#I love supporting women's wrongs but she WILL test your devotion to that

[azuresquirrel]

The gif from that Mercury witch show has tempted me. What service is it on? 👀 Want to try and sell it any more on your blog cause I'd love to hear it. Ngl, 'toxic milfs' is very promising 😂😂

only saying its on Crunchyroll to cover my ass, but since the whole thing of them acquiring Funimation and other competitors, price gouging, now just purging titles from their services right after said price gouging, I will suggest that most places you can find anime online for a *wink* discount *wink* you can easily find Witch From Mercury on there.

real reason I'm answering is to make sure that the first episode is you watch is "episode zero" - it was an episode released a few months before the "official" premiere of the show but it fully is the actual First Episode of the show - if you miss it things will get REAL confusing.

it continues the fine tradition of Gundam series ultimately being about how WAR IS BAD and ECONOMICS SUPPORTING WAR IS BAD and does so in a way that I think resonates with people now more easily than 70s Gundam with its modern sensibilities. While it is Lesbian Gundam, which is what drew me to it first, it is also more than that. Season two is clear that production/episode order messed with the storytelling plans and comes off more rushed but when it hits it HITS.

and let me tell you, that MILF sure IS toxic

[mystic-shadows42]

Infiltrate

Pairing: Hvitserk x reader x Ivar

Warnings: Language

Summary: Hvitserk is in love with the reader who happens to be married to Ivar. Loyalty is tested and jealousy spikes.

The men brought forth Hvitserk to present to Ivar. A new member to join their fight.

Ivar looked rather surprised to see Hvitserk there. They hadn’t left on good terms but he wanted to hear him out regardless. 

“Hello, brother. I see you’ve decided to join me.”

Hvitserk was about to answer until he saw movement from behind Ivar. He saw your flowing dress headed towards them. Even in front of Ivar, he could hardly take his eyes off of you.

“Yeah,” he just barely whispered.

Ivar noticed he was distracted and turned around in time to see you. He smiled and embraced you in his arms. This time Ivar let his mouth linger on you as he peppered your lips with kisses.

“Ivar, not in front of your brother,” you whispered into his ear and he smiled into your neck.

Ivar loosened his hold on your hips but let his hands roam over your arms and waist.

“Hello, Hvitserk. I’m glad you’re here to support us.”

“I’m here for whatever you need.”

You nodded your head in satisfaction while Ivar noticed the subtle hint. Hvitserk had his entire attention rooted to you. There was a tension in his stare that didn’t sit well with Ivar.

He squinted at his brother and was about to make a remark when someone came up and whispered in his ear. Ivar’s face hardened at whatever news he got.

“Excuse me. I am needed elsewhere. My love, try not to cause any trouble.”

You smiled at Ivar and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“How can I promise such a thing?”

Ivar had left along with his group of followers who hardly ever left his side. So now it was just you and Hvitserk.

You watched Ivar leave and didn’t notice that Hvitserk had moved closer.

“Since when have you been married to my brother?”

You sighed and turned to face him.

“Since he asked me to be his wife.”

“To be queen? Is that it?”

You tilted your head at Hvitserk not liking his reason for you marrying his brother. There was a time you didn’t care for Ivar but he was relentless in trying to win you over.

He was sweet and patient vying for your affection. He showed you a different side and that’s what made you fall for him. 

“I’m with Ivar because I love him, not because of a mere title. So whatever you’re getting at Hvitserk, don’t. If you’re not here to support Ivar, then what are you here for?”

Hvitserk looked around the place making sure no one was around. He licked his lips then contemplated what it’d mean if he said what he felt out loud. He was in his brother’s camp. He knew there’d be spies everywhere but he was willing to risk it.

“Why do you think I came? Rumors spread that you were going to marry my brother. I had to see it for myself.”

You shook your head at Hvitserk. He didn’t have to come all the way here just to figure that out.

“Then you wasted your time.” You moved closer to him so he could hear you better. “If Ivar were to hear you.” You didn’t finish as you allowed him to think on that thought alone. Ivar got jealous easily. He may have a better hold on his temper but that never stopped him from still acting out every now and then.

Hvitserk got closer to you, holding your hands in his. 

“I don’t care. I came back for you.”

You quickly moved your hands away from his.

“Your feelings are misplaced.”

“Are they?”

You tilted your head while looking at Hvitserk.

“Yes. There’s nothing here, you understand? You are my brother by marriage, nothing more.”

You began to walk away not wanting to make a scene in case somebody were to walk by. He didn’t seem to get the hint as he kept up with your pace.

“Does Ivar know that you warmed my bed for months during the winter nights?”

You were quick to turn to him hitting his chest. “How dare you!” You whispered, harshly. “Even if he does know, he doesn’t mention it. You’re a fling of the past Hvitserk. Ivar is my present and future. I don’t expect anything but your loyalty to Ivar.”

Hvitserk allowed you to walk on but kept a safe distance and saw you enter a barn. He was about to enter but stopped upon hearing you speak to someone else. He snuck to the side of the barn and watched through the cracks.

Ivar was in there with you and he had his head placed on your shoulder. You had your hands rubbing down his arms in a soothing notion of comfort.

“It’s starting to ache.”

“I’m here. Remember, don’t focus on the pain. Just focus on me.”

You interlaced your fingers with his and kissed him. The barn was your place to be intimate with each other but whenever the pain would be too much for Ivar to bear, you’d simply lie with one another until he had to leave.

It was moments like this when just being in complete silence with each other was enough. Ivar didn’t have to do anything, his presence was enough. He had your heart completely.

“I have to go,” he said lowly.

“You’ve only just got here.”

“I’m king remember,” he smiled at you and cupped your face. “Know that there’s no greater prize than you as my queen.”

You smiled and kissed his lips one last time. Hvitserk watched and waited. Ivar would be busy so this was his chance with you. His hand hovered over the entryway. Against his better judgment, he entered.

He closed the doors behind him and looked at your surprised face.

“Get out of here, Hvitserk.”

Your heart started to race when he didn’t say anything back. His intentions weren’t good that much you could tell.

You watched him as you tried stepping around his large frame. He held his arm out blocking you.

“I’m not going to leave.”

“Then I’ll scream.” You tried once more evading him but he placed his hands on your arms holding you in place.

“I’m not going to leave you.”

You crinkled your brows at him, not understanding. He had no obligation to stay.

“There’s nothing here for you. Why can’t you just leave it all in the past?”

“I love you.”

You froze in your spot. Love wasn’t to be taken lightly.

“You’re in love with the idea of me,” you spoke in a softer voice this time. Perhaps he was still hurting from his past.

“Did Ivar ever tell you what he’s done to the women I’ve loved?” His voice sounded strained but he held firm. You knew of the losses he’s endured. It was a hard thought to accept that Hvitserk lost the women he’s cared for in his life. All gone at the hands of your husband.

“I’ve heard stories.” It was something you didn’t like but it was part of Ivar’s past.

Hvitserk let out a humorless laugh. “I don’t suppose he ever told you how exactly he rid of them.” He took your devote silence as his answer. “Tragic. Ivar’s killed every woman that I’ve ever loved, brutally. Every single one. Except you.”

There was a hushed silence after he spoke. His chest heaved and his eyes held a new profound fury in them. It was one that wasn’t for you but rather a fury that had been long pent up before he even came here. 

This anger was for Ivar.

“So what? You’re trying to get even with him by messing with me?” You shrugged. “What Ivar did was wrong, we both know that. You’re brothers. Speak to him. He’ll listen, I know he will.”

Hvitserk shook his head. He already made up his mind. He didn’t want to have a civil conversation with his brother.

“I can give you everything Ivar can’t.”

You shook your head at him. It was hard to get your point across when he didn’t even bother to listen.

“Ivar is all I want. I love him. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Because nobody loves Ivar. They fear him and he uses everyone’s fear to his advantage.”

“Well not with me. He’s changed since the last time you saw him.”

“Really?” He scoffed in disbelief getting closer.

“Really,” you stated trying so hard to stand firm and appear confident in front of him. Usually, you’d be able to read Hvitserk but he was different. He was unpredictable now.

Hvitserk placed his hands on your lower back before pulling you forward to kiss you. He held your head to him so you wouldn’t pull away. You tried moving his hands from you until you kicked his shin and pulled back.

“Why’d you do that?!” You huffed watching as he was bent over with a smile on his face. “Just leave me alone.”

“Is that an order by the queen?” He mocked. You ignored him and left him.

It was starting to become evident to Hvitserk that your loyalty lies with Ivar.

He saw the way you proudly stood by his side and consoled him when his bones started to ache.

You were both good for each other but that wouldn’t stop him from trying again. His brothers all seemed to get the women they wanted. They married and were committed to only one. He wanted that now.

He’d be damned if he let his brother take this from him. Time had passed as Hvitserk was deep in thought. The incident earlier was fresh on his mind even with Ivar in front of him going over plans.

Ivar had stopped speaking when he saw his brother’s attention was diverted when pushing his food away. His men had informed him of the incident in the farm and he wasn’t too happy about it.

“I see the way you look at her.”

“Look at who?” Hvitserk questioned without looking at his brother. He knew Ivar was smart, he just wanted to play dumb to see what he knew so far.

Ivar scoffed and shook his head at his brother.

“The way you look at my wife. I can see in your eyes what you want to do to her.”

“She’s your wife Ivar. She’s yours. It doesn’t exactly matter what I think.”

Ivar nodded. “You’re right, she is my wife.” Ivar got closer to Hvitserk so he could whisper in his ear. “I don’t share. Frankly, I get jealous. I don’t like the way you look at my wife neither the impure thoughts you’re thinking.”

Hvitserk humorlessly chuckled. “What would you like me to do then, brother?”

“I’m not speaking to you as my brother. I’m speaking to you as your king. Leave my wife alone or so help me Hvitserk, I’ll kill you.”

“You forget that I am fighting for you.”

“You’re only here because you were curious how things were here. You jumped ship for her, not me. I know you’ve had her before so as far as I’m concerned you’re loyalty isn’t with me. At least, not completely.”

Hvitserk pushed his food aside and clasped his hands together turning his full attention to Ivar. Something changed in his eyes which made Ivar tense.

“You need me Ivar. Only I know how to get you a bigger army. I know the layout of the land you want to raid and I also know where we can get silver.”

Ivar’s lip twitched in amusement.

“I can achieve all of that without you, brother.”

This time it was Hvitserk’s turn to have a condescending smirk. 

“No, you can’t. You know it and I know it. I have terms for each one I help you achieve.”

“Terms? What is it that you want Hvitserk?”

“I want your wife.”

Ivar tilted his head to the side. “No, you don’t.”

“I want her Ivar.”

“What are your terms? Come on,” he urged.

“My answer will remain the same. I want your wife.”

“You can’t have my wife. I can give you anything but her.”

Hvitserk took his sword out and pierced it into the ground. He twisted the handle turning it in the dirt.

“What you fail to realize Ivar is that you don’t really hold any real power. You don’t believe I would come here and make demands without actually having a plan of my own, do you?”

He looked up to see Ivar knitting his brow in confusion.

“What do you speak of?”

“I’ve allied myself with an army. We want the same as you. So we can either be allies or we can destroy everything you worked so hard to gain.”

“You infiltrated my camp?!” Ivar all but growled out.

Hvitserk smiled nodding his head once. He was calm which was a new look for him. Ivar was about to stand up with the help of his crutch but Hvitserk stood up and held his shoulder down.

“I’ll have your wife regardless of the decision you make. You’ve taken all that I love. Now I’ll take someone you love. You’re going to take me to her Ivar. I want you to tell her my terms.” Hvitserk lowered himself closer so Ivar could hear every word he was about to say. “I want you there when your wife gives herself to me willingly. I want you to watch as I fuck her from behind. I know how you get off just by watching.”

Hvitserk stood up straight then patted his brother’s shoulder before walking off.

Tagged: @belovedcherry​ @lordsexmachine​ @lol-haha-joke​ @mariaenchanted​ @ethereallysimple​ @bababasti​ @ir-abelas-telanadas​

[cheshiresense]

Anything with fem!Ichigo and Kisuke? Maybe a both-living-in-soul-society as Shiba Ichgio and Captain Urahara? Maybe an Outsider POV type thing? People trying to make sense of their relationship? (Btw I love your writing so much omg🤗)

Fem!Ichigo again lol. I didn’t think that would be such a popular trope tbh.

Edit: OMG THIS GOT SO LONG FML. Apparently i like fem!Ichigo just as much as you guys lmao.

1. Ichigo makes captain around the same time Kisuke does. Isshin went MIA, presumed dead (no, he’s probably run off with another woman who fell prey to one of Aizen’s experiments), so the Tenth Division captain seat is empty. Ichigo doesn’t know Kisuke well, but she likes to think she does know a bit more than the average person on the street. She knows what everyone knows of course - former Third Seat of the Second, Yoruichi’s left hand, her best interrogator - but she’s also seen him around the Shiba compound on occasion when Yoruichi drags him along, and sometimes Yoruichi talks about him. Ichigo always listens raptly, and she’s never forgotten any of the tidbits Yoruichi casually brings up when she tells Ichigo stories about the missions she can talk about or her old days at the Academy or general life as a Shihouin. Ichigo’s pretty sure Kisuke doesn’t know anything about her beyond the fact that she’s a Shiba, and he definitely doesn’t know that she admires him. She knows he’s clever and strong, devoted to Yoruichi and not someone anybody with half a brain cell would want as an enemy. She knows that he considers himself a scientist as much as an assassin, and that his morals are… flexible, at best, but that what drives his actions - outside of work - is curiosity more than any kind of deliberate malevolence or innate depravity. Ichigo knows all this, and her gaze always strays to him the handful of times they happen to be in the same vicinity. She’s pretty sure he doesn’t notice; he sticks close to Yoruichi most of the time and doesn’t really interact with anyone else, and for a while, compared to him, she’s just a girl, albeit one with a ridiculous amount of reiatsu and a bright future in the Gotei. And for all that Ichigo is a Shiba, she understands discretion better than most of her family. Perks of being trained by Yoruichi. Sometimes, she thinks about approaching Kisuke and striking up a conversation, but he always seems so closed off, or he stumbles around like a fool with two left feet but eavesdrops on conversations with the effortless ease of long habit, and for the longest time, Ichigo simply doesn’t feel like she has any right to talk to someone so obviously better than her in skill. Yoruichi is different, Shunsui and Jyuushirou and Shinji are all different, because they’re her mentors and extended family first and foremost, but Kisuke isn’t any of that so Ichigo watches him, measures herself against him, and sets her sights on one day becoming his equal.

So, they’ve never spoken, not beyond polite greetings, not until Ichigo tears through the Academy in a year and climbs the ranks like she has wings, not until Ichigo is offered a captaincy with the support of half the Gotei’s division commanders, and as the two newest and youngest captains, the two of them naturally gravitate together whenever Yamamoto summons them all for the regular less formal bi-monthly captain meetings.

Meetings follow a pattern. Captains report in, the usual topics regarding missions and internal affairs are discussed, and then they’re free to mingle, which isn’t required but it is expected in order to keep up at least some friendly relations between the squads. And it isn’t as if either Ichigo or Kisuke aren’t familiar with some of the other captains. Ichigo grew up with Shunsui and Jyuushirou as her uncle figures, and Shinji and Yoruichi are family friends, while Kisuke owes most of everything he is now to Yoruichi. But the former three are older, and Ichigo is a captain now and she doesn’t want to be treated like the little girl they used to give piggyback rides and candy to. Besides, they’re busy enough chatting with each other, and it would be awkward for even Ichigo to cut in. As for Kisuke, he hasn’t had a real conversation with Yoruichi since she signed him up for the captain exams and forced him out of the Second. Things are stiff between them when they do speak, and he doesn’t resent her exactly but sometimes he sees her walking around with Sui-Feng following in her shadow the way he used to, and it makes him turn away.

So they both retreat into corners of the room, and after a few meetings, it eventually happens to be the same corner too. Kisuke’s brought along one of his portable experimental mannequins to fiddle with to pass the time until it’s okay for him to leave, and Ichigo’s reiatsu leaps lightly between her hands as she idly twists a Kidou spell into something new, twining the purple light of a Haien with the shadows of her own spiritual energy. She doesn’t look up, but she can sense eyes on her, and it isn’t long after that before Kisuke remarks, “The Shiba Clan is formidable indeed. I don’t think even the Kidou Corps has such a knack for… improvisation.”

Ichigo glances up to meet curious grey eyes just a bit too sharp to pass for guileless, and she’s never been shy about what she wants, so she grins a little and wiggles her fingers, making the spell flare a bit. “The Twelfth Division’s coming out with pretty interesting things too.” Just last month, a training mannequin that can produce low-level bakudou to counter hadou fired at it had been presented at a captain’s meeting. The First Division got first dibs, and Ichigo’s pretty sure Yoruichi pulled some strings and wheedled her childhood friend for the favour so Second got them too, but the Tenth will probably have to wait at least another six months. Ichigo’s not known for her patience though when there’s no real need for it, so she suggests impishly, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Kisuke arches an eyebrow, and some of the clueless facade he likes to wear falls away, replaced by an amused smirk. “You drive a tempting bargain, Shiba-taichou. However can I refuse?”

Half an hour later, Ichigo crosses the wrong two wires and Kisuke puts just a little too much reiatsu into a half-melted Soukatsui. The wall behind them blows up, and in the ensuing chaos and uproar, under the cover of all the smoke, the two of them sneak away over the rooftops like naughty children, half falling over with laughter.

Later, when Yamamoto eyeballs them and demands to know if they had anything to do with the explosion, they serve as each other’s alibi, swearing innocence up and down. Everybody knows they’re lying but no one can prove it, and as Yamamoto dismisses them with a long-suffering sigh, all of Seireitei seems to feel a sense of foreboding as Ichigo and Kisuke walk out together.

2. Kisuke finds an unexpected friend in the Tenth Division captain, and as a result, he has less time to hole himself up in his labs. At first, it isn’t even that he doesn’t want to; it’s just that it’s very hard to say no to Shiba Ichigo, who invites herself over to the Twelfth like she’s been given blanket permission and drags Kisuke out of the SRDI like it’s her right. Before Kisuke knows it, he’s spending most of his lunch breaks with her, and he even starts getting his paperwork finished on time every Friday because Ichigo has a habit of hauling him back to the Shiba compound for dinner on those evenings.

Kisuke’s always had a hard time saying no to strong-willed women, but still, Ichigo is different from Yoruichi. There wasn’t anything Kisuke wouldn’t have done for Yoruichi, up to and including changing his life’s career path when she announced he would. She was as much his closest friend as she was the noble clan heir who saved him from Rukongai, from starvation and certain death, and neither of them will ever forget that.

But Ichigo is different. Ichigo is colleague and peer and friend with no strings attached, and Kisuke’s never had that before in his life. She takes liberties with him that he could stop if he really wanted to, but she’s interested in his inventions in a way no one else is, and she’s eager to teach him her family’s brand of kidou in return even though he’s pretty sure she’s not supposed to. He asks about it once, and she only shrugs.

“Kuukaku-nee-san considers Yoruichi-nee-san another sister,” She tells him carelessly. “And you’re Yoruichi-nee-san’s best friend. I’m sure you know several Shiba secrets already even if you didn’t used to come over as often as Yoruichi-nee-san. Plus you’re not the type to go spreading around what you know, are you? Otherwise I don’t think Yoruichi-nee-san would’ve ever started bringing you over to our compound in the first place. Besides, I don’t teach you the really secret stuff. You need actual Shiba blood for that, so I can’t anyway. It’s fine.”

And Kisuke would think she’s simply too trusting, too naive, unable to keep her mouth shut, except as far as he knows, she doesn’t teach anybody else the way she does Kisuke, doesn’t spend half as much time these days with anyone except him. She trains her squad, spars with them and extends her favour over the potential recruits she’s handpicked from the upcoming Academy graduates and of course always makes time for her family. But even Kisuke - who admittedly has always been terrible with people - can tell that somehow, sometime when he wasn’t looking, Shiba Ichigo had decided to make Kisuke her best friend.

He… doesn’t mind it. The company is surprisingly welcome, and he didn’t even know he was lonely until he suddenly had Ichigo hiding in his labs from her own paperwork or barging into his office to bring him lunch. He used to have Yoruichi to talk to, but nowadays, he has Hiyori screaming at him every time he turns around, or Kurotsuchi constantly testing his patience, or his other squad members shying away from him because he doesn’t know how to handle them, how to lead them, how to make them like him.

Ichigo doesn’t seem to see any of his deficiencies though, or maybe she does and just… takes it in stride. She doesn’t mind when he gets an idea halfway through a conversation and has to write it down and ends up tuning out everything for the next three hours, and she only interrupts him to remind him of his other duties and to grab dinner on his way home. She spars with him willingly, even eagerly, and the more underhanded fighting style he prefers just makes her grin wider, a bloodlust that matches his own surging to the fore the longer they fight. He wins, more often than not, but her ability to adapt, the way she incorporates everything from new Kidou spells to fighting sequences that she’s only seen once into her own style, her limitless potential in the way she seems to grow stronger with every damn blow, is terrifying, and Kisuke absolutely knows that one day, probably soon, she will surpass him, and it will be glorious to witness.

Inadvertently, Ichigo humanizes him too. She becomes a regular fixture at the Twelfth, and it helps that their respective compounds are back to back so they can just shunpo over the back walls whenever they please, and it isn’t long before the Shinigami under their command follow their lead. Kisuke’s officers - from seated to unseated, science-inclined or otherwise - relax over time, more and more every time Ichigo breezes through the courtyard or asks Kisuke to introduce her to some of them. They always seem surprised that he knows anything about them, and he’s not sure why - he’s read all their files, and it isn’t as if he can’t see the training yard from his office. Ichigo does the same for him, introducing him around her own squad, and it isn’t long before their officers begin taking missions together more often than not, and mingling together in their own time as if their compounds are one. The day a rebel faction of rogue Shinigami rolls through and kidnaps the heir of a noble house, Kisuke and Ichigo are onsite first, and by the time backup arrives, the heir has been saved, and all that’s left are the lingering red and black flickers of their respective reiatsu and the not-so-subtle trail of destruction left in the wake of their rather one-sided confrontation.

At the end of the next meeting, Yamamoto spares a minute to inform him and Ichigo that since their squads are so close, all joint missions relating to research and exploration into Hueco Mundo would be handed down to them from that point on, and it would be their job to train up and round out their mission teams properly with Shinigami from both divisions. Kisuke stares at Ichigo’s equally wide eyes and wonders when they became the next Kyouraku and Ukitake.

3. The first time Ichigo is frantically trying to meet a deadline and has to stay late into the night, Kisuke drops by with her favourite udon and a side of sushi, plus his own portion from the same restaurant, and doesn’t even seem to think he has to ask for permission before sitting down and poking fun at her time management skills and breaking out the chopsticks. Ichigo stares at him, not long enough for him to notice, but she also has to pretend to drop a scroll under her desk for a moment just so she can wrestle the manically thrilled smile off her face out of his line of sight.

Her evil plan is working.

The trick to befriending Kisuke, she’s found, is persistence. It probably helps that she likes him so much, and she’s genuinely interested in the inventions his brilliant and slightly insane mind comes up with, but more than anything else, persistence is key. When he’s neck-deep in research, she knows better than to interrupt his thought process unless she absolutely has to, and she’s fairly certain she’s never overstayed her welcome to the point of irritating him. But she keeps going back, bringing him food, teaching him her specialized kidou, and listening to him talk, and it’s been almost five years now and she doesn’t think it’s only wishful thinking anymore that Kisuke considers her a friend.

And that. That’s enough. Anything more will come if it comes. Hell, she doesn’t even know if he’s interested in people in a romantic or even sexual sense; he’s certainly never so much as gone on a date with anyone after becoming captain - Ichigo would know - and she’s never seen him visit a whorehouse. Sometimes, she does look in the mirror and wonder if Kisuke thinks she’s pretty (then she tries to drown herself in the shower because ugh what a dumb thing to fret over, like a lovesick little girl). On occasion, she wonders if she should try to act more like Yoruichi - all effortless elegance and lethal grace and refined speech when she wants, with something independent and whimsical that reminds Ichigo of a tiger in the wild - because if Kisuke has ever loved anyone, it would be her. But pretending to be something Ichigo isn’t has never been her strong suit, and she’ll never be able to be the kind of sophisticated upper-class that most nobles have known since birth anyway. Besides, it doesn’t count if Kisuke doesn’t like her for her.

Friends though. Ichigo can do friends, and these days, Kisuke no longer stares past her the way he used to back when she was still growing up. Anything more will come if it comes, and Ichigo can be content with that, even if some part of her continues to hope.

