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Pairing: None

Warnings: Slight but insignificant cussing, insinuation of cancer.

Summary: The Rengoku boys and Kyojuro’s student get fed up with how badly Shinjuro takes care of himself and the reader takes it upon herself to take care of him.

A/N: I did use my actual father’s cancer as a topic to pull at heartstrings. He just went through his first round of chemo and was hospitalized to ensure that he did not have the same reaction that he did last year. Please send prayers and if you have questions, I’ll answer them happily.

Shinjuro Rengoku has been such a slob since you’ve become his son’s student. He drinks himself to sleep, hasn’t shaved, barely brushes his teeth or takes showers, and neglects himself. It’s gotten to the point where you, and the boys are quite fed up. Yet, you know they can’t do anything, not when their father has scared them so. It’s then your duty to barge into his room, Senjuro out at the morning market and Kyojuro meeting with his former student for food, before yanking the sliding doors looking out into the garden open. He groans, hand coming to cover his face while he loudly cusses you out, only for you to rip his covers off him.

“What the hell?!” You don’t bother trying to reply, only dodging a powerful kick to the chest.

“Get up. Stop wallowing and bitching and drinking yourself to death. It’s bad enough you treat your sons horribly, but now you’re seriously putting your health at risk.” The man, older than you by two decades, grabs a sake jug and winds a hand back to chuck it at you. He stops when you level him with a glare, hands on your hips. “Throw that at me and I’ll shave your head bald when you’re passed out drunk next.”

Despite the bitching and moaning, you manage to get the grump into the kitchen, tea and breakfast waiting for him. After he eats, and Senjuro gets back, you have him take a bath, scrubbing him down yourself.

“Why do you even care if I take care of myself.” It’s not a question, not with how it’s gritted out as I yank his kimono robe and have him undo his fundoshi. I keep my eyes level with his broad back, ushering him into the steaming bath. He hisses, steam rolling out of the wooden tub, his skin turning pink.

“My father was sick. Very serious, typically not something you survived from.” I grab some nice oil that I had Senjuro grab from the marketplace, lathering it in my hands. It smells like spices, morning dew, and the ground before rain. He lets me wet the cloth in his bath water before I start scrubbing his arms. “He was given a type of medicine that makes your body attack itself, something that can kill you while trying to kill the sickness. It made his hair fall out, and he couldn’t go into the sun because it would make him terribly ill. I watched him wither away before he got better. Not even two years later and it came back, harder.” Dead skin and dirt comes up from his arm, a grimace coming from his face. “He had to take the same medicine, when he hadn’t gotten his tan back, or his muscles, or his callouses.” My voice trembles, eyes stinging momentarily as I hand my head, eyes screwed shut.

“I can’t even see him, because I’m stuck here. Not in this estate, but in this life. He could be dead, my daddy, the man who raised my younger brother and I single-handedly, and I wouldn’t even know it.” His arm flexes, corded strength turning under my hands. I stare at the paleness of them before looking at him. “I could never wish that upon someone. So when you, with causes you believe you can drown yourself in drink for, neglect and cause harm unto your sons, I cannot stand it.” I grab his other arm, leaning partially across the tub.

“Can you not send word to him?” I shake my head, dipping the cloth back into the water to clean it. “I see. Yet, it is not your concern what I do with myself. Nor does it belong to the boys.” The glare I level the older man with makes his jaw clench.

“It does. They have every right to be angry, to abandon you and let you kill yourself slowly. Yet, they stay by you, feed you, help you, and you —“ I shove a finger into his chest, tears stinging my eyes again. “You are such a bastard. I get it, your wife passed. It is very sad, but she blessed you with two wonderful beings and you abandon them physically and emotionally. You hate that Sun Breathing is supposedly ’so much better’, and you shut down because of it. So what if it’s stronger?! Huh? Be grateful that you can even have Fire Breathing. That your family has something to its name. You were a Goddamned Hashira, act like it!” He says nothing, looking at his knees that had been bent beyond the surface of the water.

