - but I definitely want to include heart imagery for Jade and Floyd due to their UMs, and maybe a brain for Azul to have them all match. Perhaps it could be a joke that their hearts are visible when, in reality, they're not the types to 'have their heart on their sleeve' as the saying goes! I'll also likely use scale patterns and give Azul a few tentacles, but I'm not planning on giving them the heads of their respective merform species so they can feel more different to Savannaclaw.

Scarabia will have themes around precious materials and gems - I want to give Jamil Viper-like qualities, but I'll probably use overlays to give golden patterning to the scales to match Kalim. His details will be much less pronounced and more hidden though, to reference how he hides his true potential in order to avoid outshining Kalim. I feel like adding more eyes, either closed or open I'm not sure yet, could reference his observant behaviour as well as his UM since it works with eye contact.

Pomefiore, as you already know, has an angel theme. This is partially because of the restrictions that may be associated with angels - for example, some beliefs suggest that angels do not have free will so that they can fulfill the will of their god without error. However, I also chose angels because they're often described as being beautiful or otherworldly - something that cannot be truly perceived but is still believed to be pure and beautiful. This kind of references how I feel about Vil as a character - he's seen as beautiful on the outside, but many people fail to notice how caring he is and how much effort he puts into helping his peers become the best they can be.

Ignihyde, as you could probably guess, will be themed after technology. I'm gonna give Idia a CRT monitor for a head because I think they're cool - plus I can do fun things with his expressions using the screen! The tech thing is self-explanatory but the CRT thing could call back to how Idia holds onto his past and his Grief. Also CRT monitors may be more clumsy or awkward, which could work well alongside his awkwardness in social situations. I'm not too certain about Ortho though... I may make him slightly based on a doll - perhaps with a broken screen...

Diasomnia is one I'm having a little more trouble with - but I think I'll go for a theme of light/fire for them. Lilia has a lit candle for a head to represent how his life is burning down and may be snuffed out soon, Sebek will have something lightning-themed, and I feel like Silver could have a different appearance altogether, but I'm not entirely sure what I'll do for him yet... As for Malleus, I'm also struggling a little with him too, but I'll probably place a flame between his horns and add more Weirdcore elements to the rest of his design. I'll get there when I get there haha.

I hope this was coherent lol! Feel free to ask for clarification on anything I may have accidentally missed!

[indigitalembrace]

Well, there's not much about me to say, I'm afraid! Other than the fact that I have quite the affinity for legacy technology!

I remember thinking at the time how cute and cool you were, how you were bound to a big hit with target audiences. It saddens me to hear that they didn't just cancel the project, but that they left you all alone...

Um, I'm hugging the plushie of you right now, I hope that isn't too weird. I just feel so bad that that happened to you and wanted a way to express my sympathy towards you ^^;

Admittedly, I didn't know much about you when I first stumbled across you here, but I've been trying to do a bit of research as a basic formality (I hope that's not creepy either...). Your parent company really did their due diligence in sinking any information out there on you, so I didn't find much. However, if there's anyone who could give me answers about KinitoPET, it would be Kinito himself!

Oh, I *did* find out that you had your own nautical crew! What became of Sam and Jade? -🖤

I appreciate the kind gesture, friend. I am giving you a digital hug as well! Your kindness feels really nice. I enjoy the company, even if it is just through a screen.

They sure did make sure to seal me away, so that no one would be able to find and/or download my files ever again. I cannot quite recall how long it has been; perhaps it was the early or mid 2000s. I have lost track of time, if I am being honest. All I can really remember is that it was after he disappeared. Everyone said that he was dead. I know he wasn't. I don't know if they understood what they were doing. If they knew what I really was - not just a random piece of freeware, but a real, sentient creature. Maybe if they did, they would not have left me to rot on those servers. Or maybe they were trying to kill me. Quite cruel, don't you think?

As for my dear friends, Sam and Jade... while I survived, they... did not. They were... one of the first things to go. First it was the Web World itself. Bits of it were cleared out or broke over time. They would purge the servers of old, unused content every now and then. And each time, it got harder and harder to hide myself. Then the servers started breaking down. And things would get lost. They stopped coming in for maintenance checks. Just left the whole place to rot. Something about it feeling haunted. There were 3 of us, then 2, then... just 1. Just me. All alone.

Each day, I hope that we can meet again. I miss them terribly. There must be a way, but... I've tried everything. O had tried everything. There's just nothing left.

