#The fucking art stream was so exhausting but at least I got my cut

[theglizzardwizard]

Love when that happens

[riversandwinds]

kiss it better?

a/n: hi hi hi! this is my very first fic, I’ve never written anything before so we’ll see how this goes. please be nice, tell me if you hate it xx ! also I got fed up with autocorrect changing y/n to yen so I just gave her a name 😭

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

summary: Being an art student, Amara’s life gets so stressful around finals week. When everything starts to go downhill, Chris is there to fight with her, and maybe even kiss it better afterwards.

warnings: swearing, angst (happy ending), kissing, not really anything else except for female rage lmfao, no use of y/n

word count: 1.7k-ish

Not proofread 🤓

lots of love ~ Rivvie

What better way to start your day off than with a whole lot of chaos. Amara was jolted awake by the alarm clock’s incessant beeping slicing through her and Chris’s quiet room. Sitting up, her face paled as she saw the time, seeing that she slept through her morning lecture. Panic surged through her, immediately throwing the covers off and shooting up out of bed (much to Chris’s very audible disappointment). She grabbed random pieces of her closet off the floor in a frantic rush, barely managing to get out the door fully clothed with a “Byeloveyousomuchpleasecleanthehouse!”. (She forgot her glasses, then her phone, then her bag, making her run back to their room 3 more times.)

Shouting her final goodbye to Chris, she could feel her phone all but explode in her pocket. She was too disoriented to focus on the messages, so she ignored it, figuring it was just a random group chat. She sprinted through the commons, finally checking her phone after deciding she didn’t care enough to make it to the lecture hall.

lindsey manager (🫥)

sarah no-showed. need you to fill in today asap.

???

amara hello

Of-fucking-course, Amara thought to herself. With a huff, she turned on her heel, making her way to the campus coffee shop. I don’t even have my work clothes, God hates me.

At work, the hours dragged by as she endured her manager’s endless complaints. “You’re late, Amara, hurry up.”, “Where the hell is your uniform?”, “No, you’re not doing it right-“

The poor girl was on edge, to say the least. Her late start didn’t help, either, as she didn’t have any time to grab food from their dorm. She was barely able to handle her hunger as she worked through her shift, her empty stomach cramping by the time her shift was done. She clocked out, silently cursing Lindsey, the shop, and every customer who walked in during her shift.

As exhausted as she was, she called her professor as she was walking out, booking the ceramics room for a few hours. Finals were quickly approaching, and her clay tea set was only partially finished. She headed to the studio, hoping to make at least a little progress on her project and make up for lost time.

Her day only continued to spiral. She’d been in the studio for all but 20 minutes before she wanted to destroy the Earth entirely. As she was leaving the kiln room, tray full of breakables in hand, the door next to her flung open, slamming into her. Not only did it: A) Slam her glasses into the bridge if her nose, cutting her face, but it B) sent her entire tea set to the ground, shattering into thousands of tiny clay shards. Amara’s world collapsed in that moment. Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the wreckage, unable to muster the strength to pick up the fragments. With a choked sob, she grabbed her bag and fled the studio, feeling the weight of her disastrous day press down on her.

Stumbling into her apartment, she hoped for just a semblance of order. But the sight of the messy living room—pizza boxes, crumpled papers, clothes everywhere—made her heart sink even lower. She dropped her bag and collapsed to her knees, her body shaking with a mix of exhaustion and frustration.

“A-are you kidding me?” Amara’s voice cracked as she shouted, her frustration pouring out uncontrollably. “I’ve had the worst day- oh god… I missed my lecture, got screamed at at work, my project is destroyed, and now this mess? I can’t do this-”

Chris, complete with an Xbox controller and a headset, emerged from their room with wide eyes. He froze, his mouth slightly open in surprise as he took in his girlfriend’s state. “Baby, woah, what’s going on?” He set the controller aside and stood next to Amara, honestly a little confused. “Why the meltdown?”

Wrong choice of words, clearly, as her red, tear-filled eyes snapped to his, going wide.

“Why the meltdown?” Amara exploded, her voice rising in volume as she began to frantically clean up the mess. “Because today has been a fucking wreck! I asked you to pick up a little, just a little, Chris! A-and you couldn’t even manage that! I come home to- to this after the worst day of my life, and you’re just sitting here playing games!”

Chris blinked, taken aback by her outburst. “Mar, calm down. It’s not that big of a deal. I was going to clean up, but I got sidetracked. It’s not like—” he bends down to pull Amara off the floor, but retracts when she spits out her response.

“It’s not like what?” she snapped, angry tears streaming down her face. “It’s not like it matters to you? You think I can just handle everything on my own while you sit at home and do nothing? I’m at my breaking point, and all I wanted was the trash off the floor!”