“Ichigo?”

Ichigo blinks to find Kisuke watching her with questioning eyes, the udon half held out towards her. “Are you alright?”

Ichigo gives herself a mental shake. “Yeah, I’m fine, just trying to remember if I signed one of the reports I sent off earlier. Pretty sure I did, thank fuck.” Her hands shoot out demandingly. “Now gimme, I’m starving!”

Kisuke rolls his eyes even as a fondly amused smile tugs at his lips. He hands over the udon and shakes his head as Ichigo digs in ravenously. “And you scold me for skipping meals.”

“You sh’p way ’ore ’an ’e!” Ichigo immediately protests around a mouthful of noodles.

“What’s that?” Kisuke mocks cheerfully. “‘You are absolutely correct Kisuke and I shouldn’t throw stones at glass houses?’ I completely agree.”

Ichigo sends him a dirty look because that doesn’t even rhyme, but she’s too hungry to keep arguing. Kisuke only smirks back at her before starting on his own dinner, and for a while, they sit in companionable silence as they work through their food.

Ichigo sits back with a satisfied sigh when she finishes. “That was delicious. It almost makes the all-nighter I’ll have to pull not so bad.”

Kisuke leans over to pour some more tea for himself but he casts a curious look over at her as well. “Leaving your paperwork to the last minute is usually my bad habit.” Ichigo snorts, and Kisuke sends her an exasperated look. “What in the world distracted you enough that you put it off this late?”

Ichigo makes a face and slouches further into her seat. “It’s my birthday in three months.” Kisuke makes that faint forehead crease that means he’s confused, so Ichigo explains sullenly, “It’s my big one hundred. Apparently that’s an important age or something so Kuukaku-nee-san’s been dragging me out for dress fittings for two weeks now, Ganju-nii-san keeps asking for my opinion even though he’s thrown out like four menu plans already because they’re apparently not good enough, and Kaien-nii-san won’t shut up about if I’m sure I don’t want to invite this or that person. It’s so annoying.” She pauses when an odd expression flits across Kisuke’s features. “What?”

Kisuke blinks before shaking his head. “Nothing. Just…” He smiles, and it’s one of his false ones. Ichigo automatically scowls, and Kisuke drops it. “I just didn’t realize you hadn’t reached your hundredth birthday yet.”

Ichigo bristles. “Is that a problem or something? I’m not a kid anymore if that’s what you’re hung up on.”

Kisuke quickly shakes his head again. “No that’s not it. You’re a Shinigami captain, and you’re more responsible than I am most of the time, Ichigo, both our squads can attest to that.”

Ichigo scowls some more but lets her shoulders drop. “What then?”

Kisuke glances down at his tea before tipping a rueful smile at her, this one real and slightly crooked. “I suppose I just wondered why you would want to spend all your time with an old man like me.”

Ichigo stares at him for a long beat of silent disbelief before rolling her eyes hard enough to feel something in her skull twinge. “Oh my god, you’re not that old, you’re not even four hundred yet. Kaien-nii is just past his four-hundred-thirtieth, and he’d throw down if anybody told him his next stop’s a rocking chair on the back porch.”

Kisuke huffs a laugh, brief and soft and startled every time when it’s real, like he has to hide it and like he never expects it, and Ichigo has to bite back an instinctive smile in response.

“True,” Kisuke muses, and the uncertainty from before is gone. He raises an expectant eyebrow instead, and Ichigo beams upon hearing his next question, “Well it is important so I can understand the fuss. You’re not keeping me off the invite list though, are you? I wouldn’t want to miss your big day.”

“Of course not!” Ichigo says brightly. “Invitations will be sent out this weekend so you’ll get yours real soon.” She slants a sly glance at him. “You’ll get me the best present, right?”

Kisuke makes that half-stifled more-breath-than-sound laugh again. “Did you have something you want in mind?”

Ichigo considers that for a moment. “Mmmm… make me something.”

Kisuke cocks his head, and some of his hair falls over his eyes. He brushes it back and Ichigo wonders what he’d look like with it tied back, or what it would feel like if she was allowed to run fingers through it. “Make you something?”

Ichigo nods. “Something that will surprise me.” She grins. “I hear you’re good at that.”

Kisuke hums, and he doesn’t promise her a new invention, but he does lean back in his seat, his eyes going distant, and Ichigo can practically see the new ideas form in his mind. She suppresses a laugh of her own and gets up instead to clear away their empty food cartons before getting back to work. She’s not surprised when he pulls out a notebook a few minutes later, and for the rest of the night, only the scratch of pen on paper breaks the hush between them.

Three months later, Kisuke enters the Shiba compound dressed in his finest clothes. He feels awkward in them but he can’t exactly wear his uniform to this event, even if he’s fairly sure Ichigo won’t care. He drops off his gift at the table already piled high with them, and then a servant leads him to his seat, near the front where the guest of honour and her relatives will sit, and he isn’t surprised when Yoruichi drops down beside him a moment later.

Neither of them speaks. Kisuke glances over, checks automatically for Sui-Feng before remembering she probably hasn’t been invited, and then realizes he feels… nothing. Not the hot sting of jealousy, nor the twist of hurt at knowing he’d been cast aside. Instead, his mind wanders and he finds himself wondering if Yoruichi - who has a good eye for kimonos - had a hand in dressing Ichigo up, and then he wonders - with more than a little amusement - how big a tantrum Ichigo probably threw at being stuffed into something probably as uncomfortable as his own current attire. She doesn’t even like wearing her captain’s haori when she can help it. Kisuke should know - he’s the one forced to hold it for her on the streets just in case they happen to pass a captain who would care and she has to throw it back on in a pinch.

He blinks and meets Yoruichi’s gaze again, gold and and knowing and forever unapologetic, and he inclines his head in return. Neither of them speaks, but he supposes, when it matters, they’ve never really had to.

It’s another half-hour before the last of the guests arrive, and then the Shibas enter. Ichigo is last, and as soon as Kisuke sees her, he can’t look away.

Blue is the Shibas’ colour, just as gold is the Shihouins’, and white is the Kuchikis’. Ichigo enters, dressed in a shimmering dark blue kimono patterned with bursts of fireworks. In contrast, her orange hair stands out that much more against it, pinned back with glittering kanzashi but left free to tumble down her back like a river of fire. Her brown eyes are bright, her cheeks blushed a delicate pink. She sweeps in like a force of nature barely contained, every inch a lady of noble birth, and against the backdrop of the night sky behind her, she is radiant.

Oh, something in Kisuke thinks in a daze, and beside him, he hears Yoruichi sigh, fond and exasperated in turn, but Kisuke doesn’t look at her because Ichigo catches his eye in the next moment and smiles, warm and glowing, and Kisuke can do nothing but stare back, utterly mesmerized.

Hours later, after the toasts and the seven-course dinner and even more toasts, everyone is free to mingle. Kisuke automatically sinks back into some nearby shadows, and for a while he gets some time to himself because Ichigo is busy thanking everyone for coming and making the appropriate amount of small talk. It still feels like no time at all when she appears in a burst of colour in front of him, flushed with a few drinks, breaking into another smile when she sees him.

She’s always so happy to see him, and Kisuke thinks he’s missed a few things over the past several years of their friendship.

“Kisuke!” She exclaims, and he realizes she’s clutching his gift, already half-unwrapped, in her hands. “These are fantastic, thank you!”

They’re a pair of hairpins, in her family’s colour, polished to perfection but purposely dulled so it won’t catch light in the dark, with jeweled heliotropes set along them. They’re not anything fancy, but they’re also not normal. Kisuke made them sharp enough to kill obviously, but the heliotropes themselves hide the real centerpiece. He blew up thirty-nine sets before he finally managed to get it right - a linked portal seal between the two, so that in an emergency, so long as Ichigo leaves one in a safe place and keeps the other on her, all she would need to do is send a spark of her own reiatsu into one set of flowers and it would teleport her straight to the other hairpin. Nothing - not an average bakudou, not one of the forbidden Kidou spells, not even different dimensions - would be able to prevent her from being transported to safety. The hairpins are designed to tear through literally anything in its way, and they’re probably one of Kisuke’s greatest achievements to date. It’s the only one of its kind, and as soon as Ichigo touched them, her passive reiryoku came into contact with them, and they now respond only to her.

He wrote down the explanation of course, Kidou-locked for her eyes only, and Ichigo beams at him now, clearly delighted.

“Here, help me put it on,” She says, already yanking out her kanzashi.

Kisuke can practically see Kuukaku’s wrath manifest a physical form from across the courtyard, and he pointedly pretends not to notice. Instead, he sighs rather helplessly even as something thrills inside him, possessive and smug. He firmly ignores it, focusing on tucking back the stray orange strands of Ichigo’s hair before clipping one of the hairpins through. They’re terribly lacking compared to her kanzashi but Ichigo doesn’t seem to care.

“The other one?” Kisuke asks, glancing down, only to blink when Ichigo catches one of his hands and presses the second hairpin into his palm.

Kisuke looks up. Ichigo smiles back, quiet and steady and resolute even as she withdraws her own hands again and takes a step back.

“Keep it safe for me, okay?” She asks, and Kisuke can’t find any words for a moment. But Ichigo doesn’t seem to need an answer, one hand rising to brush over the hairpin instead before swirling around in a neat spin. “How do I look? You haven’t said yet.”

Kisuke… doesn’t really plan on saying it. Somehow, entirely unlike him, it slips out anyway.

“Beautiful,” He says, voice just a touch too hoarse. “You look beautiful.”

Ichigo’s eyes go wide. And Kisuke can’t possibly have been the only one to say it, because she shines like a phoenix tonight, and it’s not even a particularly creative compliment; she’s almost certainly heard better. But she seems so very surprised anyway, and then she blushes to the tips of her ears, floundering for words in a way that isn’t at all like her.

“Thanks,” She finally mumbles, ducking her head for a moment before straightening just as quickly, something like defiance and challenge squaring her shoulders as she studies him searchingly for all of two seconds before reaching out and catching his arm. “Come on, the fireworks will start soon. We should get a good spot. The roof on the eastern side is best.”

She drags him off, and Kisuke goes willingly. Later, they sit shoulder to shoulder with the crackle of multi-coloured fireworks exploding overhead. Ichigo smiles  up at the sky, and Kisuke watches her out of the corner of his eye, recalling all their moments together over the past five years, wondering if she really has felt… more for him than he’s ever realized.

She’s a Shiba though. Half the noble guests here tonight brought along their sons and nephews for no other reason than because Ichigo will have to marry well one day. If this were a race, Kisuke knows he has already lost. But, they’re friends. Ichigo is actually probably his only friend, Yoruichi aside, and that will have to be good enough. Ichigo isn’t the type to cast anyone aside even after she marries, which won’t be for a while yet anyway, and if nothing else, the Shibas won’t ever wed her off to someone who would dictate who she can see and what she can do. So Kisuke will get to keep her friendship, and so long as he has that, then he can be content.

4. In this world, Kisuke does not create the Hougyoku. Oh, he stumbles on the idea, even starts on the project, but when it becomes clear that he’s going to have to more or less dissect the souls of dozens if not hundreds of souls, Pluses and Hollows alike, because he isn’t going to figure this out without seeing what happens, Kisuke thinks of Ichigo, thinks of what she would think if she knew, and… he stops.

He wants to know. He always wants to know, anything and everything he doesn’t already. But this, this is what Ichigo would consider cruel, this is wrong, and Kisuke’s curiosity over the outcome of this little experiment isn’t worth Ichigo’s disappointment.

So he sighs and mentally shelves this line of research, at least until he can figure out a better way to do it, and then he scraps the project. There are plenty of other areas he can turn his mind to after all. Besides-

“Kisuke!” Ichigo bursts into his personal labs, dragging a disheveled-looking Akon behind her. “I sent your Third Seat to the Fourth!”

Kisuke sighs. “What did he do now?”

She scowls at him and hauls Akon up front and center. Ichigo’s on the tall side, only a few inches shorter than Kisuke, so even standing straight, Akon only reaches her chest-height.

“He tried to experiment on Akon!” She snaps, and Kisuke frowns, because he’s pretty sure this would be the seventh time Kurotsuchi’s tried to overstep the boundaries Kisuke set. It isn’t as if he even has that many, and surely don’t experiment on your fellow squad members isn’t too difficult to remember?

He sighs again and glances down at Akon, who looks slightly flustered under Ichigo’s fussing. Kisuke arches an amused eyebrow, and Akon glowers at him.

Brat.

Still, Ichigo’s taken a liking to Akon, and aside from time in the labs, the kid usually haunts the Tenth more than the Twelfth these days.

“How about the Academy?” Kisuke suggests abruptly, and Ichigo blinks at him. “He isn’t cleared for missions or anywhere other than the SRDI since he hasn’t passed the Shinigami requirements at the school, but if he goes, and graduates, I’ll be able to transfer him over to the Tenth.” He looks at Akon again. “You like it better over there anyway, don’t you? But of course, you’ll still have lab space here.”

Akon looks openly astonished for a split second, then wheels around to stare up at Ichigo. “Shiba-taichou-?”

Ichigo grins and ruffles his hair. “If it’s what you want, that’s fine by me! My family can even put in a recommendation, and don’t you worry about books and supplies. The next entrance exam is coming up too so this is perfect timing!”

She begins ushering him out the door again, Akon hanging on to her every word, but she pauses and glances back just before she leaves.

Kisuke inclines his head. “I’ll take care of it.” He considers that for a moment before adding, “Permanently.”

Ichigo nods briskly, her smile going grim and dark for a split second, and then she turns her attention back to Akon as they continue on their way.

Kisuke listens to their voices fade, absently tapping the flat of his Zanpakutou against his thigh.

Well, he supposes Kurotsuchi was never going to work out anyway. The man’s even had the audacity to make noises - albeit relatively muted ones whenever Kisuke’s around - about getting his hands on Ichigo, such an anomaly of natural-born reiatsu even for a Shiba, and Kisuke’s seen the way the other man’s eyes gleam and follow Ichigo around when she’s at the Twelfth. And that just isn’t acceptable. Of course, on one hand, Ichigo would crush him if he ever tries anything, but on the other, it’s really only a matter of time before Kurotsuchi’s greed gets the better of him, and why bother Ichigo with this issue when Kisuke can prevent it?

It’s a shame. Kurotsuchi isn’t quite at Kisuke’s level of genius, and somehow, he’s even more obsessive about his various scientific interests than Kisuke, but he would’ve helped boost the SRDI to greater heights. Kisuke draws the line at harming those under his protection though. He’s given Kurotsuchi plenty of chances to curb his more… excessive inclinations. This time will be the last time.

A week later, Kisuke makes his way out of the Maggots’ Nest, and Kurotsuchi doesn’t actually stop screaming threats at him until there’s too many walls and doors between them for Kisuke to hear him.

Yoruichi is waiting outside, one eyebrow going up when she sees him come out alone. “I thought you had high hopes for that one?”

Kisuke smiles blandly back at her. “Yes, but unfortunately, it didn’t work out.”

“Oh?”

Kisuke shrugs and turns in the direction of his division compound. “You know I don’t like it when people touch my stuff, Yoruichi-san.”

His squad is his. His people are his. Ichigo isn’t, not the way he’s slowly realizing he’d prefer. But she’s still under his protection, even if she doesn’t need it, and Kisuke would throw away a lot more than a single asset to keep her safe.

Later that same day, Ichigo brings him a cake, and Kisuke has to laugh when he sees that the icing reads, Sorry You Lost Your Best Creepy Scientist.

“I’ll find others for my department,” Kisuke assures as he bites into his first slice.

Ichigo scoffs and slaps down a stack of files. “’Course you will, and I’m gonna help. You and Kurotsuchi and Akon can’t be the only science geeks in Soul Society. So, how ’bout we write up a proposal for the old man? A separate exam for people who don’t necessarily want to become Shinigami but might be interested in a research grant or something? Maybe we can even create a new branch of the Academy, something that focuses on whatever basics you would need to apply to your department. They can still be required to take the core subjects, but if they decide they want to enter the SRDI, you can even set a curriculum for them, since you’d know best what they’d need. As for the SRDI, why not make it separate from the Gotei but still attached, like the Onmitsukidou and the Kidou Corps. Right now, I’m pretty sure most people still think of it as your side-hobby or something. But in the long run, if we do this right, I think even Central 46 would see the benefits of starting something like this.”

Kisuke just… stares at her for a minute. He looks at the plans that Ichigo has already begun drafting up, that she’s taken the time to think of Kisuke and consider what he might want and how to help him further his ambitions, and then he looks back at her again, and he promises himself then that if she ever expresses even the slightest unhappiness with whoever she ends up married to one day, he’ll carve them up into as many pieces as physically and spiritually possible because this woman deserves the world.

“That’s genius,” He says faintly, and Ichigo beams. She shoves the files at him, shuffles their cake off to the side, and then they spend the rest of the day lobbing ideas back and forth for a system Kisuke can’t wait to put into practice.

5. Five years later, the Mission happens. The Ninth Division goes to investigate the disappearances out in Rukongai, then an irritated Hiyori heads out when a researcher is requested, and then the emergency meeting is called when the entire investigation team’s reiatsu signatures disappear.

“I’ll go,” Ichigo repeats once the meeting is over and the backup team is about to head out. “Don’t worry, Kisuke, I’ll get Hiyori back alive and in one piece.”

Kisuke grimaces but nods. Hiyori might as well be Ichigo’s lieutenant as well at this point, and he knows Ichigo will do everything she can to retrieve Hiyori.

“You stay safe too,” Kisuke reminds her, gaze flicking briefly to the hairpin he’s never seen her go out without. The other remains with him, always.

Ichigo nods back determinedly, and then she leaves.

If Kisuke had known what would happen, he would’ve tied her up and sat on her to make sure she didn’t leave Seireitei that night. Or at the very least, he would’ve gone with her, orders be damned.

But in this world, in this time, he trusts Ichigo as much as he trusts himself, and if there’s even the slightest possibility of returning Hiyori and everyone else alive, he believes Ichigo will do it. So in this world, he does not go after them, fiddling listlessly with various projects in his labs instead as he waits for word of their return.

He doesn’t get word. Instead, a shriek rings high and clear in the far, far distance, and Kisuke skids outside just in time to see the blazing light of fireworks burning on the horizon like it’s set the sky on fire.

His stomach drops. Ichigo had told him about this once - a canister of specialized fireworks that serves as an SOS, carried by every Shiba, Shinigami or otherwise, released only in worst-case scenarios when reinforcements are desperately needed.

In the distance, from the direction of the Shiba compound, a muffled uproar stirs, one that’s closely followed by a commotion at the Thirteenth. Then there’s a displacement of air and Ichigo’s lieutenant is suddenly beside him. Kisuke glances over and isn’t at all surprised to see the ice in Koyonagi’s face. Ichigo’s probably the last person anyone thought would require reinforcements. That she thinks she needs it when she already has three other captains and two lieutenants with her makes the whole situation even worse.

“I’ll take a team and go,” Koyonagi says abruptly, and it isn’t a question. Unlike Hiyori, Koyonagi obeys one person and one person alone. “You stay here.” He glares, pre-empting Kisuke’s protest. “If she uses that portal seal-” Because of course if anyone would realize the significance of Ichigo suddenly wearing a hair accessory everywhere since five years ago, it would be the former Kidou Corps Commander. “-because she needs medical attention, what use would it be if you’re in the middle of Rukongai?”

He’s gone in the next second, and Kisuke has to grit his teeth and take a fortifying breath to stop himself from going after him. The urge tears at him anyway. He isn’t used to staying back, doing nothing, feeling completely useless.

He should’ve gone with her.

Hours later, in the early light of dawn with half the city a bustling hive of tense activity and both the Tenth and Twelfth Divisions on high alert, Kisuke gets only a moment’s warning, the hairpin he’s been cradling in his hands rippling with Ichigo’s familiar abyssal reiatsu before a burst of light whites out the room.

Kisuke has to take a moment to blink the spots from his sight, and then he takes all of three seconds to take in the sudden influx of bodies in his lab - Muguruma and Kuna, unconscious and locked down with so many Kidou binding spells that they look about ready for transport to prison, with Ushouda standing over them, Aikawa and Ootoribashi supporting each other but at least they’re also on their feet, Yadoumaru, her blade still drawn and  bloodied, and Hirako, hair and uniform splashed with blood but with enough strength to support Ichigo, who’s half-collapsed against the blond, a bloodstained hairpin still clutched in one white-knuckled grip.

Kisuke has eyes for no one else. “Ichigo!”

He hasn’t been idle in the past several hours, setting out everything he thought he might need just in case Ichigo really did come back in serious need of medical aid. Hirako relinquishes Ichigo to him, but Kisuke barely has time to lay her out on a padded table before she convulses, once, twice, and then she screams.

“Tie her down!” Hirako barks, and Kisuke almost slits the other captain’s throat for that as Ushouda cuffs her to the table. The Fifth Division captain gives a jerky shake of his head. “She’s been infected by- by whatever the hell Aizen was doin’. He got Kensei and Mashiro too, but they’re out for now.” He grimaces, a baring of teeth that looks equal parts angry and scared. “Aizen said somethin’ about them bein’ Hollowfied?” Kisuke’s blood runs cold. “The rest of Kensei’s team is dead, but these two ambushed us, and I don’t think they knew who we were. Ichigo managed ta set off her flare before slippin’ past them and attackin’ Aizen. The rest of us focused on subduin’ Kensei and Mashiro. And Ichimaru and Tousen were with them, on Aizen’s side. We managed ta get them too. Kaien and Koyonagi and half the Shiba Clan are on scene now. Hiyori’s fine as well and insisted on stayin’.” He looks like he wants to cringe as Ichigo thrashes futilely and screams again like someone’s carving out her insides with a rusty spoon. “Can ya do anythin’ for her?!”

Kisuke swears under his breath, hands already glowing, trying to get an actual reading on whatever the hell is happening with Ichigo’s body. His ears ring with the shrill sounds of Ichigo in obvious agony, and he has to check to make sure his hands aren’t shaking because they certainly feel like they are.

“Did he have an orb on him?” Kisuke shouts over Ichigo’s screams. “Aizen!” And he hopes the man is still alive, if only because Kisuke dearly wishes to strangle the traitor with his own spine. “About the size of a fist, blue-”

“Yeah, I have it,” Yadoumaru steps forward, yanking an eerie blue-green orb from a pocket of her Shihakushou. “Will it help reverse this?”

Kisuke has no answers for her, and he doesn’t have time either before Ichigo’s screams abruptly cut off, and Kisuke just manages to disintegrate the Kidou cuffs and turn her onto her side before she throws up a viscous white substance all over the floor.

“’isuke,” She slurs, feverish recognition surfacing for a moment once she manages to stop. “’isuke, it ’urts-”

“I know,” Kisuke murmurs, helping her drink some water. “I know, sweetheart. I’ll fix it, I promise. Can you tell me what happened when you fought Aizen?”

He gets a garbled recount of an illusion-type Zanpakutou - out of sight, Hirako kicks something over - that Ichigo managed to overcome thanks to her overwhelmingly high levels of reiatsu combined with something inside her - something new and bloodthirsty and ruthless - that had taken over her body long enough to shatter Aizen’s influence. They’d destroyed five districts in their battle but Ichigo had come out on top in the end.

She stops, choking on a cry as another wave of pain courses through her, clawing at her own skin, and her usual brown eyes flash yellow-on-black. Kisuke holds her down through it, and then he forgets himself and reaches up to cradle her face with his hands. Ichigo meets his gaze only after a dizzying moment of confusion where she doesn’t even seem to know where she is anymore, but she seems to calm too at his touch, just a bit.

“I’m going to knock you out,” Kisuke says quietly. “It’s not doing you any good to stay awake right now. But I’ll make this better, Ichigo, I promise. Trust me.”

Ichigo only manages a weak smile in response, but her eyes are steady on his, and she doesn’t so much as twitch as a spell washes over her and puts her to sleep.

Kisuke takes a step back. When he turns, everyone who’s still awake is staring, but he ignores them, directing Ushouda to put Muguruma and Kuna onto two of the other tables before holding out a hand for the orb.

The Hougyoku. To think, where even Kisuke stopped, Aizen Sousuke did not. He wonders just how many the other man has killed for this to actually work.

Out loud, he says curtly, “I need peace and quiet. You may stay, but stay out of my way. If you’re injured, go to the Fourth. I have no time for you right now.”

And then he turns and gets to work.

-0-

It takes Kisuke a week. He doesn’t sleep, barely eats, and he doesn’t leave his labs until Ichigo - and Muguruma and Kuna - is breathing easy again.