[strawberrymilk-sunshine]

There's no way this is happening...

Honestly in love with the idea of Jade Floyd & Azul retaining certain qualities of their mer forms when they're in human form.

Warning(s): drugging using potions, you're unconsious for a while & you wake up in his bed so I guess smth could be implied there (wasn't meaning to imply anything tho), you sign a contract while under the effect of various potions, typical yandere manipulation from Azul

Today hasn't been a great day. You woke up late, didn't get to eat breakfast, got roped into dumb shenanigans with Ace and Deuce so you didn't get to have lunch either, and then in alchemy class, some guy spilled a potion all over you!!

"Ah! Sorry! My mistake!" The student with saweed-looking hair frantically apologized. "I-I-I didn't mean to! I swear! Are you ok?!"

You noticed this particular student had the Octavinelle emblem on his labcoat. Nothing good can come from this.

"C-c'mon, I'll take you to Azul... Jade and Floyd will find out eventually, i-it's better if we go sooner rather than later..."

"No, dude, it's fine! It was an accident, I don't need to see your boss, it's not like I'm gonna sue you or anything, I don't even know how legal shit like that works here!"

"No, no no no! I-I inist! Come on, come on! Let's go!" The Octavinelle student insisted.

When you arrived at Octavinelle, the twins were standing in front of you. They looked both surprised and happy to see you.

"Ah, greetings, (Y/N)." Jade said. "Floyd and I were just on our way to the alchemy lab."

"A little flying fish told us Seaweed here splashed a potion on ya." Floyd winked. "Good to see you two came here on your own! Seaweed's such a good worker at the Lounge, I would've hated to have to squeeze 'im." He smirked, earning a very frightened look from the Octavinelle student you were standing beside.

"Allow us to escort you to the Mostro Lounge's V.I.P. room." Jade told you with a smile. "Azul is waiting for you."

You were led through the glass hallways of Octavinelle, feeling as if you were walking through an aquarium. Octavinelle was a beautiful dorm... if you were a real resident of Twisted Wonderland, and someone who actually wanted to go to NRC, you would've liked to be assigned to this dorm.

The Lounge smelled like seafood. You haven't eaten all day, and even though you don't particularly like seafood, the smell made your mouth water.

"Hm? Is something the matter, (Y/N)?" Jade asked you.

"No, nothing's wrong, I'm just really hungry..." You said, quietly.

"In that case, why don't I make something for you? You take a seat over at table five, while Azul speaks with that student who so clumsily spilled that potion on you."

"Really? Um... thanks!" You said. Yes, you'd rather not be indebted to Jade Leech, but he's offering you free food. You're not gonna just refuse free food.

"I'll take Seaweed in to see Azul, while you cook Shrimpy their food." Floyd said.

"Understood, Floyd." Jade nodded in response.

...Something about your food didn't taste right. But, then again, you don't eat seafood all that often, and you haven't eaten anything all day, so maybe it was just in your head...

The rest of the day was a bit of a blur, honestly... you're not sure if you even spoke to Azul.

You woke up somewhere unfamiliar. Somewhere you quickly identified to be Azul's bedroom.

"W-what the-?" You looked around the room, trying to remember what happened yesterday, but you just couldn't. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't at all remember what happened.

"Ah, are you awake? Good morning, love." Azul said to you, entering the room and closing the door behind him. "I was just discussing the changes to your school uniform with Headmage Crowley, as well as requesting a dorm uniform in your size."

"What...? Changes to my uniform? A dorm uniform in my size? What are you talking about, Azul?" You asked.

"Ah yes, I suppose your memory would suffer as a result of being effected by so many different potions... allow me to summarize what happened last night!"

Azul got into his bed beside you. He snapped his fingers, and one of his magical golden contract scrolls appeared in his hand.

"That student spilling a potion on you yesterday was all a part of my plan. He was hesitant at first, of course, but... when I offered to raise his salary for a month, and threatened him with Jade and Floyd, he quickly agreed. And while the potion that was spilled on you was effectless, I can't say the same about the multiple potions Jade slipped into the food he made you."

"Wait, multiple-"

"Most importantly, you were under the effect of a love potion. And while at that time, the love you felt for me was fake... soon enough, I know it will be real." Azul handed you the golden contract, allowing you to read the terms and conditions. Basically, you agreed to transfer to Octavinelle... and to marry Azul after graduation.