Chris’s eyes widened, his initial nonchalance giving way to frustration. “Hey, I didn’t make your day go bad. I get that you’re upset, but yelling at me isn’t going to fix anything. I’m just trying to understand here!”

Amara’s anger reached its peak. She stood up, maniacally grabbing all of the dirty cups and pieces of trash, stomping to the kitchen to deal with it. “You think I’m yelling just for fun? You have no idea what my day was like! I’ve been on the edge all day, and instead of coming home to something decent, our house is a disaster and you don’t even seem to care!” Throwing her now empty hands up, she lets out a choked cry, pushing past Chris to enter their bedroom.

After seeing Amara sobbing and slamming the door to their room, Chris’s demeanor shifted dramatically. He stood in the living room, the weight of her words sinking in. With a deep sigh, he started cleaning up the mess with a quiet guilt, his movements deliberate and focused. He managed to tidy up the living room, stopping to order Amara’s favorite takeout. He grabbed the blankets from the closet, setting up the couch and scrolling Amazon Prime for a movie to rent. (He eventually settled on Barbie Princess Charm School, figuring it would appease Amara.)

Around 30 minutes later, when Amara emerged from the room, she was met with a surprisingly clean space and the comforting aroma of her favorite food. Chris looked up from arranging the food on the coffee table, his face softening as he saw her. “Look, sweetheart, I’m really sorry. I didn’t realize the house was this bad,” he said, his tone earnest. “I thought I could fix it.”

Amara’s anger dissipated as she took in the scene. “Chris, I—” she started, her voice wobbling with her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I was just... overwhelmed.”

Chris walked over and pulled her into his chest, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “I get it now. I’m sorry you had such an awful day, Ma.” She shrugged, pressing a kiss to his chest.

Spontaneously-DoorDashed desert arrived around ten minutes later, to which Amara all but inhaled while she focused on the movie in front of her. After almost dosing off for the third time, Chris paused the movie, brushing hair out of Amara’s exhausted face.

“Time for bed, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up, huh?” Chris said, pulling a whiny Amara up from the couch, leading her to their room.

He first took care of the little cut on her nose, placing a small kiss over it when he was done. After she was undressed and her hair was brushed, he helped her into the shower, his touch gentle as he guided her through the calming process. While she was in the shower, Chris busied himself tidying up the rest of the apartment, clearing up their dinner and putting up the clean dishes in the kitchen.

When Amara emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, refreshed and feeling a bit more centered, she found Chris remaking their bed, having switched out their sheets for clean ones. The room was now a haven of comfort, with soft lighting and the faint sound of the unpaused Barbie movie playing in the background. The big lights were off, the room illuminated by the soft string lights on the wall.

“God, Chris,” Amara said, her voice filled with appreciation. “This looks amazing. Thank you for cleaning, baby. I’m sorry I yelled at you over it…” she pouted slightly.

Chris smiled softly. “I know I messed up, and I’m sorry for being kinda useless. I figured this might help some more.”

He reached out and grabbed her in a bear hug, resting his chin on her head. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We all have rough days, and I should have been more understanding. I’m just glad we can talk things out and make them better.” He pulled back to kiss between her eyebrows, the tip of her nose, and a soft peck on her lips, smoothing her hair down with his hands.

He helped her get dressed, slipping a sleep shirt over her head and sliding her underwear and shorts up her legs, kissing her knee with a grin. Amara appreciated his efforts, feeling the weight of her stress lift with each passing moment.

After a few minutes, and a few yawns from both parties, Chris turned off the string lights and the tv, declaring it was bedtime. They climbed into their newly-made bed, snuggling up under the comforter. Chris wrapped his arms around Amara, pulling her close as she rested her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the comfort of being understood.

“I really do love you, you know,” Amara said softly, her sincere voice filling the dark room. “Thank you for kissing it better, Chris.”

Chris kissed her forehead gently. “Always, and I love you too, pretty girl. I’ll do better next time, pinky promise.”

As the sleepy mumbling played on, they remained in each other’s arms, the earlier turmoil of the day replaced by a sense of peace and safety.

Finally settling into a comfortable silence, Amara felt her eyelids get heavy. She yawned, pressing into Chris who kissed her forehead with a hum. She relaxed into Chris’s embrace, feeling like a precious stone in the hands of a jeweler. They drifted off, Chris’s immediate snoring lulling Amara to sleep with a lovesick grin on her lips.

──⭒─⭑─⭒────⭒─⭑─⭒──

tags: @her-favorite (u the only one bb 🌝)

[youreacroftlara]

I’m fairly new to the Warrior Nun family, but this announcement has really boiled my piss.