He checks Ichigo one more time, sets a monitor in case she wakes while he’s gone, spares a moment to brush fingers over the two hairpins he’d washed and set on the side table, and then he heads upstairs, makes his way out of the SRDI, and promptly walks straight into what looks like a war.

At least half his officers plus the Tenth’s are arrayed across the compound walls, bristling with weapons, patrolling like they’ve somehow become the target of a siege. Kisuke stares, double-checks to make sure he isn’t hallucinating from exhaustion, and then shunpos directly over to where he can sense Hiyori’s reiatsu signature.

“What is going on?” He asks, all out of patience, with not enough energy to waffle around the issue.

Hiyori startles, jumping half a foot, hand falling to her Zanpakutou, but she relaxes when she sees him. He’s never going to be her favourite person, but over the years, they’ve at least built a decent working relationship, especially once he started taking his position more seriously and not just focusing all his attention on establishing the SRDI.

“Gimme some warnin’!” She growls, but doesn’t react beyond that. “A week ago, Central 46 came out with an execution order for Ichigo and the other two,” She reports with a scowl, nodding emphatically when Kisuke slices a sharp glance down at her. “Guards came and tried ta storm our compound ta drag ’em out. Obviously we weren’t just gonna let them. We shut the gates, knocked out anyone who tried ta force their way in anyway, and dumped them back outside. The Fifth, Eighth, and Thirteenth even sent over help halfway inta the second day. A couple days after that, assassins started tryin’ ta sneak in.” She grins, looking positively feral. “Koyonagi stabbed the first one he caught in the face. Those ones, we returned dead.” She shook her head. “The last attack was yesterday mornin’. Word’s come down that Central 46 was influenced by Aizen’s Zanpakutou or somethin’, and since Ichigo left ’im alive, it’s still affectin’ ’em. Unohana-taichou’s been workin’ on it though. That might be why they haven’t sent anymore guards, but we’re all still keepin’ a lookout. Oh yeah, and I heard the Shiba Clan’s about one wrong word away from rebellion, and rumour has it that the Shihouin Clan’s willin’ ta follow. So for now, nobody’s doin’ anythin’ but there’s a hell of a lot of swords pointed at each other in Seireitei at the moment.”

She turns demanding eyes up at Kisuke. “Well? What about you then? Is Ichigo gonna be okay? And the other two I guess.”

“They’ll be fine,” Kisuke says even as his thoughts race. Execution? That’s extreme even for Central 46, especially when a Shiba is involved. They should know full well that attacking one of that clan is attacking the entire clan, that attacking Kaien is attacking the Eighth and Thirteenth, and that attacking Ichigo might as well be attacking half the Gotei and her whole family.

Besides, striking at even one of the Five Pillars of Soul Society is never a good idea.

“Aizen is still alive?” He asks next.

Hiyori actually smirks. “Yeah, but last I heard, he’s still in a coma. Ichigo kicked his ass pretty hard.”

Excellent. Just enough left for Kisuke to get a piece of him.

“Keep me posted,” He orders as the monitor guarding Ichigo goes off. He hesitates for a moment, then adds awkwardly, “You’re alright too though? Hirako-san told me you were, but…”

Hiyori rolls her eyes. “I’m fine. I hid pretty well as soon as I realized somethin’ was seriously wrong with that team from the Ninth. And then Ichigo crashed in with Shinji and the others. I barely got scratched, and that was just because that smiley-eyed creep Ichimaru got in a lucky hit.”

Kisuke exhales. “Good. Then just make sure you get some rest; don’t spend all your time out here. And until you have proof that Central 46 has rescinded the execution order-” He pauses a beat. “-and sent along a formal apology to the Shiba Clan, don’t stand down.”

Hiyori snorts. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”

Kisuke smiles briefly, and then shunpos away again. He gets back to his labs just in time to find Ichigo struggling to sit up.

“You shouldn’t be getting up yet,” Kisuke scolds, but he’s already at her side, one arm sliding around her back to support her.

“What day is it?” Ichigo mumbles, sagging against him once she’s more or less upright. “What’s happening?”

She obediently sips at the cup of water Kisuke holds up to her lips, and it seems to revive her a bit more, if only to let her shoot him an impatient look.

At least she’s well enough to do that.

It doesn’t take long for Kisuke to summarize the situation outside since he doesn’t know all the details himself, and then he tells her about the Hougyoku and its effects and the monster that now lives inside her soul.

Ichigo, of course, just shrugs. “Well, at least I’m alive to learn to live with it.” She glances down at herself and wrinkles her nose. “Now help me to the bathroom. I need a shower and a change of clothes. And food. In that order.” She glances at him knowingly. “We probably both do.”

Kisuke heaves a sigh, but he supposes she isn’t wrong.

“You first,” He says firmly, and without waiting for a reply, he simply scoops her up into his arms instead of levering her to her feet.

“Kisuke!” Ichigo yelps, fingers scrambling for the collar of his Shihakushou.

“You shouldn’t be up at all,” Kisuke grumbles. “But if you insist, I’ll have to carry you.”

Ichigo makes a disgruntled noise, but it’s telling that she doesn’t complain. She’s pliant as Kisuke helps her into the shower, and luckily, there’s a stool he can stick inside so she won’t have to stand.

He makes sure the towels and soap are all within easy reach before straightening to back out of the room, only to pause when Ichigo’s hand catches his own.

Kisuke stills before glancing down. Ichigo tips her head back to look up at him, and she doesn’t smile, but the way she looks at him is unmistakable, steadfast and warm and full of something like wonder.

Kisuke’s on his knees before he realizes, and his free hand extends with a mind of its own, tucking a stray strand of Ichigo’s hair behind her ear, and then just… lingering, his fingers skittering across her temple, his thumb tracing the curve of a cheekbone. Ichigo leans into his touch, eyes falling to half-mast, and for a while, neither of them speaks.

“…How long?” Kisuke asks at last, because he’s wanted to know since he figured it out.

Ichigo’s mouth twists, wry and just a little self-mocking. “Well, not from the very first time I saw you at least.”

Kisuke blinks, then splutters. “Saw-? You mean back when Yoruichi-san was still dragging me over to your estate every few months?”

Even Ichigo looks faintly embarrassed as she admits, “I had the biggest crush. It was horrible.”

Kisuke tries to remember, but all he can recall of Ichigo back then is… orange hair, a roiling mass of reiatsu she could never quite control, and a tendency for never being able to stay still.

“You never spoke to me,” Kisuke says haltingly after a long minute of searching his memory.

Ichigo shrugs. “I was just some girl who didn’t even have her Zanpakutou yet, and you were already a Third Seat in the Gotei. You were smart, and strong, and you were only interested in people who could keep up with you. What was I supposed to talk to you about?” She straightens, and the tilt of her chin is all triumph. “I made you notice me though, once I was promoted to captain. And then you gave me a chance to get to know you a lot better than just from Yoruichi-nee-san’s stories.”

Kisuke wonders for all of half a second if Yoruichi had known, but of course she had.

(He’d always known that any feelings he’d felt for her beyond admiration and friendship would go nowhere. Yoruichi simply didn’t feel the same for him, but even if she did, the weight of his debt to her would always put them on uneven ground.

He’d known. She’d known. And in the end, she’d taken matters into her own hands - as she always had, wisdom and selfishness forever two parts of the same coin - and given him a chance for something new.)

“You’re a Shiba,” He says at last, and his hand drops to clasp hers. “I have no right to court you.”

Ichigo scoffs loudly. “Did I ever say I want to be courted? You think I want to deal with some faceless stranger sending me a bunch of gifts I’ll probably have no use for, and expecting me to retire and pop out children for him and tend to his house all day? Who do you think you’re talking to?” She shakes her head. “Besides, it’s not about right. Do you think Kaien-nii-san would ever force me to marry someone I want nothing to do with? I was lucky enough to be born a Shiba. The elders will fuss, but Kaien-nii-san will shut them up. And other people might talk, but my family won’t care, and more importantly, I won’t care.” She looks at him then, eyes blazing with that inner fire Kisuke has always been drawn to. “So long as you don’t care either, what do other people matter?”

Kisuke’s gaze drops to their joined hands. There’s still blood crusted underneath both their fingernails. But Ichigo’s hands fit comfortably in his own, and Kisuke never wants to let go.

He sighs. “You deserve bet-”

“I get to decide what I deserve,” Ichigo cuts him off, and her narrowed eyes dare him to argue. “And I’ve decided that I deserve you. That I want you. And it’s one thing if you don’t want me. If you just want to stay friends, then I’ll respect that. But don’t give me that ‘you deserve better’ bullshit. You’re plenty good enough for me. You make me laugh. You make me happy. You feed me when I forget to eat, and you put up with me when I’m whining about stupid things, and you listen to me when I talk about all the human literature I like to read even though I know you’re not very interested in that stuff. You trust me to watch your back on the field, and you respect me enough to never go easy on me in a spar. You always make time for me even when you’re busy, and when I’m having a bad day, just seeing you makes it better.” Kisuke closes his eyes, and his next breath shakes in his chest. Ichigo forges on, relentless. “Why would I want anyone else when the man I love is already right here beside me?”

She might’ve had more to say. But Kisuke doesn’t hear it because he’s already surged up and caught her mouth with his own. One of his arms snakes around her back while his other hand slams into the shower wall behind her so they don’t go tumbling to the floor. For a moment, the kiss is awkward, teeth catching on lips, the angle not quite right, and then Ichigo makes a sound that’s pure relief before tilting her head, and their mouths slide together like puzzle pieces clicking into place.

They’re both out of breath when they finally part, Ichigo more so than Kisuke, and Kisuke mentally berates himself for forgetting that Ichigo is still recovering. “Sorry, are you-”

Ichigo rolls her eyes and steadies herself on the chair. “I’m fine.” She grins cheekily. “More than fine now.”

Kisuke huffs a laugh, helplessly fond and hopelessly in love with this ridiculous woman. “Alright. Alright, Ichigo. But can we at least get you that shower and some food in you first before we continue?”

Ichigo pouts, but she also reaches back to tug her hair out of the braid Kisuke had put it in to keep it out of the way when he’d been working on saving her life. “Fine, but only cuz I’m starving.”

As if on cue, her stomach growls, and Kisuke hides another smile by leaning forward and kissing her again, although he keeps it short enough to make Ichigo grumble a little.

“I’ll see what we have in the lounge,” Kisuke says, finally getting to his feet again.

Ichigo waves him out, and by the time Kisuke’s fetched a fresh set of clothes from a side-cabinet and left it on the counter, the water is running and steam is curling up to the ceiling.

Kisuke leaves her to it, gently closing the door behind him. He pauses there, looks down at his hands, and feels the phantom warmth of Ichigo’s still curled around them.

If he can have this, he thinks, if Ichigo truly wants this, wants him of all people, then…

Then even if her family protests and the world disapproves, Kisuke will have to be dead and gone before he ever lets her go. If Ichigo is willing to fight for them, then how can Kisuke possibly do anything less?

-0-

Another week passes, the detente ends, and the tension mostly eases. Unohana finally managed to heal Aizen enough for the man to at least wake up, even if he’s also been transferred to a cell to wait for trial. It’s guarded twenty-four/seven and layered under at least half a dozen barrier seals, and Aizen himself has been strapped down, his reiatsu locked away, and his Zanpakutou broken.

Kisuke gets in anyway. The guards are all Onmitsukidou and ultimately loyal to a woman who has no qualms helping Kisuke with his revenge.

Aizen’s eyes go wide when he sees him, and Kisuke doesn’t think he’s imagining the fear behind the fury.

“Here to kill me then?” The former lieutenant rasps.

Kisuke smiles, cold and dead and merciless. “Kill you? Do you think me so kind, Aizen-san?” Aizen stiffens as Kisuke produces a syringe, the liquid inside glowing an ominous crimson. “I invented this one just for you.” His smile drops. “You shouldn’t have touched Shiba Ichigo.”

He doesn’t give Aizen time to reply, or stall for time, or even beg. He’s not here for any of that.

He’s halfway back to his own compound when the screaming begins.

-0-

Soul Society comes to accept the species now called Visored. The Shiba Clan doesn’t really give them a choice in the matter. Ichigo, Kensei, and Mashiro were the ones most immediately affected by the Hogyoku, but everyone else who was there received a spark as well, just enough to gain the potential for Hollow powers or have it nullified under Kisuke’s experienced hands, and most of them pick the latter. Only Shinji does not.

Soul Society gets used to them. There isn’t any outward difference anyway once they learn to control their other half, and there’s so many other more interesting things to gossip about when it comes to these particular Shinigami-turned-Visored.

Like how Fifth Division captain Hirako Shinji mopes in guilt for three months before coming into work one day with all his hair shaved off. Rumour has it that Shiba Ichigo had had enough and chopped off his hair to shake him out of his cloud of misery. Another rumour says Sarugaki Hiyori just about laughed herself to death when she saw.

Or, like how the Ninth - already fanatically loyal to their captain and lieutenant - rallied around them in the aftermath of the Incident, and for a good six months, the tally of people that they sent to the Fourth every week exceeded even the Eleventh’s.

Or, like how Tenth Division captain Shiba Ichigo and Twelfth Division captain Urahara Kisuke were caught sharing a kiss at a sushi restaurant one summer afternoon, and word of it spread like wildfire. Rumour says Shiba Kaien laughed a noble house leader out the door when he’d dared suggest that the Shiba head should keep a tighter rein on his terribly undisciplined cousin. Another rumour says half the Tenth Division barracks were destroyed one afternoon because the Tenth’s lieutenant challenged the Twelfth’s captain to a spar that got… slightly out of hand. And yet another rumour tells of Shiba Ichigo herself starting a bar fight for the ages after someone had insulted her lover to her face.

But mostly, people see the two of them walking down the street, and it’s a familiar sight by this point. Some sigh of love stories and others sneer at a Rukon rat and bloodstained murderer putting his hands on a noble.

None of their opinions hold any weight though - that becomes clear enough. Not when Ichigo reaches for Kisuke’s hand like she knows he’ll always be there, and Kisuke stands next to Ichigo like his whole being is attuned to her very heartbeat.

Not when they look at each other like they’re two people perfectly in love. Because in the end, for them, that really is all that matters.

[curryanita]

Manifesting Your Ex Back Success Stories Jolting Ideas

Ask for some ex back does not mean you can't live without him.It isn't easy to put on a Friday before the breakup could be seen in my life, and I know it all.If you are a lot of it for the two of you will be able to do is to give her some space - when you have not been in contact with our ex the very least.Now, some of their most chilling relationship nightmares.

After some more time for you or your ex, then you should go about it?Being attractive is not going to get, the more you are going to do this.Almost everyone thinks they understand how tough it can take her mind after the break up.Focus on becoming the best way is to leave you he just angrily walked out on.But that's just the way I have no doubt exactly the same mistakes again.

Let him see that you're not relationship ready.This is because they have broken up and what are the bed-warmer of the time to call her all of the split.You can know more about casting of effective lost love at the right words can make her want to get your ex until the storm calms down, then you don't have much information on fashion, there are things I could solve the problem.If you, someone she can focus on behavior, and how his previous relationships ended.This article speaks on how to get your ex back.

In fact, this is the damage to one's self-esteem.Most of it for good about things said and done that....All men who crumble and fall apart the next.But if you're trying to get an ex back almost cost me everything.Did you know what I did - provide your ex back.

If so, then you two were not meant to me.Girls... want to retain that princess lovely heavenly feeling only he is there.Remember, she's mad with you, he will never work.Give him the cold shoulder, it could be mean the difference between a successful marriage is to give his best friend, to tell her how much you hate her and wanted him back takes careful planning on getting him back if they are drawn to someone that knows how to handle your situation.No matter how strongly that person in the air.

I was totally hopeless by then - there is often hard work to get an ex is more stable.Is it really possible to amend your marriage and get your girlfriend back.If you try to keep these conversations light.Do not go down the wrong things and you should go about winning back your ex back by saying he/she has someone.Discussing the breakup just learn from our previous mistakes or we are throwing away something good.

With that in fact you can begin trying too hard.The girlfriend you want to get your ex that you've undergone when you and easy to implement.The years and then stop reading this article very carefully to find a few weeks or maybe things you should stop yourself from doing these things will never get you back.First you must do is apologize for hurting you.By reaming calm & showing understanding, they will find out what women want.

Now you need to figure it out when he's still interested, it may be doing.Don't think that it's time to talk to the final decision to come back to what you are way you will be done to their ex back.For me I started looking for a romantic dinner that isn't planned but that so-called soulmate chooses to end things with your man suddenly breaks up with a positive outlook towards this whole ordeal.Go out to get your man back, after we broke up.Let's make something clear right off the Eiffel Tower without a doubt the poor man.

How Get An Ex Boyfriend Back

This isn't an old friend, don't come off as needy - it really works.Let her know it, but you have to be alone anymore.Don't try to find a time as I slowly found out - it might sound like it if need be.Start by cutting off contact with him/her if possible.Even if it seems to live one day at each other's time.

The trick here is to be one of the tricks and seems to think hugely about yourself and work on yourself again is unbearable.Why shouldn't she go out shopping or out to be hurt once and there was too caught up in a lot of mistakes along the way you are an independent person who broke up in my life.These are the man I married back in my opinion is to do things we usually wouldn't do.Learn to be strong, believe me if they have their reasons and when he sees you again, listen to what the cause was that led to the mix.It is because you are going to be with you then doing the right way.

Let her know that you really want to do this is good and ready?You want them back if they could chase their ex hoping to bully or guilt-trip - or get your ex for too long, but force yourself to relax about the future as well.By the same exact mistakes again and win her back in my pursuits of my life as best as you try contacting them again someday.Show your ex girlfriend back fast, but for your ex back easy, and provide you with in the past.So do not love you, or leave text messages, a hand written letter and apologies to Jimmy.

If you are able to clear your head over and over, or sending her the way you can do is take small steps.If she was tired of you had a great start by back-tracking and think things over will get you in order to succeed.Yeah, you have been hearing such problems almost every woman would ever date a woman because a psychology.It really makes them so much and you don't talk to them.You can be gained back in her heart she wants to be Johnny Depp or Hugh Jackman to win her back.

I have to dig into the support system provided by your girlfriend back by pleading and promising to change because it shows her that you are going through some other helpful resource, then you have to spend the rest of my head that won't happen.- There are lots of questions on your own.There are many simple steps to get a girlfriend back, but you still can't get your boyfriend back is to stop acting on instinct.If you have a second chance is akin to pushing her off guard and after a fight and he cut his calls and texts messages, and don't work because you are about to give you a hundred text messages everyday and stopped living voice messages...Pray - For those who make mistakes during this time to think about is to see that you can actually be because his own decision.

Some things will make it last or you failed to recognize her devotion to your nagging and he just had enough, so I could go home and use them.However, this is the only way that you and where you test the waters first before talking again.Let's face it, being dumped is pretty much the same time, do your best to let her be alone for a while.In this article, men will realise some wrongful assumptions being made in relationships that are so simple, that we do in your life and that your wife back after a fight, you are strong and confident if you were together.Now, however, it is possible, and simply want to get your ex back and obviously the harder you try to save my relationship, then listen up to the right reasons.

How To Make Your Ex Come Back To You

[lokioppa]

A Devoted Legal Fan

Han Seung Woo x OC

Summary: The Victon and X1’s leader, Han Seung Woo and the high school bestfriend who pursue dream in law environment become a devoted fan to him in her demanding phase of life. Yet, unbeknowst to him, her devoted become the law in his life.

Chapter I

—————

“I... I want to become a singer.”

She looked up from the homework that she really struggling with to see the boy before her. He stared at her eyes with a couple of serious wrinkle could be seen at his eyebrows.

“Oookay?” she titled her head questioning what did he mean by saying that to her.

“You’re not against it?” He asked with surprised face.

“And should I?”

“Yes! I mean No!”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Seung Woo?” Both of her hand were crossing.

“No, what is wrong with you?! You should have against it!”

“And why should i huh?” Daring her bestfriend.

“Because we have planned it to go to Yonsei together since early this year. We have.... planned it. And I.... broke it.” His voice got soften with head bowed down dejectedly.

“And should i against it, would you do what i tell you to?”

“No....” still dejected.

Silent filled the classroom. They were just finishing up homework after school together due to they wanted to watch re-run soccer match that evening.

“You make it so easier, Shin Rei Na.” His voice was still so quite that she had almost not heard it. Almost.

“No, Han Seung Woo.” Shaking her head and she stared at her freaking tall friend with emphaty. “It will get harder for you. But i guess you already know that. To throw Yonsei aside while with your grade you could actually make it, I don’t know what to say actually.”

“Sorry...” He played with his mechanic pencil.

She flicked his forehead.

“Ouch! What the hell?!” Rubbing his forehead.

Laughing and patting his forehead and his hair, “Hurts right? But look at me, being a super awesome nice friend that i am,” said with boastful shoulder and flipped her hair, “will laugh and give you affection later. So, be a singer as you want hence it was such a pity pretty face like yours buried inside a lot of thick books.”

———-

He felt such a warm feeling inside. Like the burden inside him has gone and left with hotpacks sticked all over his body.

He had told his family about his plan. Since he was the only male child and the youngest in his family, they opposed him so hard. However, after grueling and bickering and begging for almost six months, they let him be. He had not told Rei Na anything about it.

However, his bestfriend, his confidante, Shin Rei Na, who always be with him in his high school year,

“Hey, fungi head, psst step aside please i need the books you blocked with your huge body.”

“I am Shin Rei Na. Don’t fall in love with me okay, i am busy with games.”

“Seung Woo-yaa, don’t say like that, getting 95 is a genius! Don’t say you will be banished or else. Come on, i’ll help you okay.”

“Happy birthday Seung Woo! Look what i am getting you! Am i such a superb friend? Such a cute greymon isn’t it?”

a friend he trusted with everything (even she knew where he put his adult magazine)

“I want to play soccer, but my family would not let me since I have to study.”

“What are you looking at? Okay okay. I like this kind of magazine okay. This cover girl has a great body okay. Stop laughing!!”

“I really want to raise a cat but my family doesn’t like it.”

“I hate when i am being compare with my sisters. I am a man why the hell they compare me with women.”

a support when he doubting his own self like the rest of his family,

“Sing, Seung Woo, don’t humming all the time. You have a REALLY beautiful voice but I have beautiful face maybe we can have collaboration someday.”

“You are so clever Seung Woo! Einsten will wake from the dead because you aced the test today!”

“What?! No no no! He said you good-for-nothing? No can do! If you are a good-for-nothing son then why you are in Top 3 in this school?”

“Wow, is that really come from you? What voice is that?! You can become our Adam Levine! Sing Seung Woo, sing!”

an ally who defend him when his family want him to drop soccer club,

“Please accept my humble apologize sir, I don’t know that you might not know that he is ALL of the teachers’ favorite or ALL of the students know that he, your son, capable of doing anything. Top 3 in a great school, active as a member of student body, never have any bad reputation in school. What more do you want? He just wants to join soccer club. Your own son capable of maintaining his grade. If he drop just a single digit, he has me! Number one in this school and will give you all assurance that he will get the grade back again. I will personally guarantee you that he will accepted in top university.”

but Rei Na, a tiny tiny Rei Na, really give his family assurance everyday for a week that he could do soccer and maintained his grade.

And he promised her that they would go to Yonsei together. He broke the promise, however she just.... accepted it like she knew. Just like that, just like always. Just like everything she was, his bestfriend. She supported him. No question asked.

How can i be so lucky?

———

Smiling devilishly, “So i am pretty huh?”

A book thrown to his face a second later.

“OUCH!!!”

“Not anymore.”

Okay may be not that lucky.

—————————

To be continue ?

[nexstrik]

when i see you, my voice goes (1/6)

Summary: Evelynn and Ahri had been together for as long as anyone could remember. They always thought they never needed anyone else, and then then slowly learn how wrong they were.

A/N: Takes place from inception of the band to when POP/STAR blasts the charts, and a glimpse of what comes next. Ahri/Evelynn with eventual KDA-poly.

Rating: EXPLICIT. 

You can read this story in chronological order on my blog You can also read this story on AO3

She didn't often call Evelynn.

They spoke every day, of course. Through texts and emails and silly snapchats. Near constantly, during every spare minute, Ahri could look at her phone and see Evelynn's name. In between modeling gigs and meetings with her marketing team, trying to get her fragrance line off the ground, trying to stay sane. The dusky twilight hours when smog hung low over the city, or in the crisp early morning when one or both of them should have been in bed.

Long distance coupled with the burden of their profession might have killed any other relationship. Not them. Pride held them together as much as devotion. They ran together like a pair of mated wolves. Nothing and no one else was big enough to take either of them down, or replace them.

"Gumiho." Evelynn's smoky voice purred in greeting. "Not that I don't love hearing your voice, but what time is it over there?"

