#failed attempt at a creative challenge

[simplyreveries]

hihiii!!! if you haven’t done this already can you do housewardens and a s/o who’s based off of their movies princesses? :3

saw this request and fell in LOVE yes yes

riddle rosehearts

riddle always seems to notice how oh so curious you were- though he feels it would be inevitable when you're in a completely new world. you're always asking and inquiring him and others within the dorm and school wondering all about the great seven, nrc, twisted wonderland itself! to which riddle is quite proud of and content with sharing you about, he has an abundance of knowledge and is more than willing to share.

before your relationship when you first started to get to know him and his headstrong and strict ways — you had definitely surprised him when you stubbornly got upset with him and told him off (especially after the fact he was mean to you for being magicless…). he was taken aback as you had normally been quiet and even polite towards others.

always seems to be curious whenever you're off and seemingly zoned at— you tend to daydream a lot. whenever he tries to study with you, you usually huff and be distracted as you continue. he’ll shake his head and try to tell you that this is important, riddle will continuously make failed attempts at reminding you to do better when he gets distracted himself when he finds himself staring at you off in your own world.

he does enjoy how intelligent and observant you are. you always seem to give him good ideas when he’s troubled with something as dorm leader— and having dorm leader duties. he occasionally will come to you for advice when it comes to celebrations or unbirthday parties and such— he believes you have quite the creative mind as well.

leona kingscholar

when he had originally met you, he was instinctually nicer to you only for the fact he respects you all the more with your more headstrong but sensible self. leona will groan annoyed with you, but he would do basically anything if you asked him to—despite with how lighthearted you seem about something he just knows just how persistent and stubborn you can be. he honestly loves it that you're perfectly okay with challenging him and teasing him, he likes a bit of banter anyways from you.

he doesn't say it but loves it whenever you try to be playful and affectionate with him. he thinks it's cute how bold you are when it comes to kissing him or hugging him. he’ll have some stupid smirk on his face and tell you you’ve got some guts doing that to him all the time and every single time you have some retort for him.

you tend to push him (force him with a look) to be more active with his own dorm leader duties… not skipping classes to sleep… not putting effort into stuff he isn't interested in despite being in fact really talented. he’ll ask you if you'll only reward him with your affection if he does, it's what he thinks he deserves.

azul ashengrotto

you're always so eager and excited learning about twisted wonderland — he finds it so amusing as you're constantly pestering and asking him what things mean or what something was. what's funny though is that he’s still learning a lot still about life on land too. he is flattered that you seem just as curious about life in the ocean for him, though there are… more difficult memories he has dealt with there in his childhood, he still will share to you whatever you want to know.

azul only finds your curiosity of this whole world to be rather cute. as you're always trying to do things for keepsake, taking many pictures with your ghost camera anytime and anywhere or collect souvenirs and trinkets of places. he seemed confused as to why you had some plants in your room at ramshackle and you only laughed and said you found them interesting...! also, he would totally feel a twinge of pride and ego boost when you compliment his coin collection and seem amazed by it.

okay never mind what he tried to trick you for in chapter 3 but he clearly, he can see how gullible you can be and often seems stressed when he sees how sometimes other students try to take advantage of that. he swiftly approaches by your side and manages to have the poor student a nervous wreck around him for the reputation he holds for what he can do with those twins.

he is swooning anytime he hears you singing and humming to yourself, especially whenever you're doing shifts and working around the mostro lounge. you'll find him in his tired and more clingy moments of him asking you to simply just hum a melody he likes when he's lying next to you, he could simply listen to your voice all day.

kalim al asim

kalim loves your adventurous spirit, he will always be happy to bring you along on some carpet ride whenever you seem saddened because he knows all the sites of the desert at night can be so pretty. sometimes you two may get yourselves into little mishaps and trouble around school and campus but he’s never fazed by it, he loves it actually. he also tells you many times though, that he plans on bring you to his homelands so you can meet his family but also to show you around and go through the streets!

as you're someone who's really confrontational and no-nonsense kind of person— whenever you're dealing with some troublesome student, he's surprised but quickly turns to a happy support when you tell someone off. you’ll have kalim be like “yeah you tell them!!” right beside you just watching it unfold alskdjfjs. the first time he saw even a glimpse of that fiery attitude you hold inside was during the events of chapter 4 and you got into Jamil’s face got trying to manipulate you with his magic and sending you to the ends of the desert…! wow he was surprised but wow was he in love.

much alike you kalim as undoubtedly lived a sheltered life with his family during his youth in- he wants to explore and try new things with you all the time. he's practically dragging you out the door every day.

vil schoenheit

he didn't completely understand as to why you're always so chipper and happy. even before you two got into a relationship when he was staying at ramshackle with the others for the vdc training and saw the conditions of the place- yet you were so content with your situation. he’d find you doing your own thing getting work and cleaning down to keep yourself busy or go about helping the others as their “unofficial official manager”. you seemed to find the positives and happiness for anything that happened to you.

vil did grow fond of your voice and wanted to hear it more— he even wondered as to why you didn't try out for it yourself, as he believed you were blossoming with potential. he usually would catch you doing quite often and even helping the others prepare for the contest like epel, sing. he couldn't help but only grow intrigued with you as he heard you using your voice commonly.

your softness around him and others really brings out his more loving side— he can't help but almost feel more protective of you as well. he tries to remind and advise you to be more careful around the students here… he happens to be quite worried of your kindness being used to the advantage of troublesome students here. nevertheless, he’ll softly smile, carefully fix your uniform and tell you “tsk… don't you worry, dear.” if anything of that sorts even attempts to happen.

idia shroud

you're the straightforward and blunt one in contrast to his quiet and unconfrontational self. it's the perfect combination you guys are literally the epitome of “he asked for no pickles” BYE. any interaction idia had with you at first had him flustered and stumbling for his words— not only that but he was completely enthralled by you as well. double hit. idia had even believed that you were someone that was really out of his league and had no idea on how to even begin approaching someone such as yourself.

though you two are a like, you two aren't only in a relationship but you guys are literally each other's best friends as well. you are, whether you admit it or not, seem to be a bit lonely like him. its fine though because you get an extra friend when you start dating him, ortho!! duh… he will immediately accept you as his new sibling the minute he sees idia actually being genuinely giddy and happy around you.

despite how difficult he felt to even attempt to pursue someone like you… being someone like him. he only felt more of a sense of persistence and even infatuation when you tend to be abrasive and untrusting to others (i need to unlock their backstory hihihi) it made him feel too stubborn to give up the idea. not like he could've gotten you out his head anyways.

malleus draconia

malleus has the biggest soft spot for you and its incredibly obvious. he always tells you himself, he’d chuckle and tell you that you remind him of the princess in the tale that cursed into years of slumber. he finds your daydream-y disposition so endearing and usually instead of saying anything about it he silently watches you with a loving gaze of adornment.

he does have a protective streak over you, he can’t help but feel that way. he always seems to be worried about you in some way. he doesn't really talk about his concerns unless its lilia asking him what the troubled expression is for. he sometimes grows fearful of a human such as yourself from another world and being too gentle and kind to the others around you. i mean, just look at how sweet and accepting of himself when you first met him. you had no idea who he really was— a prince and the 5th strongest magic user in the world. yet, he couldn't help but feel like that personality is what made him fall for you even more.

he sometimes thinks you are like silver, as you sometimes have your own moments of tiredness and exhaustion fall on you. he finds it endearing and will make sure he is someone you're able to lean on when seemingly tired. he’ll gentle put his hand on the side of your head and guide it to lay against him.

[aziraphales-library]

hi <3 do you have any recs for long multichap fics that are NOT slow burns? thank so much!

Hello! There are not enough fics tagged "fast burn" so I also did a search for "established relationship". Enjoy...

its duty is to harm me, my duty is to know by natalunasans (T)

the title is from a cohen song about death, & also applies to life... whether in london or in tadfield; together, alone, or in (usually good) company; the ineffable partners talk out their fears, try to figure out what they are and what to do with themselves, now that they're not working for heaven and hell anymore. domestic softness > action, but there is some plot and angst (off and on)

Don't Drag Me Down by rowenablade (M)

Armageddon didn't happen, Heaven and Hell have agreed to leave them alone, and Aziraphale and Crowley are free to build a life together. But the forces of Hell aren't happy with losing, and even if they can't directly harm their wayward demon, they can try to drive a wedge between him and the angel that he loves. After all, Crowley had been encouraging them for centuries to get creative.

The Starting Hinge by lucky_spike (T)

When a rare book collector is mysteriously killed, DI Barnaby and DS Winter are on the case. Meanwhile, the question of what will become of the victim's extensive library stirs a small group of rare books collectors into a furor. Who can be trusted? - This is predominantly a Good Omens fanfic with some Midsomer Murders thrown in just because I could do it and I wanted to. Contains death of an OC and (obvs) murder and attempts thereof. Nothing gory, though, so party on.

Great Omens (The Big One) by falsepremise (M)

A narrative of certain events leading up to The Big One, in strict accordance, as shall be shown, with the nice and accurate prophesies of Agnes Nutter, witch. A Good Omens sequel, set thirty years in the future...   Thirty years after a failed Armageddon we must face The Big One, as Heaven and Hell, working together, enact a plan to fix the world or destroy it forever. Meanwhile, Aziraphale and Crowley discover that truly being on their own side has more implications than they’d ever have guessed. Changes to the basic metaphysics of the universe. A second book of prophesies. Mysterious twins on a mission. Hijinks and shenanigans. Deep questions, laughs, ridiculous banter and sexy stuff. Welcome to my attempt at an epic Good Omens sequel.

Considerate Omens by OneofWebs (M)

Crowley is plagued by dreams of a life he lived long before time had even begun. It's two years after the Apocalypse-That-Didn't, and though he's got a healthy bit of fear of what may come next, choosing to ignore these dreams seems a much better use of his time. In those two years, Aziraphale had moved into his flat, and they may or may not be dating. They don't talk about it, but they do get along just fine with their play-pretend routine, which proves a bit rickety when neither of them age. To avoid suspicion, Aziraphale thinks it wise that he spend some time presenting as a woman. This, a catalyst to the end Crowley had feared before, because it's hard to resist the idea of children when the opportunity presents itself. - [The Continuation of Good Omens]

Bleating Hearts by HKBlack (E)

Meet Doctor Aziraphale Fell, university lecturer of English Literature, Shakespearian expert, and man with an unexpected goat in his office. When the handsome herder who comes to catch the unruly visitor asks some pointed questions, Aziraphale finds his life suddenly turned upside down and filled with both new challenges and opportunities. But is Crowley all that he says he is? And even if he isn’t–does it really matter when he’s clearly a piece of the puzzle missing in Aziraphale’s life? Trip on over to Devil Doe’s Dairy and Goat Scaping Farm, where the cheese is always smooth, the goats climb roofs, and true love might just be around the corner.

- Mod D

[wonbriiize]

hii !! i luv ur works sm, so i was wondering if i could request a ot7 (i think thats it, with like the individual members ? ) about a reader who has curly hair. but tysm for reading my request !

riize with reader who has curly hair

note; thank you sm <3 this was a bit challenging to write as i didn‘t really know how to approach this, but i hope u still like it !!

⊹₊˚✩ ₊˚⊹

✶ shotaro

learns all about curly hair; takes the initiative to educate himself about curly hair techniques, products and routines to better understand and support your hair needs. he knows how complex curls can be so he does all that to help you feel less stressed about them. will always tell you something new he learned about curls (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

✶ eunseok

regularly compliments your curly hair; expresses appreciation for its natural beauty and uniqueness, tells you to not straighten your hair too much because you’re only going to damage it and your curly hair is what makes you you. encourages you to to embrace your natural hair. never fails to make you feel good about your curls ʕ•ᴥ•ʔﾉ♡

✶ sungchan

bedtime hair routine; helps you with your nighttime hair routine, gently detangles your curls and helps you brush them. softly massages your head after you’ve done the routine because now he wants you to relax and enjoy being in each others presence. also gifts you curly hair products so it’s easier for you to do your routine (∗˃̶ ᵕ ˂̶∗)

✶ wonbin

helps you style your hair; whether it’s helping to detangle, applying products, or even learning how to create simple hairstyles. tells you which hairstyle would go best with your outfit. he also lets you style his hair and sometimes asks you to braid it (if it’s long enough) so he can have wavy hair to match with your beautiful curls ^•ﻌ•^ฅ♡

✶ seunghan

surprises you by doodling characters with curly hair on love letters; sometimes he even attempts to draw you with your beautiful curly hair. he also leaves little notes around the house, each expressing his adoration for your curly hair in creative and heartfelt ways ♡･ᴗ･`♡

✶ sohee

curly hair themed cooking night; you have a cooking night at home, where you prepare curly-themed dishes together such as pasta with curly noodles or curly fries, while playfully comparing your culinary creations to your curls. the night ends with the two of you watching a movie with a protagonist that has curly hair as well ૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა

✶ anton

a curly hair scavenger hunt; he organizes a scavenger hunt around your city, with clues leading to places that hold special memories for you. at each shop, he leaves a small curly hair related gift or compliment for you, adding an extra layer of sweetness to the adventure ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

[prettyflyshyguy]

I will probably disappoint you one day.

Here's my full piece for S1M* - produced by UFOSHOCK.

I knew I wanted to focus on digital identities, the internet, and disconnection. I went through a fair bit of back and forth and failed ideas, and almost pulled out of being involved with this project until late one night, at like 3am I scribbled a sketch in pencil hastily in my sketchbook in a last ditch attempt at conjuring up a composition I liked and when I woke up the next day I went "Holy shit, this is it."

I'm glad I pushed through. I want to make a short video talking about the creative process behind this piece, the challenges, and some of the inspiration. The quote in the dialog box comes from the vtuber Juniper Actias during a candid livestream. I'll go into this more in the video.

Overall I'm really proud of what I achieved with this piece. Think it marks a big step up in my illustration.

[minnielvrr]

hi💓 i saw that you wanted a scenario. maybe a challenge, or a competition, with lee skz ler skz, the one who can hold on the longest while being tickled, will win. like BTS did in this video👇🏻 https://youtu.be/IWD-9hUnLAI?si=KQoDCVywyIagiu9R

i hope you like it🎀

Composure

Lees: Skz Lers: Skz Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: Hii~ Thank you for the request and I'm so sorry it took this long 😖 I honestly have no idea how I ended up writing so much 😅 I hope you guys like it! (hope it's not too long🥺)

Skz were filming a special episode, a little gift for Stays on their birthday. The staff had proposed a challenge of composure, where each member would go through a series of different challenges to see who in Skz had the best composure.

It seemed like an easy win for elegant Felix or Chan at first…but the chick didn’t feel as certain when the first game was announced.

“Each player will take a sip of water and try to hold it for as long as they can while the other members tickle them. You can only use the tools you’ve been given and be creative. Everyone will get 1 chance each. Good luck!” The staff giggled as they announced the final rule: “Only 4 members can tickle the player at a time to keep it fair.”

Everyone got flustered at that. Were they all so ticklish that only four were allowed? The rosy tints on the member’s faces only made the staff laugh harder at them. They played a round of rock, paper, scissors to decide the order.

Chan:

Chan giggled at the excited faces of his kids. Minho and Han were cracking their knuckles in a cute attempt at intimidation.

Seungmin drew a line across his neck as he looked at the leader with unfiltered glee. And oh boy, Chan was so in for it.

He sat down, suddenly acutely aware of every inch of skin that was exposed from the outfit he was given.

“Jacket off, hyung!” The kids called as Chan took a seat in the center. He already felt vulnerable, like he was surrounded by a pack of hungry hyenas.

Chan slowly took his jacket off, stalling as much as he could. That wasn’t such a smart idea though, as the kids only grew more feral the longer he took.

A sneaky hand wiggled down the cut in the back of his shirt and Chan squealed, jumping out of the chair with a shiver.

“Yah that’s cheating!” He spun around to face a giggly Minho who hopped away when Chan reached for his sides. “Just wait till it’s your turn you little menace.”

“You’re not exactly in a position to threaten me right now hyung,” Minho waggled his eyebrows at him, fingers wiggling in his direction.

Channie blushed, trying to keep still when he could swear that those stupid motions set his nerves on fire.

As soon as Chan had taken his sip of water, the kids dived in. A second later the timer started. Felix, Minho, Changbin and Hyunjin were chosen to tickle him and boy oh boy was it bad.

So what the staff had failed to specify was if the other three could help and Seungmin being the smarty pants he was, urged Han and Jeongin to each grab one of the leader’s arms and hold them away.

Chan almost spat his water when his arms were ripped away from where they were glued to his sides. Staring wide eyed at a smirking Seungmin for only a moment before the tickles overtook his body.

The four tickling him cheered at the newly exposed spots and fingers quickly wiggled into Channie’s most sensitive spots.

Minho went straight for his armpits hollering, “One shot one kill,” as he dug into the center with his thumbs, vibrating the fingers in.

Poor Chan squeezed his eyes shut, his back arching off the chair as muffled laughter escaped his throat.

Then Hyunjin and Changbin went for his sides, pressing their fingers in through the tattered edges of his crop top.

And just to add the cherry on top, Felix grabbed at his thighs, squeezing the solid flesh in a way that just shouldn’t feel so damn ticklish.

Channie’s breath hitched in his throat, his lips curling as he tried to hold back. But when Changbin leaned down to blow a raspberry, he gave in, squirting the water straight in poor Lixie’s face.

The chick squawked in surprise, scrambling away, sputtering and begging for a tissue. Chan giggled, both at the younger’s adorable reaction and Minho’s hand that still hadn’t left his pits.

He pushed them away, this time successfully managing to land a poke at the kitten’s side.

“46 seconds….” The staff announced, looking amazed. Chan himself was stunned that he’d lasted that long. He passed on round two when Minho tried to sit him back on the chair.

“Seungmin’s next!!” The puppy shifted his weight nervously, putting on a brave face when Han and Jeongin brought their faces close, looking cocky af. “Are you ready? Are you Seungminie?”

Seungmin:

“Time for revenge puppy.” Chan called, eyes glinting with an excitement that had Seungmin gulping nervously, trying to muster his bravado. He planned to spit the water out the moment the timer started. “Whatever old man.”

“Oh you are SO getting it for that.” Chan fake glared at him, imitating Seungmin by drawing a line across his throat. The puppy just poked his tongue out mockingly at him.

“We’re gonna absolutely wreck you pup. Aren’t you excited?” Minho taunted, a challenging expression on his face that Seungmin met head on.

“Do your worst, grandpa.” He retorted, but the slight quiver in his voice betrayed his nerves. Minho levelled him with a death glare that Seungmin couldn’t help but grin at despite the looming consequences.

“You have to last at least 10 seconds, or you’ll have to go a second time for a minute with everyone.” The staff couldn’t have announced this at a worse time.