“From this day on, mere student of Kyojuro’s or not, I feed you, bathe you, shave you, clean your clothes, all so that Senjuro might be able to do something beyond baby his father.” I lean back on my haunches, sweating slightly from my blood boiling and from the sweltering heat that the bathwater caused in the bathroom. The thicker kimono wasn’t helping in the slightest. “Leg.” He straightens one out, resting the back of his calf on the wood of the tub. I pour a bit more oil, rubbing two ends of the cloth to lather it. Rubbing it on my hands and then onto the cloth wasn’t the smarted idea to begin with. My only focus is the skin past his knee, another cloth being placed in his hand to wash his thighs, abdomen, and privates.

My hands, one placed over the top of his foot, the other gripping the cloth, are efficient. His muscles are no doubt sore from how often he falls asleep in odd places and angles. I massaged his calves as I go, completing both of them before getting rid of the dead skin on the heels of his feet, kneading them after that as well. I gave my father pedicures, bath wipes too, when it was hard for him to stand in the shower after his Ostomy surgery. He groans, eyes squeezing shut as I massage him. I finish that quickly, cleaning and wringing the cloth before setting it on the edge of the tub.

“Alright, submerge your head.” He does it slowly and I end up pushing his head in the rest of the way, silently enjoying the way he sputters and cusses at me. I hum, opening a less strong, more fresh smelling, oil for his hair. There was a possibility it was soap as well. Did early 20th century Japan have bathing soap? Shit. I really should have done more research. The old Rengoku male struggled against me actually washing his hair. Surprising considering he allowed me to see him naked and let me bathe him like he was a babe. I finally yank it, leaning my face over his. “Stop struggling before I decide to waterboard you.”

After twenty more minutes of washing his hair, detangling it, and then rinsing it and his body off, his bath was finished. He lets me wash his face clean, Senjuro having placed shaving foam and a straight razor in the bathroom on top of his change of clothes. While he put on a new fundoshi, I activated the foaming face lather, watching as it did its thing in the small metal can. He sits still as I place the foam on his face and straight razor it off, my heart racing with the anticipation of accidentally scaring his face. He would probably hiss, grab my hand and break it with the force of it, before pummeling me into a bloody mess.

It takes ten minutes to do that, and then I brush his hair, parting and trimming it before placing it in a pony tail with a leather strip. He gets his clean Kimono rob on, a dark blue in contrast to his usual neutral blue-gray toned one. Taking care of myself was hard enough, but having to take care of a grown man was harder than anything else I had ever done, including Kyojuro’s training. It didn’t help that I still had to oil him after, to help him with dry skin and hair.

At lunch, Senjuro and Kyojuro stare at their father, who looked younger, while he huffed and puffed about sake being banned from the house until he found his purpose for living again. The perks of being a persuasive, bully of a 17 year old woman. If only it could stay that way forever.

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Tried to do a small study on Japanese features and got Rengoku Krojuro instead. Kinda wanted to incorporate a potential story between him and a tsugoku OC during training. Gotta come up with some ideas though.

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JJK Fans when you ship a man with a woman:

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Never in your life would you consider Roronoa Zoro a friend. The man used his free time to drink, nap, train, and mock you. He ridiculed your art, didn’t like the way you mended clothes, even pointed out your flaws of character. Last time you checked, you never asked for an opinion from a man that had Luffy as a best friend. I mean, the aloofness. The nonchalance. The smugness. Strength. Hotness.

The man is hot. You can’t fight that fact. Yet you would still never consider him as anything other than a crew mate. So when he wraps an arm around your waist, tan skin flushed with sake, you’re frozen. He’s blabbering to the drunk dude that had grabbed you while you were looking for fabric and pencils.

•••

“Get your hands off my girlfriend, freak. Otherwise I’ll kill ya.” Zoro hisses, pressing his chin against my temple, chest hot against my back. Girlfriend? Where the hell did that come from? I find myself pressed more into his chest than his side, one of his hands on the hilt on his swords. Through his thin shirt I can feel his tense muscles that he trained so hard to get.

“Your girlfriend, huh?” The man stares between us with suddenly sober eyes. “Prove it.” I blink, looking up to Zoro to see his reaction. Nothing is given away on his cool features, the glare ever present.

“Prove it?”

“Yeah, kiss her. If you do, I’ll leave her alone.” Kiss?! Zoro nods, raising his hand from the hilts to cup my jaw. I fluster, mouth gaping in protest when he slams his lips into mine. His tongue is wet and thick against mine, the taste full of sake. It makes me cringe, a noise raising in the back of my throat when he groans, grabbing at my butt. Heat flushes from the back of my neck to my face, stinging my ears with its intensity. Yet, I let him kiss me, eyes squeezed shut tightly.