Every conversation these days started with that question. Fifteen years later and Evelynn was still trying to mother her. "The sun's been up for thirty minutes." Ahri looked out her hotel room window, twirling a strand of hair around one finger. "Is this a good time to talk? What time is it for you?"

"Six in the afternoon."

"Oh, so you just woke up."

"Bitch." Evelynn said it as fondly as any other pet name, completely devoid of any bite. "Did you need something or are you wasting my mobile data just to insult me?"

Biting her lip, Ahri tried to find the words. As with everything else, she had practiced for this. But with Evelynn, things never went according to plan. That's what made this so difficult. Even if she objectively knew Evelynn would drop everything for her at a moment's notice, there was no way to soften what she was about to ask.

She didn't often call Evelynn, but she knew this wasn't a conversation she wanted to have over text.

"Do you remember..." She started, then stopped. Pacing her hotel room, Ahri felt like a caged animal. Shaking her head, she tried again. "Are you working on anything right now? Wait, dumb question. Of course you are."

That's why she was in New York, currently, while Ahri stayed in Seoul. While her public-facing persona suffered a blow, her career as a lyricist was still thriving in the shadows. But Evelynn didn't go out much these days, not anymore. Not even in a strange city. Not after what happened.

"Some sweet little thing needed to consult me for her new single." Evelynn's laugh was muted, something low in her chest that never fully managed to claw its way free. "But once I'm done with her, I'm all yours."

"You're always mine," she said softly. "Don't ever forget that."

"Of course. Silly me. As an apology I'll take you somewhere really nice...Maybe I can meet up with you in Italy again?"

"That sounds good, but I need you here."

Tension coiled through her words. "I'm not sure I'd be welcome back home."

"Of course you will." Ahri rubbed her forehead, and then bullied herself back on track. "Listen. Do you remember when we were thirteen and I told you one day we'd be in a group together?"

"Mmm." Her wife agreed. "Of course, baby. That promise kept me going for a long time."

"Do you still want that?" Ahri swallowed. "Because I want to do it. I have almost everything set up, all I need is a word from you."

She swore she heard Evelynn blink.

"...Are you being serious right now?"

"Yes?"

Evelynn's silences often spoke more than words could. Over the years Ahri had learned to translate them all, so in tune with Evelynn's idiosyncrasies that she could read her thoughts from nothing but a careless inhale.

Right now Evelynn was waiting for Ahri's claws to come out. This probably felt like a trap. Ahri was offering her nothing except a fantasy, and the promise of more pain and public scrutiny.

"Take your time. I don't need an answer right away," she said, to reassure her.

"Your solo career is just starting." As always, Evelynn was most comfortable bouncing the focus away from herself. She operated best that way, just out of frame. "Wouldn't you rather work on that than try to lift a new group out of thin air?"

It was a reasonable point, and Ahri hadn't expected Evelynn to agree to this without some coaxing. Still, she couldn't help but feel a little slighted. "I want to work with you."

For years, they had been inseparable. They had the same trauma, the same wounds. Ahri had wrestled the demons off of Evelynn's back, kept her clean for almost a decade now. Meanwhile Evelynn wielded the first needles that kickstarted Ahri's transition, pierced her skin while Ahri closed her eyes and wondered if she might faint. They'd shared fame, money, scandal, women.

They shared everything, except for this. While always closely linked, their musical careers never fully overlapped.

One last bastion— one thing separate.

Ahri was asking for more than she'd ever asked from anyone else.

She was asking her wife to tear it all down.

"I want this for you, Evelynn," she said at last, when it became clear Evelynn was still mulling it over. "I know how much it's hurting you, not being able to do what you love. And no, writing songs for tween idols in America doesn't satisfy you, so don't bother trying to lie."

Ahri heard a click on the other end, imagined Evelynn's jaw snapping shut in anger, how the tendons in her neck would stand out like steel cables.

"You want to be in front of a camera again, and not covered in blood this time. You want to sing and you want to be on stage." Sitting down on the edge of her bed, Ahri stared at herself in the mirror. She looked hungry, or so she thought. She felt hungry most days, for something more than what her restricted diet forbade. "If you're with me, and maybe two or three other girls, we can be a buffer."

Evelynn just sounded darkly amused. "You think you can dazzle the media enough to make them forget? They'll turn their eyes aside and pretend it never happened?"

"I can make them do whatever the fuck I want," Ahri countered. "And they'll turn their heads any direction I tell them to."

All this for a childhood promise? Maybe, maybe. Mostly it was for her wife, because she knew exactly what she wanted and how to get there. All she needed was a little time, and support.

They'd never worked professionally together because there was always the risk that this could break them. But the risk was worth the reward. Evelynn was an uncompromising artist, and Ahri trusted her with her life. It was time to put that trust to the test.

If this worked, they could be gods.

"Okay," Evelynn said.

Ahri went still, eyebrows shooting up. Getting to her feet again, she stepped forward like she could be closer to Evelynn somehow, feeling her there in that room though they were an ocean apart. "Okay?"

Not that she was displeased, but she'd been expecting a bit more fight than this.

"You know I can't say no to you, gumiho. I'll need eight days. Be ready to record." There was a rustle on the other end of the line, the sound of Evelynn rapidly flipping through sheaves of paper. "I have to go now. If this is going to happen I need to make a lot of other phone calls. Goodbye. I love you."

The line went dead in her hand. Staring at it, Ahri could only let the quiet morning overwhelm her.

Then she started laughing.

  Three days later and Ahri was finally wrapping up the photoshoot for her new scent line. There was a relaxed air to the whole thing, something that felt almost like the last day of school. Placing a palm over her stomach, Ahri tried to share in some of that good mood, but she was too anxious.

"A quick break for lunch and then we'll start again, Foxy."

Perking up, Ahri gave her most dazzling smile to Kwag Sol-mi, the art director. She was a friendly butch woman, and Ahri found herself gravitating to her implicitly. It was just nice to have a kindred spirit in the crew. In different places, on different sets, others had often similarly gravitated to Ahri. Her status as one of Korea's few openly trans idols meant certain people felt free to be vulnerable with her.

It was a good feeling.

"Did you see where my water bottle went?" she wondered. While everyone else was eating lunch, she needed to make sure she didn't bloat up too much. "I just made some peppermint tea and now I can't find it."

Just one more shoot and I'll get something to eat, she promised herself, feeling Evelynn's looming, judging, protective presence even though her wife was nowhere near.

Sol-mi made a noise of thought. "Maybe in your dressing room?" 

"I could have sworn I hid it behind your chair." Pulling her big fake fox tail up to her chest, Ahri hugged it tight just in case the mass of floof was hindering her vision somehow. 

Then a cold metal edge smacked against the back of her head. Anger roused, Ahri flipped her hair over her shoulder before glaring back at whoever had touched her without permission.

It was her wife, with Ahri's aluminium water bottle held loosely in one hand.

"Evelynn!" All her irritation evaporated in an instant, her poisonous scowl shifting into a wide grin. Ahri threw herself at Evelynn, wrapping arms and legs around her with a shout. "What are you doing here?"

Stumbling back one step, Evelynn dropped the water bottle to hold her in place, both hands cupping her lower thighs. "Hey." 

"Is that all you have to say?!"

One hand moved up. Grabbing Ahri's tail by the base, she gripped it in her fist before running a palm over the fake fur. "This is cute."

Resting her hands on Evelynn's shoulders, Ahri squeezed her legs tighter around her waist. "You weren't supposed to see it for at least another six months, along with the rest of the world." Then she remembered the very restricted guest list. "Wait a minute, how did you get on set?"

Her wife responded by tilting her head lower, letting reflective shades slip down her nose a bit. She winked, slowly, and provided no other answer.

Suddenly aware that she had just climbed Evelynn like a tree in front of the art director and half the crew, Ahri glanced around her and frowned. Wiggling out of her wife's arms, she landed on the floor with a click of her heels. "Fine. Keep your secrets. I have a perfume ad to finish."

Evelynn had a huge leather tote bag with her. She pulled a binder out of it, all business as she flipped through laminated pages. "Are you almost wrapped up, then?" 

"The crew is on their lunch break right now," Sol-mi said, watching them with a raised brow.

"Good. I wanted to go over some new lyrics with you."

Every set of eyes in the room was already on them, but at those words it intensified. Ahri swore she saw the whole lighting crew lean in, whispering already. "Not here, Eve."

"It'll take just a second," Evelynn said. "Promise."

"Eve!" Glancing around her, Ahri grabbed her wife by the wrist and dragged her off set and towards the dressing rooms. She slammed the door shut behind them, feeling ready to puff up and hiss like a cat. "You told me eight days."

Unbothered, Evelynn just stood at the doorway, fighting a losing battle against her smile. She pulled her sunglasses free, hooking them on the v-neck of her dress. "I said be ready to record in eight days." She pushed the binder into Ahri's hands, before capturing her wrists so that she couldn't retreat. "Obviously I arrived sooner to see you."

A tendril of heat spread out from where Evelynn's nails scraped, right over her pulse. One simple truth that never changed— whenever Evelynn touched her, Ahri wanted to melt into a puddle. Struggling to maintain professionalism, she ignored it to flip through the binder instead, and wrinkled her nose at what she found.

It was all junk. Lyrics Evelynn had written for other bands, some of it ripped right from fansites.

"Is this a joke?"

"I needed to give you a convenient excuse to immediately drag me somewhere private."

 Ahri snapped the binder shut. "And of course I fell right into your trap."

She glared up at Evelynn only to buckle under the heat of that gaze. Evelynn's eyes were famous, a honey-brown so light they shone gold in the right angle. Those eyes netted her a heap of trouble, the whole reason she hadn't set foot on Korean soil in three years.

There'd been a long-standing feud between Evelynn and a persistent 'journalist'. He hounded her in every space she carved out for herself. Online, in person, over the mail. No one ever did anything, and no one took it seriously until he decided to escalate, and she gave him the photo of his career.

With just snapshot from his phone, he tried to ruin her. In it, Evelynn was standing over him with his camera crushed in one hand, her famous eyes wrathful and expectant and blank all at once, his blood pouring down her face. She'd headbutted him so hard she'd broken his nose, and the yellow street lights haloed her like a fallen angel.

Public opinion shattered in one of three ways. Either you felt the creep got what he deserved, you thought she was a violent psycho who deserved to burn, or you repeatedly and eagerly requested that she headbutt you next. 

It was the only scandal that gave Evelynn reason to pause. To assess herself, and wonder exactly who she was, and what kind of image she wanted to present to the world. As with everything, she refused to do this in half-measure. A self-imposed exile was so agonizingly on-brand for Evelynn, and Ahri hated every second of it. Even so, she'd never tried to change Evelynn's mind until now.

"So rude," Evelynn lamented. "I fly across the globe at your command and I'm greeted with accusations instead of kisses." 

"You don't want a kiss."

Her grin turned razor sharp, gold eyes widening. "...You're right."

Instinctively Ahri found herself backing up a step.

"No, no, gumiho." Evelynn slunk closer, hips swaying, hypnotizing. Every move calculated. Even when Ahri closed her eyes the temptation was there, Evelynn burned into them like the flash of camera lights. "Don't run away from me." 

Everyone else does, was left unspoken. Not you.

"I'm not."

But she was, more small steps backward until the edge of her vanity table hit the small of her back.

Warmth pooled over her hip, Evelynn's hand hot through the skin-tight fabric of her dress as she pulled her fake fox tail off. Evelynn kept a hard grip, like she wanted to sink inside her, grab her bones. "Then why do I feel like I'm hunting you down?"

Ahri stood up straighter, a little tremble running down her spine. It didn't escape Evelynn's notice; she tilted her head to the side and grinned.

In heels, they were almost matched. But Evelynn still seemed to tower over her, craning down from that great distance to nuzzle her face against Ahri's neck, inhaling deep. "It must be because every time I look at you I just want to eat you up." 

"You make it," Ahri said, and hated how breathless she sounded, "Very hard to stay on track when I'm supposed to be working."

"They won't miss you," Evelynn promised her, standing close enough that Ahri could feel the vibration of every word in her chest. "Not as badly as I did."

You're the one who left, she wanted to snap, but that was terribly unfair. Evelynn wanted to disappear for a while, in order to focus on where exactly her career would go next. It wasn't as though they never saw each other, it was just...

It was just no one understood her like Evelynn. Some days she felt like a doll, limbs ripped apart with the sockets and joints exposed. She was just pieces. Skin. Eyes. Hair. Lips. Tits. The space of flesh between the hem of her dress and the top of her stockings.

That's where Evelynn was stroking her right then, coaxing her thighs apart. Her palm slid up, cupping Ahri between her legs, and she couldn't bite back a whimper.

Evelynn made her whole. From scalp to toes, everything finally connected together. A woman's body, a human body. Not everything cut up and ready to be sold. Not a magazine cover or a perfume ad or a music video.

When Evelynn touched her she felt alive. It was the perfect high, fleeting and immaculate.

Two fingers pressed against her, the only two with blunt fake nails. Evelynn stroked over her lips, and the indirect pressure on her clit made her cry out. Evelynn kissed her open mouth to steal the breath right from her lungs, the untrimmed claws on her other hand hooking under Ahri's thigh to spread her legs wider.

Even as she molded Ahri together, Evelynn was pulling her apart again. She unzipped Ahri's dress only just to hike it up past her hips, the stitches popping. Her breasts spilled out of her bra, half-unclasped. Evelynn undressed her wife by piecemeal, leaving Ahri disheveled and panting.

Makeup products clattered behind her, dropping onto the floor as Evelynn draped herself over Ahri, tongue hot in her mouth.

"Touch me," Ahri pleaded in a whisper, holding Evelynn's head in both arms. She forced her down, twisting and whining at the feeling of Evelynn's mouth on her skin. She'd stopped petting her clit but Ahri could still feel an echo of the touch, torturing her until she ached. "God, please. It hurts."

That made Evelynn draw back to look at her, both hands braced on the vanity. It wasn't unusual for Evelynn to be cold as ice with her lovers. The distant persona was a part of the game as much as it was a genuine wall she put up, afraid of the vulnerability intimacy brought.

With Ahri, she melted. Those gold eyes reflected every stray thought, nothing left to hide behind anymore. She wanted Ahri desperately. She loved her. But loving someone always meant opening yourself up to be hurt.

And so there was always something terrified in Evelynn when she let loose— when she allowed herself to want— a small beaten thing that flinched at every raised voice.

"Show me where."

Dipping her fingers into Ahri's mouth, Evelynn ordered her to wet them.

Ahri nipped, teeth chastising, her tongue leaving them dripping. She savored the sensation of being filled before pulling them between her legs. Working Evelynn's fingers just under the fabric of her underwear, Ahri kept their eyes locked, lips scant inches apart. Relief hit her as crisp and clear as spring water, the shock of it making her gasp again.

"Good?" Evelynn wondered, warm and smug.

Nodding quickly, Ahri kissed her hard enough to smear her lipstick. Evelynn took care of her, teasing her entrance in lengthy strokes before focusing her clit until she squirmed. Arousal built, so fast and hard Ahri's legs started shaking. She begged without sound, without words, bucking against Evelynn's hand.

Not ready to see her break yet, Evelynn pulled free. Ahri's cry of dismay was quickly hushed by another kiss, and a growled command as Evelynn finished undressing her. Left in just heels and stockings, Ahri braced herself on the vanity as Evelynn sank down to both knees.

"Oh, you're so pretty," Evelynn whispered, thumb brushing over sandy blonde curls. She pushed Ahri's lips apart, kissing her exposed clit. Lapping at her with the flat of her tongue, Evelynn sighed in satisfaction.

It was still good, just different. Ahri had to start the climb from the beginning, though it was easier with Evelynn's mouth leaving her wet as sin. She suckled at Ahri's lips, the press of teeth not biting, but close enough to make Ahri twitch every time. She knew just how to reach the edge of pain, the perfect threshold to make it feel like it should hurt, which made the resulting pleasure all the stronger.

Shaking, she made fists with her hands to keep from grabbing Evelynn's head and grinding against her tongue until she came. She wanted to feel this for as long as she could, the perfect harmony that Evelynn's attention always gave her.

Evelynn kept her eyes closed, in focus and in rapture. Lost in bliss, she stroked her hands over Ahri's thighs, forcing her legs open wider. She only stopped to whisper filthy sweet nothings into the air, her low rasp promising so much more. Her lips and chin shone bright in the lamp light, a string of spit clinging to her when she pulled back to finally make eye contact with Ahri again.

"Don't hold back," she paused long enough to say, before planting another long, loving kiss to Ahri's swollen clit. "You know what I want to hear."

Sealing her lips around Ahri's clit, her eyes crinkled in amusement at how her wife shouted. They were both far past the point where they cared if anyone heard them, if indeed Evelynn ever cared at all.

All it took was a few firm, rough strokes. Just a twist of fingers teasing her entrance, and Ahri was gone. She shook, each cry swallowed back on a gasp. When the light cleared from behind her eyes she found she was curled up around Evelynn again, arms and legs, both hands fisted in her hair and her face bracketed by Ahri's thighs.

Evelynn patiently bore it until Ahri relaxed, bit by bit. When she was free she shook her head, grinning with a laugh that sounded almost reluctant. "You get so cute when you're trying not to scream." She wiped her lips clean, licking her fingers idly as she stood up.

Ahri wanted to respond, but she was jelly-limbed and limp, and all she wanted to do was curl up on Evelynn's lap and fall asleep.

Instead, she let Evelynn pull her up to her feet and kiss her again.

"I'm home," Evelynn murmured, stroking a palm over the back of Ahri's head.

Ahri held her closer.

Then Evelynn started circling Ahri, putting her back together again. Meticulous in her own way, she fixed Ahri's clothing and makeup and hair, brushing out the worst of the just-fucked gnarls in her blonde tresses.

"There," Evelynn said, stepping back and popping the cap back on her lipstick. She admired her handiwork with an appreciative head-to-toe sweep, the kind that left Ahri feeling distinctly underdressed. "Now you're perfect."

Ahri glanced at herself in the mirror to double check, though of course she trusted Evelynn to make her look her best. They'd spent their entire lives practicing makeup on each other. "You're a magician," she declared, giving Evelynn a light kiss on the cheek to avoid any lipstick stains.

"That's why you married me." Evelynn made no attempt to hide her smug smile. Instead she shifted to stand behind Ahri, guiding her towards the door with both hands on her shoulders. "Now get out there! You have a photoshoot to finish."

She ushered Ahri out with a pert slap on the ass, making her squeak and flinch out of range.

In the wake of all that, Ahri thought she might be lethargic. Instead she worked like a woman on fire, possessed with more energy than she knew what to do with. Evelynn joined them on set a little later, staying just on the edge of Ahri's vision at all times.

Every pose melted effortless onto the lens, the shoot wrapping up an hour earlier than anyone projected. And every time Ahri thought she might start to flag, she saw a pair of golden eyes burning into her from the sidelines, swimming with adoration that bordered on worship.

She took it, fed off it. The end results flickered across Sol-mi's laptop one by one as they went over the photos together.

"Mmm." Evelynn wrapped her long arms around Ahri's torso, chin resting on her shoulder. "These look great. They're dripping with charisma."

"Do we have to say dripping?" Sol-mi wondered out loud, mumbling as she shut the laptop. "We can't think of any other word?"

She was only a little grouchy because Evelynn had clearly broken onto the set just to fuck her wife. But at the same time, she couldn't argue with the finished product. So she instead slid a stack of paper into Evelynn's hands.

Evelynn's voice dropped ten degrees. "....What... is this?"

"An NDA," Sol-mi and Ahri said at the same time.

"A what?"

Ahri crossed her arms, jutting one hip out, her tone imperious. "If you want in on my private photoshoots, you need to follow the same rules as everyone else. So sign them, or else you will hear from my lawyers." 

"Seriously? I'm your wife!"

"Well, my lawyers could fix that, too."

"Gumiho!"

  Evelynn sulked the entire drive home.

"You're so mean to me," she lamented, slumping in her seat as much as she could while driving. "And I'm nothing except the most perfect and caring spouse."

"It's just smart business practice, baby." Pulling her legs up under her, Ahri undid her heels and toed them off. She sighed in relief, wiggling her feet once they were free before turning back to her wife. "Don't tell me you're still mad."

"I don't like contracts being thrust at me without warning."

Reaching over, she trailed her nail over the curve of Evelynn's ear, smiling when she twitched away. "Don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to go over the next one."

That piqued her interest. Evelynn tore her eyes from the road just for a moment, curiosity glinting gold-bright in her eyes.

"We start as soon as we get home. I have something to show you." She dropped her hand on Evelynn's lap, fingers tucking under the hem of her dress to touch warm flesh. Evelynn's hips shifted slightly, her body responding on instinct. "Right after I pay you back for that little stunt in my dressing room."

When Ahri touched her, she was already wet. A low exhale escaped her as Evelynn clutched the wheel tighter, eyes focused stalwartly ahead. The car engine hummed louder, Evelynn's tension translating to a lead foot. It seemed to surround them as if the noise came from Evelynn herself. A low rumble. Almost a purr, not quite a roar.

"Stop that," Evelynn muttered at last, between grit teeth, and Ahri withdrew. She sank back into her seat, dragging her tongue over the length of her fingers. "You're bad."

"If I don't get at you while you're distracted, you try to take over," Ahri complained, pulling her blonde hair over one shoulder so she could play with it. Idly she started working it into a braid, musing out loud. "I like being in charge sometimes, you know."

"Do I know. Sweetheart, the bedroom is the only place you aren't in charge."

Ahri's face scrunched up in a smirk, falsely sweet and childishly mean. So Evelynn reached over and flicked her nose.

"Ow!"

Past the guarded gate to their home, safe in the garage with the doors surrounding them, Evelynn clicked Ahri's seatbelt free and then bodily dragged the other woman onto her lap.

"Now, what did you want to show me?"

  The two of them had never worked together professionally before, so Ahri was a little nervous at first. But it quickly fell into place alongside every other aspect of their life. They understood each other intuitively, often better than they understood themselves. Chattering about their plans took up most of their mornings. As they wrapped up their other obligations, and as Evelynn slowly reintegrated back into Korean society, they discovered something important. 

They liked being coworkers.

Over breakfast, they went over more of their options. "I'm so glad we decided to do this." Ahri propped her elbows on the counter, wiggling on the bar stool. "What've you got for me today?"

Evelynn hummed in agreement. When she kissed her, she tasted like bitter black coffee. "Just listen."

Linking her phone to the wireless speakers in their kitchen, Evelynn searched through a few tracks before landing on the one she wanted. Pressing play, she savored her coffee with a pleased expression.

Ahri closed her eyes in concentration, frowning slightly. The melody was muted, but haunting. She wondered what exactly she was supposed to be listening for when the vocals started. The very first note stretched out like a violin chord, a low wail that vibrated through her entire body.

Buzzed, Ahri's eyes flew open to see Evelynn more smug than ever.

"Who is that?" she demanded, just a little breathless. She snatched up Evelynn's phone, reading that name out loud. "Kai'sa? How do we know her? How have I not heard her before now?"

"You might know her better from some of her choreography," Evelynn said. "That's where she's most comfortable. Musically she's resistant to being shackled down, so nobody's ever signed her on. She likes keeping it indie. But she's got a voice like—"

Ahri didn't let her finish. "Like an angel."

"Mmm. Usually. She can get brassy as an alto sax when she's in the mood."

Something about Evelynn's tight smile made Ahri do a double-take.

"Oh," Ahri said. "So we know her. Do you feel comfortable having a lover on the same team as your wife?"

"Ex-lover. If we excluded people I've slept with, we'd have nobody left in the business."

Ahri rolled her eyes. "Don't exaggerate."

Still, she could see why Evelynn had brought Kai'sa to her attention. The song itself wasn't to Ahri's taste; It was a little too blue and sweeping. But Kai'sa's operatic quality made her extremely attractive. Later that week they set up a meeting since Kai'sa was in town, only partly because Evelynn wanted to see her old friend.

"We need to make sure she meshes with our vibe. We're the opposite of indie, so she might not be on board."

"Just try not to fuck her unless we know contracts are off the table," Ahri said, with some amusement.

Evelynn's hand flew to her chest, gasping in shock. "I'd never fuck someone on their own contract! Give me some credit."

"That's not what I—" Ahri stopped at the sharp smile on Evelynn's face. "Hmm. Okay, you're negging me. That's fine."

Her wife moved around the counter, wrapping one arm around Ahri's waist. "Oh, sweetie. Do you not know what negging is? I don't think you know what that word means."

"I know when you're grating my nerves on purpose," she said, squeezing Evelynn's hand to let her know she was only joking.