Seungmin stared blanky at them for a moment before his attention snapped back to the blatantly over excited faces of his hyungs and maknae.

Maybe it wasn’t his finest idea to taunt and tease them earlier. “W-wait, hyungs, Innie! I’m sohorry— please go easy on me?”

He gave them his best puppy eyes just to be met with scoffs and smirks. Felix pushed him into the chair, presenting the cup of water with impatient eyes.

“We’ll go soooo easy on you Seungminie, don’t you worry about a thing~” Han crooned from somewhere behind him, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sighing, Minnie took a slow sip of water, accepting his fate.

“Get ready to laugh for us babyy~” As expected Chan, Han, Felix and Minho volunteered to tickle him, while Binnie and Innie caught his hands and held them away.

When the timer started, Han went straight for Seungmin’s stomach, determined to make the younger lose. Chan and Felix went for his sides and Minho clasped his hands over the puppy’s thighs, just above his knees and squeezed.

Seungmin made a strangely warbled noise, throwing his head back and clenching his eyes shut.

But that only exposed another weak spot to Chan, who scribbled eagerly at the sides of his neck, laughing when the puppy hurried to scrunch his shoulders.

Hyunjin and Felix cackled at the pup’s predicament, loving how his eyes glared even as his body writhed from the hands toying with his worst spots.

“What’s wrong Minnie? Why aren’t you laughing for us pup? Are we not tickling you enough?” Oh, Han was evil, taunting Seungmin, who for once couldn’t say anything back.

The quokka squeezed Minnie’s side with one hand, using the other to simultaneously wiggle a finger in his navel.

Seungmin gave up immediately, spraying a targeted stream of water at Minho who gasped and froze in shock at his spot near the pup’s thighs.

Seungmin was busy laughing his head off, almost toppling off his chair at the force of his laughter.

Then rough hands were dragging him to the floor and he found a furious Minho looming over him.

He could barely get a word out to plead his case when a finger was pressed right back into his navel and a thumb dug into his upper ribs.

Seungmin howled with laughter, two of his worst spots being exploited at the same time. “Are you having fun now pup? I’m certainly enjoying this.”

“STAHA-STAHAHAP!! MINHO HYUNG PLEAHEHEASE,” but nothing he said could save him from the older’s wrath.

The others watched fondly at the pair as Minho wrecked the puppy with a straight face and twinkling boba eyes.

Seungmin squirmed and kicked his feet and screamed when Minho bent down to press a raspberry on his lower stomach, bucking up with a hysterical shriek just to come crashing back down again.

“SOHO—SOHOHORRY, I’M SORRY!! HYUNG PLEHEHEASE!” But Minho’s hands on him remained merciless.

Finally, the leader took pity on the ticklish pup and pulled Minho off him. Seungmin panted loudly, lying star fished on the floor until his breathing evened out, tears slipping down the sides of his face.

He vaguely heard the staff calling out ‘17 seconds’ and smiled in relief. He didn’t think he could take a round two after how hard he’d just been wrecked.

Hyunjin felt a chill run down his spine when their collective attention slowly diverted to their new target. This game seemed like it was designed to make him suffer.

Hyunjin:

It was going to be so easy. All it ever took were a few well-placed fingers to get the ferret to surrender. With how ticklish Hyunjin was, this was hardly a fair game.

“You got me real good didn’t you Jinnie?” Chan’s voice promised nothing good.

“Cha-Channie hyung, it’s just a game, there’s no need for revenge…” The leader smiled devilishly at that.

“Yes Jinnie, it’s all in good. fun.” The menacing tone underlying those words pretty much sealed his fate.

Felix, Seungmin, Chan and Changbin stepped forward and Hyunjin shuddered.

The timer sounded and with it began his torture. “Hold him still Innie, Hannie. I got an idea.”

Chan whispered something in Changbin’s ear and with a smirk, the dwaekki hopped over to close his hands over Hyunjin’s eyes.

Great, now he would have to deal with everything feeling ten times worse. That was just what he needed.

He was so caught up in his head when a sudden scratchy sensation began at his ribs that he very nearly shrieked.

It took everything he had to keep his lips sealed when the strange sensation only grew more insistent and started to tickle him insanely bad.

Chan wielded the backscratchers with practiced ease, digging it lightly into Jinnie’s ribs while Felix scribbled lightly at his sides. Seungmin brushed his fingers along Hyunjin’s neck and Changbin blew in his ears.

“Guys aim for his worst spots, let’s make him lose!” Seungmin chirped from the audience. “Yeah then we can all get him back in round 2!!” Han finished excitedly.

Hyunjin tried to wrench himself free from the offending touches but the hands restraining him held fast. He could barely even move around in his chair, let alone anywhere out of it.

Hyunjin wanted to hide his face. He knew he looked funny with the pained expression he probably had on, so he tugged furiously at his arms…but it didn't so much as budge.

He let out a high pitched whine, his body contorting into the strangest positions, almost making it look like he was possessed.

That earned hysterical laughter from Felix and Han, who almost let go of Hyunjin’s arm. As expected, the sensitive ferret couldn’t take much.

When one final pair grabbed at his thighs, Hyunjin gave in, spewing the water out in a warm, albeit gross stream…..straight at Chan.

The leader scrambled away with a screech as everyone laughed after him.

“Oooh 8 seconds Jinnie. So close….well you know what this means hm?” Minho’s teasing voice sent shivers down his spine. Why couldn’t he have held on for 2 more seconds?!

The poor ferret couldn’t even process what he heard, too dazed from trying to hold back his laughter even when it had tickled so bad.

Unfortunately for him, everyone else heard the announcement loud and clear. 8 seconds. So close and yet so far away. He looked pleadingly at the rest.

“It’s just two seconds! You don’t have to do this…” He tried to talk his way out of it, changing tactics when no one seemed to buy it.

“This isn’t fair! You guys cheated. You went for a death spot, what was I supposed to do?!” Hyunjin complained, a bratty tone to his voice.

“Aww, it's not our fault you’re so ticklish. Every spot is a death spot for you~” Felix teased, confirming with the staff that Hyunjin wouldn’t need to use water for this round.

The artist was promptly pulled to the floor by Seungmin, blabbing on and on about how hard he was going to wreck him.

Nervous giggles bubbled up in Hyunjin’s throat but there was no running from them. Innie’s eyes glinted with malice as he watched the older get pinned down.

“Wait! Wait! I didn’t have enough time to prepare!”

“Nuh uh, no waiting.” Minho cut off his weak protests and the seven took their places around Hyunjin, Minho sitting on his hands, Lix straddling his hips and Han sitting on his calves.

Hyunjin couldn’t move a single limb as the quokka slipped his shoes off and Lix pushed his shirt up all the way to his chest, leaving his tummy and sides gloriously bare and just waiting to be tormented.

“Pl-please be nice,” the ferret begged as a last resort, flinching when a single finger swiped up the length of his socked sole.

The moment those awful, mean hands reached his stomach, Hyunjin bucked up, his own hands trying to move to protect the weak spot but Minho’s weight held them tight.

Giggles and laughter bubbled up in his chest, the artist’s face turning pink at the relentless sensation. It was a somewhat new spot for him.

Despite being in plain sight, he wasn’t tickled there as often but it already seemed like it was going to be one of his bad spots.

“Ahahahaha, Lihixie nohoho…” He giggled cutely up at the ball of sunshine.

His attention was diverted when Hannie began scribbling up and down his feet, randomly digging in to hear the ferret squeal loudly.

“Ahah! HANNIE FAHAHAHA- NOT THERE!! PLEHEHEASE I CAHAN’T TAKE IT GODS! ” The poor artist sounded so winded, overcome by a fit of laughter as his worst spot was exploited freely.

Then Seungmin, Felix and Chan aimed at his torso, their hands all varying in technique and roughness, making Hyunjin feel light headed.

Binnie and Lix each grabbed at his thighs, squeezing and scribbling the life out of them and the artist screamed.

“NAHAHAHAHA, nohohot there! I gihive, I give!” he shrieked, desperately writhing in their grasp.

Hysterical cackles and shrieks were the only sound Hyunjin seemed able to produce in his place, somehow managing to make it to the 1 minute mark without dying.

Although in all honesty he knew that everyone had switched to softer tickles midway, not wanting to overwhelm him.

Hyunjin felt like a mess when they let him go. He was pretty certain he looked the part too, with his clothes ruffled beyond help and hair tousled crazily.

But he knew the undeniable smile and tears of mirth streaking his face would be something Stay would like so he let it go.

Han:

“Your turn Hannie~ Get ready for death!” Felix declared with a clap, leading the jittery quokka to the dreaded chair.

Of course. He had helped in wrecking everyone else before him. Karma really was a bitch. He broke free from Lix, only to be cornered by the maknae who reached over to grab at his side.

“Ah NO! You cahahan’t do thihis to mee!!” He protested feebly, trying to back away from Jeongin.

A strong arm around his waist, however, sat him easily back on the chair.

When had their little baby bread gotten so strong? The cup of water was thrust in his face and Hannie shakily took a sip.

This time Jeongin was going to keep Hannie’s hands occupied while 2racha and Seungmin stepped up, armed with feathers and 3 backscratchers.

“We’re gonna wreck you Hannie~” Chan teased, his characteristic dimpled smile blooming on his face when Han giggled sweetly up at him. He pretended to melt off the chair, dramatically reaching a hand out to an amused Minho.

But for all his enthusiastic demeanor, all he got was a soft caress over his sides. It still tickled but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy the mood he’d gotten just from watching Channie, Seungminie and Jinnie get tickled.

He whined, sounding distressed and Minho couldn’t help but pinch his cheeks. “Fine fine, we’ll do it for real this time.”

His words heralded chaos. Hands flitted everywhere that Hannie could imagine and it took everything in him to not burst out laughing that instant.

He didn’t want this to end just when it had gotten good! So he sat there squirming, with Innie holding his arms over and behind his head.

Hands attached to Han’s sides, another pair coming up to dig into the hollows of his armpits and Han shot up in his chair. He twisted and squirmed fruitlessly in Innie’s grip but there was no escape.

Muffled giggles flowed like a melody from his closed lips and Hannie’s cheeks puffed up, making him look more like a squirrel than ever.

The two eldest couldn’t help but coo at the adorable sight, even while Han was fighting for his life on that chair.

Then the fingers were replaced with the feathers and backscratchers, Binnie twirling and flicking at his sensitive neck and ears and cheeks, cackling away when Hannie let out frantic but subdued laughter.

Minho and Chan scraped at his thighs, sides, tummy and ribs with the tools. Basically any place they could reach at, switching between spots so fast, the poor lee malfunctioned.

His thighs were a death spot and the fact that his skin tight jeans allowed for the tools to glide easily all over the ticklish flesh only amplified the sensation that much more.

Minho leaned forwards, his breath ghosting over the quokka’s ear, making him shiver with how even that felt unbearable. “C’mon, you can last 30 seconds right Han-ah?” Lino asked hopefully.

But all the ace could do was shake his head and chant “I can’t, I can’t’ over and over in his mind, hoping that the words he couldn’t speak would somehow be conveyed to them.

So he did the next best thing, twisting away, muffled protests and pleas falling from his lips until Minho’s voice had him pausing every thought.

“I’ll tickle you so well when we get back if you get to 30 seconds,” he promised, pulling away to grin at the flustered baby. Hannie huffed through his nose but nodded slightly.

He didn’t know how he managed it but Hannie squirmed and thrashed and giggled his way through half a minute of this relentless torment.

But eventually, a sudden attack on his waist made him spray the water out. “Good boy.”

The kitten patted his head and rubbed his back as he heaved for breath, folded over the chair while his brain kept replaying the dizzying series of events that had just taken place.

He was going to get wrecked later…. Minho was going to tickle him to his heart’s content, and as much as Hannie wanted and in any way he wanted.

It was safe to say that Han.exe stopped working for a couple minutes till his brain processed that information.

And then the brightest of smiles lightened up his face, lips curving into the beautiful heart shape the members simply adored.

Next in line was a certain tsundere kitten, who glared pointedly at Hyunjin, daring him to so much as take a step in his direction.

Chan swatted at him for that, plopping him down on the chair and scolding him playfully to get ready. Minho was determined ot not give them the satisfaction of seeing him so much as cracking a smile.

Minho:

The moment the time started, the Aussie duo and Han lunged for him. With Binnie and Innie holding his arms away, Minho felt helpless.

Channie’s fingers danced all over his upper body and thighs, squeezing, scribbling, kneading and jabbing at random spots to have poor Lino squirming and kicking in his seat. His resolve crumbled almost immediately; tickles were his Achilles heel. The one thing he couldn’t stand.

“So cute~” Chan cooed, watching with growing amusement at how flustered the younger was.

He almost toppled over from all his thrashing, little squeaks and whines escaping, much to his horror.

Minho was mortally embarrassed.

All his frantic thrashing was being recorded. He just knew they weren’t going to let him live this down.

“So shy aren’t you little baby? You try to act so nonchalant, but you’re just a soft, ticklish little kitten, aren’t you?” Chan’s relentless teases had Minho’s brain short circuiting.

Even innocent Hannie and Minnie were affected, blushing red, even as their fingers still continued to run all over the older’s sensitive torso.

Chan laughed, delighted by the reaction he got. “Guys aim for his sides; he can’t take it there!”

The announcement had poor Lino is shambles. His shirt and hair were a mess and tears welled up at the corners of his squinted eyes.

More and more hands joined in at his waist, sides and tummy. Han pinched gently at his waist while Felix clawed at his belly.

At this point Minho wasn’t sure he could tell up from down, trying his best to keep in his desperate laughter. His ears shone crimson, little whimpers and held back giggles escaping now and then.

That was when Felix whipped out a backscratcher, teasingly waving it in the older’s face before moving it down and dragging it all over Minho’s thighs.

If he didn’t want to win this stupid competition, Minho knew he’d be screaming and begging now.

His thighs were a death spot and the fact that his skin tight jeans allowed for it to basically glide easily all over the ticklish flesh only amplified the sensation that much more.

For everything he handed out, Minho simply couldn’t take it.

Counting down to ten in his head, his mind just barely holding onto the numbers, he loudly gulped down the water.

Laughter rang throughout the room until he reigned in his reactions enough to yelp out a giggly, “STAHAHAP!!”

The hands lingered for a few more seconds before lifting off his now hypersensitive body, Chan offering him some water that he grudgingly accepted.

There was a smug murmur of how he couldn’t take what he dished out, Minho blushing furiously as he glared at Han, the squirrel withering away with a giggly apology.

“30 seconds!” The staff called and Minho wasn’t certain if that was right, it had felt like an eternity. He had no idea how he’d lasted so long without laughing.

Innie was next. The cute maknae, inched away from everyone until he was dragged back to the torture chair by a laughing Felix.

“Hyunjin and I will go! He’s too ticklish to handle four of us anyway.” Seungmin snickered at the red faced maknae, who threw him a dirty look for that last remark. Oh no. These two were merciless lers….. And so, it began.

Jeongin:

“Aww, always so ticklish, aren’t you little one? Does this tickle? How about here? It’s really too bad you’re going to have to take this hmm?”

Seungmin’s gloved hands were at his sides, drilling into the toned muscles with precise, torturous presses, making Innie buck up in his seat. The teases felt way worse than the tickling itself.

Jeongin really wanted the ground to swallow his whole right now. He just knew his face was so red right now.

However, he had little time to linger on his embarrassment when Hyunjin’s nails dragged over the taut skin of his collarbones, skittering left and right then up and down.

Innie threw his head back, shoes skidding and squeaking on the white floor, leaving dark marks all over. But he couldn’t care less about that.

Seungmin’s hands snuck under his shirt, running along his bare ribs and sides, lazily tracing the spots as if he had all the time in the world.

Oh that little demon puppy knew exactly how to get him. Innie shook his head, eyes shut tight as he tried his best to hold on just a little longer.

The moment he counted down from 10, Innie spewed the water all over a flabbergasted pup who pressed his fingers in in revenge, vibrating them to hear Jeongin howl with laughter.

Innie just barely managed to push him away with his weakened arms, dashing away and slumping in Hyunjin’s hold.

The older was more than happy to cuddle him. “12 seconds!” Innie sighed in relief, he’d just barely passed.

Changbin, cleared his throat loudly, eyes flitting about nervously when everyone turned to him. “Actually…I think I left the stove on. I’ll be right back!”

He tried to make a dash for the door but Chan and Innie were quicker, tackling the squirming rapper to the floor and tickling him to bits there.

“You thought you’d get away that easily after wrecking us all? Nuh uh hyung.”

Binnie squealed and pleaded, wriggling around on the floor when Chan held him down and Innie squeezed at his sides.

They let him go when the staff gestured at them, laughing at their antics.

Changbin:

Changbin sat down with a smile he didn’t care to suppress, taking a sip of water slowly at Hyunjin’s knowing look. Han and Chan volunteered to keep his arms away.

Hyunjin, Chan, Felix and Minho eagerly claimed their spots, circling Binnie like sharks. Then the timer started.

Felix targeted Binnie’s ribs with relentless pokes, Minho focusing on light, teasing strokes under his arms.

Chan and Hyunjin alternated between squeezing his knees and scribbling on his neck, leaving the poor rapper in stitches. He felt so helpless and exposed like this, with Innie and Han holding his weakened arms away.

“Is this bad Binnie? Oh, are you trying to say something?” Chan called in a sing song voice, fingers tracing all over his sensitive neck and broad shoulders.

“What! You can’t take this? That’s really too bad, isn’t it?” Hyunjin mocked from his spot at Binnie’s legs. They were ruthless.

Even the ones on the sidelines, were throwing teases and taunts his way. Felix’s fingers hovered over his torso, quickly moving over spots but not touching him yet.

And just when Changbin had thought he’d be able to handle this much… Minho and Hyunjin grabbed feathers and paintbrushes.

The artist skillfully ran the paintbrush over his upper ribs, twisting and curling the soft hair around the ridges and crevices of Binnie’s bulky body. Binnie squeaked, a cute sound that had everyone cooing at him.

He was about to explode from the sensations when Minho sunk his fingers into the pudge of his tummy.

He shut his eyes tight, shaking his head side to side but nothing he did seemed to alleviate the tingles running up his spine.

And then Felix started with the feathers, tracing them over his neck and setting every nerve it went over, tingling like a live wire.

Binnie’s body lurched to the side, away from them, his arm wrenching free from Han’s grip and clamping tightly to his side.

Giggly words sounded vaguely from his vocal cords but no matter which way he turned, the feathers and paintbrushes followed him.

And just to make it worse, Hyunjin added his fingers to the mix, digging and clawing at his sides.

The rapper gave in, spurting water everywhere as he hopped out of his seat and ran a safe distance away from the duo, folding over and rubbing at his hyper charged skin.