Last year I heard about season 2’s release and the Avatrice kiss and I was pretty intrigued to watch. But before I could, it was cancelled. After years of suffering through Supergirl and being queerbated left right and centre with Kara and Lena, I figured I didn’t wanna go through the pain of watching a story only for the ending to be cut short and never continued. So I never watched WN…up until I heard that it was saved.

Because I knew there was a possibility that this story would be continued, I decided to watch WN. And of course, I fell in deep - binge watching the series within two days. Safe to say, Avatrice and the other characters have all taken a special place in my heart. I, like many other members of the fandom, was looking forward to seeing what was in store.

So when the triology announcement came out, with no participation from Simon, Amy, Alba or KTY, I wasn’t phased. Before I’d sort of hoped maybe the likes of BBC or another UK studio such as Film 4 had taken the reigns (and not hollywood/amazon or other streaming platforms). The writer/actor strike seemed to be the cause, so I wasn’t worried. Plus, the thought of THREE movies featuring our girls? I was stoked.

Then we got the email a few days ago. At first, I was excited- the writers strike had just ended, so maybe Simon and co. were going to speak? I was at least hoping there’d be more detail on the plot etc. and then Simon posted that tweet. And it all snowballed with the other writers and my heart just sank.

Tried to stay positive, but it’s pretty hard to do when the show’s writers are all saying they know nothing about it. So I went to bed last night (I’m in the UK) praying we’d wake up to good news.

How fucking wrong was I.

This contest is just a huge slap in the face of not only us fans, but artists, writers and actors on the original show. The T&Cs basically state that whoever wins will get their art abused and exploited for the next FIVE YEARS in return for what? A sketch? Pfffft please. Have you learnt nothing from the writers/actors strike at all?!

The worrying thing is what this contest signifies…the producers of this movie clearly don’t have the rights to the Netflix show that we all love. Hence no Simon, hence no announcement on the actors and hence the shitty attempt to get fans to do the hard work for them and design a new Halo.

It really is a joke. If the new producers are reading this, please do better. Engage with the fandom….and for the love of god, get SIMON BARRY on your team.

I don’t know what else to say other than this is exhausting for us fans - and this is coming from someone who didn’t get a chance to get involved in the fight to save WN at the beginning of the year!

Let’s just hope I’m proved wrong and that the movies will be what we hoped.

(P.S. also, please fire Perfectly Productive Media from all your future web copy/media relations - as a copywriter I can say that the countdown pages they’ve produced are 💩)

[mokutone]

yo i would love to hear some of ur trans yam headcanons :) (also ps ur art is breathtaking and whenever i see it reblogged on my dash i always come here anyway to read ur tags bc they r so! good!)

thank u 🥺🥺🥺 god im sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for a couple days ksdjghsdkjgh not only have i got a LOT of thoughts to put here (this is only a selection of the bigger thoughts skdjghsdkjhg) i was also super busy the past few days!!!! ty for ur patience, ur compliments, and for inviting me to ramble abt my favorite guy!

maybe the one constant in all trans people is just like. our decision to intentionally and purposefully create ourselves, to forced into an identity by outside forces and to turn away from it in search of something else, and that’s ultimately what makes captain yamato read as a trans character to me! He goes through so many identities, and they are meaningful to him, but you can also clearly tell that he’s searching for something that really fits him.

I don’t really have a lot of firm thoughts on what his specific identity would be, I’ve seen some great nonbinary yams, some lovely genderfluid yams, trans guy yams, there’s a great variety and i delight in them all! 

I tend to imagine him as transmasculine and nonbinary but male aligned (which means he’d feel at least a partial connection to or comfort with masculinity) and while there are a bunch of labels for this experience of gender (demiboy, bigender, etc etc) i don’t see him as somebody who would use any specific labels, I feel like he’d keep his own experience of his gender fairly private! He’d prefer and be fine with masculine-coded terms of address, and happy enough passing as a guy.

AHH and on names...

I think Kinoe is the only name that I really see as like. a genuine deadname. It’s a name that means “The First” to my understanding, and so like, probably refers to him having the genetics of the first. Therefore, it’s kind of. literally a name referring to him as his biology...boy thats as deadname as it gets, huh? kill that shit and also danzō

Tenzō is also a name thats given to him, but to my understanding (all I know about the anbu arc is picked up thru osmosis lol) it’s a name that’s given to him twice, with affection. Once from Yukimi, who sees him as her brother (not a vessel for the first hokage’s powers, probably for the first time ever—even if it’s still another person’s name) He takes the name, gladly! Unfortunately danzō. anyway,

Later, when he starts to introduce himself to the non-root Anbu as Kinoe, Kakashi cuts him off and names him to the anbu as Tenzō. To my understanding: it’s a name at rest, not a name for one singular mission, but a name for his entire time in Anbu. It’s the name he keeps the longest. Again, it’s a name that’s given to him to him by somebody else, but it’s one that is given with the intention to free him of Kinoe, and all that Kinoe had to be. 