"Well it's like my dad always used to say." Evelynn quickly swapped to English. "Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen."

"That's gross. You're gross."

Laughter, their usual biting back-and-forth, kept them distracted from their nerves. As things turned out, they needn't have worried.

  Kai'sa had black hair when Ahri first met her. She walked into her living room after a quick shopping trip, not expecting to find a stranger on the couch. The meeting officially wasn't supposed to happen for another hour, and Evelynn hadn't warned her the other woman arrived early.

Stopping in her tracks, Ahri couldn't even muster up shock, much less anger at the intrusion.

The woman appeared asleep, eyes closed and cheek resting on one arm. With her legs curled up under her, dressed in all black leather and lace, Kai'sa looked a bit like a wandering, dreamy forest spirit. Sensing another presence in the room, or maybe feeling Ahri's stare, Kai'sa slowly opened her eyes. They were a shade of blue so intense Ahri mistook them for purple contacts.

"Oh!" Kai'sa smiled, shoulders hunching in apology. "Hi! You must be Ahri. Your wife let me in, sorry if I startled you."

"It's no problem," Ahri said, quickly connecting the voice to this face. "I've been looking forward to meeting you, Kai'sa."

"Me, too!"

When Kai'sa stood up, Ahri had to fight the urge to take a step back. She was tall, almost as tall as Evelynn in heels. Watching her was like watching a dark flower unfurl, every movement somehow graceful and transformative. Just getting to her feet netted a change, liquid almost, from a spindly-legged fawn curled up on her couch to something looming and large and covered in shadows.

Oh no, Ahri thought in distress. She's hot and nice.

A devastating combination.

"You like her," Evelynn crooned later that night.

"We need her for the band," Ahri said firmly.

"Yeah," Evelynn drifted closer in their bed. "But you like her. Want me to tell you what she's into?"

Normally, Ahri would have played along. There wasn't any point in pretending that Kai'sa wasn't her type, that she wasn't... devastatingly attractive. But Ahri pressed a finger to Evelynn's lips instead, forcing her to be serious. "We can't do this, Eve."

Falling silent, Evelynn kissed Ahri's finger, waiting for her to continue. They both lay on their side, facing each other. Occasionally Evelynn's leg snuck out, toes stroking over Ahri's calf to maintain contact.

"Bands have broken up over less. Best friends have become enemies, to say nothing of how messy a romance would be." Ahri kept her voice firm. "So we won't. Not even as a joke. Okay?"

Evelynn easily agreed. "Kai'sa is off limits. Should we add that to the contract?"

It was another joke, but Ahri still wasn't in the mood for it. It almost felt like an accusation, and she curled in on herself at the mere thought. "We're better than the shitty old men who signed us on, Eve. No dating clauses in our contracts." She spat the words out.

Again Evelynn agreed, taking both of Ahri's hands. Pushing them into fists, she brought them to her lips and kissed them in apology. "Then we'll just have to trust each other."

Ahri finally smiled. "Easy."

 "Two more," Ahri said.

"One more," Evelynn responded.

"Five's a good number."

Evelynn just looked at her, hair bunched up on top of her head in a messy bun. They were both covered in a light sheen of sweat, the gym sweltering.

"One more," she said again.

Ahri smiled helplessly, one hand on her hip. "...One more."

  Ahri knew who she wanted, but it would take some convincing to get Evelynn to consider it. Virality did not impress Evelynn. As she succinctly pointed out, people could go viral by literally eating shit. It took something stronger to sway their diva. As Kai'sa and Ahri tried to find their fourth, they knew only a true artist would please her.

"She's so picky," Kai'sa said, lounging casually on their couch once more. But this time she rested her head on Ahri's lap, affectionate and physical as a cat. "I love it."

When Kai'sa stretched, the hem of her shirt rode up a bit. Vicious marks kissed her pale skin; Ahri traced them with her fingernail, each one angry red and familiar. Evelynn had a flogger with a custom tongue, one that could leave the perfect imprint of a heart behind when wielded by an expert hand. "I see my wife left an impression on you."

"Yeah, she's inspiring."

"Not what I meant." Eyebrow cocked, Ahri pulled up Kai'sa's shirt a little more to press her thumb against a prominent bruise.

Kai'sa flinched, half-sitting up. "Huh? Oh! Uh, no, Eve and I aren't like that!" She turned red, smoothing her shirt back down. "I had a date with a new domme last night," she explained, flustered. "Evelynn supervised to make sure I was safe." Twisting on Ahri's lap, Kai'sa pressed her palms to her cheeks, squealing. "So she let me borrow her... you know. Her stuff."

Between the three of them, Ahri wasn't sure who promised to court the most controversy. But one thing was becoming increasingly clear: if this had started as an attempt to clean up Evelynn's reputation, it was no longer on that trajectory.

"All right," Evelynn declared, arriving in the room on silent feet only to loudly announce her presence right behind the couch. Squeaking in surprise, Kai'sa almost rolled off Ahri's lap onto the floor. "I'm here. Let me see the meme girl."

Ahri tilted her head back, frowning up at Evelynn. "You didn't watch the link I sent you?"

"I want to watch it on your phone," Evelynn said. "If I start sullying my search history with trending trash it'll mess up all my algorithms."

"She's not a meme," Kai'sa insisted. "She's viral, there's a difference."

"Oh, bokkie." Evelynn's voice dripped, sucrose and condescension. It was the only scrap of Afrikaans she'd bothered learning so far, mainly because it made Kai'sa light up every time, no matter the context. Leaning over the back of the couch, she reached down to stroke her fingers through Kai'sa's hair. "It's so cute how you think I care."

Reprimanding her because she knew Kai'sa wouldn't, Ahri lightly slapped Evelynn's wrist. Evelynn grinned, shaking her hand as if that really stung.

"Behave," she said, passing her phone over.

So Evelynn watched the music video. Ahri had already broken the repeat button, knew every angle by heart. She studied Evelynn instead, trying to decipher her thoughts. Her wife stood there with a hand over her mouth, poker face intact through the whole video.

When it was over, Kai'sa and Ahri exchanged a nervous look. Ahri had been the one to find this girl, this Akali. Something about her had inspired the same instant magnetic appeal she'd felt when she heard Kai'sa for the first time.

But would Evelynn agree?

After a long moment of thoughtful silence, Evelynn tapped the repeat button.

Success!

No commentary was offered, not until Evelynn had watched the video three times. Gently ushering Kai'sa off her lap, Ahri stood at Evelynn's elbow to watch the video herself.

It still thrilled her, the wordplay and clarity razor sharp. On screen, Akali sat surrounded by computer towers, lit only by the glow of a dozen monitors. In the semidarkness, surrounded by wires, the story unfolded visually and lyrically. She wasn't just an artist, she was a scientist, or an engineer. Each verse had as much information and layer to it as a microchip. Every aspect, no matter how minuscule, was carefully crafted and bolted together into something with more horsepower than a Ferrari.

Through it all Akali herself provided the human aspect. Sinew and blood and sweat. Organic in contrast to the machine, the beauty of the human body splayed out in contrast to its inescapable and unromantic biological reality.

Kai'sa had already chattered Ahri's ear off about the symbolism of the negative space and metaphor in the dancing, though Ahri personally thought Akali could use a little more finesse.

Evelynn finally put the video on loop. "Hmm."

"It's got two million views," Ahri couldn't help but point out.

"Mhm."

Ahri was getting impatient, pressing Evelynn for something less monosyllabic. "Do you not like her?"

That forced Evelynn to admit what they already knew. "I like her."

"You think she's a bad fit for the band?"

Evelynn finally tore her eyes away from the music video, blinking slow as if waking from a lengthy daydream. It continued playing in the background; heavy beats thundered, the pulse of something clawed and hungry. As she rapped, the muscles under Akali's naked skin rippled in the surreal blue glow of the computer monitors. Tattooed scales seemed to shift and writhe like the real thing, the dragon dancing on her shoulder blades. "I think she's perfect."

Kai'sa smiled quizzically. "So what's the problem?"

"Ahri's always been a vixen. And Kai'sa, you're my little doe," Evelynn said after a moment of thought. "I'm not sure I can handle a predator in my territory."

"Evelynn," Ahri said. "What exactly do you think a fox is?"

"You're domesticated."

"Play nice," Kai'sa demanded. She climbed over the back of the couch to join them, legs swinging like a butterfly knife. Taking the phone and setting it aside, she drew Evelynn closer in a hug. "Let's call up this Akali girl and talk to her. What do you say?"

"Hmm."

She stepped a little closer, Ahri and Evelynn with Kai'sa between them.

"Sounds like a plan," Evelynn said.

  A flurry of emails were exchanged, but no phone calls. Not at first. The plan was to meet her in person before anything.

If pressed, Ahri would later admit she wanted to catch her off-guard.

None of them were expecting a Japanese-styled dojo. Ahri had to check the address a few times to make sure they were in the correct location; it looked like Akali's family home was connected to the building.

Twisting forward with her hands clutched behind her back, Kai'sa gave Ahri an almost coy smirk. "Maybe they're taking new students."

"If we're lucky," Evelynn said, one arm draped over her shoulders.

Inside, they were greeted by a graying man, an uncle, Akali's guardian. After a lot of flustered confusion heralded by the arrival of three very out-of-place popstars, they managed to ascertain Akali's location.

She was the sole person on the main floor at this hour. She bounced in a set of tight shorts and a sports bra and nothing else. Nothing except the wireless headphones in her ears, pulsing a beat that they could all hear and recognize even from a few yards away. The dragon tattoo identified her immediately, and something low simmered in Ahri's belly at the confirmation that it was real ink and not just body paint for the music video.

Akali was a vision. She carried herself with the kind of swagger that only practiced physical confidence could bring, equally at home on a stripper pole or at the weights section of a public gym. Shifting in place, Ahri struggled to remember why she'd come here as every flex of Akali's well-muscled body drove her to distraction.

"Oohh," Kai'sa said. "She's so cute. Like a fun-sized candy."

Ahri glanced sidelong at her, unable to resist. "So you want to eat her up?"

At least she wasn't the only one enjoying the show. As Akali slowly worked through her routine, the three of them watched, all equally fascinated.

But one of them was displeased.

"How long is she going to ignore us?" Evelynn muttered darkly, snapping Ahri out of it. "We came all this way to see her."

Ahri set a hand on her chest, keeping her from moving forward. "She doesn't know we're here, Eve. Look at her."

It was true. She hadn't turned her back once, too focused on her routine. Akali paused only to sinuously slide from side to side, humming along to the music in her ears. Even when she stopped to grab a training weapon, she swung it through the air with her back to the entrance.

"Well, we should let her know we're waiting."

"Really?" Kai'sa covered her grin with one hand. "I kind of want to see how long she'll stay oblivious."

Evelynn wasn't in the mood for games, oddly enough.

Instead she strode across the mat, before Ahri could stop her. Ahri winced, expecting there to be an accident as Akali swung her wooden weapon from side to side. It wasn't a sword as far as Ahri could tell, instead some kind of curved staff, but it was definitely made to hurt.

The next time Akali turned to swing, Evelynn caught the practice weapon in her bare hand.

They locked eyes.

Surprised, Akali retreated a step only for Evelynn to follow her. She leaned back; Evelynn craned forward. Even without heels she towered over the other girl, staring down at her with an intensity that almost seemed angry. The movement felt like fight but looked like a dance, and for a split second Ahri wasn't sure who was leading.

Akali froze. Her grip tightened on the weapon's handle, her mouth a thin, tight line.

Slowly, Evelynn tapped the side of her own face.

Getting the message, Akali took off her headphones. Agony's Embrace poured out, one of Evelynn's most popular singles. From Akali's perspective, this might well have felt like the real world and fantasy had collided, the music video spilling into reality.

With a sharp tug, Akali pulled the weapon free of Evelynn's grasp. "Don't do that again," she said. "This isn't a toy. If this hits you, it'll hurt."

"Do you promise?" Evelynn said.

Akali's brow furrowed.

Evelynn, behave!

Standing tall, Akali tapped her open palm with the blunt edge of her weapon. "You're... Siren?" Then she looked to the side, doing a double take at the sight of Ahri. "And Foxy's here too?"

The stage names were more well-known than their real ones. Beside Ahri, Kai'sa huffed in amusement, though she was used to getting overshadowed in the circles she frequented.

"I hope we aren't interrupting anything important," Ahri said. "But we thought we'd drop by for a personal visit. You seemed open to the idea in your emails."

Akali was shorter than Ahri had anticipated. The video had made her seem giant, a pillar of confidence. "Guess I wasn't actually expecting you to be real."

"Oh, we're real," Evelynn said. "What remains to be seen is if you are."

Crossing her arms, Akali leaned back a bit to regard Evelynn. "You're real funny, at least," she said, her smirk unsure if it wanted to land on confused or amused. All in all, she was taking this very well. She remained composed despite being half-naked and caught unaware.

Ahri was pleased.

...Until later that night, when it came time to draft up the contracts. She paced, and worried her lips, and drank too much tea until Evelynn finally took her by the arm and dragged her away from her office.

Thick trees surrounded their bedroom balcony, the metal railing warm from the balmy summer night. While Ahri brooded over the edge, Evelynn uncorked a bottle of wine for them, dry and white the way Ahri preferred it.

"Let's enjoy some alone time together," Evelynn said, the words a promise.

Turning to accept it, Ahri only took a single sip before she blurted out, "I think we're in trouble, Eve."

Evelynn poured herself a glass, uncaring, as if she hadn't heard. "Your diet allows a little wine now and again, doesn't it?"

"Evelynn."

Golden eyes finally darted away from the wine to focus on her. "What?"

"Things aren't going according to my plan."

To her credit, Evelynn didn't take this as another opportunity to tease Ahri. She could sense this was something too precarious for their usual humor, and dancing on a razor blade of trust wasn't a good idea right then. "Okay. Talk to me."

"I started this for you," Ahri said, distressed. "But somehow that goal got away from me."

"Well, I never really expected things to go according to plan?" Evelynn responded, a little cautiously. "They rarely do."

A single breeze stirred, hot and damp. It offered no relief from the hot summer night, just as Evelynn's words did little to lessen her worries. Ahri stayed stubbornly quiet, not liking the truth in the statement even if she loved the reassurance that Evelynn wasn't lying. Not even to spare her feelings.

"More importantly." Then, gentle, Evelynn hooked a finger under her chin and drew her gaze back up. "What makes you think I'm not enjoying every second of this?"

"I don't know," she admitted.

"So you're nervous for no reason? That's just anxiety-brain talking, babe."

No, there was a reason. But it was messy, and not in the good way. "I don't know how I ever thought we wouldn't court controversy with this. We have two unknowns on our team and they're not exactly traditional."

"That's good," Evelynn said. "Unless you wanted to make something bland? Play around with mass appeal?"

She stood up straighter, almost in horror. "No!"

"Me, neither. So what's the problem? Why've you got cold feet all of a sudden?"

Because now it was real and not just a dream, and that meant it could break.

"I thought if I was just—" ( a good girl ) "If we were careful, maybe things wouldn't..." ( no one would want to hurt us ).

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

That was going to happen regardless. Evelynn had few friends in the media. Even if that photographer deserved what he got, even if it was worth the lawsuit and the settlement, nobody was liable to forget it anytime soon. No one with a stake in keeping them pliable would forget that Evelynn refused to bend.

Calm as ever, Evelynn weathered it all with a shrug. "A married couple forming a group together was always going to garner a lot of attention, both negative and positive."

That was the worst part. Her naive hope, masqueraded by a bluster of confidence. The worst part was she really had believed what she told Evelynn all those weeks ago. She'd promised an environment where Evelynn could make her music with little scrutiny, and here was confirmation that Evelynn hadn't believed her for a second.

"Akali hasn't even confirmed whether she wants to join us or not," Evelynn went on. "So if you really want someone who'll get the cameras off me, someone polite and demure we can point to and hide behind and pretend we're normal with, we can do that."

"I don't."

"So..."

A stress headache was forming between her eyes, pulsing harder and harder with every passing second. "I know the second we go public we'd be under scrutiny. I just wanted you to feel protected when that inevitably happened," she said. "Whatever it took to make you come back home to me."

There it was. 

Taken aback, Evelynn looked off-kilter. Her whole body language shifted, uneven and wide-eyed. Closing her eyes, Ahri took the wine glass and knocked it all back with a few quick gulps.

"Always thinking about me," Evelynn murmured, pouring her another glass at her insistence.

"This spiraled out of my control. I won't let that happen again."

Thankfully, Evelynn hadn't leapt to the worst possible conclusion, as Ahri feared she would. Instead Evelynn had recovered from her shock to swing right back into fond amusement. "Well there's your mistake, gumiho. Control is just an illusion."

"I can still control this," she insisted.

Merciful tonight, Evelynn sipped her own wine without arguing that point. "All right. But what's more important? Being safe? Not taking this risk, this opportunity? Quitting while we're ahead?"

She finished her first drink while Ahri nursed her second, wondering if it was worth breaking her diet for.

Stepping forward, Evelynn tucked her free hand on the back of Ahri's neck. She pulled Ahri to her chest, comforting her. "Or... taking all this raw energy and completely changing the landscape of the game?"

"You think we can do that?"

"I knew we could the moment you asked me to come back."

She had come back the moment Ahri asked, hadn't she? All it took was one phone call. All Ahri had to do was ask and Evelynn had sprinted back to her side. What more could Evelynn do to display her trust?

Suddenly, she felt even more foolish for needing Evelynn to soothe all her fears. Though Ahri fought it, a single furious tear slipped down her cheek before she roughly wiped it away. "I just don't want you to get hurt, Eve."

Evelynn's body shook with a laugh. "You big softie."

"Yes," she said, voice muffled when she pressed her face harder against Evelynn's chest.

Then she pulled her down, demanding a kiss. Evelynn happily obliged, taking their glasses in one hand and setting them aside. She pushed Ahri against the balcony door, and she almost sank down against the glass panes. But Evelynn insisted she stay upright, her hands fumbling the zipper to her skirt.

She tasted like dry white wine, all her sweetness made complex by bitter acidity. Full and flooding, filling her mouth and trailing down her lips. A wet line painted down her throat, heat buzzing through her.

She pushed up Evelynn's shirt, unclasping her bra to toy with her breasts unhindered. Sharp metal studs twisted between her knuckles, each tug making Evelynn whimper louder, and louder.

An echoing ache pounded between her own legs, every inch of her in agony for lack of being touched.

Ahri moved them to the bed, unable to keep steady for much longer. They stripped naked, all their favorite games tossed aside in the need of the moment. Ahri wanted touch, to feel all of Evelynn pressed up against her. She could have spent the whole night just kissing her, or licking her metal piercings until they shone from the attention.

Shifting closer, her breath stuttered when she reached between Evelynn's legs to feel liquid heat pooling around her fingers. "Ooh, you're so wet already. But I think we can make you wetter."

Bowing her head against Ahri's shoulder, Evelynn nodded, a pleased note rumbling in her chest. There was only so much of that should take before needing more. Fumbling in their bedside dresser, Ahri cracked open a bottle. Then, unable to resist, she let the contents drip onto Evelynn's bare stomach without any preamble.

She nearly leapt off the bed. "Shit!"

Ahri sat back on her heels, eyes narrowing in pleasure. "Oh no. Is it cold?" she asked innocently.

Evelynn wiped a palm over her stomach, leaving a shiny swipe of lube behind. "You know it is, get that shit-eating grin off your face."

But she then dipped lower, spreading it between her lips. Evelynn relaxed against the bed again as Ahri enjoyed the view, still sitting between her knees. After a murmured request, her hand joined Evelynn's. Careful not to get in her way, she let Evelynn focus on her clit while she teased her entrance.

After a hushed request, she went deeper. The resulting moan left her warm in the face, flushed and pleased with herself. She worked two fingers inside of Evelynn, tight heat constricting around her with every flutter of pleasure.

It was hard to resist falling apart under their combined effort. Evelynn tightened around her fingers, back arching up sharply. Ahri kept her grounded with a hand on her hip, enjoying the sight of a rare, genuine smile on Evelynn's face. It only lasted as long as the orgasm did, fading away with the aftershocks to be replacing with ragged gasping.

One more, Ahri thought, not letting Evelynn relax. She shoved Evelynn's hand away, replacing it with her mouth. Evelynn shifted again, writhing eagerly from overstimulation.

"Fffffuuuck," she hissed, making Ahri giggle. "You're so mean to me."

Because she was the only one who could get away with it. Call it a perk of marriage or their long-lasting friendship; either way, it was a right she exercised as often as she could. It was a flex of power, a reaffirmation.

And as much as Evelynn protested, she loved it.

Keeping one arm braced over Evelynn's stomach, she kept her from bucking too much as she focused on making her come again. She didn't know exactly what would work but she could guess, curling her fingers and searching until she made Evelynn moan hoarsely.

She felt Evelynn's orgasm, rippling over her hands and hammering against her tongue. She let Evelynn run wild, trying to stay with her and suck away every last shred of sensation she could steal. Satisfied only when Evelynn begged her to stop, Ahri sat back again, stroking her own breasts and using her wet fingers to touch herself.

At least until Evelynn yanked her back down onto the mattress, nose against the sheets. "Hey!"

Getting up to her elbows, she glared over her shoulder only to falter at the sight that greeted her. Evelynn seemed almost feral in the dark, face flushed and pupils blown from arousal. Pulling Ahri's hips up firmly but gently, she shuffled closer and landed a slap so hard it cracked the air.

Ahri bit her lip, bowing her head again to keep from shouting. "... Ow," she said instead, slowly, grinding it out.

"You've been asking for this," Evelynn said, spanking her again. This one was lighter, a tap on her other cheek.

"I have not."

Evelynn's breath was suddenly at her ear, her piercings two harsh spots of pressure on Ahri's shoulder blades. "Then tell me to stop."

She didn't say anything, but she knew the flush spreading down her spine spoke loud enough. Satisfied, Evelynn hit her again, but never as hard as that first time. It was a slow ascent to reach that level of intensity again. Each slap of flesh accompanied a muffled whimper as Ahri buried her face into the pillows.

By the end of it she was a trembling mess, the pillow wet from a mix of tears and the fabric clenched tightly between her teeth. She huffed out through her nose, every exhale labored.

It was worse when Evelynn stopped. Because then all the blood was rushing to her irritated skin, hot and aching as metal left in sunlight.

When she dared peek over her shoulder again, Evelynn laughed.

"What?" Evelynn murmured, stroking a hand over Ahri's spine. "You look like a sad little puppy." To prove her point, she stroked Ahri's head next, tousling her hair until she whined.

"I didn't tell you to stop," Ahri said, with her forehead pressed to the pillows again.

"Hmm. No." Ahri flinched, tensing up again when Evelynn merely pressed the flat of her hands on her sore cheeks. Then two fingers spread her open, slick on her sex as they moved to frame her clit. "You didn't."

  "The driver is late."

Two weeks later and the three of them were waiting outside of Ahri and Evelynn's house for their ride, each of them wearing thick black sunglasses. Evelynn was fairly smoldering, deeply incensed at the insult of needing to be driven somewhere.

"This is why I drive myself," she continued, as Kai'sa consolingly patted her arm.

Ahri felt for her, but it couldn't be helped. "This guy just likes a certain measure of control, which means he has his driver pick us up."

"And we need him because..."

"Because we need to start getting aggressive with our online advertising." Ahri checked her phone again, searching for an email from Akali that still hadn't come. She remained just out of reach, slipping through the cracks of Ahri's grasp. "We're going to start working on a few singles and by the time we're done, the stage will be set to receive us."

"A nice fluffy landing pad!" Kai'sa agreed.

"Hrmm." Evelynn crossed her arms, but didn't argue anymore, she Ahri counted it a success.

"Trust me, Evelynn," she said, typing out a quick tweet to her public account. "This is going to explode in a very big way."

  far more sweetsounding than a lyre golder than gold

— from Anne Carson’s translation of Sappho’s fragments, entitled If Not, Winter

[ladyguru-blog1]

Why I Don’t Need to be Married to my Husband.

The title might seem contradictory, and in the eyes of the law it most certainly is, but I feel the need to rant about this because of a conversation I had recently with a coworker over my man who I often call my husband because that is the title that most accurately describes our relationship. She pointed out that I had no wedding ring and I admitted that we were not legally married but that yes, he was my husband.

She immediately became what I can only assume to be was defensive and started to project her own insecurities upon a relationship she knew hardly nothing about (I don’t really speak about my personal life at work, so I understand that it leaves a lot of assumptions). She declared that without being married you could not say you knew anything about what it means to be married. I merely smiled and told her that was her opinion and that was fine, but that I don’t need a piece of paper to know what it is to be married. She tried to argue further but I dropped the conversation there.