Residual giggles bubbled from his lips and Felix couldn’t resist sneaking behind the dwaekki and stuffing his hands up Binnie’s pits.

Changbin yelped out a laugh, once again hopping away from the smug Aussie. ”Hyung’s just like a bunny~ Aren’t you hyungie?” He teased fondly.

His timing came upto 15 seconds and Binnie’s face felt like it was on fire when everyone started to taunt him for it.

And for the final contestant… Felix couldn’t deny that anxiety had been simmering in his belly.

Felix:

“You really had a lot of fun with us…..didn’t you Lix?” Hyunjin scribbled his nails under the chick’s chin, watching adoringly when it made the younger smile brightly.

“You guys liked it~” He teased lightly, yelping when that earned him a jab to the side from a flustered Changbin.

“Aww feeling shy hyungie? You looked so cute when you were squirming around earlier. Hannie too, being all squeaky and adorable. You wanted more didn’t you, ticklish baby?”

His deep voice and the teasing lilt to it were a deadly combination. Binnie and Hannie didn’t stand a chance, the tips of their ears bleeding crimson.

“Drink.” Seungmin ordered stiffly, shoving the water in Lixie’s face before he could get everyone else. “You’re so cute puppy. Don’t worry, stays know allll about your little ‘secret’,” he taunted, laughing when Seungmin sputtered at his words.

Having had his fun, Lix took a big sip of the water, leaning back and holding his arms out without a care in the world. He knew he’d get the tickles he’d been craving all day.

Being the last had really riled up his lee mood and now he was willing to do and say just about anything if it got him the ‘punishment’ he wanted.

And with his comments earlier, he’d left quite a few of them raring to get their revenge.

The timer beeped, signaling Han, Changbin, Seungmin and Hyunjin to lunge at the chick. Han’s fingers alternated between feather-light grazes on Lixie’s sides and firm digs into his ribs.

“Still feeling brave Lix?” Felix’s initial enthusiasm vanished as fingers danced over his ribs and sides.

Hyunjin’s light touches contrasted with Seungmin’s firmer squeezes, the fusion leaving the little Aussie squealing through his zipped mouth.

Felix’s reactions were quite entertaining, the little chick trying to twist away, tugging wildly at his arms but they stayed firm, stretched up over his head and held together by one of Channie’s hands.

Lix shivered when his shirt was pulled up, giggling sweetly when Binnie ran a single finger up the curve of his spine.

Calloused fingers began skittering all over his back, digging in once they found his shoulder blades.

The chick let out a muffled scream, jerking forwards. He hadn’t expected it to tickle so much but that reaction only got Channie to pull him back by his wrists…right back into Changbin’s waiting fingers.

Felix kicked his feet, that being the only way he could relieve the tingly sensations taking over his body and threw his head back into Chan’s chest as giggles formed in his throat.

Then Seungmin lifted a hand to his torso, fingers drawing a tickly path from Lixie’s sides to his abs, then up to his ribs and right into his hollows.

A second pair of hands joined in, this time slipping under the bunched up fabric at the front and a finger circled the rim of his navel.

Lixie’s eyes snapped frantically to a smirking Hyunjin. “You seem to be enjoying this way more than any of us Lix. Got anything to say for yourself?”

Hyunjin dipped his finger in, giggling when Lix jolted in place, swirling around in his belly button as the little Aussie shook his head, giving him his best puppy eyes.

More fingers dipped into the ticklish skin of his lower ribs, and Felix couldn’t hold back as water dribbled down his chin in little rivulets, pulling with it an embarrassed squeak.

His laughter was set free. Happy, bubbly squeals of joy filled the space and the hands didn’t stop, even though the timer had.

They slowed to a stop when Chan noticed how blissed out yet tired his baby looked. Hyunjin helped him to his feet, catching the chick when his jelly legs almost gave out.

Round one concluded, Chan leading with a wide margin. They had to shift their schedules to later, everyone too exhausted to jump into the next part.

Luckily for them, their manager had already predicted as much, leading the sleepy kids back to the waiting room for some much needed rest.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

jealousy jealousy || Changbin x Reader

Summary: It's as you're working with Changbin on a school project — and he's being as infuriating as he always is — that he invites you to go see 3racha perform in a bar that night. You decide to take the opportunity, because you do find the group talented, and also, what could possibly go wrong?

Word count: 4.3k

Genres: college AU, rapper!Changbin

Warnings & Tags: jealousy, academic rivals to lovers, alcohol consumption, brief sleazy behavior from someone else, consensual kiss while under the influence, light angst, oc has insecurities

series masterlist

A/N: Similarly to the I.N. oneshot, please ignore the thing about music if you know better and it doesn't make sense, my years of studying music theory are far behind me :') Hope you'll enjoy the piece, would appreciate to know your thoughts on it if you do!

If you had had your say on this assignment or on your choice for a partner, you wouldn’t be sitting there, across from Seo Changbin, in his fucking studio, watching him nod his head as he’s working on the arrangement you’re supposed to turn in next week.

“The guidelines say we’re supposed to use an unusual time signature,” you say, partly to be annoying and partly because he’s literally using 4/4, which, like, come on. It’s like he’s trying to go against the rules.

“They’re used for a reason,” he replies after a good thirty seconds of silence, which could be because he was ignoring you or because he can’t multitask. “It’s more important to turn in something that’s good than something that follows the guidelines.”

“That’s not mutually exclusive.”

“You can’t let others tell you what to do,” he insists, still looking at his screen. “You have to make your own decisions based on what’s good for—”

“It sounds like you just can’t take a challenge,” you interrupt him and this time, he turns around to glare at you. For a second, he looks offended, which was the reaction you were going for and, you have to say, it brings you an evil satisfaction. Then a corner of his lips lift and he smirks.

You really don’t like how attractive you find that look on him.

“You think that’s going to work on me?”

You grit your teeth. Well, rationale and logic weren’t getting you anywhere so far, so this was at least worth a try.

“I’m not looking forward to you tanking my grade,” you reply with a shrug, attempting, and probably failing, to look nonchalant.

This time he scoffs before going back to the computer.

“It’s not going to tank our grade. The teacher values quality more than following the rules, and even if he didn’t, you shouldn’t change yourself to make someone happy.”

Valuable life advice, you’re sure. It just does not apply whatsoever when a grade is at stake. Unfortunately though, he is right about this teacher valuing ‘quality’, though you don’t like how subjective his view of it appears to be. You think there should be metrics when it comes to grading your students. Either way, so far Changbin’s been fucking breezing through this class because the teacher just adores everything he puts out. You think it’s a gross display of favoritism and you suspect that it has a lot to do with 3racha’s popularity, but everyone’s too busy making heart eyes at the golden boy to think about it.

And, look, you like 3racha. You think they’re talented. You don’t know where Chan finds the time to do music while being captain of the swimming team and all the other stuff he’s doing — seriously, when does he sleep —, you think Jisung’s a very talented singer, rapper, producer — basically a one man group already without needing to add the other two in— and Changbin’s… Yeah. Changbin’s good. There’s no way you could deny that. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that it doesn’t seem to have crossed his mind that there are some people in here who don’t have a record deal lined up for them as soon as they walk out of their graduation. Some people who are not going to have full creative control over their stuff until they’ve really established themselves, if that ever happens. Some people who also just simply enjoy figuring out a way of making something interesting, something good in ways they wouldn’t have thought of if they hadn’t been forced to deal with an obstacle of some sort barring them from picking the easiest solution.

The problem is that, as you reluctantly have to admit, Changbin isn’t picking the easiest solution. In fact, once you notice what he’s doing, you can’t help but lean forward on your seat, all your attention on him and his hands moving on the keyboard. Shit. It seems, infuriatingly, that he had a point.

“What’d you think?” he asks once he’s done, and you blink yourself back to reality after having watched him work his magic.

“It’s smart,” you admit. You’re not the type to lie just because you have an issue with him. “Using tertiary rhythms in 4/4 to give the impression of another time signature… Yeah. It’s good.”

You can practically see his ego getting bigger with every word you say. Dammit, you almost wish he were a hack.

“But,” you add, a little too be annoying and a little because you have an actual point to make, “I think you should start off with binary rhythms.”

Changbin visibly deflates, then frowns, and you realize belatedly that you might have been able to push back on the use of the time signature then and there. You think he’d have given in, if you still didn’t like the end result, but that hadn’t even occurred to you.

“Why?” he asks, folding his — impressive — arms over his chest. “That’d be boring.”

You shake your head, pushing yourself up next to him and taking the mouse out of his hands to start making the changes that are clear as day in your mind. The gesture seems to outrage him, but if you’re being honest that’s actually a plus in your book, so, tough to be him.

“You start out with something familiar,” you explain as you’re working, “to lull the listener into a false sense of security. Then you hit them with the unusual to have a bigger impact and to make them wonder how the piece got there. That way, they’ll think they’ll know exactly what you’re going for from the start and be more surprised when you go for something else.”

There are a few seconds of silence after that, before Changbin also leans forward, his body suddenly much closer to yours.

“You have to work on the transition some more if you’re going for that,” he says, and his breath tickles your cheek. “’cause it’s just gonna feel jarring if you don’t.”

“I was getting to that,” you say with a click of your tongue, elbowing him in the stomach in an attempt to keep him from messing with your work. Through the first, soft layer, you come in contact with strong abs, which doesn’t surprise you considering how much time he’s rumored to spend at the gym.

Not that you’re paying attention to these rumors or anything. It’s just— Know your enemy, or something.

He does manage to use his muscles pretty easily to get the mouse back, and after an undignified shriek when he wraps an arm around your body to lift you up and get you away, you admit defeat. If your cheeks are warm now, it’s just because of the effort.

It’s also the reason your heart beats faster, and it’s got nothing to do with the satisfied grin Changbin shoots back at you once he’s back in front of the computer.

“Hey,” he says as he’s working, “you know 3racha’s having a concert tonight?”

Of course you do.

“I heard about it.”

“You should come. I can get you in.”

You raise an eyebrow. You’ve never actually seen 3racha perform. Tickets to their stuff aren’t that easy to get on campus or around i, and you’re also busy working your ass off most of the time, whether it’s for classes or at your part-time job. But you have tonight off, and considering this assignment is going nicely…

You bite your lower lip as you consider it. You’re not really looking forward to the screaming crowd looking at Changbin like he’s a god, but you are interested in the actual show. You’ve heard so much about them, and the stars aligning for a ticket offer and not having to work…

Ah, fuck it.

“Okay.”

Changbin’s head whips back in your direction.

“What?”

You take a step back, shoulders instinctively coming up to your ears. Your defenses come back up in a matter of seconds.

“If you don’t want me there, you shouldn’t have—”

“No, you should come!” he protests, and then his voice gets softer. “I’d be super happy if you came, I just didn’t think you’d be interested.”

“Of course I am,” you say with a shrug.

Changbin turns around towards the computer, but not before you catch a bright smile on his lips. Not his signature smirk. A bright, genuine smile.

And this time, you have no excuse when your heart skips a beat.

It doesn’t come off as a shock to you that 3racha are really fucking good on stage. You didn’t have any trouble getting into the bar after giving your name, which Changbin had told you would be enough. It had taken a little more, uh, elbow work to get reasonably close to the stage, because the place was already pretty filled up. The people there are almost all from the college, but there are a few groups of mostly young men — some looking like they’re too young to have been let in — that stick out as well.

You make yourself comfortable as you wait, sending the occasional glare at people pushing you. Lots of girls there, you note, and you don’t think they’re all there for the music, which you find amusing. You certainly don’t judge. That’s something that the people from the labels would have noted, and it’s not like there’s a wrong way of enjoying a group.

The crowd goes wild around you when Jisung — or rather J-One, his stage name — jumps on stage, practically vibrating with energy. You don’t really catch what he’s saying, both because it’s too loud and because he’s speaking too fast. You are, however, acutely aware of the way he presents himself, of his cocky grin, of the way he sticks his tongue out and wipes at his lower lip with his thumb.

He’s followed on stage by Changbin, who, unlike him, barely looks like he’s acting. Yeah, his stage persona is raw confidence, supercharged with charisma, but he doesn’t bother doing much of anything — though you think he’s flexing his muscles a little more than usual. Except, of course, when he gives the audience that fucking smirk of his.

And suddenly, you’re very, very aware of how hot it is in the room.

Chan’s the last one to get on, and he does so with a roar of “Are you ready?”. Everyone goes insane, and you find yourself being pushed around by the people around you jumping up and down. Though you’re not quite giving in just yet, you do enjoy the enthusiasm. If half of what you’ve heard about them is true, they certainly deserve the hype. Seeing the wide, uncontainable smile on Chan’s face at the crowd reaction, as he can’t keep up with his stage persona for a few seconds, just makes your heart swell.

Then, after getting the crowd even more riled up, they get started with their set. You’re familiar with all the songs, of course. Music is ideally going to become your job and you want to keep yourself updated, but also, you do find them to be good. Even the stuff that’s not to your personal taste is always backed up by an actual creative idea, which is not something you’d say about a lot of pop songs that get blasted on the radio every day. It makes their music feel new, and yeah, sometimes it means it’s not that easily accessible and it’s going to turn some people off, but it sure makes you respect their artistic integrity.

They’re also giving themselves on stage, 100%. And, because there’s just no point in denying it now, Changbin looks ridiculously fucking hot doing it. It makes all sorts of things tingle in your stomach and lower when he growls in the mic. You haven't been able to look away for a second.

Outside of the general hotness — you’re human, what can you say — you can’t help but appreciate everything else, everything musical. How easily he rides the beat, how music seems to inhabit his body, how skillfully he’s crafted the verses and choruses and made them feel— You’re not sure how to phrase it. They’re not predictable, but they are obvious. It feels like there would be no other way of doing them, no better way of phrasing them, no arrangement that would be more efficient. It has to be that way.

And it’s as they’re reaching the peak of their last song that dread washes over you, seeping straight to your bones.

You find Changbin annoying. You think he’s cocky, overconfident, and that he doesn’t pay enough attention to others. You also don’t like the way he gets everything handed to him on a silver platter and that, unlike you, he doesn’t have to split his time between work and college. But if you’re being honest, that’s not nearly enough of a reason to dislike him. The guy wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s always happy to help out, maybe even lets people take advantage a little bit. And he’s so, so fucking talented. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t find all of that attractive.

The problem, as you’re staring at him on stage, is that the question that is truly at the center of it all, the one you’ve refused to ask yourself all this time as you kept working your ass off and he kept doing better than you, just came up to the surface, and you can’t avoid it any longer.

What if you just don’t have it?

Look, you believe in hard work, but you find it hard to deny that some people just have something else. Call it talent, call it luck, whatever. Changbin’s got it.

You’re not sure you do.

You just might keep working and working and working and never get to the level he’s at. You might just not have the thing that makes him able to come up with hooks that stay inside your head for days on end.

What’s been your dream job for almost a decade now might remain forever out of reach.

As the crowd erupts in cheers around you, and 3racha stay on the stage, breathing heavily, sweat dripping down their forehead, the future you’ve always wished for doesn’t quite shatter completely in front of your eyes, but it takes a nasty crack that ripples onto its entire surface.

You turn around, away from the stage. You hadn’t planned on that, but fuck it.

You need a drink.

Even as you down two drinks a little too quick and gesture for a third, you know this is a bad idea. You’re running straight into a wall, you’re going to regret this so much tomorrow, and you’re doing it anyway. This isn’t like you. You make the good decision, the right decision, you do what’s smart, what you should do.

Except apparently, none of that is enough, and that thought gets you to ingest the third drink as well, the burning taste of alcohol a welcome distraction.

“You can really knock these back,” a voice comments next to you.

You glance at the guy who’s already way too close in your personal space for a stranger. Normally, you would roll your eyes and you’d never even consider entertaining it. Who even hits on someone after they’ve seen them try their best to get intoxicated in as short an amount of time as possible?

Tonight though, his maths has paid off, because you welcome the distraction.

If you’re going to be making bad decisions, why stop at one, right?

You spin yourself towards him, rest your elbow on the counter and put your head on your hand in a pretty unnatural pose. You’re not quite coordinated — not usually, and certainly not with that amount of alcohol in your blood — but it doesn’t appear to throw him off.

“Sure can,” you say — it might come off slurred, you can’t tell, “but the question is, can you?”

He raises an eyebrow, but he looks amused. Honestly, he’s giving sleazy vibes, a little too happy to be running into someone trying to get wasted, you just— you just don’t give a fuck right now. You feel like you’ve watched the life slip forever out of your reach, and you just want to forget about it, forget about how you may never get a job and never live from what you want to do most in the world, forget about fucking Seo Changbin and how ridiculously talented he is when you’re— Yeah, you’re ordering another drink.

The guy offers to pay for you, and you’re not going to say no. He makes a dumb comment about it which you think is supposed to be a joke and you laugh way too hard, throwing your head back in a tried and tested move.

As you make painful small talk with him while waiting for your drink, you’re struck by how mediocre he seems to be. When you’re around Changbin, as annoying as he can be, the conversation’s just… brilliant. He’s interesting, he’s actually smart, he has stuff to say, and talking to him makes you feel, well, annoyed, sure, but it’s also challenging. He never bores you.

It’s been less than a minute, and you already wish that guy would shut up.

He doesn’t. He seems intent on smothering you with facts about his life that he probably believes to be impressive — his money, his job, his connections —, like you don’t know why he’s doing it. It’s almost insulting that he seems to believe that he’s seducing you with all of that fairly mundane stuff, when really, the attention you’re giving him has nothing to do with, well, him.

He’s moved on to putting his arm around your shoulders in the least subtle way known to man when you hear your name and you turn back around.

There’s Changbin, eyeing you and the guy, looking half pissed, half concerned.

“Oh, hey,” you say. “You were really good.”

His eyebrows knit, but then a smile that he can’t seem to hold back lifts a corner of his lips. It’s not arrogant for once, almost bashful actually.

“You thought so?”

So good that it gave you an existential crisis, so, yeah, you did.

“Yeah, you guys weren’t bad,” the dude behind you chimes in, and since you’ve got your back turned to him, you openly roll your eyes, which Changbin can’t miss. You doubt the guy knows shit about the time and efforts that had to go into that set, or into the writing of the song before even getting onto the stage, for that matter. “A bit derivative,” he adds, like an asshole, “but you might go on to do great stuff.”

There’s nothing bashful about Changbin’s smile now. He doesn’t look hurt or anything, but he seems to be thinking that the guy’s a real fucking moron.

“Thanks,” he says, sarcasm dripping in his voice which the dude doesn’t catch. Then his eyes fall on the glasses in front of you, and back to the hand on your shoulder. “Is that all yours?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m questioning my existence,” you reply with a shrug. “So that seemed like a good idea.”

Changbin looks confused for a second, but not completely deterred by your lack of coherence.