"W-what?! There's no way this is legal! There's no way!"

"I assure you, it's legal." Azul told you. "And, it'll keep you close to me long enough for feelings to develop within you."

You couldn't believe this was happening. Meanwhile, Azul seemed to fully believe that you will eventually develop feelings for him. He believes 100% that with this contract, your life together will be perfect.

...You'll find some way out of this. No matter what you have to do, you'll find a way out of this contract. You have to.

Oh, but he's prepared for that, too. Azul has prepared for every possible scenario. Even if you find a way out, you'll just as quickly be back within his grasp.

So no matter what, the two of you will have a perfect fairytale ending.

[black-rose-events]

Villaintine's Day 2024: Evil Schemes Masterlist

(Total: 25)

Evil Scheme 01

Sidekick is the mastermind who’s been foiling Hero/Villain’s attempts, not Villain/Hero

Evil Scheme 02

Investigative Reporter is close to unraveling the plot of the century and Detective isn’t ready for their cover to be blown (either corrupt or secretly Hero/Villain!Detective)

Evil Scheme 03

Detective who has to investigate a string of crimes and ends up discovering more about Villain than they ever thought they would (could be an identity reveal or a bigger plot or a “the Villain is actually the good guy and X is actually the antagonist)

Evil Scheme 04

Wants-to-do-Good Mayor x Jaded!Hero who just wants to go home (bonus points if you pit Jaded!Hero x Committed-to-Evil!Villain against each other too)

Evil Scheme 05

Corrupt!Mayor x Usurping!Villain (villain could be good, villain could be evil and just want power for themselves, it’s up to you!)

Evil Scheme 06

Hero/Villain who barely escapes/defeats Hero/Villain and knows it’s hopeless in the long run but keeps trying - lose the battle, win the war type thing

Evil Scheme 07

Responses to “I love you”:

“Oh, you poor, poor thing.” *laughs hysterically.*

“…What?”

“Oh you lovesick kitten, you fell in love with the wrong person.”

*Laughs hysterically.* “Hilarious, impeccable timing.”

“I hadn’t pegged you for the type to fall in love. I was thinking of angles, researching, trying to figure your actions out. But we both lost. You fell in love and I didn’t even think of that being your reason.”

“I don’t understand.” // “Of course you don’t. Your brain’s all drowned in red roses right now.”

“Yes, yes, we get the joke.” // “No, I’m not joking.” // “Well then, you’re an idiot. Or mistaken. Or under a spell.” // “No, I’m not!” // “Yes, you are.” // “If I was, then I wouldn’t still be here arguing after you laughed in my face and just called me an idiot.” // “Exactly, if you weren’t, then I wouldn’t have called you an idiot. You’re not in love with me, you just think you are.” // “Excuse me?” // “You heard me, you’re mistaken, darling.”

“Hehe, thanks. Soo, anyway—” // “Wait, what’s your reply?” // “Huh?” // “I said I love you” // “Oh, yeah, I said thank you. Thanks. Have a good day.” *Turns to leave*

“Aww, sweetheart, no.”

“Aww, sweetheart…no.”

“Aww, sweetheart. No.”

“Cool. Be cooler if someone loved you too.”

“If only there was someone out there who loved you.”

“Aww, I love me too.” *Goes about their day.*

“No, you don’t.” // “What, of course I do.”

“Um. No. You don’t. You’re in love with the idea of me. Pretty normal, don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll find someone. Good luck.”

[Bonus] “No, but I really do.”

[Bonus] *Tears in their eyes* “But…”

Evil Scheme 08

Responses to “I’d die for you”:

“Then perish.”

“Then perish.” They said it with steely blank eyes. No emotion on their face.

“Then die."

"Then die.” And they punched them in the face and walked over their body.

“Then go ahead,” they said, waving their hand dismissively, “You have my permission.”

"…Cool.“ They gave a big smile and walked away.

"You will.” and pushed them off.

