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Hi, Koby. It's Tim. :)
You have people here that yoy knew from before, right? Do you all have the same memories from home?
You have people here that yoy knew from before, right? Do you all have the same memories from home?
Firstly, I hope you're safe. I haven't seen you at the hospital so I assumed you were, but still.
Second. Can I ask you a very stupid and inappropriate personal question?
Not because I'm a pervert. But because the library gave Hawk a list of gossip items and I want to know if they're yanking his chain.
Second. Can I ask you a very stupid and inappropriate personal question?
Not because I'm a pervert. But because the library gave Hawk a list of gossip items and I want to know if they're yanking his chain.
Edited 2024-07-12 17:51 (UTC)
Goodly Commander and Navigator of the Saltburning Seas - I've left a gift for you somewhere on the grounds.
I'm afraid you'll have to locate it yourself. I've left a map to assist you, but I'm certain you'll have no trouble.
[ the map will lead koby everywhere - to the indoor pool, to one of the studies, to the solarium, the dining room... every stop having a little slip of paper hidden somewhere with an haphazardly elegant scrawl on it - a clue to find the next strip in the next location.
why, yes. a navigator has made another navigator a scavenger hunt of sorts.
the final spot - where the little X is marked? koby's room - a single little bloom left on the pillow he used, and a little scrawl of paper - fair winds and following seas - a sailor's thank you for a piece of home. ]
I'm afraid you'll have to locate it yourself. I've left a map to assist you, but I'm certain you'll have no trouble.
[ the map will lead koby everywhere - to the indoor pool, to one of the studies, to the solarium, the dining room... every stop having a little slip of paper hidden somewhere with an haphazardly elegant scrawl on it - a clue to find the next strip in the next location.
why, yes. a navigator has made another navigator a scavenger hunt of sorts.
the final spot - where the little X is marked? koby's room - a single little bloom left on the pillow he used, and a little scrawl of paper - fair winds and following seas - a sailor's thank you for a piece of home. ]
Edited 2024-07-17 04:14 (UTC)
[Koby's in trouble.
Because the messages come in written form, scraps of paper he can hold and fold up and study, ink he can trace as he puzzles out the hints, chases them here and there throughout the house. Because the map is written in a practiced hand, neat corners and skillful charting, a navigator's work. Because as Koby follows the map, seeks out the clues, he's smiling like a fool because of who's responsible, because of the care and attention put into creating it. Because it's a hunt specifically for him, someone who delights in maps and mysteries and puzzles and riddles.
Because honestly, just a message from Quentin would've been enough, would've made Koby grin just as helplessly, just as happily as he does when he makes it back to his room, finds the single bloom on the pillow. He flops down, breathes in the faint scent of Quentin still on his sheets and stares at the flower for much, much longer than he'd admit.
But, finally:] Found it.
Thank you.
It's a really good map, too.
Because the messages come in written form, scraps of paper he can hold and fold up and study, ink he can trace as he puzzles out the hints, chases them here and there throughout the house. Because the map is written in a practiced hand, neat corners and skillful charting, a navigator's work. Because as Koby follows the map, seeks out the clues, he's smiling like a fool because of who's responsible, because of the care and attention put into creating it. Because it's a hunt specifically for him, someone who delights in maps and mysteries and puzzles and riddles.
Because honestly, just a message from Quentin would've been enough, would've made Koby grin just as helplessly, just as happily as he does when he makes it back to his room, finds the single bloom on the pillow. He flops down, breathes in the faint scent of Quentin still on his sheets and stares at the flower for much, much longer than he'd admit.
But, finally:] Found it.
Thank you.
It's a really good map, too.
did you know that talking snails exist in other worlds? my suitemate asked the library for one and it supposedly sends messages, but this one simply keeps talking about a place called arrge?
have you heard of it? i figured in all of your reading you might have some idea.
[ and look luffy's texting style is wearing off on him. ]
have you heard of it? i figured in all of your reading you might have some idea.
[ and look luffy's texting style is wearing off on him. ]
you did not warn me that pictures could be given to the wrong people.
but it’s a nice surprise
but it’s a nice surprise
Koby - you alright out there tonight?
I'm sure Tim already checked in. But just in case.
I'm sure Tim already checked in. But just in case.
Un: princess.jennifer | text | pretend it’s texting font okay I’m mobile
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theunluckygirl
2024-08-11 03:31 am (UTC)(link)
Koby? Sorry, are you busy? I don’t mean to disturb you. It can wait.
Sorry.
[she is KEEPING her COOL and doing JUST FINE]
Sorry.
[she is KEEPING her COOL and doing JUST FINE]
You love him.