“’kay, then I think I should take you home.”

That’s objectively a good idea, and the more time you’re spending looking at him and talking to him, the less you want to keep talking to the other dude, actually.

“Hey,” the guy in question says from behind you, “I got there first. Find someone else, dude.”

Changbin’s eyes harden instantly and he takes a threatening step forward. He’s shorter than the man, but significantly larger. You just so happen to not be drunk enough to watch them fight. You blame your dad’s genes for making you somewhat good at handling your alcohol, because you wish you were hammered enough not to care right now. You push yourself on your feet, a bit unsteady, and put your hand on Changbin’s arm — totally to stop him and not at all to stop yourself from face planting. His muscles, you discover with some interest, are not just impressive but also extremely hard, perhaps because he’s prepared to fight.

“It’s good,” you say, “thanks for the drinks but he’s right, I need to get home.”

The man’s face contorts with anger.

“You can pay for your own drinks, you fucking—”

One of Changbin’s arms wrap around your waist, and then he takes a step forward, easily getting you out of the way while keeping you against him, to grab the man by the collar.

“Want to finish that sentence, asshole?”

If you were sober, you’d think something judgmental about men and aggressiveness. Right now, you mostly, uh, think it’s very very hot of him. Being pressed into his hard body makes your heart rate spike up, and in that state, it’s so hard to deny how attracted you are to him.

The guy backs down quickly, sputtering an apology, and then Changbin’s dragging you away, keeping his arm around you to ensure you stay on your feet.

“You okay?” he asks. His eyes scan your body, focusing back on your face when he finds nothing.

Alcohol has a tendency of making you even snappier than you usually are. Right now, though, hearing the genuine worry in his voice, you feel that part of you melting away.

“I’m good, Changbin. I think I just— I just need to get home.”

And though he’d be the last person you’d take help from if you were sober, he seems like the perfect pick at the moment.

You make it to the campus without too much trouble. It’s not like your legs don’t carry you anymore, just that you don’t walk quite straight, but Changbin doesn’t let go of you for one second of that walk, monitoring you the whole time, and then he insists on getting you back to your room as well. At least you live alone, because that is not something you’d like to have to explain.

“Did something happen?” Changbin asks, finally, as you’re making it up the steps, like he just can’t keep it in anymore. Your mind, which had been peacefully quiet this whole time, filled with his warmth and his presence, is flooded with noise again. It takes you a few long, painful seconds before you come up with something to say.

“Do you think I’m any good at this?” you ask just as you’re reaching your floor.

He shoots you a weird look.

“Good at what?”

Right, he wasn’t privy to everything that was going on in your mind.

“You know,” you say with a vague gesture. “Music. Producing. What we do.”

“Of course you’re good at it,” he scoffs like it’s the most obvious thing ever. “You’re super creative. You can follow all the stupid rules the teachers give us and still turn something good in. You think I’d let you work on my stuff in my studio if I didn’t think you were good?”

It’s his tone that gets to you, you think. Changbin’s honest to a fault, from what you’ve seen, but he says this so matter-of-factly, so casually, that it’s hard to question, even for just a second, that he doesn’t believe what he’s saying. You know it will take a moment to sink in, that Changbin has that kind of confidence in you when even you don’t, but, even if the thoughts will definitely come back later, it’s like he dispelled them all in just a few sentences.

It’s as you’re coming to a stop in front of your door that he almost jumps with realization.

“Wait a second. Did that fucker say—”

And then you kiss him. It’s not that hard, from the position you were in, to pivot into wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your lips against his, which you find to be soft and plump. He tenses for a second before his hand tightens on your waist and he kisses you back hungrily. If he can taste the alcohol on your lips, it doesn’t seem to bother him. His hand holds you close to him with almost bruising strength, but it remains chastely on your waist, his only movements coming from his lips and tongue.

His teeth graze against your lower lip, pulling on it, and it sends shivers through your whole body, but this is when you pull away from him. Despite his previous stillness, his head moves forward, chasing your lips for just a few seconds longer.

When you open your eyes, you find him panting, cheeks and ears a pronounced shade of red. It’s— extremely cute, if you’re being honest.

“Thank you for taking me home,” you say.

“Y—Yeah,” he says, glancing away when his voice cracks. “Yeah,” he repeats, “any time.”

“I’m gonna go to bed now,” you say, though you still haven’t taken your arms from around him.

“That’s good,” he says with a decisive nod. “’cause, you know, you’re drunk, and I wouldn’t wanna— You should go to bed.”

It makes you giggle, but you still decide give yourself a second more, during which you put your head on your shoulder, and Changbin just lets you, his hand rubbing circles on your back. When you still don’t move, he clears his throat.

“D’you want me to carry you?”

“Seriously?”

His response to that is to lift you up princess-style, one arm under your knees and the other under your back. He lets out a grunt as he lifts you, but then stabilizes himself and manages to get you through the door.

You know that you’ll have some things to seriously think about when you wake up with a throbbing headache, but in that moment, you just laugh and let him carry you to your bed, because having his arms around make you feel safe.

He makes you feel like you’re going to be okay.

Taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard

[bloomingkyras]

Eleina Adems for mad about dodo: the bachelor no one asked for... challenge 🌴🩷🌞 @akitasimblr

Cheese...the never gave up Blooms family, are sending their own spare for Dodo Bachelor Challenge, for the second round, until they got The Harper for the family title 🤣. Is Eleina bring the luck 🤷🏻?

All right, lets meet my own spare from The Dar' Legacy, Eleina Adems.

Eleina is a freelance painter from Tomarang.Just because She doesn't like to be in the spotlight, she decide to lock her self in her own painting studios. Eleina also have a twins brother who are now study in University. Her aunty, Xarra told her to came out from her own "dungeon" and meet new people or pixel. And She gave her an idea to enter mad about dodo: the bachelor challenge. And she did.

Name: Eleina Adems (22) YA Traits: Creative | Clumsy | Squeamish Aspirations: Painter Extraordinary

she have cc with some of her cloth and genetic. but others are from EA pack or kit.

she already have like and dislike and I also already skill down all her skill to 0 since she will be attempt a challenge. (I read the challenge rules that Ana gonna attempt 😁)

and yeah that its, hopefully her outfit fit the challenge and I hope she can stand still because me scared that she will failed cause the challenge that Ana gonna attempt is seriously fun 😂 . Have fun and tq again Ana for this opportunity ❤.

*I use painting override by Oleander

[bonefall]

While we’re talking changing who appears in places- can we change the cats helping out with Sunbeam’s rock trial? I was so confused why the cats selected to help were selected. Sure Cherryfall because she was going to be the one opposing Sunbeam, why not, anyone can do that though honestly and not who I take issue with being there. But Alderheart was there? The medicine cat? Don’t you think he has better things to be doing than pushing a rock around? Where’s Lionblaze aka “I may as well still have my god given super strength”? He could easily be the cat that gets pissy for Sunbeam “not listening to senior warriors” and maybe with age feels that she doesn’t respect him, head of patrols, enough to warrant her staying this sabotaging her in the third trial. I felt robbed that Plumstone who seemed to be established as another bg strong cat was absent. Sure sending Sunbeam with all the strongest cats would make it easy but it’d also be making it safe considering Ivypool didn’t want the rock to hurt anyone and it’s a pecking rock. Why not send your strongest cats to deal with it?

I feel very strongly about this trial, can you tell?

I'm a bit dissatisfied with certain trials in general. Most of the time I LOVE the new trials they made, I think they've been super creative so far, but some have been so lackluster that I need to shine them up.

Namely Berryheart's active attempts to get challengers killed. Someone has to get ACTUALLY hurt by one of those, instead of them just being generally unfair and no one raises an objection about it. I did not like the spring-powered adder that went BOING out of a log.

I will say that I would like to expand on Plumstone in this arc, plus her whole little family. They're in an interesting place, with Bumblestripe coming back from Ferncloud's Parting while leaving his father with the Tribe, Blossomfall still reeling with emotional abuse she suffered at the paws of the impostor, Stemleaf's death and Spotfur raising his kits, and Shellfur's mateship with Fernstripe.

Plumstone ALSO has some stuff going on. She's besties-maybe-dating Thriftear, Bristlefrost's sister, and yet she's one of the more outspoken cats about how she's getting tired of the ThunderClan nepotism. She's strong, reliable, and a competent warrior-- so HOW is it fair that Nightheart keeps getting all these undeserved "chances to prove himself" when SHE is here, SIGNIFICANTLY more orange, and wants her own chance to shine??

I still see her personality as being "a dear" lmao, she's not mean, but she's also not willing to bite her tongue either. She will say what's on her mind, and point out unfair treatment when she feels it.

Thriftear supports this. Yeah, she's a descendant of Firestar and a great warrior, but she EARNED the respect she gets. Bristlefrost did too. Nightheart doesn't even want his legacy, why is this clumsy humbug still getting special treatment?

Good-cat bad-cat pair type thing going on.

So I'm probably going to let them both act as a unit, since BB's Dewnose isn't in ThunderClan and that was a really random pair-up anyway.

("wait! Elder Bones! Where did Dewnose go?" Probably ShadowClan, here is the BB!ThunderClan family tree. There's been shuffles; the Cloudbright kits are now Whitewing, Foxleap, and Icecloud, 3 "singlet" litters, spaced out over years.)

Quickie thoughts on touching up the trials;

(DISCLAIMER: NOT SOLID. WE DON'T REWORK UNTIL ARCS ARE COMPLETE.)

Berryheart's are going to need serious overhauls. Nightheart's were really cute and I enjoyed them, but BB is supposed to be about how her group is escalating towards violence. I do not want them to stay so "cute" for the story I'm telling.

I also don't want to keep Nightheart failing his last one on purpose. I want his growth to be more based in self-realization than trying to let Sunbeam "save face."

I kinda want Fringewhisker to get injured during one of her own, and then Antfur dies as collateral damage in Nightheart's last. I'd like Nightheart leaving to be half him realizing that his BEHAVIOR is a problem, and half for his own safety.

In ThunderClan, I'd like the boulder one to be more about Sunbeam assembling a team, almost like she's a patrol head.

Since it's her second trial and she displayed some pretty fantastic leadership skills with her first one, I've got an inkling of an idea that Squilf actually talked with Ivy about wanting to legitimately assess her talent.

Like, "We both know that this whole trial-system was just to appease the other Clans. These are meant to be easy because idgaf. But wow, Sunbeam was actually impressive with those kits. What else can she do, if we give her the chance?"

I really like writing Squilf as she's described in Bramblestar's Storm, where her good leadership comes from being attentive of details and making everyone feel useful.

Man... maybe ill save Rosepetal for this arc and let her be deputy during this. Something feels very Rosepetaly about this. Maybe even have Rosepetal be clearly treating her as if she's a Secondary Apprentice, preparing her to take over her reputation of being a prolific mentor... Nightheart comes back from his trip only to find Sunbeam with twice as much respect as status as he ever had.

I can always axe Rose later to get Ivypool in... But I also REALLY love all the Ivypool Deputy Drama with how there's a conflict with ShadowClan... man. why are there so many interesting girls.

Maybe Rose doesn't have to be deputy, but Ivy assigns Rosepetal as the only "mandatory member" of the Boulder Patrol. Like a tutorial tip lmaooo

Sunbeam: "I think I will pick......................" STARES AT ROSEPETAL, "aaalderrr-" Rosepetal frowns "--pluuuuumstone??" Rosepetal nods, "Wise choice."

And lastly. The final Sunbeam trial. Ngl hated it. It felt really boring compared to the previous two, which were super interesting and excellent ways to give some spotlight to background characters.

Riddles don't even feel like a ThunderClan thing. Idk that was a very RiverClan (philosophy) or ShadowClan (trickery) kind of thing.

I think I'll hold off on thinking about it though; I think it would be SUPER cool if I totally overhauled that last trial to make it foreshadow the later books, somehow.

I DO want to keep that disney channel ass Cherryfall being a bitch part though. I love her so much. I'm so glad she's walking in her father's pawsteps and becoming the snot-nosed brat of ThunderClan.

I will definitely be changing how Sunbeam HANDLES it though. Hate the way that the books emphasize never telling anyone anything.

In fact, I kinda want to make Sunbeam approach Sparkpelt for advice, to show she finally has a figure she feels like she can trust.

Explicitly contrast the way that she NEVER felt like she could approach Berryheart, and that so much of her appeasing, avoidant behavior had been because she didn't feel safe or respected.

Here, in ThunderClan, she has family. She begins to realize that even if Nightheart came back and dumped her, Sparkpelt and Finchlight would NEVER kick her to the curb.

So she goes to Sparkpelt about how she is being bullied by Cherryfall, and they TALK ABOUT OPTIONS.

Like, you know,

Spark: "We could go to Squirrelstar or the deputy."

Sun: "I don't want to cause a fuss if I don't have to... besides, idk, I don't want to set the peat on fire, it would be nice if I could be on good terms with Cherryfall later."

Spark: "that's very wise of you, but just remember that Squilst is a very fair person. We can always go to her. Do you want any backup at all or do you want to do this on your own?"

Sun: "I think... I think I actually do need to do this on my own. If I was being confronted, I think I would just double down if I was being attacked in a group. That was right with Brambleclaw because you weren't trying to convince him, but... what do you think?"

Spark: "I think Cherryfall's just like her father and her ego is everything to her, so I think you're right on the mouse with all this. Honestly, I don't even know how much I'm helping here!"

Sun: "Oh but you are helping! You're helping a lot! StarClan... it feels so nice to just... have someone to listen. Thanks, Sparkpelt."

Basically, tweak the trials to bring them more in line with the themes and messages of BB, y'know? And also beef up the Clans themselves, by stressing the various personalities that are at play here. Especially since I quite like how Sunbeam in ThunderClan has some super neat traits she wasn't expressing in ShadowClan.

Like... it feels like it could be a really cool story to tell about how supportive environments can make you really shine. How you can suddenly seem like a brand new person, just by having people who have your back and encourage your autonomy.

[preservationofnormalcy]

ITEM FILE #2213

ITEM: "Glycon's Grove"

ITEM HISTORY: Broadcast from 1987-1996, Glycon's Grove was a children's puppet show that debuted on public television stations accessible in Nebraska, Kansas, Missouri, and Iowa. After three episodes, the anomalous properties of the show were confirmed, and access to public television wavelengths was restricted. An agreement with Glycon's Grove production team (Oddy See) and the Office was reached wherein Oddy See would receive funding and distribution through OPN-approved channels, while all scripts, dialogue, and visuals were sent to the Parafiction Department for approval and study. After a brief interruption, Glycon's Grove was then broadcast nationwide (and in Canada and Mexico through agreement with RCOE and SER) on thaumic wavelengths decryptable by "analog augury"-compatible television sets, cable TV packages catering to the extranormal community, and distributed via VHS consumer hardware.

Glycon's Grove centered around the adventures of the titular Glycon, referred to as a "snake" despite his crude sock-puppet appearance. Glycon, often the energetic but patient voice of reason, would counsel his friends during common children's show storylines of the time, teaching lessons such as manners, the importance of reading and creativity, and honesty. The idea of snakes as "important, friendly creatures" was a common recurring topic. The show took place in the Grove of Olympus, with the rest of the cast being more typically-constructed puppets of a minotaur, hydra, cyclops, aquatic creatures, and in later seasons, a large "Cerebus" requiring multiple puppeteers to operate. Every few episodes, one of "the gods" (played by one of the human puppeteers in costume) would enter the Grove and provide the cast with that episode's challenge or conundrum. "Dio" was portrayed by actor Kenneth Young as a "surfer dude" always holding a family-friendly can of grape soda. "Heff" (Baker) often cajoled the cast into trying his new inventions, while "Arty" (Brown) asked for help in locating her lost pets.

Numerous interviews and investigations conducted by the Office concluded that while each other puppet in the cast (a list in the image above) was credited to and clearly played and voiced by a human puppeteer, Glycon's puppeteer, if they existed, was never credited or seen at any point. When interviewed, other members of Oddy See insisted that Glycon was "just Glycon" and did not acknowledge any puppeteer. During studio tours, Glycon was observed to move around the studio in ways that would be challenging for a human-puppeted character, EG, in one room and suddenly another, manifesting on multiple parts of a sound stage in rapid succession, always behind a barrier that could have reasonably obscured a human puppeteer from any Office observer. Attempts to isolate all visual angles in a given room often failed, resulting in Glycon appearing from a loose ceiling panel or other improbable locations.

Glycon "himself" always agreed to interviews, providing they could be done on Oddy See studio property, citing his "bum leg" as an inability to leave the property. He was at once forthcoming and evasive, simply repeating that he was "a puppet" when asked about his state, and that he "needed a new gig" as one of the reasons he started Glycon's Grove. Interviewers commonly reported Glycon as "charming" or "funny".

Parafictional research into Glycon's Grove and similarities to a mytho-folkloric figure of the same name are ongoing to this day.

[owl127]

What do you know about boxing? There’s something real sexy about the thought of Lexa training, fighting, and being mended by Clarke. Potential for a one-shot or perhaps a multi part fic?

Sweat, gloves, punching, some footwork? That covers a good part of my boxing knowledge, but yay for the creative license to ✨️bullshit ✨️

Maybe something like sweaty Lexa being constantly patched up by am exasperated Clarke...?

"I wonder if there will ever be a time we meet where I don't have to stitch you up," Clarke said with a dry chuckle that didn't land.

Lexa's bloody lips pulled in a half smirk nonetheless, and there was a sparkle in her eyes, even in the swelling shut one.

"Are you asking me out, Miss Griffin?" the fighter asked, not wincing as the needle threaded through scared, bruised skin. Clarke blushed, but focused on making sure Lexa would have an eyebrow to tell the tale of her latest victory.

"Seems rather inappropriate," Clarke said, leaning back to inspec her work. Fingers clad in black gloves tilted Lexa's chin here and there, and Clarke nodded in satisfaction.

"I can make it more inappropriate," Lexa said with a confidence she usually didn't show, and she winced at a failed attempt to wiggle her newly stitched eyebrow.

"You're concussed," Clarke argued, but she couldn't fight a smile.

"Your number, then," Lexa reasoned, and the bright LED light of the med room hidden in the underbelly of the arena was suddenly warmer. Clarke picked up her instruments and busied herself with the first aid kit.

"Ask me that when you're not bleeding all over my trousers," Clarke argued, finally looking at the starry-eyed victor of the night.

Someone called Lexa's name down the hallway, and their little bubble of intimacy and gauze popped. Lexa was once again a rising boxing star, and Clarke was the lucky EMT who got paid to touch her.

Before Lexa stood, she held Clarke's hand in calloused fingers, brushing a light kiss where the skin still smelled like fresh latex.

"Believe me," Lexa said, "I will."

OR, idk, enemy to lovers vibe???