When he finally pulls away I pant, lips wet and bruised and tingling. His hand relaxes on my backside, moving up to squeeze my hip firmly. The man looks embarrassed, quickly excusing himself and Zoro’s sharp gaze follows him until he turns down a random street. I fluster, quickly grabbing my purchases from the ground before turning away from Zoro.

“Hey, I’m sorry about that. He just wouldn’t leave you alone and Nami would have my ass if —“ I don’t let him finish, tears of my own embarrassment stinging my eyes.

“It’s fine. I’m going to the ship.” His voice is lost as I scurry back towards the Going Merry.

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a writing competition i was going to participate in again this year has announced that they now allow AI generated content to be submitted

their reasoning being that "we couldn't ban it even if we wanted to, every writer already uses it anyway"

"Every writer"?

come on

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Drew Mike Zacharias from AoT cause he’s one of the hottest characters. Kinda obsessed with him.

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Another winged woman? 👀 I drew a version of her on my tablet that i’ve been coloring. This was to satisfy that itch in my brain and draw something on actual paper the old style way. Aves are my obsession at the moment.

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Doing leatherwork in one of my classes for finals and decided on a coin purse. One side is Velaris, and the other has two atokirina with ‘Oel ngati kameie’ over them. Finishing it up next week.

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Drew an OC for ACOTAR tonight. Making up her story as we speak.

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Identity Crisis: Prologue

Summary: Naya’il is a young na’vi woman that has yet to share her past with the Sully children. Only Jake, Neytiri, Norm, and Mo’at know the pains she went through as a child and that is why she is accepted into the Omatikaya as a sitter for the children. That’s before her, Spider, Lo’ak, Kiri, and Tuk go out into the forest to explore and get captured. This time, Spider isn’t the only one the Sully parents fail to get. Naya’il and Lo’ak join him, the three bonding as teenagers. The only question is, why do the colonel and that bald headed corporal keep looking at her so weirdly?

Warnings: Mature language, trauma, abuse, mentions of death, smidge of stolkhom syndrome, slow burn, smut, graphic sex scenes

Pandora, or as the natives called it eywa’eveng, was the battle ground of human and a humanoid race called the na’vi. First, they came to learn from the people, to build bonds and trade, then it turned to tearing up the ground for unobtanium wich would supply energy to their dying Earth. Now, fifteen years after The Great War that ended with humans being thrown from the planet, they have returned to ensure a new planet for the humans to thrive on and kill. It ends with every creature not domesticated killed, every na’vi hunted and destroyed, the ecosystems, so beautiful and unique replaced with housing for the humans. They will destroy everything, everyone, for their own gain.

“What the hell were you thinking?! I take you two out and you can’t follow a simple order? What happened to staying in the skies and calling out incoming ships?!” The olo’eyktan of our tribe, the great Toruk Makto, tells at his two sons. They had disobeyed, almost died, and I watch with crossed arms. Kiri had come over with Tuk at some point to argue the fact that the oldest sibling, Neteyam, was bleeding. From what Lo’ak explained, an explosion went off and he had been caught in it, flying and cutting up his back pretty decently. “Ma Jake,” Neytiri, his mate, Palulukan Makto, sighs. Her hand, four fingers, rests on her son’s shoulder.

“Go to your grandmother’s tent.” He waves them off and I don’t miss the look she sends him while brushing past. The four leaving to tend to the oldest leaves Jake and Lo’ak, a potent mix of every daddy issue ever. “Olo’eyktan.” His eyes, muck more intense with the black paint surrounding them, land on me, daring me to say anything. “I will take care of Lo’ak.” He opens his mouth and I place my hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “Your yelling is attracting the attention of the clan. Go with Neteyam, please.” A moment of tense silence between us, the ikran chittering and wind rushing through the opening of High Camp. “You’re grounded, no flying for a month.”