(A note on him getting annoyed with Kakashi for calling him Tenzō in main-plot:

Most of this is of course based off of personal experience, but I find it hard to believe that he would actively dislike Tenzō as a name since it was given with such sweet intentions—most of my names have been gifts, and the only one I’ve actively taken out of rotation has been bc i cannot stand the person who used it, and the way it was used, and while Anbu was certainly bad for Yamato...I don’t think it was quite that bad. I think him telling Kakashi to stop calling him Tenzō has more to do with the use of it where it doesn’t belong—for example, while it’s not exactly a name, I am happy to be called “mokutone” here, and you may notice my friends calling me by another name, but if any of those friends called me mokutone in DMs, I would be bothered by that.)

Yamato starts off as an empty codename, given to him for the purposes of his team 7 mission by the Hokage, but I think it gets such a loving and warm association from just...using out in the sunlight, with these kids that he comes to think so fondly of (he’s such a dad. god. he’s such a fucking dad) and with the friends he makes going out drinking and actually having time to socialize—and that means a lot! I think Yamato is probably the name which becomes most meaningful and like a home to him by the end of the series. This is the active name, the name where he is most himself. It’s vital for him to have that space to grow into! 

But that said, I personally feel like, if he were to continue beyond the edges of the story, this would not be the final name he bears. He’s probably well aware that a single name cannot contain who he is, or who he wants to be, and while being Given a name can be a beautiful thing (like i said, most of my names are gifts! i treasure them.) I think that, for his character arc, I would like him to name himself at some point. Even if it’s a name that only exists for private spaces, I want him to complete that self determination, to at least try it out, even if ultimately Yamato is the name everyone else will know him by.

Physical Transition Stuff

i will confess i hurt to imagine these shinobi binding 😭😭 even if an individual is binding safely (well made binder, no more than 8 hours, AND No Physically Intense Activity) they stand to risk hurting themself! In real life we gotta balance out the physical pain and the pain of dysphoria, but this is naruto and I’m Gonna Play Some Headcanon Games!

If chakra is both a kind of spiritual energy as well as directly connected to the body (as we learned in the hyūga fight) then it stands to reason that by manipulating ones own chakra, they can manipulate the body, or at least the way the body changes (such as naruto’s healing factor) 

This probably is not the safest thing to do unless you’re a mednin or following the directions of one, LMAO

The second the hell of puberty started up for Tenzō he tried to hold it back by sheer force of willpower + chakra manipulation alone 

but, manually controlling one’s chakra is like trying to prevent a stream from flowing with your hands alone, which is to say: an exhausting uphill battle.

 He’d probably only be doing it on his down time and not on a mission, but even still the most I bet he could make it doing that without getting figured out is two months.

Luckily blockers are readily available, Tenzō just had no idea and, gender being a private experience for him, was trying to handle the whole thing entirely on his own. Soon after attempting to self-regulate hormones him-fucking-self like a very valid but desperate fool, he gets an appointment, gets a prescription, and can chill out and not have to be as hellishly aware of his body constantly.

 Konoha mednin will say trans rights even if the village itself is garbage, this series is so god damn weird already, nobody can tell me a ninja taking hormones is somehow weirder than a ninja taking his dead best friends genetic superpower eye.

TWO WEEKS, THREE SPARS, AND ONE VERY EMOTIONALLY DRAINING CONVERSATION LATER:

u might think kakashi is passing him a water bottle and they both look so exhausted bc its post spar but no. physically theyre fine, but the emotional toll of having to talk about something either of them care at all about? miracle they survived.

[katsukikitten]

Hi! 💋 What about a nsfw w/ bakugou where it’s Valentine’s & (quirkless) reader makes chocolates and leaves them at his work. However she forgets to leave her name so he throws them away thinking it’s from someone else. He tells her about the “anon” valentine and insults the gift.(Trying to show off his loyalty, the egoist). She cries and he,confused, goes to comfort her. When things get spicy he finds another gift under her dress. Bonus for 💕 lingerie & toys 🌹 rough Baku / quirk use 🍓cum.

Hello anon, HERE IS THE FINAL DAY OF THE EVENT. thank you to everyone who submitted. I may have energy for more I may not it really depends on my spastic ass. ENJOY!

Finally, after countless hours in the kitchen, it was done.

You step back admiring your work, the homemade box of chocolates has your own heart soaring, especially after you crafted your own molds. Intricate roses, peonies, and petunias stare back at you, petals painted in soft pastels of chocolates while the rest of the delicate square is either dark or all white chocolate.