[ Texted from the armchair where Tim is reading, while Koby and Quentin flirt at the desk, or on the bed, or wherever else near enough to distract him from the history of 20th century social movements. ]
[ Texted from the armchair where Tim is reading, while Koby and Quentin flirt at the desk, or on the bed, or wherever else near enough to distract him from the history of 20th century social movements. ]
[On the bed, reading innocently and normally!! It takes Koby a moment to check his phone, because he's snuggled up to Quentin's side, reading through some book about historical world leaders.
When he does, though, his eyes shoot over to Tim, brow furrowed.]
Who?
Abraham Lincoln?
I admire him, definitely, but I don't know about LOVE.
When he does, though, his eyes shoot over to Tim, brow furrowed.]
Who?
Abraham Lincoln?
I admire him, definitely, but I don't know about LOVE.
You think this is gonna work?
( hao says it incredulously, kind of laughing because it seems so fucking dumb, squeezing conditioner into a bowl of faint pink powder before setting it down on the counter and flopping down onto the closed lid of the toilet. honestly, it would probably be quicker and easier to just, like, mix it up himself and run it through his hair and be done with it — considering he's dyed his hair a billion times before, but sitting there with an ultra plush towel pulled tightly around his shoulders, fingers curled tightly to keep it closed at his neck, and looking up at koby putting on a pair of gloves a little too big for his hands, it's kinda ...
something. nice, he guesses. hao doesn't really do nice unless he wants something out of it, but koby wants to do something nice for him ... for some reason? because hao nutted in him? because he just feels like doing something nice? there's a prickly kind of feeling trickling up his chest and it's annoying. so sure, whatever, he'll leave his fate in the hands of a hair dye virgin. )
I'm putting a lot of trust in you, y'know.
( hao says it incredulously, kind of laughing because it seems so fucking dumb, squeezing conditioner into a bowl of faint pink powder before setting it down on the counter and flopping down onto the closed lid of the toilet. honestly, it would probably be quicker and easier to just, like, mix it up himself and run it through his hair and be done with it — considering he's dyed his hair a billion times before, but sitting there with an ultra plush towel pulled tightly around his shoulders, fingers curled tightly to keep it closed at his neck, and looking up at koby putting on a pair of gloves a little too big for his hands, it's kinda ...
something. nice, he guesses. hao doesn't really do nice unless he wants something out of it, but koby wants to do something nice for him ... for some reason? because hao nutted in him? because he just feels like doing something nice? there's a prickly kind of feeling trickling up his chest and it's annoying. so sure, whatever, he'll leave his fate in the hands of a hair dye virgin. )
I'm putting a lot of trust in you, y'know.
[Koby is scrunching his fingers, trying to get used to the feeling of the gloves -- a texture he isn't used to, not leather or cloth, but some sort of clingy plastic -- but he pauses long enough to give Hao a flat look where he's perched on the toilet.] I dyed half my rug pink as an experiment. Yes, I'm sure.
[More or less -- fur isn't the same as hair, and the roots along the part of Hao's hair are darker than the creamy, champagne-hued rug in front of the fireplace in his room. Still, the result had been vivid, a bright, florescent, clearly artificial shade of pink that smelled faintly of lemons, so it stands to reason that it'll mellow itself out, right? Besides, if Hao keeps moping around the library, Koby's going to lose his mind.
Plus it's...a nice thing to do. Koby has his books, his quest for knowledge to keep him occupied, like Zoro has his training and Nami her maps and Sanji his cooking and Luffy the care and keeping of all of them. Hao is more of a mystery, his desires and motivations tangled up in the sharp-toothed grin that sends phantom throbs of stinging, giddy pleasurepain from that place on Koby's neck every time he sees it. He deflects, he insults, he pushes and teases, and the one thing he's expressed a desire for is hair dye, of all things.
So. Koby's finding a way. Because nobody deserves to have the one thing they ask for denied. He grabs the toothbrush he'd found packaged beneath the sink, clean and unused, the closest thing he could find to the brushes in the eight or so tutorials he'd found online, and starts mixing the conditioner with the several packets of pink powder] It's not going to kill you, you don't need to be dramatic. Hold that towel closed, though.
[More or less -- fur isn't the same as hair, and the roots along the part of Hao's hair are darker than the creamy, champagne-hued rug in front of the fireplace in his room. Still, the result had been vivid, a bright, florescent, clearly artificial shade of pink that smelled faintly of lemons, so it stands to reason that it'll mellow itself out, right? Besides, if Hao keeps moping around the library, Koby's going to lose his mind.
Plus it's...a nice thing to do. Koby has his books, his quest for knowledge to keep him occupied, like Zoro has his training and Nami her maps and Sanji his cooking and Luffy the care and keeping of all of them. Hao is more of a mystery, his desires and motivations tangled up in the sharp-toothed grin that sends phantom throbs of stinging, giddy pleasurepain from that place on Koby's neck every time he sees it. He deflects, he insults, he pushes and teases, and the one thing he's expressed a desire for is hair dye, of all things.