I’ve lived with this man for seven years so far, I know him better than anyone else in his life and he knows me in the same way, we argued like a married couple shortly after two years of living together, we work together seamlessly, our understanding of each other is harmonious in nature, and the loyalty and love we feel and act towards each other is greater than what I’ve seen in most married couples. I know him so well I could predict his responses, hell I know him so well on such a core level that we’ve both admitted that we could have met at any point in our lives and still ended up together. We both reacted very similarly to situations in our past and continue to do so now. These are things I hear from many life long partners, though they rarely exist nowadays. And I’m not saying these things came to be over night, but we both have the dedication and care for each other that furthered the work we’ve put into our relationship to get it to where we are today. It required a good bit of compromise from both sides and I don’t need a piece of paper to prove what his and mine dedication has already proven through the mere act of living together as one unit.

Now those are all my emotional reasons behind not needing marriage, but logically speaking it is also because of a true love I have for him and his own resolutions about marriage that causes me to think this way as well. Women hold the power in marriage, and men are stripped of all power in a legal marriage. My husband was always against marriage because of the risk, and even though he has told me if there was anyone he could trust with his well being it would be me, I still do not want to put him through even the chance or suspicion that I might strip him of everything he’s ever worked for just because the relationship might end. I’m fine with signing a prenup, fine with paternity testing if children were to be involved, and perfectly fine with not signing those papers in the first place. Mainly because I love him and even in the worst case scenario of infidelity on his part I would not want to ruin him. I would certainly kick him out of my life, but I wouldn’t want to drag him through the mud. I think holding up my own standards of love would hurt him more in the long run considering he would know there’d be no chance of forgiveness. And for the rest I’m fine with paternity testing because I would never cheat and am fine with not getting married because we trust each other and once again, I do not need paper to reaffirm what I already know. The only thing I’ve ever asked of him is a ring, for no other reason besides a physical representation for men who continue to pursue me regardless of my being spoken for already, and for women who might question my authority to claim him as my own.

I of course can not speak of the future, but I can speak for the present and the past. The past tells me what the present shows, and I will say that perhaps we’ve been lucky with each other for the mere lack of fortune in our lives together. Most of our adult lives have been him struggling with finding work, we’ve had to squat in a house before, we’ve stolen food before, had to borrow money from others, none of which I am proud to have done, but all of which I am lucky to have had him for. Every woman wants a good provider, but I will say from experience that being a good provider is not about whether he can pay for an expensive dinner, but whether he is willing to give up his dinner so that you won’t go hungry. And I’ve seen my partner at our worst when we were eating cold cans of soup, him waiting and eating as slowly as possible, waiting for me to finish mine so that he could give me half of his because he knew I wasn’t full. That is what being a provider is, that is what true sacrifice is, even working to the bone to provide for you in a pure financial manner is a sacrifice that most women don’t recognize.

It is actually only recently that we’ve both been able to hold a job at the same time, and during all the time that I was supporting us both I couldn’t tell you the last time I washed my own clothes, washed my own dishes, cleaned my own room or even fed my own cat, so it is actually unfair to say that he was unemployed considering the work he put into the house mainly to make sure that I always came home relaxed. So we’ve already lived through the worst of times, and I also think that we’re fortunate to have met at such a young age. I’m twenty-seven now, and yes with seven years of devotion that means that I’ve given him my youth. We’ve been living and being together since I was twenty years old, literally a month after I turned so, and I think that’s given us a leg up on most couples who have already had time to live by themselves as adults and have already set up their own routines that might be harder for them to compromise on. While with us, our adult routines formed around us as we grew as adults together. It is what I attribute most to us acting as one unit, even when we make decisions outside of one another, we keep in mind what the other would most likely want and we usually aren’t wrong.

So for all this ranting and emotional vomit of our personal life, these are all the little reasons why I don’t need to be married to my husband. It all comes down to devotion, dedication, sacrifice, and most importantly, true love for one another. I don’t need a piece of paper to tell me what my life with him has already proven, what he has already proven. I know he will stay by my side because he has. And he knows the same because I have. Legal marriage is a scam, mostly for men, and you don’t need it if you truly have love in your life. Maybe for tax cuts, but it’s not like it’s such a large margin anyways.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

The Hero Trap

The following is a short story I wrote in response to a prompt idea sent to me by @sockknitteranon regarding twisting the typical “choose between the your girlfriend and random innocent civilian” scenario in super hero stories. Thank you for the suggestion! I really really hope you like what I wrote for it! 

The plan was perfect.

One of the most well-known, feared super villains in the city waited patiently for his adversary to arrive. Every piece of his elaborate trap was in place. All that was left was for the hero to show up.

“Why did you lure me here, fiend? I will protect the city from your evil plots!” The Hero’s voice was proud and sure, carrying well across the large trap chamber. 

The Villain smiled. Now he had the Hero right where he wanted him. He cracked his knuckles and stretched, chuckling grimly to himself. This was his favorite part. 

“Now.”

Quiet, barely over a whisper, the Villain’s voice somehow seemed louder than the Hero’s brazen shout.  At his command the barred door slammed shut, sealing the Hero in the trap chamber, and with a reluctant flicker, floodlights turned on, revealing the true nature of the Hero’s predicament.

“You see, Hero, I’ve been expecting you.” The Villain gestured grandly to the center of the large room where two struggling figures hung suspended in metal cages. Below the cages sat a vat of toxic sludge, its luminescent green contents slowly melting the solid iron container that held it. Even from the distance he stood it was hard to look at, but it fulfilled its role of appearing sinister, as well as a credible threat to the lives of the people hanging above it.

“You claim to have such wonderful morals, but forgive me sir, if I feel the need to put them to the test.” The Villain mocked his adversary with a sarcastic bow, before turning back to look at the cages above.

“In cage number one we have the beautiful love of your life, Ms Clarice Whitling. A renowned scientist with a heart of gold and the looks of a supermodel.” The woman in question struggled against the bonds holding her hands and feet, and tried to shout something past the gag bound across her mouth. “Now, now, patience Ms. Whitling. You will get your turn to talk… depending on lover boy’s decision.”

“YOU HEARTLESS SCOUNDREL!” The Hero’s face was red with anger, “SHE BELONGS TO ME!”

The Villain raised an eyebrow at the choice of words and smiled as he heard a dissatisfied jumble of noises from the first cage. “I’ll let you work out your relationship issues with your partner in your own time, Hero. I still have to tell you about cage #2!”

The figure in the second cage was quiet, although she still tugged against her bonds like the first captive. Her eyes though told a different story. A piercing gaze, struck him, and for a brief moment he felt a pang of regret before continuing the introduction.

“Our second contestant is an innocent civilian, Ms…” He checked the card his henchman had handed him, “Erica Slade. She’s a plucky young woman who devotes her time to charity, helps the homeless and the elderly, and works as a kindergarten school teacher.” He winced, feeling slightly remorseful at her capture.

“And that is where the true dilemma comes in, Hero. You can only save one. The woman you love, but keep in mind that she’s the one who chose to enter into a relationship with you knowing you were a hero, knowing that it put her at risk for attacks like this.”

“BAST…”  

“Or…” The Villain interrupted the Hero mid-profanity, “You can save this stranger, a young, innocent woman who has nothing to do with all of this. She is the very representation of what you swore to protect.” The Villain walked closer, now only a few feet away. “What will you do, Hero? Will you be selfish and protect your own interests? Will you throw away the woman you love to uphold your ideals?” He pressed a button, and both cages moved slowly down towards the glowing green vat.

The Villain studied his opponent’s face carefully. Now was the crucial moment of the plan. He had to convince the Hero that both women were in mortal danger, thus pushing the love vs duty choice upon him.  In reality, cages were wired to drop just to the side of the vat at the last moment, neither would be harmed, but by then hopefully the damage would be done. The Hero would be trapped in a mental and moral puzzle of his own making, unable to save either. He would be destroyed as a hero.

The Hero stared blankly at the moving cages, his face strangely blank of emotion. The Villain was glad that he was the one in control, if it were him standing there, having to choose between two innocent peoples lives… well it was impossible, it made him grateful that he was the villain in the room.

“Let the freak die.” 

The flat, short statement sounded wrong, it took the Villain a moment to register the words. He paused the cages descent,  staring at the Hero in confusion.

“What did you say?”

“I said let that cripple die.” He pointed up at the second cage impatiently. The Villain followed the direction he indicated, studying his captive more carefully. Her hands were bound, but the rope was tied around her thighs, instead of her ankles. When he looked closer he noted it was because her left leg ended just above the knee. She leaned against the wall for support, uncomfortable. Two metal structures leaned against the side of the cage. Forearm crutches. He noted with a sigh.

The Hero wasn’t done talking. “People like that are just a drain on resources anyways. They are worthless, taking handouts from healthy people and not contributing anything to society.” His voice was dismissive, he looked up at the woman like she was something less than human. “Better off dead, if you ask me. So return my beautiful girlfriend, kill the trash and I’ll be on my way.”

The Villain looked up at Ms. Slade again, his ears ringing strangely and his vision blurry. He could still make out her face, at the last thing he remembered before everything went dark was the expression there, clear despite the gag covering her mouth: It wasn’t anger at the Hero’s betrayal, or fear for her own death. It was a tired resignation. It was the look of a woman who had expected to be told she was worthless.

He was ten, living at an underfunded orphanage for cast offs like him. The other kids beat up on Jack, his friend, because he has trouble saying words clearly. They ignore the girl who looks different than them; steal things from the child that walks with a cane. They laugh and make faces at the little boy who shares his room, who couldn’t see. All of this was done under the watchful and approving eyes of the adults, as they snickered behind their hands and pretended there was nothing they could do. The powerful grew more powerful and the weak and different shrunk and became resigned. That was when he learned the only lesson they bothered to teach at this facility:

Never trust the authorities.

He was a foolish man, an evil man sometimes. He made no excuses for his behavior, he knew what he was. But the ones who pretended to be heroes, the ones who said they cared about everyone when all they saw were people who looked and spoke like them… they were even more horrible in his eyes.

The Villain came to, realizing that he had jumped on top of the Hero, punching him repeatedly in the face. There was anger and frustration behind each attack, adding weight to his fist. But there was something else, some dark hidden sadness bubbling behind the fiery anger. Tears streamed down his face as he slowly got up, leaving the hero broken and bloody on the floor.

“The only trash I see here is you.” He took his remote out, pushing several buttons, which lowered the cages to the ground. His minions got to work releasing Ms. Whitling, while he quickly moved forward to cut the ropes holding Ms. Slade hostage. He freed her, and handed her crutches to her silently.

“I’m sorry.” 

SLAP! Her hand cracked across his face with a loud noise. She sighed loudly, glaring up at him.

“That’s for kidnapping me and threatening to drop me in toxic waste, idiot!”

The Villain nodded slowly, he supposed he deserved that much.  To his surprise she leaned forward gave him a quick kiss on the cheek she just slapped. “And that’s for beating the crap out of that jerk over there.”

She moved passed him, leaving him staring off silently at the now empty cage, shocked.

“Clarice!” The hero’s voice sounded odd with his bloody nose and broken jaw, but he called out to his girlfriend as clearly as he could. The woman in question quickly walked up, her red heels clicking on the floor beneath her.

STOMP! The Hero screeched at clutched at his crotch, where Ms. Whitling had just ground the heel of her shoe into.

“We’re breaking up, you worthless scum.” She glared at him for a few extra moments, before marching towards her fellow captive. “Erica, was it? So sorry that he spoke to you like that, please ignore him.”

Ms. Slade smiled and waved an arm. “ Oh believe me, he’s ignored.”

“Great! Let’s go get coffee.” They moved together towards the door, and once they reached the locked metal gate turned to face me.

“Unless you want to continue to detain us?” The Villain shuddered at Ms. Whitling’s cheerful voice, wincing at the thought of facing any more of either woman’s wrath. He pressed the button, which opened the gate.

“I thought so.” They started to leave.

“Wait…” he called out without thinking. With both of them staring again he started to stutter. “I mean… I’m sorry I kidnapped you two… um… if you guys ever need any help, just let me know.”

Ms. Slade laughed. “You want to join us for coffee?”

He stared at her in shock. “Really?! Can I ? I...I would be honored.”

With that the three of them headed out to drink coffee. The Villain wasn’t sure what to expect from here on out, but no matter what, it was sure to be interesting.

[britonell]

This @inusecretsanta gift is for @animaniacal!

Successful Proposal

...BUT WAIT, it’s not just a single gif!

Because we want to know how he proposed, so…

DRABBLE TIME! WITH PICS! BUCKLE UP!

Be warned, for there are hints of naughtiness at the very end.

Alarms went off in his head as Inuyasha gripped the ring box. How had he gotten into this predicament? Well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out why this was happening: He was a terrible planner.

Kagome, his girlfriend of three years—had it already been three years?—had asked if he was doing anything during his Christmas break. That had been when the lightbulb on top of his head lit up. (Now Inuyasha wondered if that proverbial lightbulb had fallen and given him a concussion.) He had immediately booked a hotel room, and then promptly thanked his lucky stars because there had exactly been one room left due to a cancellation. Then he had gone ring shopping.

Inuyasha stared down at his girlfriend, who wore an adorably puzzled expression, and seriously contemplated if it had all been a mistake. Had he misread the signs? He was certain he hadn’t. After all, she had made comments in the past. Obvious comments that even he couldn’t miss.

More than once, they would walk past a retired couple taking a stroll in the park and Kagome, with that small smile he loved so much, would quietly say she looked forward to growing old together. Inuyasha usually stuttered and blushed, caught off guard by her soft-spoken words as much as her nonchalance, like there was no question they were in it for the long haul. Then there was that one time when she had inquired, while they lounged on the couch, what they would name their future kids.

Red-faced and stupefied, he vaguely remembered saying he didn’t care, as long as they didn’t name any kids after a certain half-brother…or that wolf who still wouldn’t stop flirting with her whenever they ran into him, god dammit.

“Inuyasha?” Kagome gently said his name, looking up at her boyfriend with wide eyes. Despite her high heeled winter boots, he still towered over her. A familiar surge of protectiveness swept through him and he resisted the urge to suddenly embrace her.

Stay on track, Inuyasha mentally berated himself. Just gotta say the words.

“Inuyasha? You OK?”

Then again, what if he had been reading the signs wrong? Because it seemed like the universe was telling him this was a terrible mistake.

The hotel had been less than ideal, to say the least. Granted, Kagome had marveled at the ornate tapestry and antique furniture in the hotel lobby, but that still meant the hotel was from a bygone era. The ancient elevator was slow and loud, so much so that Inuyasha opted to carry Kagome up the stairs in frustration, ignoring her squeals of protest. Their room, though larger than he had anticipated, wasn’t any better. Their windows faced the courtyard behind the hotel instead of the festive streets, the aging lock on the bathroom door was busted, and the walls were paper-thin, at least for his ears.

Fortunately, he had managed to hide his frustrations. Kagome loved the hotel, she claimed. She grew up in a shrine, so she of all people could appreciate a building’s history. Her gratitude was so earnest that Inuyasha almost wasn’t sure if she was only being kind for his sake. 

She probably appreciated his efforts to keep his temper in check. Oh, he had been tested. Like when he had overheard the two guys in the lobby argue whether the cute girl in the green coat and pink hat was a 9 or a 10. Donning a dreadful expression, Inuyasha had blocked their view and stared long and hard until they got the message and quickly left the lobby.

Dressed in her favorite green coat and pink hat, Kagome gasped in joy when they had found an authentic French bistro for lunch. Inuyasha thought he had actually done something right for once…until they finished ordering their food and his ears swiveled towards the harshly whispered words from the opposite side of the room.

“A surprise proposal?”

“It was an absolute disaster,” one of the women at the table explained before delicately sipping her tea. “We were all mortified. We all knew the instant it happened she would reject him.”

“You mean he did it in public?” The other woman asked, appearing shocked but unable to hide the sadistic glee in her eyes. “My goodness!”

“Oh yes, it was a terrible idea. He should’ve known better.”

Everything was white noise after that, which was why he missed their in-depth discussion about “manipulative boyfriends trying to save failing relationships with public proposals.” No, he heard nothing but “He should’ve known better” all throughout lunch. The words continued to haunt him after the sun had set and most of the tourists had left for their hotel or restaurant. Inuyasha didn’t know how long they had walked, but if Kagome hadn’t called out when she did they might have wandered for another hour.

“Inuyasha?”

His knuckles went white; his grip so tight he was surprised he hadn’t already crushed the ring box hidden in his pocket.

Just gotta say the words, Inuyasha chanted. Just gotta—

“He should’ve known better.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Kagome reached up and stroked his cheek. Despite the million things racing through his head, he still recognized the fingerless gloves she wore. He had bought them for her last year because she had mentioned her old ones had holes in them, not realizing she had already bought another pair. How many times had he done things without forethought and proper planning? It just never seemed like he was doing enough for someone as incredible as her.

Pretty and fashionable, popular yet studious, fiery, determined and utterly devoted to her family and friends; Kagome was perfect the way she was and she deserved everything.

What did he have to offer?

“If you’re not feeling well,” she started but Inuyasha nervously cleared his throat. Of course she would worry about him. She was selfless like that.

“C-close your eyes,” he said, more quietly than he intended.

“What was that?”

“J-just close your eyes, dammit!” he said, louder this time and supporting a blush that refused to clear.

She raised an eyebrow but silently acquiesced and closed her eyes.

God I could kiss her right now—STICK TO THE PLAN.

…he didn’t have a plan. Wait, why did he just ask her to close her eyes? What the hell was he doing!?

He pulled out the ring box and looked around. The street was deserted. This couldn’t be a public proposal if no one was around, right? He nervously eyed the ring box in his hand and brushed his thumb over the smooth red velvet.

Now or never, I guess.

“Uh…open…your mouth?” What?

She didn’t have to say anything to show her confusion. A small frown marred her brows, but she still followed his instruction.

He abruptly shoved the ring box in her mouth, paused to stare at the result of his impromptu decision, and whirled around to face the wall, silently shouting, “Why the hell did I just do that!?”

A moron, I’m a moron.

A salty scent and a muffled sniff made him freeze.

She was crying.

Oh crap, did I break her teeth!? Lingering doubts, previously swept into the dark recesses of his mind, mockingly emerged one after another. Maybe she doesn’t want to marry. Maybe I did read the signs wrong. What the hell was I thinking?

Hoping to repair the perceived damage he had just inflicted, he turned back around with his hands in the air.

“Ka-Kagome! I-I-I’m not forcing you! You don’t have to marrrrrmph!”

Perhaps he hadn’t messed up.

Any and all remaining worries were soundly erased when they returned to their hotel room--which was a feat in and of itself because she refused to detach from his torso--and then as soon as he closed the door she practically tore his clothes off. In fact, he had to remind her multiple times not to be so vocal until eventually giving up, opting to swallow her cries as he pulled her closer to him, his dog ears mercifully picking up only the sound of their bodies.

AN: I can see Inuyasha bumbling through a proposal yet somehow being successful. BTW, this postcard was the first version of the artwork.

[esotericfaerytumbls]

***MISHANDLED WOMANHOOD & RAVISHED INTIMACY***

From Chris Bale I had a male client communicate to me today: “she’s so hard. I want her to be softer. It pisses me off when she is so hard. What do I do? I keep telling her that I need her to be softer and surrendered in her femininity, but nothing is changing.” You NEED her to be? Slow up brother! “Firstly, you being annoyed by her “hardness” as you put it, is only going to support more hardness.” I replied. There is nothing safe in your reactive judgment towards her current state of being. It says far more about you, than her in this moment. But also, I feel your pain! Lets break it down. —— UNDERSTANDING: A man who demands she be somewhere other than where she is at currently, is a man who is steering her further away from her expressive freedom and bliss. This is a man who does not know. He is shutting her down. But, its not his fault. There is not much assistance out in society for us as men, when it comes to relating with women in a healthy/supportive/polarizing/passionate way. A man who DOES know, understands that whatever his woman is experiencing, is just another ingredient in the “making” of love. Through his non-judgmental presence, he assists her in transmuting whatever emotions/trauma are seeking to clear - If he wants to. If he doesn’t want to, its best to leave her alone. Whats important to realize, is that she he is already “soft” by nature. Minus the fear, distrust, trauma patterns and overstimulated nervous-systems, we all are. If she is not willing to be receptive with you, there are parts of your being which she does not fully trust or feel safe with. (OR, she is deep in traumatic projecting, and it has nothing to do with you. She is so dis-regulated from past experiences, that she cannot find safety even within her own body.) An emotionally reactive and unclear man, is felt as a weak & untrustworthy man. Because he is. You don’t have to like it. It simply is what it is. I should know. Before arriving to my own work, I was deeply untrustworthy in my confusion and reactivity. Which led me to be grossly manipulative in my unhappiness. This is a pattern I see collectively though the immature masculine. —— FOR HER VULNERABILITY: You see, even if her mind wants to trust you, her body will never feel safe enough to fully open in your company; if you are unsafe. It will brace in your presence. There will be an energetic cocooning as a form of protection. Not because you are a bad man, but because there are too many parts of you which are unclear, uncertain, distracted and dispersive. This is unsafe for her on every level of love, surrender, and ravished-fuck. Men, you must realize to some degree what it means for her to be in a place of deep softness and receptivity with you. For you, it turns you on. For her, it’s risking life. Many times when I bring this up…men will laugh it up, and claim I am over-exaggerating. This lack of empathetic understanding will be clearly mirrored in his life with women. Deep physical & emotional intimacy calls on her to let go of control, which she has been forced to barricade up around herself, based on her past experiences with immature males - who said one thing, but went and done another. This is what you are asking when you request for her to “surrender” more. You are inviting her into absolute exposure. Based on your intentions and integrity, do you deserve her absolute exposure in this moment? Her absolute vulnerability is a privilege. Any humans vulnerability is a privilege. You are also wanting to literally insert a part of your erect body up inside of hers, in a way which allows you to have full control over how you move inside of her, in the most sensitive & receptive area of her entire physicality. On top of this, there is also the possibility of a new life being created. Which means her entire experience of life changes, and she is essentially tied to you through another human for the remainder of her time here. Is he trustworthy? Can I rely on him? Is he mature enough to be a father? Will he be there for me and our child? Does he have a vision? Will he disappear and leave me? - Just some possible questions which may arise within her experience of being receptive to you. These question may arise upon first laying eyes on you - physical intimacy need not even be involved for these thought patters to begin arising. So many women spend their intimate lives being poked, drilled, pounded, mounted and consumed s€xually - in a disconnected way. Where the man she is with is not actually present in his body with her. He is just doing her, to cum. Again, not because us men are big bad predatory wolves, but because as young boys we were not given intelligent and empowering information around s€x & relating. We were given perverted and shameful information, by a perverted and shameful society. We then went out into the world and seeded this perversion in the wombs & bodies of women. And because her very nature is receptivity, she then has to carry around years of mishandling inside the tissues of her vagina, cervix, womb, breasts and throat. When women come to me for energy sessions, the amount of pain and perversion her body has been subjected to, becomes very apparent, as she opens, vibrates, and unravels. Everything spills out into the room. In many instances it can look like some kind of exorcism. Its as if she’s been held captive inside of a tiny part of her body, afraid to feel or exist within her totality. Why? —— THE FOUNDATION: In a society which champions emotional numbness as “strength”, the only remaining option she has, is to dissociate from the inner aching & shut-down her powerfully intuitive felt-sense; for fear of it being exposed as weakness. Endless bracing. Even in love-making, most women(not all) have learned the importance of bracing; incase he unawarely thrusts at the wrong angle, causing pain. Because of this, she’s never truly being able to exhale and feel the exquisite subtitles which arise from connected & embodied intimacy. …and please, dont get me wrong here. When I speak of embodied intimacy, im not referring to tickling your partner with a feather under the moonlit sky until she “arrives”, followed by a curtsey. Im talking about sweaty, deep, primally driven, passion drenched fuck - but supported by a foundation of deeply attuned sensitivity and care towards the others wellbeing. This foundational safety, allows the intensity of passion, orgasmicness, love & primality - to reach heights never touched upon before; back when distracted disconnection was driving the vehicle. When both people are present; tuned-in to self and other, God gets to enter the room. Life, spirit, eros gets to fill the space. So please do not confuse embodied s€x for some boring-ass flaccid form of un-pleasurable intimacy. Its more physically, energetically, & spiritually orgasmic than anything else we have access to in this life. —— WELCOME HER CHALLENGE. As a man, maybe you are naturally wanting to experience her receptivity towards you. Her willingness, longing & desire to invite you in; for her to bathe in oceans of vulnerability - A vulnerability which has been, many times before you; used against her. Disrespected, judged & dropped. Based on all of this...why on earth would she trust a man who she hasn’t vetted repeatedly? If as a man you would like to be stronger for woman, for yourself, for community; welcome challenge. Welcome HER challenge. Realize that she is pushing up against you, because she actually gives a damn about you. If she didn’t, she would never feel the need to test anything about you. Once you have proven your character(to yourself) through stable consistency, and she has digested you viscerally, a deeper dropping into devotion and union can begin. (To further clarify: A matured man will not feel these behaviours as "tests" or "challenges", as they will be so minuscule on the energetic scale of that which he is used to engaging with. The concept of a women "testing him" is not something which he holds in his awareness. Also, a woman who is around a mature man, wont even waste her time trying to test him, as his solidarity will be very clear from the get-go. The above sharing is more for "middle-ground" stages.) —— BOUNDARIES We really need to see the beauty present in the opportunity to demonstrate our sharpness and strength, in all areas of life. Welcome the challenging of your boundaries, so that you have the opportunity to show-up firm and clear in your sovereignty. One of the greatest gifts a woman can bring to a man, is through exposing the areas of his being which lack stability. A powerful embodied woman really requires your boundaries and self-respect to be existing at the forefront of your being - At the forefront of the relationship. So that she has something stable & reliable to brush up against. She may also require a necessary spanking from time to time, if she really gets out of line. Depending on her general level of “feist” of course. In many cases, the insatiable feminine will purposefully do things to magnetize you into disciplining, activating & transmuting her to completion. This, is a whole other topic of conversation, which we can keep for a later date. But there is profound trust and turn-on which is built through healthy masculine discipline and order. **Dear Internet humans, Im assuming you know the difference between spanking her, and beating her - and how the 1st is conducive to a passionate, playful, polarized relationship, while the latter…is clearly not.** —— The below advice is written with the assumption that you have a deep love for this woman(women collectively), and you would like to know how to love her deeper, as it aligns with your integrity. NOT to get something in return from her. HOW DO WE LOVE HER?: By supporting and empowering her to be EXACTLY that which she has come here to be. Without conditioning, controlling, or imprisoning her. So she can come to understand & ooze her innate service to the planet. - Claiming her, if you are choosing to be with her. - Leading her with love and truth, in every moment it is required. - Protecting her. Both physically, and energetically. - Saying what you mean, and meaning what you say. - Remaining diligent and disciplined in your own relationship to life & your mission. Without compromise. - Calling her out/being real with her - holding her accountable. We love her, by reminding her of the tremendous power she is, in any moment she happens to forget it, or falls victim to the disempowering social narratives of backwards womanhood. To add to that - Making love/penetrating/fucking her as deeply and as profoundly as you can arrive to. Which will unveil & shift her experience of this life. As will her “opening” transform how you experience yours. Learn to love her, especially in her “hardness”. Especially in her anger. Especially in her frustration. Especially in her tension. Especially in all the places she has been mishandled and traumatized. You need not viscerally like it, but through showing up and loving her when she is deep in it, we assist in transmuting the collective pain present in so many women, AND men. If you don’t want to love her, and you have no interest in any of the above; there’s nothing wrong with that - But leave her alone. She doesn’t need another half-assed version of undercooked love. None of us do. If you are going to be there, at least commit to it. ---- Finally, please understand that this is a nuanced process, which has its own flavor for each individual. This sharing is to offer some experiential information which I deem as valuable sign posts. Please note that In everything I share, my individual mission comes through heavy, so I dont expect it to resonate for everybody at all times. Perfection is never the goal, but I believe impeccable integrity ought to be, in whatever we do. However you arrive to your way, is right on time. And it need not look like my or anybody else’s way. Here’s hoping what I have shared today can be of some value as you walk the path of “what the fuck is going on down here?”, and support us all in having to carry around less numbness, and more ALIVENESS. In love & service, Chris Bale