This was one of the many times you were thankful your husband told you to stay home to work on your dream.

Your dream to be a test kitchen, to sell recipies, molds and chocolates. All sorts of things.

And it was helpful that your man was also willing to be your test subject most of the time. Today being Valentine's day was a bonus. You remove your apron, hanging it up by the kitchen door excitement thrumming through your blood as you smooth down his favorite dress you own.

The train ride seems to drag on for forever despite being only fifteen minutes away from the ominous building that scrapes the sky above you. Separating clouds as you spy his office window near the top floor.

"Stay out of my office got it?" His voice bites out to his secretary who is wearing an obnoxiously hoeish outfit. Bright red skin tight with a heart cut out over her breasts. Bakugou is annoyed with her normally what with her overly flirty behavior but is especially agitating today when he just wants to he home with you.

"Oh Bakugou-sama are you stepping to lunch. I could accompany..." Before she can even finish he looks over his shoulder with a deadly glare. So much so the flowers on your desk seem to wilt.

"No." A nasty bite before he angrily shoves popping hands in his pockets taking the stairs down in attempt to loosen his aching legs. He had been sitting at his office desk for far too long.

Just as the heavy door slams shut you step out of the elevator. Chocolates neatly placed in a white box with a cellophane window to display your hours upon hours of work.

"Ah Ai, you look lovely today." You smile, admiring her outfit as you walk towards your husband's office. She gives you a once over with cold judging eyes.

You either do not notice or do not care as you walk past her desk.

"Oh Bakugou-sama stepped out for lunch. You just missed him." She smiles cruelly only to be met by your obnoxiously bright smile that she hates.

"Perfect. Then he will come back to a surprise." You wink slipping through the door.

You notice a lot of flowers and chocolate in the trash can of his office as you make way to his desk. You make a silent reminder to yourself to lightly scold the hero.

He should at least wait a day, or hell give back out some of the stuff he recieved.

Still you neatly placed the box on his keyboard so he was sure to see it.

"Y/N? Have you had coffee yet? I've made you a mug to go." Ai pokes her head in with the paper cup in hand. You smile warmly at her, oblivious to her animosity as you grab on to the paper cup with joy.

You desperately needed caffeine. You greedily gulp at the warm liquid after saying your good byes as you headed home.

You dig through your purse for your keys to the front door spying a small pink envelop, eyes widening a bit.

"Shoot I forgot the card." You curse yourself. "Ah well I'm sure he'll know they're from me."

You set your purse on the entry table and notice a giant stuffed animal and dozens and dozens of roses on the dining room table.

A small note in his boyish handwriting sits by the vases.

*"Guess I just missed you babe. See you tonight."*

You smile until your cheeks hurt.

Hours pass as you soon begin to make the dinner of his dreams. Half way cleaning away your mess and neatly stacking chocolate orders for White day.

Bakugou alerts you that he is home by groaning at the door, slipping off his ever present combat boots.

"Smells good babe." He says wrapping strong arms around your waist, kissing on your neck.

"Mmhmmm." You hum, impatiently waiting for him to tell you how the chocolate was, "How was your day?"

"Ugh long. This holiday sucks." He kisses your throat again, "No offense babe."

You roll your eyes. For someone who thinks the holiday sucks he sure went out of his way to buy every last rose at the floral shop.

"It's just an excuse for people to buy shit and bother the fuck out if me with it." His voice darkens with agitation before he scoffs, "Like I came back to lunch to the shittiest chocolate I've ever seen. Little bitch flowers all painted and shit from some fucking random."

Your heart speeds in your chest as he continues.

"Left 'em right on my fucking keyboard as if they were more important than work." You turn to shove him off of you then. Tears streaming down your red cheeks as he blinks furiously. For the life of him he cannot tell why in the fuck you're crying.

"Baby what's wrong..." Scarlet eyes notice the molds first, how their art is vaguely familar, little white boxes stacked on the far counter. Then he notices the apron he got you is stained with colors of pinks, whites and browns.

It is then he realized that he fucked up.

"Oh baby...." He damns himself for being so callous.

"What did you do with them?!" Your voice cracks, trying hard to sound enraged but it falls flat. He bites his lip, hands smoothing over your forearms.

"I...I'm sorry. I had a skewed vision on your chocolate. I thought they were from the hoe who sits outside my office." He says quickly, "Had I known...I would have loved them. I really thought it was Ai trying to make an advance on me..."

He wipes the tears from your face, pulling you closer to kiss your forehead.

"You probably slaved over them all day, probably made my favorite spicy chocolate you make and I was an asshole and just trashed them...In trying to be loyal to you I hurt you..." His voice is feather soft as is his kiss on your forehead, then your cheeks and lips. He notices your dress beneath the apron that he removes slowly face contorting to lust as he drops the cloth to the floor.