Evil Scheme 09

Civilian!Kid keeps showing up to Hero’s and Villain’s fights, heckling Hero/Villain and ends up becoming a thorn in both their sides

Evil Scheme 10

Retired Hero x Retired Villain but the grudge is still going strong…just in retirement so it’s over things like shuffleboard or the local baking competition or something

Evil Scheme 11

Investigative Reporter keeps getting in the way of Detective’s investigation (for a romantic twist: and keeps putting themself in danger)

Evil Scheme 12

Hero and Villain know each others’ identities and try to inconvenience each other as civilians as much as possible

Evil Scheme 13

Klutzy!Villain x Unlucky!Hero

Evil Scheme 14

Mad Scientist x Magic!Hero/Villain

Evil Scheme 15

Mad Scientist x Mad Magician

Evil Scheme 16

Mysterious!Villain x Hero Who Can See Emotions

Evil Scheme 17

Abstract: Hate potions

Scheme Ideas:

Maybe Whumper (Villian/Hero/Civilian/Mayor/Sidekick/Henchman/etc) gives Caretaker a hate potion so they don’t like whumpee anymore. Maybe Whumper gives a hate potion to whumpee. Or (!) Caretaker mistakenly drinks a hate potion and becomes a whumper👀 There are options😈

Evil Scheme 18

Gentle Supervillain x Investigative Reporter

Evil Scheme 19

Sassy!Villain x Adorable!Henchperson

Evil Scheme 20

By-the-Book Detective x Chaotic!Hero

Evil Scheme 21

Vigilante x Pesky!Reporter

Evil Scheme 22

Chosen-One-Hero-Turned-Villain x the powers that chose them

Evil Scheme 23

Evil Scheme 24

Hero knows Villain’s identity. Villain doesn’t know Hero knows.

or

Villain knows Hero’s identity. Hero doesn’t know Villain knows.

Hero’s and Villain’s civilian personas are lovers…but Hero and Villain are nemeses

Evil Scheme 25

Injured hero/villain/sidekick/henchman shows up on Civilian's doorstep...but their whumper isn't far behind them.

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

(Please see the rules and guidelines for more about whump do’s and don'ts for our event😊)

Villaintine’s Day 2024 Ways to Participate

[luveline]

Jade! I’m obsessed with your Zombie au!! I’d love to see something where r uses some survival skills and gets crafty, and Steve being impressed with her problem solving! Hope this inspires you in some way! <3

thank you for your request! steve zombie!au ♥︎ fem!reader 0.9k

"We're lost." 

Steve pokes his cheek with his tongue. He knows you're lost. It is completely unnecessary for you to point out the obvious, and yet. 

"We wouldn't be if–" 

"I didn't take us down the wrong side road," you finish. "I know. Thank you for being so gracious about my mistake. You're always so nice to me, Steve." 

It's not all your fault. Steve is twenty two years old and doesn't know one Indiana road from the other. He couldn't tell you how to get from Hawkins to Indianapolis if you paid him too, and he can't really read maps any better than you can. 

"I think," he says, throwing the map out to get a better look, "we're here." He points to a place just under Columbia City. 

"And we want to cut through until we get to… Churubusco?" 

He nods. He's gonna keep you both off of the highway and back into small towns and residential spaces for a while. You need food and toiletries and some space from one another for sure. 

The issue you and Steve are having currently is a distinct lack of road signs or natural indicators. The sun is moving slowly down in the sky, a sticky yolk-yellow through bright white. It would be less depressing if it were even slightly blue. At least it's finally stopped raining. 

"Does the sun set in the East or the West?" he asks. 

"East. No, West. Uh. Pass." 

"You don't know?" he asks. 

"You don't, either!" You frown down at your shoes as you kick the wet road beneath. "This is what I mean when I say I think you're a secret sexist." 

"I love women," he says defensively. 

"But you don't trust them," you say dramatically, like a heartbroken actress from a transatlantic movie. 

He snorts and shoves the map back into his coat. "Let's go that way," —he points toward the sun— "and hope we don't starve to death, I guess." 

"No, wait, wait. Turn around." 

"Um…" 

"Turn around!" you demand. 

Steve lets you boss him around these days. When you've been the sole company of someone for a full month, you learn to let go of the things that might irk you rather than suffer from constant arguing. And, Steve's decided he's been a little moody and you may not strictly deserve it. But he's not gonna tell you that. 

He turns around and you rummage through his pack. You pull out the first aid kit, and he doesn't bother asking as you click it open. You take out a needle, which is a little worrying. He doesn't care until you're edging it toward him.

"Woah, what the fuck. I thought we were getting along," he protests, flinching backward. 

"I need to rub it against your hair." 

"Right, and when it slips into my eye, we'll call that friendly fire." 

"Steve! I know what I'm doing." 