So. Koby's finding a way. Because nobody deserves to have the one thing they ask for denied. He grabs the toothbrush he'd found packaged beneath the sink, clean and unused, the closest thing he could find to the brushes in the eight or so tutorials he'd found online, and starts mixing the conditioner with the several packets of pink powder] It's not going to kill you, you don't need to be dramatic. Hold that towel closed, though.
Thank you. Not nearly as much to mention in the lull between parties -- I've updated the timeline in Appendix A with all the descriptions I've found of the "rainbow party", but they're admittedly a little vague. I'll keep updating as I go, though.
Something personal? Are you okay?
Something personal? Are you okay?
There's blood in the fridge.
Edited 2024-08-27 23:24 (UTC)
you might want to explain why you have blood in your ice box, love.
i've gotten it cleaned up, gotten tim settled. but he's telling fairytales and i still can't imagine why it's here to begin with.
i've gotten it cleaned up, gotten tim settled. but he's telling fairytales and i still can't imagine why it's here to begin with.
im having someone ocer
over
you two shouks stay out
as in keep having fun. not kicking you out oof your own room
over
you two shouks stay out
as in keep having fun. not kicking you out oof your own room
Is this yours?
[ Photo attached: It's a book thst must have gotten mixed in with his things as he's packing them up. The Art of Edging. ]
[ Photo attached: It's a book thst must have gotten mixed in with his things as he's packing them up. The Art of Edging. ]
( koby hasn't missed their weekly dinner rendezvous since they agreed upon it — and shanks has mostly lived up to his end of the bargain, though last week koby did have to yammer shanks to wakefulness and half-drag him out of bed into the en suite. it's a good thing koby was there, holding shanks accountable, or else shanks most definitely would have had hair of the dog for breakfast instead of real food. still, hiccups aside, it's been going well — and much by accident, they've stumbled into a tradition they have yet to break thus far: shanks with a pink earring or koby with red cufflinks, each of them wearing some subtle representation of the other in a simple exchange of colors.
tonight is no different.
well — at least in the sense that shanks expects koby to be wearing something red at dinner. he'd left a gift (or perhaps a reward for perfect attendance) in koby's room earlier: a simple toy set in a velvet-lined box that he'd quietly liberated from the otherworld, along with a handwritten note in shanks' familiar, wobbly script:
the dining room, of course, is always boisterous with conversation and the sound of silver scraping against fine china, the roar of laughter from down the table, the liquid pour of more wine being served. it's loud enough to obscure the quiet hum of a motor or even a gasp if someone was particularly mindful of their breath control. so when shanks slides his hand over koby's thigh under the table just after the first course, when he leans in to whisper something against koby's ear, he isn't concerned in the slightest that someone might overhear: )
How does it feel? ( a question posed with all the self-satisfied cheekiness of someone who knows exactly how it feels, the pulse and thrum of vibration between koby's thighs practically reverberating under shanks' hand, in his chest. when he pulls back to gauge koby's expression, shanks is smiling serenely as if nothing is out of the ordinary, already reaching for his refilled glass of wine. )
tonight is no different.
well — at least in the sense that shanks expects koby to be wearing something red at dinner. he'd left a gift (or perhaps a reward for perfect attendance) in koby's room earlier: a simple toy set in a velvet-lined box that he'd quietly liberated from the otherworld, along with a handwritten note in shanks' familiar, wobbly script:
𝒮𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉. 𝒲𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁.
-𝒮
the dining room, of course, is always boisterous with conversation and the sound of silver scraping against fine china, the roar of laughter from down the table, the liquid pour of more wine being served. it's loud enough to obscure the quiet hum of a motor or even a gasp if someone was particularly mindful of their breath control. so when shanks slides his hand over koby's thigh under the table just after the first course, when he leans in to whisper something against koby's ear, he isn't concerned in the slightest that someone might overhear: )
How does it feel? ( a question posed with all the self-satisfied cheekiness of someone who knows exactly how it feels, the pulse and thrum of vibration between koby's thighs practically reverberating under shanks' hand, in his chest. when he pulls back to gauge koby's expression, shanks is smiling serenely as if nothing is out of the ordinary, already reaching for his refilled glass of wine. )
[Koby's first mistake had been to assume that he'd seen all the tricks Shanks had up his sleeve -- taking the dinners at face value, just an opportunity to make sure they were both eating at least once daily, accountability, like two soldiers might arrange when trying to reach some training milestone. It's nice to check in, too, to put eyes on the man who so easily disappears from Koby's rapidly-developing senses -- here a flicker, there a flash of crimson aura on the edge of his mind, gone as soon as he's able to focus in on it. Something settles in the knot of anxiety in his chest when he sees -- yes, Shanks is fine, he's always fine.