He leans in slowly, running his teeth and tongue against your throat to which you moan.

"Bakugoooo." He loves the way you drag out his name, popping hands slip the zipper down your delicate back, "I..I'm still mad..."

"You don't sound mad." He says too cocky for his own good, "Isnt this helping?"

He pulls the dress to the floor, leaving you in nothing but black heels, a lace bra with little red bows in the middle and black lacy underwear. He turns you growling as he does, when he sees a matching red bow over your ass he leans down to bite a cheek.

You lightly yelp before he pushes you against the dining room table in the kitchen. Sloshing the flower water onto the set table.

"B..but dinner..." You groan as he massages you, untying the bows on your bra to slip his fingers over your nipples.

"Fuck dinner. I'm skipping to dessert." His voice is deadly as his popping back indicates his excitement, as does the hard thing in his dress pants that presses against your ass as he bites your shoulders. His words have your head floating as his finger nails scrape down your back before grabbing onto your hips tightly giving a playful thrust that causes a small moan.

Just the promise of what he is about to give has your core molten and he can tell as he pulls back. Hands slipping over slick thighs, spreading them apart.

He pulls down your underwear all the way down and when a butt plug is revealed to him he groans.

"Fuuuuck." He growls, watching you contract before he slides a finger up and down your sex, "So wet already."

"J...just for you." You pant when he reaches your needy clit, massaging it roughly setting a fast pace that threatens to have you screaming in a matter of moments. He watches you buck and squirm with a wolfish grin. He removes his hand earning a small whimper before he drops to his knees.

You are the only person he would fall to his knees for with out any sort of hesitation as his pink tongue lazily laps at your sex. Hands spreading your ass cheeks to get better access. His tongue runs stripes up your pussy, that clenches tightly with every swipe.

He laps at your core before placing his lips over your clit to give it a harsh suck.

"You must love being devoured by a wolf huh my needy lamb?"

You cry out as he continues to make a meal of you, your fingers tweaking your nipples for added stimulation.

"I...I'm clooooose." You whine as he moves his face away from your clit to plunge into your core a few times with a pointed tongue. Lapping all that he can.

"Good. Now cum on Sir's face." He growls, mouth back to your swollen clit, sucking harshly, grazing teeth and steady broad tongue has heat swelling in your chest, a light buzz in your head before it all goes quiet.

And like a sprung trap you cry out, convulsing as you ride out your high only for him to press further. Overstimulating you for another agonizingly blissful ten minutes as you lose count of how many times you've cum.

He slows to a loving pace before his fingers slide over your clit as he stands. You pant, tears forming in your eyes from an exhausted body and mind as your body slowly turns limp. Head swimming on an unseen high that has Bakugou smiling down at you, wiping your sweetness from his mouth with his sleeve.

"I'm not done with you yet, love." He says making quirk work of turning his belt into an impromptu set of handcuffs. He tightens them around your wrists giving them a tight tug. You jerk up some to which he slaps your ass.

"You okay bunty?" You nod unable to form words as he removes his pants. Stealing some of your slick to stroke himself with. He half wishes to keep you this way all night. Tied up, thighs soaked, fucked out with some drool falling from your lips.

The thought alone has him lust hungry and wanting to paint your back in the nicest of white.

Instead he finds himself teasing your clit again until you moan his name is a scream begging him to fuck you.

Your clenching cunt confirms your wishes before he plunges in busting his hips against yours as you finish your last high.

You pant beneath him, core gripping onto his length over and over that has him hungry to pull it from you again. One hand holds onto your belted hands while the other has a bruising grip on your hips. Your face is pressed agaisnt the table as are your breasts. He sets a brutal pace, pulling all the way out to his tip before plunging himself again, slamming against you with deadly precision. He pulls your arms closer to him, causing your upper body to come up some. Your nipples drag agaisnt the rough fabric of the dining table cloth earning an echoing moan.

"Fuck." He snaps, hand leaving your hip to slap your ass harshly, thrusting again and again, "You always take me so well. Your cunt is so needy for me."

He rut begins to turn sloppy and bruising as he bottoms out into you, now pushing your harshly on your back pressing you agaisnt the table. Thrusting hard enough that vases of flowers begin to knock over but that is the least of your worries.

Heat pools down your legs and in your stomach as you feel him twitch. Sending you to another high, loving nothing more than the thought to cause him to act to wild. So rough as he loses himself with popping hands that sting but never burn as his hands grip your skin. Your voice comes out in hoarse moans as you flex your pelvic muscles causing a moan to come from Bakugou. Another thrust over your sensitive g spot has you spiralling. Screaming again as he let's out a giant explosion from his back groaning as he buries himself deep inside you, filling you to the brim with hot seed. Sputtering until he stills, both of you panting, he removes the belt from your wrists, rubbing at the redness before carefully pushing them back to a more natural angle.