Anya slapped Lexa in the face, the sharp sound echoing in the small green room.

"Tell me again what you are not going to do out there?" her coach yelled, and Lexa welcomed the stinging pain.

"I will not--"

"You will not make a fucking fool of yourself! Now get outta here!" Anya yelled in her annoying philly accent. She positioned herself behind Lexa, while Gustus and Niko took positions to her right and left, their towering forms elevating her emerald robe as she bounced down the corridor in the packed arena. She couldn’t discern a single word of the announcer as the camera crew traced her steps. By the time she made it to the ring, her robe had fallen off somewhere, and the tight braids around her head were free to the shouting fans and blinking flashlights.

Lexa was ready for this.

She was a champion, a warrior, a--

"Wanheda!"

She snapped her head to the opposite side of the ring where her opponent had just been announced. And there she was, in all her golden glory, with shorts tighter than Lexa's underwear and braids carefully following her scalp. Clarke Griffin, the Wanheda, the rising star who dared to challenge Lexa's reign. The girl with the easy smile and soft, soft whimpers when she orgasmed, as Lexa had found out less than 24 hours ago.

Lexa thought she was ready for this.

She was a fool.

[whiteruncat]

I hope Netflix never gets ahold of another person’s artwork in attempt of a LA like they did with ATLA. If you can’t fully honor someone’s art and respect their ideas then don’t bother with a LA. It’s the most legal form of stealing artwork and creativity. It’s just cruel. And it’s so agitating to see the people saying “Well they tried” “They did their best” “You have to consider” Netflix should have been the ones to consider that maybe they should never have took on something they couldn’t do correctly. They have disrespected so many characters.

* Netflix took out sexism only to throw is back in! Yeah Sokka was sexist but the level of audacity to make the mighty Kyoshi Warrior Suki just another romantic interest is shameful.

* What happened to Katara saving a village of earthbenders? Katara started out strong and only got stronger by walking boldly with compassion, love, and the strength to help those around her.

* Let’s not forget about Bato & Hakoda. They are honorable and respected warriors of the Southern Water Tribe. Neither of them would let Sokka pass his ice dodging test if he failed it. They both love Sokka and respect Sokka too much to lie to him. Sokka passed his ice dodging test btw with Katara, Aang, and Bato.

* Ozai’s attitude towards Azula doesn’t make sense at all. Ozai basks in the glory of being a powerful firebender. His identity is firebending. Ozai married Ursa so his children would be powerful firebenders. Ozai wanted to kill baby Zuko because he wasn’t a powerful firebender. Ozai almost killed Zuko again after he rudely asked for the thrown and was told to sacrifice his son. Azula is Ozai’s pride and joy. She’s the firebending prodigy that’s perfect. Azula has never had to worry about whether her father loves her because Ozai has always favored Azula.

* Just me thing but I think Ozai was way scarier without a face. Only knowing him as Zuko’s father that burned his eye was like wow this dude is evil. Then the season 1 ending with Azula was an ominous beginning for them both.

* It’s kind of sad seeing Sokka so unconfident as a warrior. Sokka is a genius and he’s a warrior. He saw through Jet and saved a village. He played airball with Aang to cheer him up at the Southern Air Temple. Sokka helped trick the Sages to open the door for Aang to meet Roku. Sokka also got covered in snot when he first met Appa.

* Pakku didn’t find Katara’s necklace on the ground and I can’t believe they’re going to just write off Gramp Gramp like that. Why doesn’t Aang ever learn waterbending? Like the first season/book is called water and he is supposed to go the North Pole to learn waterbending. He doesn’t even know any waterbending by the end of the first season. You wrote out Iroh hitting on June but you wrote in June hitting on Iroh. Seriously?? Is Smellerbee the only girl in this LA that’s correctly done right? The Cave of Two Lovers isn’t even in season one!! It’s in season two.

* Bumi was done dirty. Aang, Katara, and Sokka got arrested for being goofy kids and destroying cabbages. Bumi came off as this mad king that was giving Aang three deadly challenges. Each one Aang had to think differently to solve. At the end when Aang realized the king was Bumi they laughed together and reminisced. Bumi set it up to show Aang that he would have to face many difficulties ahead as the avatar. He had no hard feelings towards Aang once. Bumi was so hateful in the LA towards Aang he acted like he flat out just wanted to hurt Aang.

* Aang is another big one obviously. He’s a kid and that’s just how he acts. Aang also chose to runaway. He was almost alone once he learned about being the avatar. His friends didn’t play the way they used to. And his best friend Gyatsu was all he had. When Aang heard they were going to take him away from Gyatsu he ran away because he knew that he would be alone. Being avatar wasn’t so much seen as a heavy responsibility at the time to a kid like Aang but it was the cause of his loneliness and he resented the title. Learning the abilities that followed were cool to Aang because he wasn’t alone and had new friends. LA Aang acts so serious and mature when Aang is serious-ly not mature at all.

I have to congratulate Netflix on one thing though. I hated the LA so much it made me miss the animated ATLA so I went out to the store and bought the animated set. Rewatching it is reliving the best days of my life.

I don’t blame any actors in the LA. I truly think they all did the best with what Netflix gave them. It’s not easy to act with bad script. 10/10 would have loved to have seen them in a good LA of ATLA made by the creators.

[rottenshotgungames]

No more waiting, let’s talk about what y’all are here to see

Footfall Devlog 4

This Devlog will be covering the basics of what Footfall is and the challenges of making a game so heavily inspired by immersive sims.

So, without further ado:

What is Footfall?

Footfall is an occult-industrial stealth-action rpg inspired by Dishonored and Mistborn. It aims to emulate the systemic ecosystem and emergent gameplay of immersive sims, particularly the fast, creative, movement-centric gameplay of Dishonored.

If this sounds interesting to you, the free playtest is live! You can find it on itch at https://rotten-shotgun-games.itch.io/footfall-playtest

Genre Convention

If you’re interested in Footfall I assume that you’ve played stealth-action games before: Dishonored, Assassin’s Creed, Gloomwood, Sekiro, Metro, etc. If you have, you know that there are generally two categories of stealth mechanics present in any given game

Player tools & indicators (e.g. Thief’s light gem, Dishonored’s stealth kills)

Enemy AI (e.g. The xenomorph in ALIEN: Isolation changing up their search patterns based upon your actions)

These two categories are mostly separated by longevity. Player tools and indicators focus very much on short term actions and consequences that influence the long term consequences of the enemy AI—I’m including the state of unconsciousness or death as a “long term consequence.” Because the first category tends to (mechanically) impact the second more than vice versa—and because this would be a VERY long essay if I talked about both in detail—we’re gonna be covering the player side of stealth today.

The Indicators

An Indicator in a stealth game informs the player when they’ve been spotted and/or how close they are to being spotted. Some stealth games have a few Indicators that track or reveal different things (e.g. The three lightning bolts in Dishonored tell you how aware a certain enemy is toward your presence and location, and the upgraded Dark Vision lets you see enemy Vision Cones, and guards will yelp and say things when they see a body you left behind. All three of these are Indicators). There are two general categories that Indicators fall into:

Hard Indicators—distinct visual trackers, particularly a UI element (e.g. the motion tracker in ALIEN: Isolation).

Soft Indicators—Narrative elements that convey information in a manner that is less precise than Hard Indicators (e.g. the sound made by your actions in AMNESIA: The Bunker).

While most videogames with a stealth mechanic incorporate both kinds of Indicator to some extent, TTRPGs are a bit different. The more tactical subset of this medium often attempts to provide player characters with a plethora of options for solving problems and overcoming tasks, among these being stealth—but almost every one of these games uses solely Soft Indicators. What do I mean by this? Well, think about D&D 5e’s stealth: D&D has no facing rules, no rising gauge of enemy awareness—hell the only semi-Hard indicator is light level, but that’s pointless because of the non-rarity of Dark Vision. There’s exactly two TTRPGs that I can think of which contain Hard Indicators, that being Blades in The Dark and Black Seven (both of which are really cool) but their indicators are both more long-term and therefore fall into my arbitrarily designated Enemy AI portion of stealth mechanics.

Hard Indicators are crucial to giving the player a sense of control in a stealth game, watching the numbers go up and down in direct response to your actions is the foundation of the experience (and just failing one Stealth check as a transition into full-blown combat discourages wide-spread use of stealth anyway). I decided to include two major Hard Indicators in Footfall:

Facing. This one was a no-brainer, Footfall already has a physics engine that would massively benefit from facing rules, it’s no huge leap to describe how your facing impacts your Line of Sight.

Notice. Notice is a riff on the classic stealth tracker (e.g. Dishonored’s lightning bolts, Gloomwood’s huntsman eye colors) that measures how aware nearby enemies are to your presence and actions, combined with the player-centric elements of THIEF’s light gem. This has led to a more generalized resource, measuring the awareness of all nearby enemies, influenced almost entirely by the individual player’s actions. It ranges from 0 (unnoticed) to 3 (spotted).

A consistent question I’ve gotten asked is, “Why did you make Notice a player resource, rather than something tracked by individual enemies?” Firstly, tracking that kind of resource on an enemy-by-enemy basis is hellish for a GM. Secondly, and possibly even more importantly, making Notice a player resource makes it feel like they have control over their own ability to stay hidden. If it’s a number ticking up and down on their character sheet, then it’s something they’ll pay more attention to and attempt to exercise control over/capitalize upon more readily . . . so long as they have the tools to do so, of course.

Tools

There are, generally speaking, two types of stealth-interactive tools:

Maintaining tools

Capitalizing tools

Maintaining tools help you to maintain or regain your hidden status. Think the lockers in Outcast or crouching in everything. These tools make stealth feel interactive and . . . well, functional. If you don’t have the basic ability to hide, how are you supposed to engage with stealth gameplay? The balancing act with Maintaining tools is in making them strong enough that Stealth feels viable, but not so powerful that the game becomes too easy or other options are immediately discarded. These take quite a few forms in Footfall, the most basic being Line of Sight and environmental interactions (e.g. Cover, Hidden Terrain, Darkness) that prevent you from needing to make a Stealth check or slowly reduce Notice over time. Some Gifted powers are also categorized as maintaining tools, particularly the base powers of Passage, Possession, and Shadows.

Capitalizing tools allow you to take advantage of your hidden status. The most common example is the Stealth kill/knock out. Capitalizing tools make stealth feel worth it, they’re a reward for engaging in this style of gameplay. In Footfall the only explicit Capitalizing Tool is the Coup de Grace, an enhanced Attack that’s far more likely to kill/knock out your opponent in one blow; however there are a million-and-one other reasons to maintain stealth, such as the danger of direct combat, the increased freedom of power usage, the penalties from Enemy Awareness, and the Downtime penalties from killing people (some of this will be covered in the next Devlog).

This brings us around to an underrated topic when discussing Stealth TTRPGs:

Centralization

We can talk all we want about the conventions of the Stealth genre, about the specific implementations of common mechanics and mechanical types, but it’ll only ever be useful insofar that such mechanical theory informs how players interact with the game.

The end-goal here is centralization. Your stealth mechanics, where they do exist, need to impact and influence every part of rules and play. Even if your players aren’t engaged in Stealth, that decision needs to be put in context of and conversation with Stealth gameplay.

If I’m not constantly thinking about the light I’m in and the sound I’m making, I’m not playing Thief.

If I’m not constantly working to get to higher ground and hidden terrain so that I can ambush enemies, I’m not playing Assassin’s Creed.

If I’m not thinking in relation to Stealth, I’m not playing a Stealth game.

Self Promo

Hey y’all, sorry about the long wait on this one. The playtest is finally public, and we’re halfway through talking about stealth! The next devlog is gonna be about Enemies, which are a whole can of worms.

If you wanna check out my other games, and get updated when major changes come to the Footfall playtest, follow me on Itch! If you're just looking for more Footfall status updates, or want to have an impact on the design, you can always join my public Discord. If you want more devlogs, and more rpg design talk, follow me here or on twitter.

Have a great night and a great day.

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 29

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

———————————————————————-

The first thing Lan Qiren did upon arriving at the Cloud Recesses was to instruct the Wen sect disciples that had accompanied him to wait outside the front gate.

This instruction, which Lan Qiren thought ought to have been obvious and expected, was not received well.

“But our orders – ”

“Are to obey mine,” Lan Qiren said firmly, having found that an appearance of sternness and unquestionable authority was as effective on Wen sect disciples as it was on the rest of his students. “As you may be aware, the Gusu Lan sect requires a token to enter through the gates. If you wish to enter, you may apply for a guest token in the same manner as any other unexpected guest, but I have no intention of waiting.”

Lan Qiren’s own token, which he had taken with him to the Nightless City, was still functioning. To him, this served as confirmation that his brother had not returned to the Cloud Recesses after his plan to destroy the sect at Xixiang had failed, and also came as a profound relief. First and foremost because he did not know what his brother’s aims might have been, should he have returned to the Lan sect rather than being trapped in Lanling after his murderous attempt on the entire cultivation world, but also…well, to be frank, because it would have been exceptionally embarrassing for Lan Qiren to have needed to go petition at the outer gate for a token, as if he were truly an outsider rather than a part of the main bloodline of their clan.

Anyway, it wasn’t as if he actually needed guards, no matter what Wen Ruohan might prefer. Not here.

Not at home.

The Cloud Recesses were always going to be home for Lan Qiren. He had grown surprisingly fond of the Nightless City, having found that that arrogant, sprawling, and often quixotically organized place bore a striking resemblance to its equally arrogant, sprawling, and quixotic master. And just like its master, the city’s flaws and annoyances had grown endearing with time – even the sheer presence of it, never-ending, had become tolerable, the faint but constant background noise of people fading into something not dissimilar to the background calls of birds and grasshoppers, of snuffling rabbits and croaking frogs. Walking through the streets of the Nightless City was not entirely unlike having a look inside Wen Ruohan’s brain: brilliant and self-assured beyond all reason, with a firm foundation and an orthodox layout that became increasingly complicated by unexpected deviations, all of which were, without exception, either breathtakingly creative or eye-rollingly stupid. Sometimes both at once.

The Nightless City was not yet a home to Lan Qiren, but neither was it a strange place, full of discomfort. He grew more and more accustomed to it every day. He had already started building himself new routines, breaking in new habits, and he had every expectation that given some time, he would be able to make himself wholly comfortable there.

And, of course, the Nightless City had Wen Ruohan. That was worth a great deal by itself.

Lan Qiren would be content, living in the Nightless City, and likely in time even happy, even delighted. It might not yet be his home in his heart, but it contained his beloved, and so he had no doubt in his mind that it would one day become his home.

But even if it did, the Cloud Recesses would always still be home as well.

Even now, arriving as Lan Qiren did with the full intent of challenging his sect elders and pursuing justice at any cost, even knowing that the potential cost of his goal could include being ejected from the sect, ostracized and permanently banned from returning – even so, he could not bring himself to dislike this place, or fear it. The Cloud Recesses was his home, for good or for evil. He had been born here, grown up here, lived his life here; his family was here, his students were here, his every memory was here. Every line of it, straight and true and walked over with a million steps that he could trace in his sleep, was as much carved into his bones as the rules on their wall. This was the place that had formed him into who he was today, shaping him in its reflection just as the Nightless City was Wen Ruohan’s, and in the end, despite the trials and tribulations he had faced, it had turned him into a person he was glad to have become. He could not distance himself from this place in his heart, which was gladdened by every familiar sight that he encountered, every face he knew, every tree and building that matched his memory.

Truly, Lan Qiren did not understand his brother.

For ten years, for his whole life, Lan Qiren had given everything of himself to this place, to the Cloud Recesses, to his Gusu Lan sect. He had been grateful to it, he had been angry with it, he had loved it beyond all reason, giving himself to its service. He had accompanied it in good times and in bad, had suffered with it and triumphed with it, felt the joy of delight and the pain of despair and the calm routine of day-to-day life, all here. In many ways, Lan Qiren, who had always sought to love, had in the absence of others married himself to his sect as a bridegroom to a bride, taking upon himself both the unexpected burden and the unexpected delight. For all that his elevation to the role of acting sect leader had come as an unwelcome surprise, he had chosen to accept it and even to embrace it. It was a commitment he had made knowingly, willingly, and without reserve, and he would never have willingly forsaken the duty he owed to it - and indeed, had not, even when a separation had been forced upon him. For the rest of his life, no matter where Lan Qiren went, he would always carry this place and these people with him, as much a part of his heart as his nephews or Wen Ruohan.

That was why he had to come here.

That was why he had to try to fix what had been broken.

If his mission was not successful – even if his sect as a whole disagreed with him, even if it turned away from him, rejected him, rejected what he had to say to them and the truth of what had happened, even if it became something he did not recognize, something he could not recognize – Lan Qiren would accept it, and he would grieve for the loss for the rest of his life. He would mourn the loss of the sect that the Lan sect should have been, could have been, but wasn’t. But if there was something he could do to forestall that fate, if it was in any way within his power to stop the rest of his sect from going too far down the wrong path, if there was a way that he could remind them of who they were and what they were meant to be and bring them back to righteousness, then he would do it. He loved his sect far too much to let it go without fighting for it, without doing everything he could for it.

He owed his sect that much. He wanted to give it that much.

He was not afraid.

And he most certainly did not require guards in order to do it. What Wen Ruohan was thinking, Lan Qiren had no idea – he’d even given Lan Qiren equal part of the power they had generated between them in their dual cultivation, despite the fact that only one of them was going off to fight a battle that required spiritual energy. Lan Qiren’s battle would be waged with words, not swords or arrays. What exactly was he supposed to do with this excess spiritual energy? He’d been glowing by the time they’d finished! Actually, genuinely glowing!

(Wen Ruohan had claimed that the glowing was a normal side effect for orthodox cultivators when they’d just made a very significant improvement in their cultivation, similar to the way that forming a golden core purged the body’s impurities. It would eventually be consolidated into his golden core through his traditional cultivation methods to further strengthen him, and it was absolutely nothing to worry about, nothing to be annoyed about. As the world’s foremost cultivator, it stood to reason that Wen Ruohan would know the most about how such things occurred, and he had insisted that Lan Qiren defer to his expertise in this matter. However, he had also been laughing throughout the entire explanation, possibly at Lan Qiren’s loudly expressed disapproval, so Lan Qiren hadn’t yet decided if he entirely believed him.)

Lan Qiren still hadn’t consolidated much of that power, as for him personally that would require meditation, music, or philosophical contemplation, or alternatively a great deal of training in swordsmanship, but at least the visible glow had gone away before he’d arrived at the Cloud Recesses. He would never have been able to show his face here if it hadn’t.

He had barely taken three steps past the gate when one of the passing juniors caught sight of him and blurted out, “Teacher! You’re back!”