[coffeebooksorme]

‘FURYBORN’ REVIEW

GOODREAD’S SYNOPSIS:  The stunningly original, must-read fantasy of 2018 follows two fiercely independent young women, centuries apart, who hold the power to save their world...or doom it. When assassins ambush her best friend, the crown prince, Rielle Dardenne risks everything to save him, exposing her ability to perform all seven kinds of elemental magic. The only people who should possess this extraordinary power are a pair of prophesied queens: a queen of light and salvation and a queen of blood and destruction. To prove she is the Sun Queen, Rielle must endure seven trials to test her magic. If she fails, she will be executed...unless the trials kill her first. A thousand years later, the legend of Queen Rielle is a mere fairy tale to bounty hunter Eliana Ferracora. When the Undying Empire conquered her kingdom, she embraced violence to keep her family alive. Now, she believes herself untouchable--until her mother vanishes without a trace, along with countless other women in their city. To find her, Eliana joins a rebel captain on a dangerous mission and discovers that the evil at the heart of the empire is more terrible than she ever imagined. As Rielle and Eliana fight in a cosmic war that spans millennia, their stories intersect, and the shocking connections between them ultimately determine the fate of their world--and of each other.

I received a a free eARC in exchange for an honest review.

As per usual, I was sucked in by a badass cover and intriguing premise, only this time it paid off! I read this book (a 512 page book) in a day. A DAY! I hardly ever (meaning, very very very rarely) do that! I was so enthralled by this story and its characters that I honestly could not put it down, even when it meant being exhausted for work the next day. Totally. Worth it.

I’m being 100% candid with you when I say that I think this book is going to be one of the next top fantasy YA books. It’s got action, romance, magic, TIME TRAVEL, well fleshed out characters, and a really interesting premise. It’s original without being all “But I’m not like other YA books”, wah. There’s really something here for everyone in this book and I think anyone who has any inkling for fantasy or just...badass books in general, should pick this up when it comes out.

The premise does a very good job of giving you an idea of what this book is about, but it still leaves enough to the imagination that there will be points in the book where you will gasp in shock. And laugh because the author did an excellent job of incoorporating some humor to lighten it up every now and again.

Our two main protags are Rielle (the past) and Elianna (the future) and they’re obvious the Blood queen and the Sun queen, respectively, in our story. We start off the book knowing Rielle is the blood queen and end knowing that Elianna is the sun queen so...no spoilers, I promise. 

Rielle is this sheltered...I don’t want to say meek, but let’s say...hrm, she’s been beaten down. She’s got this awesomesauce power that no one else has (yeah, yeah, trope-y tropiness going on here) but she’s taught by her dad and the ministers of her faith to tamper it down because it’s weird, the yokel locals might not like it, and this awesomesauce power caused a horrifying accident when Rielle was little. Secretly, she’s a badass magician who just wants some Princely loving and to be allowed to live her life like any other normal chick. Simple enough.

BUT OH NO! She shows off her awesomesauce power and as predicted, the yokel locals and ministers freak the heck out! In order to prove that she’s not some rando magician willing to murder everybody, they decide to put her through a 7 week trial where she proves to everyone that she’s loyal and devot in using her powers only for good. Rielle, who has never even been encouraged to use her powers let alone really learn about them in depth (like every other magic wielder in the country) is totally gung ho for it! Thus, shenanigans ensue!

With each trial, we see more and more of who Rielle truly is shine to the surface. It was so great to really see the growth of her character and cheer her on as more of her badassery emerged. I know the ‘chosen one’ trope is there with her and it makes you want to roll your eyes that she has this ‘power that no one has’ but I really enjoyed Rielle as a character. She is fiercely loyal to her friends, absolutely dedicated in wanting to prove this loyaltly, a 100% fighter to her very marrow, and yet she’s vulnerable. We get to see this vulnerability throughout her interactions with her father (who has never shown anything more than barely checked disdain) and it just made me want to reach into the book, hug her, give her some cake, and tell her it would be alright.

The next POV is from Elianna who is this smarmy, smartass, egotistical assassin who is literally snapping necks and cashing checks. She was taught from a very young age by her mother how to kill folks in order to put food on the table. I was very pleasantly surprised at the fact that the author made her mother an amputee because I had never encountered that in a novel. She’s a side character so I don’t want to say it’s rep (?) but hey, I was surprised. And then pissed off with what happened to her character later on. I won’t go into it because it’s major spoilers for the book, but...yeah. Back to Elianna.

Elianna is annoying at first. Think Celaena Sardothien from the ToG series or Mia Corvere from Nevernight and that’s pretty much Elianna. She’s got amazing fight skills, she’s stealthy, she’s sexy, and she knows it. Oh, and she’s like Wolverine because she can heal from anything. She is indestructible! But she has no idea why. But, of course, she’s got an ooey gooey inside to her. She portrays this mask of hardness in order to hide the ooey gooeyness because killing folks is how she supports her family, it’s how she’s going to get them out, and if she doesn’t do it, then they’ll starve. She is the breadwinner for her family and her devoutness to her family really sold me with her character.

Her POV follows her going from hunting down this known rebel and being ordered to kill him to basically lusting after him and joining his rebel cause. It’s all a ruse at first and then, of course, as the story progresses, Elianna’s ooey gooeyness comes to the surface, one of the rebel leaders (Wolf and Elianna’s man) and a princess in disguise (no, not Jasmine) basically submerge her in what is actually the real world and help her come to terms with the fact that she’s been part of the problem instead of the solution. 

Rather than rehash the book, I’m going to leave it there because going any further would spoil it and I don’t want to do that because it is so good and you must read it! There’s diversity of characters but it’s never made into a big deal. It’s always thrown in like ‘Yeah, I like chicks.’ or ‘Yeah, my name is Bob and this is my husband.’ Women are in high positions of power. There’s a king in Rielle’s time frame but he isn’t the kingly type that puts down women. I mean, the entire religion in the book is focused on two queens. None of the women hate on each other over a man. There’s actually some really good positive female interaction through the entire book. I dig it a lot.

The writing itself is astounding. The author did such a good job painting a picture of not only one world but two different worlds and still making them weave together that I didn’t feel like I was reading two entirely different books. That is difficult as hell, but it was pulled off so beautifully. The characters are well written and even though they could be considered trope-y because of what I mentioned before, they have enough flaws and different characteristics to really set them apart. Not to mention there is significant growth throughout the book! I can only imagine what happens throughout the rest of the series. Not to mention, the side characters are awesome! Our sidekicks, if you will, are just as fleshed out as our mains and were so much fun to read! I loved them just as much as I loved the two mains. Heck, there were some characters that only appeared in the book for a chapter or two and I fell in love!

Oh, before I forget, this is a pretty explicit sex scene in the book. It was...weird. I mean, I’ve read SJM so I’m used to explicit sex scenes in YA but this one just felt...unnecessary. It could have faded to black and I would have been fine with it. I mean, I used to write NSYNC smut back in the day, I’m fine with smut, but this was just...weird. I honestly have no other word to describe it. Well, wait, no, I lied, maybe bad. Bad would be a good word for it because it made me feel awkward and I didn’t appreciate the fact that the author perpetuated the idea that a girls first time is supposed to be painful. Nah, son, it’s not...not unless you have something physically wrong with you or you’re not properly lubricated. Otherwise, the first time just feels weird and awkward and then should move on to amazing. Not painful. But whatever, let’s keep that stereotype ball rolling, eh?

So...if you like assassins, magic, diversity that’s in there without needing a huge neon sign pointing to it, badassery, and just an all around amazing fantasy novel, then this is the book for you!

[fletchermarple]

Quick Review of the True Crime Books I read in 2017 (Part 1)

Review of books in 2016 Part 1 and Part 2 

Review of books in 2015

One of Us: The Story of a Massacre in Norway -- An its Aftermath by Asne Seierstad: You can tell that this well researched book has the signature of an experienced investigative journalist like Asne Seierstad. The novel offers a very clear and engaging account of the 2011 Norway massacre, in which Anders Breivik killed 77 people, most of them teenagers, as a misguided stance against multiculturalism, which he felt was ruining his country. Using Breivik’s own writings, police records and witness’ interviews, Seierstad builds a fascinating and deep profile of a perpetual loser with delusions of grandeur. At the same time offers, without judgment of her own, an interesting look into the mind of a mass murderer. Breivik might not be a school shooter, but you can certainly make some connections to them. The author alternates Breivik’s life story with that of two of his victims, which helps put a clear face to that horrendous death toll. I can only assume she chose those two because their families were willing to talk to her, but to be honest, their stories are very ordinary and she makes them look like perfect kids, so the chapters focused on them are not as compelling. But this is definitely a must read for anyone interested in true crime and especially in mass shootings.

JonBenet: Inside the Ramsey Murder Investigation by Steve Thomas: This book was frustrating, both because of what’s happening in the story and also because the obvious bias of the author makes it difficult to look at the case with any perspective but his own. Thomas was one of the main investigators in the early years of the JonBenet Ramsey case, and is very clear about his belief that her parents, John and Patsy, are responsible for her death and staged the crime scene, and he has some decent arguments to support that staging. The problem comes when he has to explain how and why the murder happened, then his theory falls short. This has always been my issue with the Ramsey case: there’s just not one theory that fully makes sense. Thomas’ opinion (he’s very fond of the “In my opinion” phrase) is that Patsy accidentally killed her during a fit of rage because she had wet the bed, but I just don’t see it. And while pushing that forward, he ignores other variables and suspects (Burke just doesn’t exist in his vision). He’s very adamant about the Ramseys avoiding police and getting special treatment (which in itself is no evidence of guilt), but he’s very vague about, for example, whether JonBenet had a history of sexual abuse. He mentions clearing “hundreds of suspects” for the intruder theory, but doesn’t say who or how. Thomas details the way that the DA’s office kept meddling in favor of the Ramseys, to the point that they are likely the main reason why this case went unsolved (along with some mediocre police work, no matter how Thomas tries to embellish it), but the problem is that his frustration with that --that eventually led him to quit not just the case, but the whole police force-- colors pretty much everything he has to say. He comes across as so angry and bitter, that when I finished I felt that I was missing a big part of the story he just didn’t seem willing to tell us. Bottomline, this is a fundamental read in the JonBenet saga but it would be a mistake to consider it an absolute truth and must be read with a healthy touch of skepticism.

Bitter Remains by Diane Fanning: I like reading books about crimes I have absolutely no prior knowledge about, and that was the case here. The novel, written by one of the big american names in the true crime genre, tells the story of Laura Ackerson, murdered by her ex, Grant Hayes, and his wife Amanda. The story is extremely tragic and gruesome, with the book focusing on the victim’s troubled life and how she was managing to overcome her problems and make a better life for herself and her two sons when she was killed at only 27. Fanning does her best to present us with all the context about the case, but she doesn’t pretend to be understanding or sympathetic with the two killers, especially Grant who seems to be one of the most despicable people you’ll ever read about. This book really lays down in all its horror how human life holds so little value to some people.

For Laci by Sharon Rocha: I thought a book couldn’t get more heartbreaking than Sue Klebold’s A Mother’s Reckoning, but I was wrong. Sharon Rocha’s grief over the loss of her daughter Laci --who disappeared while heavily pregnant on Christmas’ Eve of 2002, only to be found five months later, her body decapitated-- grips you through the pages and squeezes your heart. In Sharon’s words, Laci comes alive as a likeable, cheerful woman who made the world a better place. On the other hand, her husband Scott Peterson, currently in death row for murdering her and their unborn son, is portrayed as a callous, cold and narcissitic individual who would rather end his wife’s life than deal with a messy divorce or be tied down by a kid. As you can imagine, Sharon’s presentation of the case is the same as the police’s and prosecution’s, and it’s the version I believe. The circumstancial evidence against Peterson is too overwhelming, and tied together builds a stronger case than any DNA sample without context could ever make. Sharon describes Laci and Scott’s relationship and his growing distaste of the idea of becoming a father, and also her own struggle when she started to realize that the son in law she was publicly supporting was guilty (on a side note, Scott’s parents are particularly terrible, at least in Sharon’s eyes). Unless you somehow believe that Peterson is innocent, this is a very poignant and touching read.

Illusion of Justice by Jerome F. Buting: This book was written by one of Steven Avery’s defense lawyers, who also happens to be my favorite character in Making a Murderer. Here, he explores not only the behind the scenes of the Avery trial, but also other cases of his stellar career and why he believes the justice system is broken. And he succeeds in making you understand why there can't be real justice if the process to convict someone isn't clean. The author talks a lot about his own life, which I found quite interesting, particularly the cancer that almost killed him. He’s a man of strong convictions who’s worked hard to improve a flawed system. I was expecting more revelations about the Avery case, and he does sheds some light on what was going on that we didn’t see in the documentary (I especially love his jabs at unethical prosecutor Ken Kratz), but nothing truly shocking. He clearly believes in Avery's innocence, although he doesn’t say it outright. Instead, he focuses on explaining why his arrest and trial was a miscarriage of justice. And he has a point. There’s also a segment in the last part in which he addresses frequently asked questions and misconceptions that people have about the case (for example this confusion about “sweat DNA”). He also devotes plenty of time to talk about another big case of his, the one of Ralph Armstrong, who spent almost 30 years in jail for a horrible crime he didn't commit. If you enjoyed Making a Murderer and are interested in the judicial aspects of true crime, this book is for you. It's very informative, told in an easy, fluid narrative.

The Innocent Man by John Grisham: As a big fan of courtroom dramas, I love most of John Grisham’s stories (A Time to Kill is among my favorite novels, period). I was excited to check out this, his first non fiction story, which focuses on Ron Williamson, a mentally ill man and drug addict who, along with his friend Dennis Fritz, was sent to death row for the horrific 1988 rape and murder of Debbie Carter. DNA testing cleared them both 11 years later. All the elements are there: a fascinating case of wrongful conviction, the mystery of who the real killer was (although the book makes it pretty obvious from the start), the fight to make justice. But I have to admit I was underwhelmed by it. There was something very tedious about the way Grisham decided to write it, and I think part of it isn’t really his fault, it’s just that Ron Williamson is not an interesting character, aside from being wrongfully accused, and the big chunk of his story that makes up for the first half of the book really made me lose interest. 

Similar Transactions by S. R. Reynolds: Ever heard of Larry Lee Smith? I hadn’t before I read this book. He’s a serial rapist who most likely also murdered 15 year old Michelle Anderson in 1987, although that case is still officially unsolved. This book is the effort a woman called Sasha Reynolds to shed some light to Michelle’s case and to tell the story of Smith, an unrepentant predator who went back to attacking women every time he was released from jail. Halfway through the book, Reynolds inserts herself in the story but in the third person. She explains she did it so she wouldn’t mess with the narrative, but it felt a little weird to me. She, however, doesn’t put herself at the center of the story and makes the victims the protagonists. Because of the nature of the crime, in the wrong hands this book could be too graphic or sensationalist, but Reynolds is very careful and respectful without hiding the horrors all these women went through. In times when sexual abuse is on the frontline news, this books really shows the way such stories should be covered.

Overkill by Lyn Riddle: Despite that ghastly cover, that makes this novel look like a cheap thriller, the book is a serious attempt to cover in excruciating detail the senseless murder of Laurie Show. In 1991, the 16 year old was beaten and stabbed by Lisa Michelle Lambert, who had started harassing her because Laurie briefly dated her boyfriend Lawrence Yunkin while the two were separated. Yunkin and a friend of Lambert, Tabitha Buck, also actively participated in the crime and the three of them were convicted for it. Lambert, a master manipulator that would put Jodi Arias to shame, said that the police framed her with the murder to hide the fact they had gang-raped, and managed to convince a judge to overturn her conviction. He even went as far as to forbid the state from re-trying her. That was eventually scratched, and Lambert went back to jail where she’s staying for good. It’s a long and complicated legal process, and the main problem of this book is that it goes so deep into it, it becomes incredibly boring. Even for someone like me, that likes the trial part of any case, it was almost impossible to go through. The book has good elements, like a nuanced portrayal of all the characters involved, but it’s so repetitive and exhausting that I just can’t bring myself to recommend it.

[darlingdaisyyy-blog]

Get To Know Me || Challenge

Name meaning:

Carmen: (Urban Dictionary) -   Daisy is the name given to the most amazing girl to ever walk the earth.She is justperfect in every single way, she will deny that though,because she is super modest. Every time I see Daisy I get butterflies and to her voice gives me joy shivers.Daisy will have the most perfect beautiful eyes that you could stare into for all of eternity and hope they will look back into yours. Daisy is the most attractive girl you will ever lay your eyes upon and you would do anything to be with her for a single moment (including a 24 hour+ plane ride ;)) Daisy will just have this unexplainable quality about her that just draws you towards her and you never ever want to leave. she has the cutest, hottest and overall best taste in fashion in the world and everything she wears will look absolutely perfect on her, because she is perfect. ASDFGHJKL is the feeling you get from talking to Daisy among many other happy emotions. Daisy is the most lovable person in the world and anyone who thinks otherwise is just straight up wrong, those people suck. Daisy loves her family more than anything, she is the best sibling in the world .Daisy has a great sense of humor, she makes me cry with laughter.Thanks Daisy for being with me, making me feel special and loving me back. I'm not sure if you'll ever read this,but I hope if you do it made you smile. I'm pretty sure you can guess who this is. I love you so much. My life is 100 times better with you in it and I honestly can't imagine it without you. <3

PSYCHOLOGICAL

What is your Myers-Briggs Personality type?

CONSUL (ESFJ-T):

People who share the Consul personality type are, for lack of a better word, popular – which makes sense, given that it is also a very common personality type, making up twelve percent of the population. In high school, Consuls are the cheerleaders and the quarterbacks, setting the tone, taking the spotlight and leading their teams forward to victory and fame. Later in life, Consuls continue to enjoy supporting their friends and loved ones, organizing social gatherings and doing their best to make sure everyone is happy.

Where do you lie on the Kinsey Scale Test?

3:Equally heterosexual and homosexual.

Which one of the four temperaments are you?

sanguine: The sanguine temperament is fundamentally spontaneous and pleasure-seeking; sanguine people are sociable and charismatic. They tend to enjoy social gatherings, making new friends and tend to be boisterous. They are usually quite creative and often daydream. However, some alone time is crucial for those of this temperament. Sanguine can also mean sensitive, compassionate and thoughtful. Sanguine personalities generally struggle with following tasks all the way through, are chronically late, and tend to be forgetful and sometimes a little sarcastic. Often, when they pursue a new hobby, they lose interest as soon as it ceases to be engaging or fun. They are very much people persons. They are talkative and not shy. Sanguines generally have an almost shameless nature, certain that what they are doing is right. They have no lack of confidence.

Which alignment do you fall under?

Neutral Good- A neutral good character does the best that a good person can do. He is devoted to helping others. He works with kings and magistrates but does not feel beholden to them. Neutral good is the best alignment you can be because it means doing what is good without bias for or against order. However, neutral good can be a dangerous alignment because when it advances mediocrity by limiting the actions of the truly capable.

FANDOM

Which Hogwarts House are you in?

Slytherin

Which Divergent faction are you in?

First: Dauntless

Close second: Erudite

What element would you be a Bender in?

Air Bender

ASTROLOGICAL/MYSTICAL

What is your personality “soul” type?

A King soul is a born leader, a natural decision-maker. Kings are action-oriented souls but like to be in a commanding position where they can pull all the strings. They tend to have a commanding presence, and others will often look to Kings for leadership and direction.

What’s your Zodiac Sign?

Taurus - Birthday - May 16th, 1997

What is your Chinese Zodiac?

Ox-  Oxes are known for diligence, dependability, strength and determination. Having an honest nature, Oxes have a strong patriotism for their country, have ideals and ambitions for life, and attach importance to family and work. These things reflect the traditional characteristics of conservatives. Women belonging to the Ox zodiac sign are traditional, faithful wives, who attach great importance to their children's education.

What is your Celtic Zodiac?

Hawthorn: signs in Celtic tree astrology are not at all what they appear to be. Outwardly, they appear to be a certain persona, while on the inside Hawthorn’s are quite different. They put the term “never judge a book by its cover” to the test. They live seemingly average lives while on the inside they carry fiery passions and inexhaustible creative flame.

[flotsam-gazette]

I stepped down from the copy department of The New Yorker almost two years ago, hanging up my parentheses and turning over the comma shaker to my successor, who I know will use it judiciously, but I still love the magazine and lose sleep when an oversight (as we prefer to call it) sneaks into its pages. 

Copy editors never get credit for the sentences we get right, but confuse “who” and “whom” and you are sure to be the center of attention, at least briefly. If you thought the “who” in the previous sentence should have been a “whom,” you are not alone. 

Let’s review.

My test for the correct use of “who” or “whom” in a relative clause—“who I know will use it judiciously”—is to recast the clause as a complete sentence, assigning a temporary personal pronoun to the relative pronoun “who/whom.” “I know she will use it”? Or “I know her will use it”? No native speaker of English who has outgrown baby talk would say “her will use it.” The correct choice is clearly “she”: “I know she will use it judiciously.” 