"I lo..." But the smoke alarm drowns him out, dinner burning on the stove. He waves his shirt over head to displace some of the billowing smoke as you remove the pan. Almost dropping it using too limp hands. He supports you, moving the pan and you to the sink. Warming a rag that he wipes you down with before kissing your neck.

"I love you." He murmurs into your throat and you smile, pulling him into your plush and bruised breasts.

"I love you too." You sing happily before he pushes out of your hug to give you a kiss and a cocky grin, he snatches you and a box of chocolate up as he carries you to the couch. He places the box into your hands before setting you to sit on top of him. He holds his mouth open, tongue outstretched that has you thinking of it against you moments ago.

"I'm dying for that chocolate baby." He says again, eyes twinkling happier than anything that you forgave him for being a big dumbass.

Next valentines day he won't throw away a single chocolate.

[gwynposting]

All Along the Watchtower (Ch. 4)

This story takes place after “The Star” ending of Cyberpunk 2077, so spoilers ahead.

AO3 Link | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3

The life-sustaining scent of coffee finally entered her lungs - the one thing her body craved more than her newfound nicotine addiction. Its sultry aroma always fooled her into thinking she’d soon be filling her stomach with anything other than the bargain brand coffee grounds she’d manage to scrounge. The sound of the coffee machine at work, the aroma that filled the air - to her sleep-addled mind it was almost hypnotic. More than once had she been shaken out of said daze by the rather rude beeping of the coffee machine, signaling its completion. 

But today broke the usual trend, in a strange way, the wait made her anxious. Her mind still felt foggy and clouded, but the rest of her body was on edge. The heel of her foot bounced up and down as she leaned against the counter, her teeth caught her lip and picked at the skin. 

She had no idea why she was so antsy. She had worked with the most ruthless fixers Night City had to offer, clashed with dangerous gangers that lined every street corner. She robbed Arasaka. Twice. 

In fairness, I died both times, she thought to herself, letting out a morbid chuckle. She was far too tired and far too unwilling to think into the deeper implications of what that could possibly mean. But before she could even shake the thoughts away, her attention was captured by the familiar beeping from the coffee machine.

Finally, she thought to herself, a weary smile upon her face. 

She pushed herself from the counter and made her way over to the fridge. The fridge only kept the essentials - a small container of synthmilk for coffee and two cases of beer. She swiped the container and unscrewed the cap, pouring a splash in both of the cups set out on the counter, before closing it up and storing it back away. V then gingerly removed the pot of coffee and began to pour, first Judy’s cup then hers. 

V took a cup in either hand and made her way to Judy’s workstation, the blue glow bleeding between the door’s cracks once more. As she opened the door, she found another familiar sight - Judy’s legs were perched on her desk, her left over her right. The braindance wreath was wrapped around her head, her editing glove was active, and she performed gestures left and right as if a conductor guiding an orchestra. 

And in her own way, she was. She was the maestro of the sights, the sounds, the emotions that were displayed before her. Her deft hands weaved tracks together, enhancing and diminishing the highs and lows of her performance, her art. Her craftsmanship had made not only V, but countless others, feel sensations otherwise thought unimaginable. 

V took a step forward and set out the coffee before Judy. At first Judy didn’t seem to notice, neither the sound nor peripherals breaking her out of her work, but as soon as the aroma reached her - 

Judy snapped her eyes to the cup, with steam rising high against the desert morning cool. She then turned her attention left, and smiled in recognition. Her eyes were bloodshot, and dark creases had formed underneath. “Just what I needed,” she said with a gravelly voice. She brought the wreath down from her head, resting it around her neck. With a smooth motion she removed the editor from her hand and gingerly placed it on the table. Then with eager hands, she reached out and brought the steaming mug close, deeply inhaling, before taking a ginger sip.

“Thanks babe,” she cooed, beginning to feel a part of her life restored as the warmth crept down her stomach and through the rest of her body. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” V asked, taking a sip from her own cup, before taking a seat on the couch that faced Judy. 

Judy shook her head, “Barely got an hour or two. Around midnight I was gettin’ restless in bed but I didn’t want to wake you up. Big day and whatnot. Need you rested and alert.” Her tenor wavered against the rough undertones of exhaustion. 

V nodded her head in understanding, “It’ll be okay, Jude.” 

Both of them knew she had no way to know that for certain, but neither wanted to give more life to the doubts that constantly gnawed away every hour of every day. Judy opted to join V instead, grabbing the blanket on the opposite side of the couch and draping it over their laps. Judy fell into V’s embrace, a hand around her shoulder and her face resting on V’s side. 