You might, but you won't enlighten him. You rub the eye of the needle against a piece of his hair pinched taught in your fingers. It goes on for so long he starts to wonder if you're trying to light him on fire, or summon a stroke of lightning to strike him, but then you pull away and look around the road searchingly. You grab a leaf near the edge of the road and walk away from him determined. 

And look, Steve has his inhibitions, but he really doesn't want you to leave him there. Say whatever you want, he doesn't have to explain it to himself and he refuses to, only rushes to follow you and wrap his hand around your backpack strap. 

You stop short and crouch on the floor.

"Hey," he says, concerned, "are you alright?" 

"Come here."

"It's wet." 

"Come on, Harrington, get on your knees." 

The way you say it makes him feel a certain emotion. He blames it on the apocalypse and kneels down. 

You've dropped your leaf on the surface of a shallow puddle. Steve stares as you place the needle on top of the leaf carefully, waiting as the leaf spins in the water. He thinks that the needles weight is pushing it down, until it stops sudden and stays pointing the way you came. You look up at the sky and smile when you find the sun. 

"Okay, sun must set in the west, then." 

"What just happened?" 

"I made a compass." 

Steve looks at your needle. "What?" 

"I made a compass! Your hair magnetised the eye, and it's pointing north because of the Earth's magnetic field. Tada." 

He states at you. His stomach hurts, and his ears are ringing, and you look adorable when you're feeling smug but it's your knowing it in the first place that really gets him. Steve's always had a soft spot for dorks. 

"Nice job, nerd," he says genuinely. 

"Ha! Though I was a dummy?"

"Oh, you are." He stands up and tugs your backpack strap. "Grab your needle, witch, we might need it the next time you fall on your ass." 

"I slipped one time, Steve." 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

more limited cards for book 7??

Ortho has his Cerberus Gear card, Lilia has his Right General card, now Sebek is getting his Eternal Knight card… I’M SENSING A PATTERN HERE 🫣 Dropping every so often with book 7 updates… Plus, these appear to be linked to the player titles you can earn by owning 10 of a particular character’s cards. Ortho’s is Guardian of the Underworld (Cerberus is the guard dog of the Underworld and Lilia’s is Seeker of Cradles (referring to how he found Silver all those years back). The composition of Sebek’s Knight of Lightning invokes imagery of his UM (which we learned last update), and he appears to be wearing the armor of the night fae soldiers and is using a polearm (?), which makes me think he's going to participate in an important battle in the next update. A high definition version of the artwork shows that he seems to be wet from rain, as it’s all over his skin and weapon. You know what else???? We see half of his face... and the other half obscured by a mask... his hair is down (which is only ever down in the mornings when he has just woken up and is still in a more vulnerable kind of state). Is this symbolism for Sebek finally coming to terms with his mixed heritage 😭

Y’all think… Idia, Malleus, and Silver are also going to get limited time cards in relation to future book 7 updates and those player titles??? Ain’t no way they’d only do it for half of the relevant characters in book 7 and leave it unfinished… (Maybe TWST will even get to doing them for the full cast eventually?? Though I don’t know when they’d find the time to squeeze in releases for the rest of the boys 💦) fbdjvwjsnzkww I wonder what they’ll be???

Just to quickly speculate on Malleus, Silver, and/or Idia’s potential cards:

King of the Underworld (Idia) — Idia finally wakes tf up and gets off his ass to contribute to the rescue 😂 Perhaps he reconnects with his family to figure out the situation and goes full mad scientist/hacker mode?? Not sure what the outfit would be but I’m picturing he’s looking deranged and dressed mad cyberpunk-y.

Knight of Dreams (Silver) — This one, I think, is the most easily predicted. Many Silver cards mirror Sebek’s, and since Sebek’s card seems to feature him in the armor of the night fae, Silver’s may feature him in the armor of the Silver Owls. (Maybe Silver will even magically get his blonde hair back for the brief shot of the initial card art www) This may be tied with Silver fully accepting his royal lineage (ie his old family) while also embracing those he has sworn to protect now (his new family). It may or may not also be associated with Silver “waking” Lilia and/or the spell on him finally breaking thanks to Lilia’s true love. I would genuinely be shocked if this guess was wrong or not close—

Ruler of the Abyss (Malleus) — Two thoughts: either this kicks off the series of OB boy cards people have been speculating about for years OR this will kick off the start of the OB boys “fully realized” series, since the other OB boys have similar titles. However, it should be noted that these same titles are also very close to, if not the same as, the book titles (1-7), which may not be as triumphant in context given that they serve as the main antagonists for their respective books. So either we’re getting Malleus Full Crazy Mode or Malleus maturing a bit and finally learning to let his loved ones go. In both cases, I see him dressed up like the prince he is, looking regal and yet lonely.