Even the addition of the colors, accidental at first, a pocket square in red, an ear cuff with pink inlaid filigree, then on purpose, a subtle signal -- I'm here for you, tonight, because I promised, because I gave my word -- hadn't been completely unexpected. It felt right, even, adding a scarf or tie or belt in various shades of crimson. Granted, Shanks had never given a gift for Koby to wear, but even still, the box isn't completely out of the blue. Until he opens it up.
The second mistake was the exact angle of the...item, object, toy. Not that it's painful -- far from it, the sleek, rounded shape nudges up inside him perfectly, slipping through the mess of lube he'd carefully slicked himself up with. He'd never had anything that wasn't a person inside before, and by the time the thick bulb of the toy is settled where it should be, the jeweled base is tucked up against his clit, which seems a perfectly satisfactory place. The pressure is nice as Koby slowly walks down to the dining room, gradually becoming more and more accustomed to the fullness, the stretch, to the strangeness of trying to remain composed around other people.
And the third mistake was taking a sip of his drink right as Shanks reached into his pocket and pressed something that had the toy inside Koby suddenly start vibrating.
Thankfully it's just water, and Koby's coughing is enough to disguise the sharp, pitchy sounds that keep tearing out of his throat, uncontrollably, helplessly. His breath hitches at the hand on his thigh, wide eyes flicking over incredulously to Shanks, jaw dropping at the audacity, the daring. He should be scandalized. He should be completely indignant. Instead, though, Koby just presses his thighs together and draws in a trembling breath, the hum of the toy sending shocks up and down his spine, making all that lube completely unnecessary.]
I-It's fine. [Koby's voice comes out squeaky, swallowing convulsively, hand trembling a little as he reaches for his glass again.] Comp-pletely f-fine. What d-do you m-mean?
Even the addition of the colors, accidental at first, a pocket square in red, an ear cuff with pink inlaid filigree, then on purpose, a subtle signal -- I'm here for you, tonight, because I promised, because I gave my word -- hadn't been completely unexpected. It felt right, even, adding a scarf or tie or belt in various shades of crimson. Granted, Shanks had never given a gift for Koby to wear, but even still, the box isn't completely out of the blue. Until he opens it up.
The second mistake was the exact angle of the...item, object, toy. Not that it's painful -- far from it, the sleek, rounded shape nudges up inside him perfectly, slipping through the mess of lube he'd carefully slicked himself up with. He'd never had anything that wasn't a person inside before, and by the time the thick bulb of the toy is settled where it should be, the jeweled base is tucked up against his clit, which seems a perfectly satisfactory place. The pressure is nice as Koby slowly walks down to the dining room, gradually becoming more and more accustomed to the fullness, the stretch, to the strangeness of trying to remain composed around other people.
And the third mistake was taking a sip of his drink right as Shanks reached into his pocket and pressed something that had the toy inside Koby suddenly start vibrating.
Thankfully it's just water, and Koby's coughing is enough to disguise the sharp, pitchy sounds that keep tearing out of his throat, uncontrollably, helplessly. His breath hitches at the hand on his thigh, wide eyes flicking over incredulously to Shanks, jaw dropping at the audacity, the daring. He should be scandalized. He should be completely indignant. Instead, though, Koby just presses his thighs together and draws in a trembling breath, the hum of the toy sending shocks up and down his spine, making all that lube completely unnecessary.]
I-It's fine. [Koby's voice comes out squeaky, swallowing convulsively, hand trembling a little as he reaches for his glass again.] Comp-pletely f-fine. What d-do you m-mean?
I know your day has been as difficult as mine own, but I must ask more of you, Koby.
You understand this game. What are the roles?
You understand this game. What are the roles?
[The phone pings and Koby almost doesn't want to answer it. He wants to find some corner to hide in, weather the storm, keep his mouth shut, words reverberating in his head again and again and again -- you don't understand shit about the world, Koby, you won't last five minutes in it. It'll tear you apart.
But finally curiosity wins -- and it's Alicent, something tight in his chest loosening slightly. Embarrassingly he wants to beg her for reassurance, for confirmation that she doesn't hate him too. Childish.]
I found a book on it, yes. Granted, the game explained is just that, a game. Nowhere near these stakes. So there's no guarantee that my explanation matches what's happening.
But yes, the roles -- werewolf, doctor, seer, victim and a moderator. There are more already, though -- a spellcaster and a linked pair, that I know of.
But finally curiosity wins -- and it's Alicent, something tight in his chest loosening slightly. Embarrassingly he wants to beg her for reassurance, for confirmation that she doesn't hate him too. Childish.]
I found a book on it, yes. Granted, the game explained is just that, a game. Nowhere near these stakes. So there's no guarantee that my explanation matches what's happening.
But yes, the roles -- werewolf, doctor, seer, victim and a moderator. There are more already, though -- a spellcaster and a linked pair, that I know of.
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