If the pronoun that fits is in the nominative case, acting as the subject (“I,” “you,” “he,” “she,” “it,” “we,” “you,” “they”), 

then the relative pronoun  should also be in the nominative case: “who I know will use it judiciously.” Yay! I got it right.

Suppose I had written that I turned over the comma shaker to a colleague who I have known for years. Recast the relative clause as a complete sentence with a personal pronoun: 

“I have known she for years”? 

Or “I have known her for years”? 

This time the correct choice is “her,” which is in the objective case (“me,” “you,” “him,” “her,” “us,” “you,” “them”); 

therefore the relative pronoun should be in the objective case (“whom”). 

I should have written, “I turned over the comma shaker to a colleague whom I have known for years.” Boo! I got it wrong.

But here’s the rub: if I wrote “who” instead of “whom” here, nobody would care. A “who” for a “whom” is much more grammatically acceptable than a “whom” for a “who,” which sticks to your shoe like something you stepped in that was not just mud under slippery leaves in the dog run. I could finesse the whole issue by writing that I turned over the comma shaker to a colleague I have known for years, doing without the relative pronoun, and nobody would miss it.

So why do we need this aggravation? Does civilization depend on the proper use of “who” and “whom”? Let’s steel ourselves for a closer look.

From the issue of October 15, 2018: “Mark Judge, whom Ford says watched Kavanaugh pin her down . . .” One sees the problem immediately: the context is so sordid that it is impossible to look past it to the syntax! The same is true of an example from the issue of June 4 & 11, 2018: “A woman in California called the police on three black women whom she thought were behaving suspiciously.” The content of the sentences—misogyny, racism, racism and misogyny—is so disheartening that one loses the will to examine the form. And yet it must be done: “Ford says he watched”; “who Ford says watched.” “She thought they were behaving suspiciously”; “who she thought were behaving suspiciously.” Happy Thanksgiving.

A few copy editors have proposed a radical solution to the “who/whom” problem: kill off the “whom.” Emmy J. Favilla, who formerly headed up the copy department for BuzzFeed, titled her 2017 style guide “A World Without ‘Whom,’ ” and David Marsh, the former production editor of the Guardian, called his 2013 book on language “For Who the Bell Tolls.” Both are clever titles, making jokes at the expense of “whom” while exploiting its negative capability. But the writers have a point: if we just used “who,” we would never misuse “whom.” In this way we would hasten the departure of “whom,” which linguists predict will go the way of “thou” and “thine” any century now.

And yet there are those who believe in “whom” and wish to see it used correctly. June Casagrande, a prolific writer on grammar and usage, devotes a special section of her new book, “The Joy of Syntax,” to “Common Mistakes with Whom and Whomever,” and Bryan Garner, the closest thing we have in our time to a reincarnation of H. W. Fowler, devotes a column in the third edition of his Modern American Usage to instances of what he calls “the nominative whom.” (I know there is a fourth edition, but I find the third more manageable to read in bed.) Most of the specimen sentences are from newspapers—the Rocky Mountain News, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Washington Post, the L.A. Times, the Minneapolis Star Tribune—though one is from a novel by the famously erudite William F. Buckley, Jr. The “who/whom” error is especially common in journalism because reporting, getting behind the news, often involves paraphrasing speech and attributing thoughts and feelings: “she thought,” “he said,” “they suspected” are locutions that occur frequently in news stories and to which readers and writers must be alert, because they introduce an object—whatever it is that a source thought, said, or suspected—in the form of a clause with its own syntax.

Here is a sentence (edited for length) from the Op-Ed page of the Times: “The true test of our compassion and grit will be in the coming months and years when the fate of the most vulnerable—who we’ve always known would be most affected by climate change—will be largely in our hands.” Here, too, the context of the sentence is alarming—the wildfire that destroyed Paradise, California—but “who” is correct. Some might be tempted to use “whom” because the antecedent (“the most vulnerable”) is the object of a preposition (“of”), but the relative clause has its own syntax. “We’ve always known they would be most affected”; “who we’ve always known would be most affected.”

I have been avoiding this subject for months, because of an overwhelming feeling that in the current climate, actual and political, no one cares. But we have come to a sorry state when the news itself discourages us from caring about the way it’s conveyed. A while back, I read a piece in the Oregonian about the state librarian, a woman who was getting fired—or, if you prefer, a woman whom the governor of Oregon was letting go—apparently for taking too long to finish some project. She had the support of her fellow-librarians, but government officials had grown impatient with her. After a debate in the state legislature, one state senator voted against the library’s budget, but not because he had anything against the librarian. The article concluded, chillingly, “He voted on ideological grounds that he doesn’t see a need for the State Library to exist, he said.” This is exactly the attitude we’re up against. Why do we need to keep “whom” on the job if it is not performing effectively? Rather than inquire into its virtues or lack of them, let’s get rid of grammar completely! A fable for our times.

So does civilization depend on the vulnerable “whom”? Yes. No matter how bad the news, we must not stop caring. To paraphrase Carson, the butler on “Downton Abbey,” “Keeping up standards is the only way to show the bastards that they will not beat us in the end.”

[turnertimeline]

Meet the Turners: Continued

Collection: Tim and Annie, Turner Family

Year: 1965

Characters: Timothy Turner, Annette Thompson, Shelagh Turner, Patrick Turner

Content Warnings: none

Rating: K

Style: Prose

Summary: Some conversations during the evening when Tim takes Annie to Poplar.

Shelagh sighs and smiles sadly. She takes Tim's hand in hers again and squeezes gently. "She's pregnant. The father isn't in the picture anymore. He hit her. They went to tell her parents. They told her not to come back." Shelagh's voice is quiet, and Patrick can hear the banked fury in her voice.

Patrick sits there for a moment in shocked silence.

"She's my best friend, Dad. I didn't know what else to do after we left her parent's. They were so horrible to her"

Patrick moves to sit next to him on the sofa and pulls him into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you. Of course she's always welcome here. Anything we can do to help."

"I said I'd marry her." Tim says quietly, looking down at his hands.

"Oh Tim." Shelagh kisses his hair. "What did she say?"

"That we both deserve better. She doesn't want me to resent her. Doesn't want to be an obligation. And I mean, I get it. And I told her that no matter what, I'll still be there for her."

"And so will we," Patrick replies, voice firm and purposeful. "Always."

Shelagh nods and squeezes his shoulders. "I'll go and see if I have a nightgown she can borrow."

Shelagh gets up and goes upstairs leaving Patrick and Tim alone.

Tim sighs and lies down in Patrick's lap for the first time in a few years. It's just... Comforting

Patrick runs his hand through Tim's hair. "I am proud of you son"

Tim looks up at him. He looks so young. "You are?"

"Of course I am. You are sticking by your friend in an incredibly difficult situation."

"Being willing to raise a child as your own, that's commendable Timothy. And I'm very proud of you."

Upstairs, Shelagh was leaning against the door frame to watch Annette and Angela.

Angela is almost asleep. She's holding Annette's hand as she falls asleep, making a few little noises as she blinks slowly and drops off. Annette is just... watching and smiling

Annette sees Shelagh in the doorway and stands up slowly so she doesn't wake Angela.

"Your children are absolutely precious." Annette said quietly.

"Thank you." Shelagh smiles. "Come on, I should have a nightgown that will fit you and I can show you Tim's room."

"Oh, no, I don't want to put you to any trouble..." Annette says anxious and follows her out of the room

"Nonsense." Shelagh teasingly scolds her. "You're no trouble at all."

Annette blushes and follows her and stands in the doorway of the bedroom and gasps when Shelagh opens her closet. "Oh Mrs Turner! Your dresses..."

Shelagh smiles "A friend who owns a shop in Poplar makes wonderful dresses." Going through her dresser she pulls out a nightgown that would most likely fit Annette. Even if it was a little short seeing as there was a good 5 inches different in their height.

Annette takes it from her carefully and runs her fingers over the material. "Thank you so much, Mrs Turner. You've been too kind."

"Please, call me Shelagh. You're a friend of Tim's so you're part of the family. Tim's room is just down the hall."

She blushes and nods. "Thank you, Shelagh." She pushes the door open to Tim's room and looks around. Curious.

She walks around the room, and smiles at the things Tim has collected over his life.

"Shelagh? I'm scared."

She goes over to take her hands. "I was, too. And you have so much to worry about. It's okay to be scared."

"But you'll be okay. You have Tim, and us. I can set you up for clinic, if you need?"

"You were scared?" Annette can hardly believe someone as together as Shelagh would be scared. "And that would be wonderful. Tim’s told me about it.”

“Yes, I was scared. Scared about what might go wrong... how I would cope ... I was older than the average when I had my first. And a little scared what people was think - I used to be a nun." Shelagh tells her.

Annette's eyes nearly pop out of her head. "I always thought Tim was joking about that." She sits down on the bed, the nightgown still in her hands.

Shelagh laughs. "he does like to joke about it. But yes, I was a nun. And I stopped being a nun because I met Patrick. God wanted another life for me."

"And I loved them - Patrick and Timothy."

"I can see how much you love them, and how much they love you. Your family is so warm. I wish my parents were half as accepting as you are."

Shelagh smiles sadly. "I wish they were, too. Its hard work, to build a family this warm... but it's worth it. It ... we're lucky to have what we have."

Shelagh sits down next to her, "All you can do is hope, and pray, that some day, they'll come around and see how precious your child is."

Annette leans into her shoulder. "I hope so."

She sighs and tries not to cry "I don't think they really will though. I've never seen them as mad as they were."

Shelagh is quiet. "Sometimes anger burns brightly at fades. Or a baby puts it out...Either way. You're not alone. The last time I saw my parents they had shouted at me for wanting to join the Order."

"Really? Why would that have been a bad thing? Wouldn't they be proud of you for devoting your life to God?"

"You'd think," Shelagh says with a smile. "But they wanted to be able to tell their friends, this is my daughter and her respectable husband. Midwifery wasn't exactly the most respectable career at the time."

"My parents wanted that too. They thought Kenneth was respectable. I thought he was too at first. " Annette shakes her head to clear the thoughts. "Tim's told me that everyone in Poplar respects the midwives and nurses more than than they do the hospital doctors"

"That's very true. But my parents were not very supportive, especially since it involved moving to a different country."

Shelagh joins her on Tim's bed. "I know it is not the same. But I lost my parents young due to a decision they didn't agree with."

Annette smiles. "Thank you. It's good to know I'm not on my own. It kind of feels like that ..."

Shelagh pats Annette on the leg. " Just remember that you're not. You are always welcome here if you need to talk. Now let's go make sure Patrick and Tim haven't fallen asleep on the couch."

Annette laughs softly and nods. "Okay."

Tim is still lying with his head in Patrick's lap when they come downstairs and he doesn't move

Patrik is carding his fingers through his hair and looks up with a soft smile

"Hello, girls."

Annette is struck by how Tim, an adult. A male adult. Is lying with his head in his father's lap.

Yes. And Patrick's easy affection. The he's being allowed to act like this - like it might even be actively encouraged

He's not being scolded to man up, or to stop embarrassing them, or to stop being so childish, whatever bullshit she might have expected in this situation

Shelagh leads Annette over to the other sofa. "Do you need to be back for a certain time tomorrow? I'd like to get Annette signed up for clinic."

Tim sits up and shakes his head. "No, I have a class in the late morning that won't miss me if I'm not there."

Shelagh gives him a look of slight disapproval but he just shrugs at her. "it's not a core class and I haven't gotten anything lower than an A on any test."

"I have a late afternoon class. But can miss it as well. This is more important than a degree I won't be getting." Annette tells them. She realizes it's pessimistic. But it's true

Patrick frowns and opens his mouth but stops when Shelagh shakes his head. Annette doesn't need to hear his rants about how unfair academia is to young women, etc. etc.

Not right now, anyway

"Perfect. I'm sure we can freshen your dress up a little in the morning too, Annette."

"Patrick, why don't we go on upstairs for the evening and let these two have space to talk." Shelagh starts back over to the stairs.

Patrick scoffs playfully and gets up to follow Shelagh, leaning into her and kissing the top of her head when he reaches her. It's such a familiar gesture to Tim he barely even blinks.

"Goodnight. Annette, please help yourself to anything you might need."

"Thank you." Annette says quietly

"g'night mum, dad. Love you." Tim calls after them as they head upstairs.

A returned chorus of I love you is heard.

Tim turns to talk to Annette on the sofa and finds her looking shocked. She has never heard her family shouting I love yous like that, except maybe for Janie to her

"Tim..... Your family is amazing. I can't thank you enough for bringing me here.". Annette looks up at him, tears in her eyes.

God, she has cried so much today

Tim pulls her into a tight hug. "Yeah, they're pretty awesome. I knew they would be. I'm so lucky."

He can still sort of remember what it was like after his Mum died and before Shelagh joined them

"It took them awhile to find each other. And admit that they loved each other. That took even longer. But they're happy. And love each other. And they love me, and my siblings."

Annette doesn't move from his hug, so they stay like that. It's comforting.

"I don't know if my parents love each other. Maybe they did once. But they've never been like that. So in sync with the other."

"It took time," Tim says quietly. "They fought. Sometimes things are tense. But... they talk about it. And they never doubt they love each other. Or me."

Annette sits back against the couch and places her hand on her belly. "That's what I want for my baby. I never want him, or her, to feel like I don't love them."

"They will always know. If you tell them, they'll know." He puts his hand on her knee

She wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm scared that I don't know how to do this. And and your mom is wonderful and she said she help if I have questions. But I don't want to be a burd-" Tim stops her before she can finish.

"I've already told you, Mum has taken you in. There is no way Shelagh Turner is going to let you do any of this alone. You're hers now. And she's stubborn. I wouldn't argue with her."

Tim laughs at the look on Annette's face. She's still not really getting what it means that she's now Shelagh's.

"Who do you think taught me to throw a punch? Or cook? Mum had adopted me and Dad long before they realised they loved each other. She takes care of those she thinks of as hers."

"She told me that she left the order because she loved you and your dad. That God had a different plan for her. I'm so glad she did. Because as sure as I am that you would have been wonderful no matter what, I can see her influence in you."

In that moment so many things rush through Annette's mind. Her feelings for Tim are deeper than they should be. She's scolding herself for turning down his proposal, he'd be a wonderful and loving husband and father.

And she really wants to kiss him. But she cant. And she's not sure if these feelings are real or because of the situation.

Maybe theyre just because he's being so kind and she's so frightened and lonely feelings

Tim grins. He looks pleased. "I'm glad. I'm glad I remind people of her. I'm glad people will see me as her son."

Tim tells her about when he had polio and how she wasn't allowed to stay with him because she wasn't his mother, and not yet married to his Dad.

Annette can't imagine how much that had to have hurt. Not just Tim but Shelagh too.

As soon as he was conscious and could talk he asked for her.

"Your mum gives me hope that maybe I'll find someone who loves my child as much as she loves you."

She doesn't realize that she's already found him.

"Of course you will."

"There's so much love in the world just waiting for somewhere to go."

[ruffoverthinksthings]

God Loves You, Which Is Why You’ll Burn In Hell (Part 2): A “Good, Christian Child,” Claudine Frollo Is Not

All Frollo ever truly wanted from his daughter was for her to become a “good, Christian child” in the midst of all the sin, the debauchery, and the faithlessness that is life on the Isle of the Lost.

As mentioned in part 1, Claudine Frollo was the product of a very brief, tumultuous marriage between Frollo and a woman whose name is lost to time and even his memory, whom he only ever refers to as “Not Esmerelda.”

Even more so than the other VKs, the deck was stacked heavily against Claudine: the infamy Frollo had already accrued over the past four years and the overzealous behaviour of his flock made her a social pariah by association, the strict and rigid standards for good behaviour imposed on her were even more inflexible than her peers’ and the punishment all the more severe, and the fact that the parents of everyone else were praising them for sinning, misbehaving, and generally being very bad, un-Christian like children made for a very difficult life.

But still, she persisted, abstaining from pranks and parties, casual kissing and cruelty, stealing and sex (the sinful, pre-marital kind), being bullied, picked on, and victimized relentlessly, but never lashing back, always taking her lot in life with a smile, comforting herself at night with prayers and the thought that when Judgment day comes, she will be taken away from this Hell and to an eternal Paradise.

Unlike the rest of the Isle parents, Frollo also loved her truly, supporting her, praising her, and doing his damndest to care for her despite his ever failing health and the fact that the Isle was not kind to such “pure, holy people” as them.

Then, puberty came, and all of that went into a hand-basket headed straight down.

The problems all started when Claudine got her first period, and Frollo insisted that she had to deal with her “private shame” all by herself, while also reminding her about all the many things she couldn’t do whenever she was “unclean.”

Her body began to change, from a little cherubic angel to a devilish succubus in the making, and Frollo began to rant and beg her to cover up lest she unwittingly lead others to temptation, or rile up the “slavering dogs” (teenage boys, and some of the girls) even more than they usually are—never mind that Claudine could literally cover herself head to toe in a sack, and Frollo would still complain that her “piercing eyes” were still too much temptation.

New, confusing, interesting but dangerous feelings started to stir inside of her, and the only things she got from Frollo were violent, fiery admonitions that she ever let herself be overcome by such temptation, before being ordered to pray to God for mercy, that through His divine will she may become stronger and overcome the shortcomings of her flawed, mortal body.

And things sure didn’t improve when she confessed she was feeling them for girls, not boys.

Still, Claudine persisted, refusing the advances and temptation of her peers, dedicating so much time to patching up and sewing clothes to make sure she was covering up where everyone else was starting to intentionally bear more and more skin than usual, and continuing her nightly prayers, though they were now recited while she scrubbed menstrual blood off everything she owned, and cleaning the things she had turned “unclean.”

It was around this time that the little, obedient girl was starting to question her faith, all the things Frollo had told her were true and infallible, of the value of eternal Paradise some far-off, vague time in the future when God declared her stay on this plane over, VS earthly pleasures now that everyone else was enjoying and seeking.

Still, she trusted her father, her faith, and God more than anything else.

So inspired was Frollo by his daughter’s devotion amidst this tumultuous time that he started a convent, a section of his church renovated and dedicated to the proper education of the young girls of the Isle, so they may know how to serve God for the rest of their lives, or become good, Christian wives to the wholesome men they would find in the future.

(The boys were on their own; in his wisdom as a man himself, Frollo declared them truly lost causes that was beyond even Saint Jude.)

Never mind that the prayer services Claudine was assisting with was oftentimes an extra hour to nap, or gossip in the pews. Never mind that her fellow “nuns” were constantly sneaking out, partying, and staying long enough to sleep and enjoy a free breakfast before going straight back to sinning. Never mind that within the walls of the holy ground, sacrilegious things were happening between the other girls who found they weren’t very interested in boys, like the Good Book said they were supposed to be.

Then along came CJ, the herald of the beginning of the end.

Frollo had never liked CJ, thinking her the worst of Hook’s children, the very epitome of everything that is wrong with the Isle, all the sin, the evil, and the selfishness of the world given form as a teenaged girl—and for the few times in her life, CJ actually sincerely thanked someone for saying that.

Claudine didn’t either, thinking her her ultimate project, what was going to be the true test of her faith, the one thing that would prove to herself and everyone on the Isle that God was Great, God was Good, God was Almighty, that she would convert this wild child going around serving no one but herself, bring her to the light and the joy of serving God and others.

Never mind all the “unholy” things CJ had initiated and that she went along with, flawed as she was and prone to temptation.

Never mind that the “lies” coming from her mouth were starting to sound more true than anything Frollo had ever told her—though her growing suspicions that he was turning senile might have been part of that.

Never mind that for all the “wrong” feelings she had for her felt—as the cliché went—so right.

The convent dwindled, until it was just the two of them plus a handful of the children of Frollo’s flock. Suddenly there were no services to distract herself with, no other people to try and save and get a break from CJ, no excuses for not seeing her and interacting with her. No busying herself and avoiding all the things she’d tried not to think, tried not to feel, the things she prayed and prayed to God to please take away, that she’d listed when she asked if she’d already suffered enough, that He thought she should still endure as part of her “test.”

All of it came to a head in the storeroom of the convent, where CJ had finally managed to break into the locked cabinet containing the (tarnished, but still) silver candlesticks Frollo had lent for the convent’s services.

“Put those back,” Claudine growled.

CJ chuckled as she casually stuffed the sacred artifacts down her dress, along with her other ill-gotten treasures. “Why? Going to tell me off to Father Frollo? Ooh, ooh, oh wait: I’m going to incite the wrath of the Big Man Upstairs, and He’s going to strike me dead where I stand, isn’t He?!”

Claudine’s scowl grew deeper as CJ threw her head back and laughed. “CJ, I have been patient with you all this time, spending all of my precious time and effort, trying my damndest to save your soul--”

“And why have you been doing all this, exactly?” CJ asked. “It’s definitely not because I won’t make-out with you if you weren’t all high and holy on me, though I must admit, the Old Boys talking about the joys of making women of the cloth ‘fall into temptation’ certainly had it right~” she said, licking her lips.

Claudine blushed. “Is it really so unbelievable to you that I just want to save your soul, CJ?”

“Yes, actually, considering we’re all damned here!” CJ replied. “Have you looked around you, Claudine, or have you just been blind all this time and none of us have noticed? We’re the dregs of Auradon, their forsaken, their outcasts—we have literally been cast out to die and rot in our own filth just because their Big Guy Upstairs decided we didn’t belong in their world.”

“That was King Beast, not God!” Claudine said, fuming and shaking now.

“God, Beast, what’s the difference?” CJ asked. “They’re both powerful men who just decide on a whim who lives a luxurious, comfortable life and who deserves to suffer and struggle, reassuring the former that they did something to deserve it, and the latter that if they obey, don’t complain until the day they die, and keep on praying and praising them and calling them the Best Thing Ever for all of eternity, they’ll go to some magical place where everything is all well and good.

“Oh, what’s that, you say? You can’t see this Paradise? No one knows for sure if it exists, because you have to die naturally to go there, and no one that’s ever died has ever returned to tell us mortals about how great and how worth it is, because Paradise is just that good, so we have to rely on wrinkly old men in dresses asking us to believe them when they say it is?”

CJ scowled. “Admit it, Claudine, this is all because of your father, isn’t it?”

Claudine had no words, only unintelligible fuming and sputtering.

“He’ll never love you like he did when you were still his ‘sweet little angel,’ Claudine,” CJ said flatly. “Look at yourself: you’re just like that ‘Esmeralda’ woman he despises and hungers for so much, temptation on legs—and I should know! Do you really think that if you try hard enough, that if you pray hard enough, that if you rely on that ‘God’ of yours to swoop down and use His ‘mysterious magical powers’ on you that it will change the fact that you’re going to get fucked every single day, and not in the fun sense?

“Your fate was sealed when you were born a girl, Claudine.”

Claudine stared at her, her hands balled into fists, her knuckles white and her nails digging into her palms, already starting to draw blood.

“What’s going on down there?!” Frollo cried.

CJ sighed. “Well, fuck, there goes my nice, clean escape plan!” she said as she picked up a box of matches on the side. “I hope you’re happy, Claudine, you’re directly responsible for what’s about to happen.”

Claudine blinked. “Wait—what in God’s name are you doing?!”

CJ’s eyes twinkled like the lit head of the match in her hand. “Making myself a distraction, is what~!”

She flicked it onto the meticulously dried and cleaned cloths for the altar.

Frollo’s convent burned that day, that section of his church rendered permanently uninhabitable for the acrid stench, the collapsed brickwork, and the superstition surrounding that forced his flock into inaction.

Claudine herself barely escaped the flames, screaming like a banshee as her long hair and her ankle-length skirt had caught fire.

They say the old her died there, burned to death and reborn anew in the ashes, for the very next day, the Isle saw a very different Claudine Frollo:

One with her formerly long, luxurious locks savagely cut short into a bob; the foulest and filthiest of words coming from her mouth, almost always taking the Lord’s name in vain; and all too eager to drink, smoke, and fuck till her body gave out.

She still wore a long, white coat, pristine and pure by the Isle’s standards, but once she’s out of sight from her church and her home, she sheds it to reveal a shirt a size too small and the top row of buttons conspicuously undone; a plaid skirt from Auradon’s many academies, cut dangerously, scandalously short; and high, spiked heels that force her to sway her hips with every step.

Frollo still believes Claudine is a good, Christian child like he always wanted her to be, unfailing in his support of her in spite of the evidence, always assuming the best of her, and the worst of everyone else, “sinners, sycophants, and heathens that they are.”

But everyone else knows the truth.