Lan Qiren had expected to be recognized quickly and greeted with surprise, particularly given that he had not sent any advance word of his anticipated return, so he mentally excused the mild lack of courtesy, only inclining his head in a nod in response. He was just about to ask where he could find the sect elders when suddenly everyone around him seemingly started talking at once – the junior’s cry had gotten everyone’s attention, and to Lan Qiren’s surprise he was abruptly surrounded, juniors of all ages and stripes abandoning their duties to rush over to greet him.

Not just the ones who were already standing near the entrance gate by coincidence, either. It was almost a little like a flood, white-robed juniors appearing out of just about every side path Lan Qiren could think of and charging up to gather around him, much to his deep bemusement. Some of them actually issued a proper greeting, many of them did not, but each and every one of them was talking, excitedly pouring out words like a bottle that had just been uncorked. There were so many of them that their voices merged together into a single overlapping wave of noise, no individual speaker distinguishable, all of it together:

“Teacher! Teacher! You’re back! So much has happened! They changed the teachers for your classes! They’re awful! You’re finally back! I don’t think they’re following your curriculum anymore, Teacher, tell them to stop! Teacher, would you look at my essay while you’re here? Teacher, you’re back! We went to war, Teacher! Well, not all of us went, do not tell lies, it was just the seniors –! Are you back for good? I don’t like these new teachers. So much has happened, Teacher! I can’t believe you’re finally back! We missed you! There’s a rule I don’t understand, Teacher, could you please help –! I’m so happy that you’re back! They said you got married, Teacher, is that true? Are you staying for long? See, I told you he’d be back! Teacher, the new teachers rely too much on self-study, I don’t feel like I’m learning anything! Teacher, can you fix it? They changed the routine, Teacher! We – ”

“Causing noise is prohibited!” Lan Qiren bellowed, trying to make himself heard over the unreasonable din. For a moment he felt a distinct sense of displacement in time and space, wondering if this was really the Cloud Recesses or if he’d somehow ended up back in the Nightless City where he’d started out. He’d just been comparing the tranquility of one against the noisiness of the other, and then promptly encountered something like this…! “And running is prohibited for those of you just arriving now! What are you thinking?! I have not been gone so long that you should have all forgotten basic discipline! The next person to say something should take care not to violate Do not use frivolous words, or I will assign you lines to copy, regardless of age or status!”

They all fell silent, although many of them were looking at him with pleased expressions that tempted Lan Qiren to remind them that Do not smile foolishly was also a rule. That wasn’t one of the ones that called for discipline for minor violations, though – joy was meant to be expressed in moderation, while keeping Do not exult in excess firmly in mind – so he refrained.

Also, minor violations of discipline aside (and increasing concern over their newly imposed curriculum, if this was the result of it), Lan Qiren had to admit that it was rather nice to see the juniors’ enthusiasm at his homecoming.

He’d missed his students.

Wen Ruohan’s ridiculous plans for world domination through education aside, Lan Qiren was genuinely looking forward to starting to teach again. He would freely admit that he was likely not the most interesting lecturer, particularly given his inclination towards monotony and his free hand in imposing discipline where necessary, but he thought that he balanced it out by doing a good job in being reliable and clear, laying out his expectations and being stringently fair in applying them. He committed himself to helping his students form the sturdy foundations of morality and principle that they would build their lives on, to helping them become the fine and upstanding young men and women he knew they all had the potential to be, and he had the pleasure of knowing that sometimes they even looked positively on the experience.

It was a pleasure to be greeted by them now.

Though actually, now that he looked around, this crowd wasn’t just his students, strictly speaking. It wasn’t even just misbehaving juniors that used greeting him as an excuse to abandon their tasks. There were definitely a number of former students of his in the crowd, those that had since become adults, sometimes long since, and there were even a few that looked suspiciously like they were old enough to have been, at most, in the classes he had assisted with as an adolescent. And possibly some that hadn’t even been his students at all!

“How long are you back for, Teacher?” one of the braver juniors finally piped up.

It was a legitimate question, not a violation of Do not use frivolous words, so Lan Qiren would answer it. He cleared his throat and reached up to stroke his beard.

“That has not yet been determined,” he said, and tried to ignore the disappointed expressions on the faces all around him. “I have come to speak with the sect elders, and preferably all of them at once. Where – ”

“Most of them are already in the Hall of Serenity, Teacher,” someone said. “Would you like us to take you there? Or fetch the others? We can send messages – ”

“I have not been gone so long that I have forgotten where the Hall of Serenity is,” Lan Qiren said censoriously, though again he noticed that all the juniors seemed to almost brighten with enthusiasm when he scolded them, which was not the usual response to his lectures. Perhaps it had something to do with a sense of familiarity – he often scolded juniors, and doing so now certainly made him feel as though the world had gone back to normal. Maybe the same was true for them. “Ensure the other sect elders are directed to go there at once. In the meantime, I have another task for you: those who attended the last sect conference were handed golden coins by Lanling Jin, meant to act as memorial tokens to honor the event. These coins must be collected and put into the mingshi at once. Furthermore, consider this a further exercise: you must accomplish the collection utilizing full precautionary procedures, meaning that I do not want to hear that any of you have had any physical contact with them whatsoever. Will you do that?”

Much like Wen Ruohan’s confidence in his Wen sect’s obedience to his orders, Lan Qiren was equally certain that his Gusu Lan juniors would carry out his instructions swiftly and without question, even when he added, without explanation, a requirement usually applied to items of significant danger. Probably they would assume that there was some ethical reason they could not keep the coins…

“Can we get extra credit?”

Lan Qiren paused. He had not expected that.

“I am not currently acting as your teacher,” he eventually pointed out when no one clarified or withdrew the question, deciding not to comment on those in the audience who were definitely too old to be in class anymore. “As a result, I am not responsible for your grades. Extra credit from me would be utterly pointless.”

“Can we get extra credit anyway?”

How ridiculous. Lan Qiren huffed out a sigh. “…I will see what I can do,” he said begrudgingly.

The juniors all seemed very pleased.

They also did not move, which was less helpful.

“Dismissed!”

The juniors immediately scattered like startled pheasants, or at a minimum very enthusiastic ones. Lan Qiren was pleased to see that the majority of them responded immediately to his instructions with diligence and industry, many of them automatically organizing themselves into groups and peeling off in various directions, undoubtedly to go collect the coins, while the remainder set about continuing their original tasks, if they were urgent ones. That was what he would have expected to see, and what he wanted to see. Diligence is the root, organize work properly – the juniors might still be learning the rules, still working on improving their understanding, but they were already striving to live up to them.

That was what he had come here to fight to preserve.

Lan Qiren made his way to the Hall of Serenity, where the sect elders often gathered to discuss weighty matters in privacy. It was convenient that many of them had already gathered, as it would spare him the trouble of having to gather them up himself – though it would mean that he was interrupting whatever discussion was already in progress.

It had been years since Lan Qiren had felt genuinely intimidated by the Hall of Serenity, but he’d never felt entirely comfortable with it, either. It was a place reserved for the sect elders, with limited entry permitted for other sect members, other than obvious exceptions like the sect leader. Ever since Lan Qiren had first crossed the threshold as acting sect leader, ten years ago, he had always felt as though he were an imposter. He knew, deep inside, that he shouldn’t really be there, not really, that this wasn’t something that ought to belong to him. It had felt like he was taking yet another thing that ought to belong only to his brother…though Lan Qiren had never quite settled with himself whether this particular thing was a privilege or a duty.

He put aside his unease and let himself in without waiting for permission.

“Qiren!” someone called, sounding surprised – surprised but pleased, which wasn’t necessarily the tone of voice used by some of the others that murmured his name as he walked in.

Lan Qiren saluted appropriately. “Greetings, elders.”

As usual, he was greeted with a flurry of murmured responses:

“Get up, get up, no need for salute – ”

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“He was married, remember? Married out. Your memory…”

“Is that Qiren…?”

“ – Qishan Wen sect – ”

“There’s no need for such politeness – ”

“Welcome back.”

“– always been such a nice boy.”

“What is he wearing?”

“What are you doing here, Qiren?” Lan Yuanbai said loudly, cutting through the murmurs. “Has something happened outside? Do you bring news of your brother? Or perhaps…?”

Lan Qiren had expected that question, or something like it. Naturally the elders’ primary concern would be his brother’s absence, as under normal circumstances the sect could not proceed without the presence of the sect leader or his nominated alternate – and just as naturally, his brother’s inexplicable disappearance would have created a considerable frenzy of worry, just as the disappearance of his nephews would have until they’d realized, as they must have by now, that Lan Qiren would not be so calm unless he knew that they were safe.

“Those are matters that can be dealt with later,” Lan Qiren said firmly, declining to answer either of the questions they had actually asked. “I am here on a different matter. I require an audience of all the sect elders on a matter of utmost importance, a matter of ethics – ”

Rather rudely, he was interrupted.

“Whatever it is, surely it can wait for a better time, Qiren,” Lan Yuanbai said. He was a prickly old man, conservative and often tetchy. Lan Qiren had few enough fond memories of him, between his fervent support of Lan Qiren’s brother during his brief tenure and the way, later, that he’d often skirted the edges of violating the rules against gossip by complaining loudly within Lan Qiren’s hearing about how much better his brother would have handled some event or another. “Discussing a matter of ethics! Now! The world is in chaos and the sect leader is missing, the sect heirs are missing, everything is in an uproar. Now is not the right time. We are discussing important matters – ”

Lan Yuanbai also tended to go on at great length about nothing at all.

“Now is the right time,” Lan Qiren interrupted, regretting the need: he, at least, knew it was rude, but he also knew that there was no way around it if he ever intended to be heard. “It is always the right time for considering ethics…however, sect elders, perhaps I have made myself unclear. I have not requested an audience. I require it.”

That got some tempers in the room riled, as even Lan Qiren could tell, and had expected. The sect rules required respect for one’s elders, and they were accustomed to deference. But despite that, there were only some murmurs in response to his statement, some in agreement, some in disagreement, but at any rate no one stepped up to argue with him. Perhaps it was the familiarity of his presence or his former role as acting sect leader that tamed their reactions, but whatever the cause, the majority of them seemed generally inclined to agree with him.

And then, just as he thought that it would be fine to proceed, a smooth, cool, and dreadfully familiar voice said, “Such a presumptuous demand is most unlike you, Qiren. Who are you to make such a demand?”

The room quieted after that – but then, it always did, when it was Lan Zhengquan who spoke.

Lan Qiren had been trying not to look at him.

He had known, he supposed, that the moment he did, he would not be able to help himself.

He’d been right.

Lan Qiren’s grasp on his temper, never the strongest, snapped.

“I am myself,” Lan Qiren said sharply, “and whatever you might be implying, I need be nothing more. You all know me well, elders, and you know that I would not raise such a request trivially. We will be having an audience to discuss this matter, and we will be having it right now, without delay, without excuse. Immediately. Is that understood?”

Lan Zhengquan looked coldly disapproving. Lan Yuanbai mumbled something about improper behavior, though his surprise at Lan Qiren’s defiance kept his voice relatively weak. Even some of the sect elders that tended to support Lan Qiren looked taken aback by the strength of his words and the harshness of his tone.

After a moment, Lan Bocheng – another longstanding political rival of Lan Qiren, more moderate in his views than those in Lan Zhengquan’s camp but nevertheless as a personal matter inclined to be rather officious and overbearing when he felt disrespected – stepped forward, frowning.

“Your disregard for your elders and for sect hierarchy does not do you credit, Qiren,” he said, voice slow but loud. The sound of his words carried, seeming almost to fill the room. “It is arrogance more akin to your married family than your own.”

Wen sect arrogance, he meant, to be precise. His statement was not merely a pointed reminder that Lan Qiren had married out of the sect, making him technically an outsider, but an emphasis on who exactly it was that Lan Qiren now represented, as if the Wen sect suns embroidered on his white robes alongside the Lan clouds weren’t obvious enough.

It was the sort of snide put-down Lan Qiren had become accustomed to over the years.

The disapproval in Lan Bocheng’s words was technically implicit, not explicit. He had not officially condemned Lan Qiren for bad behavior, or identified any particular rule he was said to have violated, but in its own way the censure and disapprovement in his tone and stance were so obvious that even someone who had difficulty understanding social situations like Lan Qiren could get the message very clearly. In the past, Lan Qiren would have taken his elders’ chastisement to heart and treated as a sign that he should back off from whatever position he had adopted, as a sign that he should go worry over what he had done, to reflect with contemplation and thoughtfulness and correct his own behavior in the hope that there would be nothing to criticize in the future.

Well, perhaps some of Wen Ruohan’s constant exhortations to remember his own value had in fact sunk in, because Lan Qiren had no intention of backing down. He certainly had no intention of accepting fault where he had done nothing wrong – while others had.

“It is correct that you mention my own family,” he said curtly. “That I am married out is no matter under our family rules. Married out or not, I am still Gusu Lan’s Lan Qiren, second son of the last sect leader, younger brother of the current sect leader, and uncle of the future sect leader. I am part of the main line of the Gusu Lan clan, entrusted by our ancestors with authority over this sect – and that, too, is sect hierarchy, elders. As you well know, in the absence of any other member of the main clan, even though you are my elders, you must defer to my authority.”

Perhaps it was arrogance, perhaps it was merely temper.

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure which it was, but no matter what, he was not going to let himself be pushed around by the sect elders this time, the way he had on so many other occasions. This time, the matter was too important to give up, too important to put off, too important to waste time with introspective reflection – it had already been put off for too long. It was his entire sect’s conscience at stake. It was a question which, however it was resolved, related to the very foundation of their sect, the things that made them who they were, the rules their sect depended on. That they all depended on.

It was the Gusu Lan sect’s future at issue. His nephews’ future, the future of all those juniors that called him Teacher, the next generation and all those that came after…whether they could live proudly under their family rules or not, it would depend on how the sect handled this issue, and how they all chose to behave going forward. Whether they chose to uphold justice and morality and doing what was right no matter how painful, as their rules demanded, or – or otherwise.

Lan Qiren could not back down.

The rules said Do not disrespect your elders, but they also said Uphold justice. When two rules came into conflict, it was up to the individual to choose which rule they ought to follow.

Rules and righteousness.

Their sect had never governed itself by rules alone.

Lan Qiren had always questioned his choices, always doubted himself. He knew too well his weakness in understanding people, his struggles to interpret subtleties, his inexperience and his naivete and his often unthinking stubbornness. Because of that, he tended to err in favor of yielding to others’ opinions over his own, relying wholly on the rules and his elders to guide him. But today, perhaps for the first time, he felt no doubt at all.

He was right – and he knew it.

“Qiren is correct,” someone said, a creaking old voice. It was Lan Jinyan, an antique from the generation before last, curled up over a cane with furrows on his face deeper than those in the craggy cliffs of the nearby mountains. He did not interfere with sect affairs too much anymore, to Lan Qiren’s knowledge, but he’d always been kind; Lan Qiren supposed that he could count him as an ally, in some fashion. “In the absence of any other, he has the authority – certainly enough authority to demand an audience, at least. And as far as I am concerned, after ten years of dealing with all the troubles that come with sect leadership, he’s also entitled to it, if he thinks it’s necessary. So be it! He demands an audience, so we will have one. Tell us, Qiren, what subject are we discussing?”

“The core of our sect: ethics, good conduct, the rules, and righteousness,” Lan Qiren said, putting his hands behind his back. His spine was as straight as a ruler. “I set as the subject – the spiritual iron mine in Xixiang, and the events that took place there ten years ago involving our sect and my sister-in-law, He Kexin.”

Complete silence.

Behind his back, Lan Qiren’s fists clenched so tightly that he could feel his knuckles going white.

That answered that question, he supposed.

His brother had been right. They had known. They’d all known, all of them – or at least enough to make a difference, with those who did not know being few enough in number to not to now ask questions the way they would have if they had known nothing.

The leaders, at least, knew.

They were the ones that Lan Qiren looked to now – that everyone looked to, now and in the past. They were the ones that would have otherwise spoken up, the loud voices, the ones that would have been demanding an explanation if they did not know what he was talking about. The ones that should have been demanding answers as to why Lan Qiren would consider the events of ten years ago in a place outside of the Cloud Recesses to be sufficiently important to demand an immediate hearing with the sect elders. They should have, but they weren’t, because they already knew.

They knew.

“I set the subject,” Lan Qiren repeated, and his voice echoed through the unusually quiet hall. “I set the subject as justice, sect elders. I assert that there has been a terrible wrongdoing perpetrated by our Gusu Lan sect, an act done in our name and on our behalf. I assert that we have been party to an injustice that is long overdue a reckoning. I assert that if we are to consider ourselves bound by the rules of our Gusu Lan sect, rules that demand justice, demand morality, demand righteousness, then we must act, and act now, to rectify that injustice…I call, sect elders, for punishment.”

That got them buzzing.

“Qiren, you don’t understand,” Lan Suiying said, tugging at his beard in a fretful sort of manner. He was one of Lan Qiren’s typical allies, along with Lan Yiran and Lan Yichi at his side, but all three of them were frowning at him now. “The circumstances back then, ten years ago…it is not so simple as you might think. Matters were complicated, events confusing. The context of the situation must be considered. Everything in moderation, everything considered as a whole…”

“I call for punishment,” Lan Qiren said again, ignoring Lan Suiying’s indirect plea that he drop the subject. “Elders, you know the rules as well as I. I say it again: the rules say that we must uphold the value of justice. The rules say we must shoulder the weight of morality. The rules say that we are bound to stay on the righteous path. Those are the rules our ancestors set into place, and the rules to which we have all bound ourselves. These are the rules that govern our lives! If we are to be true to them, we must be true in all respects, whether in public or in private. We must follow them wherever they apply, even where it is inconvenient, even when it is uncomfortable, and even, yes, when it is complicated…indeed, we must especially apply them in those situations.”

He looked around the room.

“These are our family rules,” he stressed. “Our family, our clan, our sect. We cannot look away from them for our own convenience, we cannot ignore them for our benefit. The rules say, stay on the righteous path. This is our family’s path, our path. And so I put to you, this question goes to the very core of our sect’s values, just as I said at the start. There was an injustice. It must be remedied. I call once more for punishment.”

There were murmurs everywhere in the room. Everyone was whispering to their neighbors in hurried voices, with many, if not most, of them disagreeing with each other.

(“To think he’d revive such a subject after so long – ”

“Pah! Can it really be said to be so long? Ten years is not too late for a gentleman to seek revenge. Is not the same true for justice?”

“Revenge – would you call it revenge? But for whom?”

“Who do you think!”)

(“Perhaps we should instead consider why our sect’s teachings allowed such behavior to occur? When we see such an event, we must question their sufficiency and contemplate adding additional lessons on the applicability of the rules, or even additional rules to help mitigate future instances – ”

“Oh, stop trying to talk around the matter the way you always do. You know perfectly well that that’s just a distraction, not the subject at hand. This is about the past, not the future! We can talk about improving the rules and the teachings later: the subject is punishment, not education. Anyway, are you telling me that you really want to go against Qiren on matters of curriculum?”)