He turns on his heel and I squeeze Lo’ak’s shoulder as we watch him stalk off. While I respected him, yelling at the boy who’s a carbon copy of him isn’t something I condone. “You okay, Lo’ak?” I turn him to face me, ears pinning at the tear filled eyes that meet mine. “I got you.” I pull him into a hug, resting a hand on the back of his head. “You’re okay now.” His shoulder’s shake and he cries into my shoulder, hugging me tightly. He reminded me of my younger brother so much, and to see him so upset and emotionally neglected hurt my heart. My ears twitch at the small patter of approaching footsteps and Spider peaks his head out from behind one of the many rock formations.

“Hey guys.” Lo’ak pulls away from me and Spider approaches with a wet cloth. “Jake wanted me to get you something to clean your face off.” Lo’ak lets me take it and I cup his cheek, carefully wiping the paint from his face. “Your father’s war paint. Very important. Very symbolic.” No response and I sigh. “You know, I remember what he was like when you and your brother were babes. Kiri as well, of course, but I distinctly remember the look on his face when he saw you two.” I rub gently, folding over the towel to get a clean spot as to not smear the paint on his face. “So proud, so happy, so young.”

Spider stands beside us, watching, listening. “That was before the humans came back. Before he had to worry for the safety of those who shared his blood, who were made from the very material of his body.” Lo’ak meets my eyes, his ears twitching. “The forest burned when the ships came, destroying much of the forest and burning many of the animals that were caught in the flames.” A pause while I turn his face. “They died horribly, unable to put out the flames on their skin.” A sad look from Spider, and I curse myself for not considering my words. “It was very sad, a very unhappy time for the tribes. Now, he sees himself in you, and he is scared that you will have to go through the same pain that he did as a young warrior.”

The paint is gone, so stains left behind by the pigment and I pat his head, smiling. “Spider, of course, had nothing to do with the pain brought. Only the pain that he brings by pulling pranks all the time.” The boy gives a sarcastic laugh and I grin at him. “Very funny, Naya’il.” I shrug, throwing the rag at his chest before messing with his dreads. “It is true, small man.” A gasp and he smacks the rag into my thigh very harshly. The sound is loud and I yelp, my skin stinging. “Oh! Watch your back, human!” He laughs, Lo’ak joining in and I pout.

“Since you think this is funny, you two can tend to the ikran by yourself. All thirteen that went on the war party!” Groans from the two teenage boys and I give a sarcastic laugh, which turns into a real one after the looks they give me. “C’mon. Let us get them tended before the great Toruk Makto comes back to yell.” Lo’ak snicker, Spider joining in before we start unsaddling the ikran. It takes close to an hour before all of them are fed, watered, unsaddled and sent on their way. He seems in better spirits when Spider starts joking around with him, and his smile reminds me so much of my brother I have to look away from the two as tears well in my eyes. He is not him, and he will never be.

After the ikran tending I head to my tent, head pounding. For the past few days, constant memories have been plaguing me, almost like a warning. I sigh, pulling back the leather of a strumbeast that had been given to me. Not a courting gift, but something that could be spared since others used blankets and rugs for their own tents. My fingers rub over the textured leather before I shake my head. Right, nap time. I enter my tent, stopping at the sight of Tuk. She’s sitting on my worn pillows, an uncharacteristic serious expression on her young face. “Thank you for joining me, Naya’il.” I feel my face scrunch up in confusion, questions on the tip of my tongue before I sigh.

“What can I help you with, young Tuk?” A tense smile and I sit on my bedding, crossing my legs. She had turned on the lamp, setting it behind her, and the idea that she did so to look intimidating crosses my mind. “Lo’ak is going to the forest later, with Kiri and Spider.” I nod. “Okay, what does this have to do with me?” A smile, sickly sweet and dangerous takes over her serious expression. “They want you to go. I want to go.” Another nod and concerned expression from me. “Are you wanting me to force them to take you as well?” She nods. “Yes, you are the oldest.”

I raise my eyebrow, or the muscle that would move one of Lo’ak’s and give her a pointed look. “Tuk. I turn eighteen in two days, that does not make me as old, wise, or persuading as your grandmother.” She frowns and I sigh, slouching enough to rest my elbow on my thigh and prop my chin in the palm of my hand. “Okay, but! You have to stay close and listen to what we say. I cannot promise you will be allowed, but I will try.” The youngest Sully child throws herself at me, squealing and I let the force of it push me onto my back. I hug her back, blinking up at the shadows on the leather, created by the light striking the sticks on the opposite side. “Get out. I need a nap.”