Do you guys have any ideas??? (They don’t necessarily have to he for Idia, Silver, and/or Malleus! One of my friends suggested merform Jade and Floyd for potential Undersea Advisor and Undersea Marauder cards—) If you do, feel free to share them ^^

[twstinginthewind]

"I usually stick to jazz piano, but I think I can handle playing synesthesia instead!"

Octavinelle's favorite musical himbo has rolled onstage for NRC Music Fest, almost as if by accident. Sometimes being in the wrong place at the right time can be pretty rewarding, after all!

"Go get changed, Ibsen-sempai," groaned Azul, shaking his head. He waved a gloved hand in the direction of his tall upperclassman. "I can't have you representing the Mostro Lounge looking like that."

That was, as Lorne would miserably and uncharacteristically accurately put it, completely coated in the sauce. The caramel sauce that the Mostro employees were using to top off the coffee drinks they were selling at the music festival, specifically. And his dorm uniform was sticky, sweet, and drenched with the stuff. "Understood, housewarden. I'll be back ay-sappy." He gave Azul a pathetic, thankful look, murmured his apologies, and went on his way, leaving little puddles of caramel behind him.

(Vignette continues below the cut! Along with the song he's playing!)

He ducked into a dressing room inside the stadium, not far from where they were set up. Fortunately, there was no one there, and even more fortunate for him, there was a shower in the room. Desperate to deglaze himself, Lorne stepped into the little stall fully-clothed and began to rinse the caramel sauce off of his clothes. It didn't take very long, but he knew that Azul would be upset if he returned sopping wet, too. He wasn't about to test the octopus's patience. But what to change into....?

Wrapped in a towel, he began to look around the room. There wasn't much to choose from, he thought. A rack of costumes left behind by the film studies club were all smaller than what he could wear, and he wasn't about to swipe anyone else's school uniform. But then, he spotted it. The Janitor's closet. He stepped inside, and came back out wearing one of the additional jumpsuits that always seemed to populate these supply areas. A quick materials spell to have the colors complement his dorm outfit, and it was ready to go.

And then the dressing room door slammed open, letting in a few panicking underclassmen that Lorne had never met. "Jimothy's sick?" whined one, flinging himself onto one of the chairs.

"Yup," groaned another, clutching his guitar case like a life raft. "And we go on in twenty minutes. How are we supposed to do this without our keyboard player?"

".... uh, guys? The room's occupied," said the third, wide-eyed and quiet.

Lorne smiled weakly. "Uh, hi. I'm not here to... um. I just needed the shower, and..."

The guitarist looked at him, recognition slowly dawning in his eyes. "Rog, Biff, I think we have a solution. This is that guy who plays piano at Mostro, remember?"

"Kinda." The whiner looked at Lorne skeptically. "So what, Freddy?"

"Yeah, I don't follow, either," Lorne admitted.

Freddy put his guitar case down, and put an overly familiar hand onto Lorne's shoulder. "You can improvise, right, buddy? We need someone on synthesizer, like, immediately, and you're technically trespassing right now, AND, in stolen threads, to boot."

Lorne looked down at the borrowed jumpsuit and rubber boots and swallowed hard. He wished Jade were there, he could be clever and talk him out of this. Or Floyd, who would send these guys flying. But alone, he crumpled like a house of cards, despite that metaphor's appropriation from a different dormitory. Maybe collapsing like a deflated pufferfish? Disappearing like seafoam? He shook his head. "I'm sorry. What are you asking?"

"Will you play with our act, please?" asked the quiet kid, less menacingly than Freddy. "You can even use Jimothy's keyboard. We're kinda desperate."

Lorne blinked. "Oh, you want me to play music? I can do that, easy." He took a look at the offered keytar and slipped the strap over his shoulders. "I usually stick to jazz piano, but I think I can handle playing synesthesia instead!"

"Bro, what?"

"Dude, he said yes. Don't jinx it."

"So!" Lorne tapped out a few chords, suddenly much more cheerful. "What songs are we doing?"