(“Nasty subject. Nasty subject…”

“I don’t disagree with you, it is. No one’s arguing against that. But that’s more of a reason to talk about it, not less. Remember where we are! This hall was built to remind us that we must strive to bring serenity to our sect, not to ourselves. We can’t avoid discussing a subject just because it’s unpleasant…”)

(“About time someone brought it up, I say. No surprise that it’d be Qiren…”

“I suppose so, but I must ask, does he perhaps have some particular purpose in bringing it up? Or at a minimum in bringing it up now? There is so much happening, and our sect leader is absent, his heirs missing, and you know what people have said about that. It doesn’t seem to be the right time. And do not forget that Qiren has married out…and look at what he’s wearing! He could not be more clearly displaying the flag of the Wen sect, right in the middle of the Cloud Recesses – ”

“That is his right as a married man. Do not forget why he married out, and at whose compulsion that marriage occurred – and for that, blame not just the sect leader, but ourselves!”

“We didn’t authorize it!”

“No, but it was our negligence that permitted it to happen in the first place. Don’t think you can get around this –”)

“I remind the sect elders of the purpose of punishment,” Lan Qiren said loudly, cutting through the noise and drawing attention to himself once more. “Justice calls both for reparation and for punishment. The purpose of reparation is to right the wrong that was committed, while the purpose of punishment is to teach: a twofold teaching, to teach the individual and to teach the community. To fail to impose punishment for wrongdoing is a violation of our rules, for it leaves the individual free to continue in his crime or to perpetrate others; moreover, it implicitly condones that behavior in others, leading to further injustice. Even when it is a matter that will never be made public, the impetus for punishment is not lessened, but is on the contrary all the greater, for the lesson to the community can only be conveyed through the changed behavior of the individual. More than that – we have a duty to abide by our principles in private and in public, to live up to the commitments we have made for ourselves before we dare impose them on others…to not be made hypocrites. And we would truly be hypocrites if we did not take action, for to refuse to right a wrong is to ourselves join in with the wrongdoing.”

Of course, that was what he was really condemning here.

Their Gusu Lan rules were not heartless. They often counseled mercy, particularly where the intent was good – be easy on others – but they were still rules, and rules, by their nature, were harsh and unforgiving, inflexible. That was the choice the ancestors of Gusu Lan had made, their rules and righteousness no less true than the Nie sect’s fight evil wherever it is or the Jiang sect’s attempt the impossible. The Lan sect’s rules were their guardrails, meant to help guide its disciples on the right path, but for guardrails to work, they had to be obeyed.

They had to be enforced.

Each of them was a member of a community, none of them an island alone. When one of them did wrong, it affected all the others, whether they knew it or not – it was as if they were all together on a boat, ants on the same branch, and one of them had torn open a hole in the bottom to let in the water. The hole had to be repaired and the conduct had to be censured so that it would not be repeated. They could not look away and pretend that there was no hole there simply because of the identity of the one who had made it or the collateral effects on those who had contributed.

If they did that – if they picked and chose which crimes must be paid for, and which ones did not – then in the end, eventually, they would look away too much. They would not find the hole, they would not repair it, and whether it be that time or another, they would all sink, together.

They had to punish all violations that called for punishment. They had to do it even when they didn’t want to, especially when they didn’t want to. If they didn’t, the matter would linger endlessly, an unhealed wound, rotting, and spreading the rot the longer it remained unattended to.

Just as this had.

Lan Qiren could see the discomfort on the faces of the elders around him. He could see their reluctance to reopen the subject even when they knew he was right, their unwillingness to bring the subject to open debate…he could see the complicity that chained them all to this wrongdoing.

That was what he really had to fight.

That was what Wen Ruohan hadn’t quite understood. It wouldn’t be enough to simply demand the imposition of punishment or discipline by force, not here, not now, not in these circumstances, just as it wouldn’t have been enough simply to impose some inapposite punishment on Wen Ruohan for having sent Lan Qiren to the Fire Palace. If mere punishment had been all Lan Qiren wanted, he could have obtained it, and easily; the Wen sect had all the force and influence Lan Qiren could possibly want. But he wanted more than that.

He wanted the rot to heal.

He wanted – no, Lan Qiren needed to convince his sect of the truth of what had happened. He had to make them confront not only the crimes that had been done in their name, but their own unwillingness to act righteously to fix what they had done and accept punishment for their errors. He had to make them see, make them accept it; he had to make them own up to it. They needed to accept the punishment, or else it would not be meaningful. It would not make it better.

To regain their righteousness, the sect elders, who were responsible for guiding their sect and responsible for safekeeping it, had to do more than simply consent to a punishment.

They needed to acknowledge that what had been done was wrong.

They needed to commit to fixing what they could, and paying for what they couldn’t.

They needed to understand.

“I have called an audience of elders and opened the subject,” Lan Qiren said, reminding them. “I have not dictated any course of action. If there is disagreement with what I have called for, let someone step forward as representative and tell me why. I have called for punishment. If you would not apply it, here and now, tell me why.”

Typically, a formal debate before the elders on a matter of ethical conduct required first the presentation of an essay laying out the events at issue, the eventual outcome, the intent, all the facts – normally this was in writing, to allow for cooler minds to prevail, but that was not strictly necessary. The important part was that the issue had to be brought out into the light to be examined, to be critiqued and evaluated as impartially as they could manage, with one representative to defend the actions taken and one to condemn it. No matter how clear-cut the issue seemed to be, those representatives always existed.

There was no crime that did not deserve a defense, and no conduct that was so good that it did not require an accuser to examine it.

Once the subject was raised and laid out for comment, the representatives selected, they could then debate the details. Was the intent sufficient to justify the action? To mitigate the outcome? Should mercy or justice be applied? What considerations and interests were relevant, whether private or public, individuals or the sect? What rules could be cited on each side? So on and so forth, statements, replies, rebuttals and rejoinders, the two sides going back and forth until the sect elders decided that they had heard enough and that it was time to open the floor to everyone else’s arguments, to give everyone a say before making the final decision.

The format was stiff and formal, but then, so were they.

Lan Qiren’s brother had been right: they wouldn’t be Gusu Lan without their rules.

“Well?” Lan Qiren asked, when no one stepped forward. “Does no one have anything to say? Or are you saying that this subject cannot even be discussed?”

That was a challenge.

That was the greatest taboo, the sect’s bottom line. If there was one thing that everyone could agree on, or at least should, it was that no one was above the rules, and there was no subject that could not be discussed. There were some subjects, those which risked bringing disgrace to the sect, that could only be discussed here in the Hall of Serenity, with only the sect elders to witness it – there were privacy wards built into the walls for just that reason. There were some subjects that were informally considered off limits because they served no valid purpose, or where the imposition of the rules would be nothing but cruelty. There were some subjects that were considered closed for reasons of justice; for instance, once an issue was raised and then finished, the relevant punishment meted out and served, it could not be reopened without due cause, and opening it without such cause was itself a wrongdoing.

Here, Lan Qiren was claiming that he had due cause to reopen the old issue. He was claiming that the matter of the Xixiang mine had never been closed at all. He was claiming that without punishment having been properly applied, the matter was still unsettled, that the whole thing was like a corpse walking free of its grave until its resentments had been resolved.

There were a few sect elders clearly struggling with themselves, debating internally whether they should step forward to act as representative. Lan Qiren had no doubt that one of them would, eventually, and he wondered which one would be brave enough to step up to represent the side of the defense.

Who would dare defend this – this travesty?

“I will defend,” Lan Zhengquan said.

Lan Qiren’s eyes widened.

He hadn’t expected that at all.

Lan Zhengquan was, if not the original perpetrator of the crime, then very much the next one in line, part and parcel of what had gone wrong all those years ago. He and his brother Lan Muzhi were the subjects of the debate, the ones who had committed the wrongdoing, and the subject did not normally act as the defender. They were allowed to speak, of course, and defend themselves, but their self-defense was typically considered part of evidence, not the defense.

The defense was supposed to be impartial and speaking on behalf of the sect, not the individual.

This was not how it was supposed to go. And yet – there were once again murmurs in the room, sounds of disapproval and surprise alike, but in the end no one objected.

No one else stepped forward to stop him.

Again.

Lan Qiren looked at Lan Zhengquan grimly. He thought of that mine – he thought of all those families, all those dead, those short ghosts, the ghosts that had died with resentment so strong that they bore a bloodline grudge against the entirety of Gusu Lan, even those as young and innocent as Lan Wangji. He thought of the wrongdoing that this man and his brother had caused in Lan Qiren’s beloved sect’s name, tainting it and all his brethren. He thought of how those actions had played their part in driving his brother to the worst depths of his madness, the rippling impacts of what had been done throwing the world into chaos, affecting even the next generation. He thought of He Kexin, and the trial she had never gotten, the trial she’d deserved.

The trial that he would now insist on, at long belated last.

Obtaining justice for the living, easing resentment for the dead: these were the foremost duty of a cultivator – and Lan Qiren did not shirk his duties, no matter how painful.

“So be it,” he said, inclining his head in an abrupt jerk, tacitly agreeing to Lan Zhengquan’s violation of tradition despite how much he disapproved of it. “If the sect does not object, then Lan Zhengquan will stand for the defense, and I will stand for the accuser.”

Silence settled across the room, the other elders stepping back to watch. According to the rules of the debate format, they would not interrupt, would not speak until the matter had been settled.

Good.

Lan Qiren only hoped that he would be able to show them through his words what he felt in his heart. He hoped that he would be able to convince them that he was right, and that the miscarriage of justice all those years ago had to be repaired. He hoped –

He hoped that he would be enough.

--

A/N: This is the chapter that got split up due to length, so the next chapter is part 2 of this one

[interesting-interludes]

stranger than fiction (1)

→ 📖 pairing: assistant!jimin x novelist!reader

→ ☕ genre: enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut

→ 🚬 word count: 3k

→ 🍝 summary: you are a reclusive author who wants nothing more than to be left alone so you can write at your own pace. jimin is the youngest executive assistant at Lucky Coin Publishers, and he’s never once been intimidated by a writer or their current project. that is, until he’s assigned to help you complete your latest novel. and you aren’t pleased about it.

→ 🍷 content warnings: profanity, smoking, jimin is very determined, reader is very grumpy, sexual tension.

→ 🖊 a/n: loosely based on a relationship from the movie stranger than fiction and also the tv show black books. thanks for reading :) 

series masterlist → next chapter

chapter 1: satan smoking a cigarette

Jimin has worked with many, many authors, but none of them have ever been this elusive.

The publishing executives said you would be a difficult case, that you were a bit of an eccentric. In fact, when Jimin asked one of his supervisors about you and your...colorful reputation at the publishing house, all he had to say on the matter was “that woman is Satan smoking a cigarette.”

Jimin had been told that he was the sixth person to be assigned to you. No one knew why, but apparently you had a vendetta against anyone connected to Lucky Coin Publishers. A category which Jimin unfortunately fell under. 

But, being the perfectionist that he was, and never one to back down from a challenge, Jimin accepted the seemingly impossible task. A task that no one else from the company has accomplished so far: getting you to finish your latest novel by the end of the year. 

Jimin tried calling 42 times over the course of three days. You had no personal number, even though it was the year 2002 and most people with your level of notoriety and fame owned a cell phone by now, or at least a pager.

The publishers were beginning to get anxious, considering the fact that you hadn’t given them anything to work with in over three months. Not one draft, not one page, not even a clipping of meaningful prose. And, considering the book’s set release date, this was quite the problem. 

So, here he was, asking around the quaint yet utterly reclusive community of Hidden Village. The name being as ironic as its residents. For it was a town of starving artists, retired creatives, and obscure literary celebrities who were fiercely protective of their anonymity. It was a place for strange, solitary people to live in peace and blissful privacy.

Something Jimin was about to disrupt.

He’d traced your location as far as your apartment number, given that the publishers were so antsy and had given him clearance to be a little invasive, but no one had answered the buzzer.

Now, if Jimin was any less determined, any less qualified given his history, he might’ve given up after the first few failed attempts. But, of course, he was Park Jimin, the youngest executive assistant in the company’s history. And he wasn’t about to let that title slip away.

So he walked the cobblestoned streets in the fading afternoon sun, searching the street signs for Red Herring Road.

When no one answered the buzzer, Jimin tried a few of the neighbors. One of them was a grumpy-sounding man who told him check the cafe a few blocks away, or the museum, or the bar, or the bookshop. But Jimin figured he’d try the cafe first.

He found it after just a few minutes of walking. An ivy-draped awning in the narrow street, shading a few little tables and chairs. A teapot-shaped sign over the door read:

Jam & Bread: coffee, sandwiches, pastries.

This must be the place, Jimin reassures himself, straightening his sleeves and perfecting the curve of his hair.

As he approaches, he sees that there’s only one person inhabiting the small cafe.

A woman, sitting outside, hunched over the crowded tabletop. 

None of your books have an “About the Author” section, let alone a picture of your face on the back cover. But he recognizes you still, from that one interaction four years ago. 

You’re dressed in heavily oversized, layered clothing. A sweater here, a scarf there, a wool coat hanging off the back of your chair.

It’s a bright yet chilly afternoon, so you’re dressed warmly with a pair of sunglasses on your nose.

A sea of papers is spread out in front of you. Open books, notepads, a few loose leafs, and sticky notes scattered all throughout. And to your right: a foamy latte in a large mug with a fluffy chocolate croissant.

Jimin prepares himself for the interaction to come. Because, from the looks of it, you clearly don’t want to be disturbed.

But Jimin knows that if he wanted to succeed, he’s going to have to do just that.

You’ve decided, over the course of several run-ins with your editor, that semicolons are bastards that have no place in any of your works. You make a note to exclude them from all future manuscripts.

This particular novel has proven to be more difficult to complete than all the others, you’ll admit that much. Maybe it’s because your most recently published book catapulted into unexpected (and probably undeserved) fame, meaning that the next thing you put out has to be even better or you’ll be a disappointment to everyone.

Now, you’ve never been one to easily cope with high expectations, or anyone expecting anything good out of you at all, so this newfound situation was especially overwhelming.

This book has loomed over your head like a storm cloud, like a deep depression, threatening to destroy your mental state at the drop of a hat.

Then, just as you’re getting into a groove, another damned interruption.

This time, it’s a young man in black dress shoes. The obnoxious squeak from the overly-polished leather is the first thing that grabs your attention.

You look up from the page you’re currently annotating, barely bothering to disguise your irritated expression.

He’s standing there in a tailored green coat that molds to his shoulders and thin waist. Then there’s the rings on his fingers and the ridiculous perfection of his hair: dyed blonde and styled up out of his face.

He’s beautiful, tantalizing. It's slightly infuriating.

“Excuse me,” he begins in a voice much lighter and silkier than you expected. “Are you Miss Nin?”

Nin, it was the pen name you’d chosen so many years ago. From Anaïs Nin, the author famous for her diaries and erotica. Even now, most people you know refer to you by that name. It makes life a little easier, living life through someone else’s name.

You survey the young man, trying to determine what exactly he wants. Nothing good, no doubt.

“No, she lives down the street,” you say, testing the waters. “Just around the corner, you can’t miss it.”

You say it with a pleasant smile, hoping he’ll take the bait. Because once he turns the street corner, you can escape through the alleyway and make it back to your apartment.

But the young man scans you up and down, calculating. After a few moments, he gives you a sly smile.

Authors are such bad liars, he thinks to himself. They spend so much time thinking up fiction in their works that there’s none left for their real lives.

And, of course, he already knows well who you are.

“No, I think you’re sitting right here, Miss Nin.”

Your genial expression drops in an instant. So that’s how it’s going to be.

You look at him over the rim of your sunglasses.

“And you are?” you say, clearly not amused.

Something very small in Jimin’s mind deflates. You don’t remember him.

But he shakes it off in an instant, slipping back into his professional persona.

“Park Jimin, pleased to meet you,” he answers cheerfully, holding out his hand to shake.

You glance at it once.

“A horrible judge of character on your part,” you reply dryly.

“I’m the assistant your publishers hired,” Jimin says, still friendly as ever.

“Oh, the spy,” you spit, beginning to gather your things.

“The assistant,” he corrects gently.

“I don’t need an assistant.”

You snatch all the stray papers and shove them in your tote bag, along with the three books, two journals, three notepads, and the six loose pens that were strewn about.

“I provide a number of services, whatever you need to—”

“Oh, such as watching me like a vulture and nagging me every time I get distracted, those kinds of services?”

By now, you’ve gathered all your belongings and have moved on to donning your scarf and coat.

Jimin watches you curiously. There’s a strange quality about you, the same one he saw when the two of you met the first time. 

Maybe it’s the way you look at him with such quiet intrigue, or the way you rush to gather the immense amount of books and papers that you apparently carry in your bag. Whatever it is, it seems that he can’t take his eyes away from you.

“Miss Nin, I’m sure we can find a way that I’d be of use to you,” Jimin says as you shrug your bag onto your shoulder.

“I can help you with any organizational needs you might have, any—” the rest of his sentence trails off.

Jimin watches in fascination as you grab the full mug of coffee, tilt your head back, and down the entire thing in a matter of moments.

Then, you wrap the croissant in a napkin, dig in your wallet for an extremely generous tip (which you tuck under the vase of flowers on the table), give whoever is inside the cafe a friendly wave, and set off marching down the street.

He scrambles after you.

“Listen,” you begin impatiently. “I don’t need the publishers breathing down my neck and I certainly don’t need an “assistant” lurking around my workspace. So, if you would be so kind, please vacate the premises before I commit the stereotypical and turn you into an unlikable character that gets killed off in my next work.”

You pick up the pace as you stalk down the street, bristling at the fact that the publishers felt the need to send yet another spy after you expressed your intense dislike for them.

“Miss Nin, if you would just listen for a moment—” Jimin tries, but you’re quick to interrupt him again.

“Look, I’m sure you’re good at your job and all, but I simply have no need for any kind of assistant. I work best alone, even though the publishers refuse to acknowledge that. I’ve told them time and time again that outside involvement just slows me down. So, thank you for coming all the way out here, but you can tell the publishers that I dismissed you and I’ll take the heat from there.”

You say it all without looking at him, staring straight ahead like you’re hoping it will make him magically disappear.

By now the two of you have reached the mass of apartments, all in shades of old brown and faded cream. A criss-crossing system of fire escapes crawls up the sides of the building. The whole structure looks ancient, with peeling paint and chipped stone.

You approach an ivy-covered wall and stop at the door where Jimin started his search not too long ago. With the hand still holding the napkin-wrapped croissant, you punch a very long sequence of numbers into the keypad next to the buzzer.

A beep. You yank the door open and try to slither inside without him following you. But Jimin jams his foot through the gap before you can slam it shut.

“Miss Nin, please,” he pleads. “I really think I could be of help to you if you would just let me.”

There’s a moment where you stop to look at him, and something in your expression suggests that he might’ve gotten through to you.

Jimin’s breath catches in his throat when he sees how your lips part slightly, how your eyes flick over his with that same silent, enigmatic question.

He has to admit, something in his internal rhythm skips in that moment. Maybe this is the start of something—

“Nah, I’m good,” you say, whipping around and leaving Jimin hurrying after you after a pause of shock.

The room you’ve both entered is not what Jimin thinks of when he imagines the lobby of an apartment building.

There are checkered marble floors, shiny and polished despite the outward state of the building, and a number of large, stylishly modern leather couches scattered all throughout the large room.

But there’s also stacks of boxes lining the walls, countless empty picture frames propped up against each other, and cobwebs hanging like drapes from the ceiling.

You’re rushing up the stairs now, which stretches and spirals far above.

Jimin uses the curling iron railing to help him catch up to you. His professional shoes click against the marble, and the sound only adds to your annoyance.

He’s a persistent one, you’ll give him that.

“Trust me, Mr. Whoever You Are,” you say, somehow walking even faster. “You wouldn’t enjoy working with me. I’d make sure of it.”

Jimin is a little distracted. Not only by the incredible speed that you’re maintaining, but also the interior of your apparent “apartment building.”

Paintings crowd the walls, all in old intricate frames, a thick layer of dust over the landscapes, portraits, and impressions. It looks more like a museum than a place to live.

As Jimin follows you up the great, winding staircase, he can’t help but wonder why you’re so resistant to the idea of an assistant. It instills a small flame of curious determination in him.

He matches your pace, just a few steps behind you, as the two of you pass a massive cracked mirror leaning against the railing.

“Maybe I could come to that conclusion myself?” Jimin says, hopping up a step so he can stand next to you, trying to catch your eye.

But you keep on pretending he’s not there, staring straight ahead with the rigid focus only a writer possesses.

Higher and higher you climb, passing more curious things, like a broken chandelier surrounded by crystal shards, then a pile of rotting wood planks.

The sound of your footsteps remains steady while Jimin’s start to slow from exhaustion.

Either you’re completely unfazed by the incredible number of steps, or you’re very good at hiding it.

Jimin pauses, chest heaving, one hand on the railing as he leans over to catch his breath. He hears your steady footsteps carry on.

He looks up to see you reaching towards a rusty door at the end of a long hallway. Digging around in your bag, you pull out a bundle of jingling keys, almost immediately finding the right one and slipping it inside the lock.

Swinging the door open, you disappear behind it as Jimin springs into action again.

His hand slips between the gap just before the door closes and automatically locks.

What he hopes to see is the inside of your apartment, a refuge from the long stretch of exertion that lays behind him. But what he finds is more stairs.

This stairway is less grand. No marble floors or fancy railing, just a narrow tower of concrete steps and unpainted walls.

He follows you up the stairwell that twists this way and that, until the two of you reach yet another door.

“Go home, kid. I have no use for you,” you say dismissively, sifting through your key ring to unlock the door.

That does it. The last of Jimin’s patience flickers out like a candle flame.

The lock clicks open, and you try to slam the door in his face, but he extends his arm and plants his hand firmly on the wood.

The sound and force of it makes you jump, whipping around to face him.

His face has changed. A moment ago, it was soft and pleasant. Now it’s hardened and dark, his eyes piercing into yours like icicles.

“Miss Nin,” Jimin begins, voice sharp enough to cut. “I’ve been an author’s assistant for three years. I’ve helped eight authors complete more than eleven books, and I’ve never gone back to the publisher to ask for more time.”

He straightens, adjusting his coat while maintaining that same icy eye contact.

“Now, I will available to you whenever you may need me. And you will find that I can be very....persistent.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Here’s my home number, my mobile number, and my pager number. I don’t take calls past eight p.m. and I don’t tolerate the use of narcotics.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, begrudgingly taking the business card he hands you with all his information. 

“I believe the novel is set to release early next year,” Jimin says in a fake nonchalant tone. “Which means you have until the end of December to come up with a final draft.”

The mention of a deadline makes you bristle, setting him with a glare.

“So, until you put the last punctuation mark on the very last page, I will be here. Ready to assist you.”

A moment of tense silence. You glaring at him, him staring right back with a slight, smug smile.

You move to retreat into the doorway.

“Oh, and Miss Nin?” Jimin interrupts, sounding pleased with himself. “I get paid whether you like me or not.”

You slam the door.

[lifeofpriya]

hi! can i request jannik & reader making pizzas together but they try to make it look like one another (and fail miserably lol)

omg but wait, making pizzas with Jannik would be SO MUCH fun 😩😩😩

A Recipe for Disaster

wc: 2.3k

You're in the kitchen, the warm glow of the oven casting a comforting hue across the tiles. The scent of fresh dough fills the air as you knead it with your hands, feeling the sticky texture give way to a soft, pliable mass. You're wearing your favorite apron, the one with the cartoon pizzas that always makes you smile. It's a quiet evening, the kind where the only sounds are the occasional laugh and the sizzle of olive oil in a hot pan.

Jannik, your boyfriend, stands across from you, his strong hands deftly rolling out his own dough. He's wearing an apron too, but his is more professional, with his name embroidered on the chest in a bold, italic font. You both decided to make pizzas that look like each other for dinner tonight. It seemed like a fun challenge, a way to add a bit of spice to a routine evening. But as you watch the blobs of dough slowly take shape, you realize you might have bitten off more than you can chew.

Your pizza, supposed to resemble Jannik, ends up with a lopsided crust and sauce that's spread too thin. You attempt to fix it, but it just makes the mess worse. The cheese clumps together, and the pepperoni forms a sad, droopy smile. You can't help but giggle at your creation, the stress of the day melting away as you acknowledge your failure.

Jannik glances over, his own pizza looking more like a Jackson Pollock painting than your face. He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you can't help but feel a warmth spread through your chest. The way his curly ginger hair bounces with every move he makes is endearing, even when he's flinging flour across the kitchen.

"It's not easy, is it?" he says, holding up his abstract culinary masterpiece. You shake your head, wiping a smear of tomato sauce from your cheek with the back of your hand. "I guess not everyone can be a Michelin-star chef."

You both laugh, the tension of the botched pizzas dissipating. The kitchen is a mess of flour and toppings, but it's a shared mess, a testament to your attempt at creativity. You decide to take a break, wiping your hands on your apron and walking over to the fridge. You grab a bottle of cold water and two glasses, setting them on the counter. Jannik follows suit, and you both take a sip, watching each other over the rims of the glasses.

"Alright," you say, feeling reinvigorated, "let's start again. This time, I'll go first."

You roll out a new piece of dough, focusing on the shape of Jannik's strong jawline and the curve of his cheekbones. You spread the sauce more carefully, trying to mimic the way his skin flushes with exertion on the tennis court. The cheese comes next, a gentle sprinkle that you attempt to form into the shape of his eyes.

As you work, you can't help but feel a sense of admiration for his athleticism and determination. You've watched him play countless times, his intensity and passion for the sport a constant source of inspiration. His dedication to his craft is something you've always found incredibly attractive, and it's reflected in the way he approaches even the most minor challenges in life—like making a pizza that looks like you.

Jannik watches you, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he takes in your focused expression. He leans against the counter, sipping his water and offering the occasional tip. "Remember, less is more," he says, nodding towards your overzealous cheese distribution. You smile and listen, appreciating his guidance.

The second attempt is better, but still not quite right. The pizza now has a face, but it's more of a caricature than a mirror image. The olives you've used for the eyes are too large, making your pizza look surprised. But the crust is perfect, a beautiful golden brown that makes your mouth water just looking at it. You place it on the oven rack with a sense of accomplishment, if not artistic pride.

Jannik takes his turn, the dough stretching under his skilled hands. He's more focused this time, his brows furrowed in concentration. He's trying to capture your delicate features, the way your nose turns up slightly when you laugh, and the way your eyes light up when you're excited. You watch him, the muscles in his arms flexing as he works, and you feel a swell of affection for this man who tries so hard to make you happy, even in the smallest of ways.

The kitchen timer dings, and you both jump, startled out of your reverie. You pull out the first pizza, the one you made, and set it on the counter to cool. It's not pretty, but it smells heavenly. You can't wait to take a bite. Jannik slides his into the oven, his version of your face already looking more promising.

While you wait, you start to clean up the mess. The flour is everywhere, but it's a comforting kind of chaos. You grab the broom, sweeping up the little white clouds that have gathered on the floor. Jannik wipes down the counter, his movements efficient and precise. You can't help but appreciate the way he moves; so graceful even in the most mundane tasks.

As the oven timer counts down, the anticipation builds. You both hover over the oven, watching as the cheese bubbles and the crust darkens. The kitchen is filled with the aroma of baking bread and herbs, a scent that's as familiar as home. You feel a gentle nudge against your side, and Jannik holds up the pizza peel. "Ready?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips.

You nod, and together you pull out the pizza that's supposed to resemble you. It's definitely an improvement, but your hair is a wild tangle of olives and peppers, and your smile is more of a grimace due to the way the cheese has stretched. But the love in the imperfections is evident, and that's all that matters. You place it on a wooden board and carry it to the table, the room lit by the soft glow of the pendant lights above.

You both sit down, the warmth of the pizzas creating a cozy atmosphere. Jannik slices into his creation, the cheese stretching in a tantalizing way that makes your stomach rumble. He offers you the first piece, the cheese still bubbling. You take a bite, the flavors exploding in your mouth—sweet, tangy, and a hint of spice from the peppers. It's delicious, despite the questionable appearance.

"It's not pretty, but it's pretty good," you say, grinning around the mouthful of food.

Jannik nods in agreement, his own slice held mid-air. "Looks aren't everything," he teases, taking a bite of his creation. The flavors meld together, the crust crunching just right with the cheese and sauce.

You watch him, feeling a warmth in your chest that has nothing to do with the heat of the pizza. "This is what it's all about," you say, raising your slice in a toast. "Making memories, not masterpieces."

Jannik clinks his slice against yours, a piece of pepperoni sliding off and landing on the table. You both laugh, the sound echoing in the kitchen. The evening stretches out before you, filled with the promise of more laughter and maybe a few more botched pizzas. But it's perfect, because it's you and him, in this moment, sharing this space.

As you eat, you can't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. The warmth of the food, the comfort of the kitchen, and the company of the person you love—it's all you need. You reach across the table and take Jannik's hand, your fingers intertwining with his. His hand is warm and slightly sticky from the dough, but it's a reminder of the connection you share, the shared experiences that have brought you to this point.

The conversation flows easily, a mix of jokes and stories from your day. You tell him about the funny thing your colleague said at work, and he recounts his latest training session, his eyes lighting up as he describes the new serve he's been working on. You listen intently, nodding along and offering words of encouragement. The way he talks about tennis, with such passion and excitement, makes you fall for him all over again.

You bite into your slice of pizza, the cheese stretching in a satisfying way. It's not the prettiest pizza you've ever seen, but it's the most meaningful.

The kitchen is a mess, but the sight of Jannik, his apron smeared with sauce and flour, makes you realize that you wouldn't trade this moment for anything. You both laugh at the absurdity of your creations, the sound bouncing off the tiles and filling the room with a lightness that wasn't there before.

"Maybe we should stick to ordering in," you suggest, earning a playful glare from Jannik.

"Nonsense," he says, wiping a smear of sauce from his chin with the back of his hand. "Practice makes perfect. Besides, who needs perfection when you have company like this?"

The smile he gives you sends a flutter through your chest. You take another bite of your pizza, savoring the blend of flavors. It's true that the pizzas aren't perfect, but the joy of creating them together is worth more than any Michelin-star dish. The night unfolds in a symphony of laughter and shared bites, the imperfections of the meal only adding to the charm of the evening.

As you devour the last slices, the sticky mess of the kitchen becomes a playground for your mischief. You grab a handful of flour and toss it at Jannik, who retaliates with a flick of sauce. Soon, you're both engaged in a playful food fight, flour flying and tomato sauce splattering. The air is filled with laughter and the sweet scent of the pizzas you've created together.

You dodge a particularly well-aimed dollop of sauce, your heart racing with excitement. You wipe a smear of flour from your cheek, leaving a streak that makes you look like a modern art project. Jannik's apron is no longer white, but a canvas of stains, each one a memory of a giggle or a failed toss. The kitchen, once a place of order and precision, is now a battleground of culinary chaos.

But amidst the laughter and flying ingredients, there's a sense of harmony. The mess isn't a sign of failure, but of a shared experience, a bond formed over a simple meal. The flour clings to your hair, making it stand on end, and you can't resist the urge to fling some back at Jannik. He catches it in the air with a grin, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

You both collapse onto the floor, breathless and sticky, the remnants of your culinary adventure scattered around you. You lay there for a moment, the warmth of the oven and the coolness of the tiles beneath you a comforting contrast. Jannik reaches out, brushing a stray lock of flour-covered hair from your face. His touch is gentle, and your heart skips a beat.

"I think we might have a future in the food-fighting industry," Jannik says, his voice a mix of laughter and exhaustion. You nod, wiping a smear of sauce from your nose. The kitchen is a disaster zone, but the joy on your faces is unmistakable.

You sit up, a crumb of dough sticking to your forehead, and look around. The once pristine counter is now a Picasso of pizza toppings and flour. You can't help but laugh at the sight of your kitchen, a reflection of your love for each other and your shared sense of humor.

"Okay, okay," you say, getting to your feet. "Let's clean up before it looks like a tornado hit a pizza parlor."

Jannik groans dramatically but stands up, brushing off his pants. The two of you tackle the kitchen with the same enthusiasm you had when you started making the pizzas. The flour is swept up, the counters are wiped down, and the dishes are placed in the sink to soak. You grab a wet cloth and start wiping down the cabinets, laughing as you find little fingerprints of sauce and flour everywhere.

"Hey, don't forget the floor," Jannik calls out, pointing to a particularly nasty splatter of sauce. You roll your eyes and grab the mop, the wet strands of your hair sticking to your forehead. As you clean, you start to feel the weariness of the day settle into your bones, but the adrenaline of the food fight keeps you going.

Together, you make a surprisingly efficient team, moving in a synchronized dance of sponges and brooms. You find yourself stepping closer to him, your bodies brushing together as you work. The kitchen, once a battleground, is slowly being restored to order, and the quiet rhythm of the cleaning becomes almost meditative.

As you scrub the last of the sauce from the tiles, Jannik comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You lean back into his embrace, feeling his warmth and the solidity of his chest against your back. His cheek presses into your hair, and you can feel his breath, warm and minty, against your ear. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice low and sincere. "For making tonight special."

You turn to face him, your eyes meeting his. "You're welcome," you reply, smiling. The kitchen, now clean and orderly, seems to hum with the echoes of your laughter. The oven is off, the pizza stones cooling down, and the only evidence of your culinary escapade is the lingering scent of baked bread and tomatoes.

Jannik takes your hand, leading you to the sink to wash the flour from your skin. The warm water runs over your fingers, mixing with the sticky residue of your dinner gone awry. As you stand there, side by side, you can't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. The pizzas weren't perfect, but the evening was.

[urwendii]

🧡🎃🕷 inspired by a fun conversation with @cilil and @a-world-of-whimsy-5 on our Discord server based on this spider night light robot

Mairon is bored and decides to prank Melkor. What can go wrong.

In retrospect Mairon should have known it was bound to end badly, he had been by his Master's side for long years now, had witnessed his rises and falls and seen the scars of the Silmarils left on his spirit. Melkor, in recent days, was not someone to casually challenge or taunt without fearing any sort of retribution.

Still, Mairon was a craftsman, an inventor, and someone who simply had to do what he wished to do when the ideas arise. Maybe it was because he had been bored lately, there was not much to do during the Siege except sending your usual Orcs company and watch them being slaughtered from the top of the parapet. The entertainment was turning dull though and after watching some nameless Noldo flip the finger at him from his perch and turning the offending asshole into a charred spot on the ground, even that did not provide any sort of relief for his increasing boredom. And as a few Angband courtiers had long realised, a bored Lieutenant never bode well for anyone.

So it turned out that he — after ignoring the sour mood of his lover and retreating to his study — Mairon had an idea in which to channel his sudden burst of creativity. And perhaps Melkor should not have told him off earlier, and perhaps Mairon should been used to the swinging moods of the Vala but really he was simply taken by inspiration — and a slight penchant for pranks he might have kept from his time spent in friendship with Ossë, long ago.

And so once he was done working on it and gushing about his cleverness and genius — and having two Orcs repeat these same words exactly to him (the satisfaction of a well done job was the sweetest when covered with praises. Even if he had to force them out of his armies lately.) — he climbed back to the top floor where he and Melkor shared living quarters, to set things in motion.

The small contraption was made of dark metal and carefully woven limbs spanning the opposite sides of its round body. 8 legs, each articulated and built for great speed as well as flexibility to climb on various surface. A cubic luminous shape sat upon it, its golden halo gentle and warm — unlike the blazing cursed light of those stupid jewels his lover was so enamoured with (no Mairon did not want to discuss this particular topic.)

It was really a glorious creation, a light spider. He chuckled in amusement at how it was the opposite of Ungoliant and her unlight even if the shape of his creation bore the same likeness, albeit on a far smaller scale.

The thing was, Mairon had wanted to prank Melkor out of boredom and humour. What he had forgotten to take into account was the Vala's newfound hatred and fear of spiders (not that he would dare say this to his lover's face. Melkor and fear were a touchy subject. Well, one of many).

And so when the high pitch shrill came from his room followed by a loud banging noise, more screams and what definitely sound like broken furniture, Mairon knew he had to think fast.

The room had been trashed into ruins while Melkor swing Grond around with a panicked wild flash in his eyes and the poor spider was tucked on top of the huge wardrobe that took half the space of the northern wall.

"Mairon! Kill this thing!!"

He really did not want, the little thing was very cute with her own luminous body but one shattered window later and Melkor was now using ice to attempt to freeze the poor thing. And failing miserably at proper aiming. And by the 4th attempt of Mairon trying to coax the small thing to him to remove it safely to his study and then forced to realise it had now grew sentient (yes well he was proud of this too) and seemed determine to persecute his lover by chasing him down the hallway, Gothmog and another Valarauka had offered their help. Delicateness was not a balrog trait and by the end of the struggle — weeks later, half of the living quarters of Anbgand had been laid to waste.

Less to say that — extensive material damage aside— Mairon was not surprised at all when he was later sent to retake Tol Sirion by himself.

Still. It had been worth it.