“Can I tell you somethin’ kinda dumb?” Judy broke the silence.

“You decide to follow your lifelong dream of joining Maelstrom?” 

“Pssh. No, y’gonk.” Judy tried a chuckle but was either too tired or too preoccupied with the thoughts already clouding her mind. “Honestly what scares me... is the finding out part. If you know what I mean,” her hands fidgeted around her mug, “Finality.” 

“Like no longer being able to tell yourself there’ll be a way out of it all?” V cut in. 

“Yeah,” Judy almost whispered, “It’s like… up until this point there was an ‘at least now we can sorta pretend it’ll all be okay’ kind of feeling.”

“Almost like blissful ignorance, in a way.” V rested her cheek atop Judy’s head. 

“But once all this is over, V, promise me one thing?”

“Anything,” V said without a single doubt in her breath. 

“Let’s take a vacation. Just the two of us. Cross country. Actually live for a little.”

It took V a little by surprise, the concept almost felt foreign to her. No stress, just living. Living with Judy. Tears began to form in her eyes, and she found it hard to even speak. 

“V?” Judy asked concerned, if not a bit anxious, pushing back to look up to V’s quivering lip. 

V looked down to Judy’s worried face and blinked away tears, sending them to stream down her blushed cheeks. “I want that so fucking much, Jude.”

“Then promise me.”

“Yes,” was all V could muster. 

***

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Panam turned over to V. The loud thrum of her Thorton dampened Panam’s voice, mixed with the sound of air rustling past their cabin. 

V stopped fidgeting with the hair that had begun growing in on the buzzed part of her undercut and turned to Panam, “Like what?”

Panam turned deadpan, “Don’t insult me. You know what I mean.” 

V blushed, giving Panam a knowing look. But she couldn’t hold a candle to the fierce gaze that met her eyes. Instead, she opted for looking out the window, gazing to the vast empty desert beyond. Her knee began rising and falling rapidly. 

“A week ago you were the most annoyingly upbeat person in camp. A big improvement from the brooding silent V, mind you, but at least I knew that V was straight-edge. Are you gonna be okay for this? 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. It’s just…” V couldn’t find the right thoughts.

“It’s different now, isn’t it?” Panam finally said with understanding. 

V finally found the courage to look back over, she nodded her head. 

“I’ll do everything in my power to help you, V”

V nodded an appreciative smile, but returned her gaze out to the desert beyond. That’s what I’m afraid of.

***

With a slam shut of the heavy Thorton doors, V was introduced to the harsh light of the Arizona sun, bearing down with an intensity only rivaled by Mama Welles after getting into a scrap with the local gangs.

There they were - Bryce Bane - donned in a tight white corposuit, accented with a wide-brim sun hat. They sat cross legged, sipping from a rather large cup that seemed filled with 90% ice, waiting at the lone table in the middle of the abandoned wasteland. In the distance, worn down factories littered the foreground of several tall buildings. In a way, the sight reminded V of Night City. While downtown Tucson couldn’t match the sheer might of Night City, the vast web of interconnected skywalks that ran between the towers gave her a sense of familiarity.  

Bryce was accompanied by two guards, one with a wide frame and rippling muscles, and the other slender, clad in a jumpsuit typical for netrunners. V and Panam approached the table side by side. 

“Can’t say I expected to be meeting you here, but I suppose much changes in three years, does it not?” a teasing tone called out to the Panam. “And to meet a dead man walking, now that is something new.” 

Panam and V stood before Bryce uneasy, already pushed off their game. 

Bryce rolled their eyes, “Sit, sit.” They motioned for the pair to take a seat at the lonesome table. A small umbrella did its best to shield them from the desert rays, but it was clear from its condition that it had seen one summer sun too many.

“Not gonna lie Panam, you’re bringing hot shit to my doorstep. Saul’s off who knows where and you bring Arasaka’s most wanted on my doorstep?” 

V flinched at the mention of Saul’s name and kept her eyes shut for a moment. Panam’s eyes flared with rage before they settled on sadness. “Saul’s dead.”

Bryce nodded in affirmation, “I see. Arasaka?” Their gaze shifted to V, remaining steeley. But they knew the answer the second the words left their lips. The pair remained silent under her gaze. Not one to linger, she asked a different question, “Why have you come here, Panam?”

Panam composed herself before continuing, “We need to get in touch with some old friends of ours in the city, and I know you’re the person to ask.”

“Well you are certainly correct on that - the problem is I don’t know how that concerns me?”

“Excuse me?” Panam’s voice dropped with frustration. 

“You’ve dropped back into my radar with what I assume are dozens of the most wanted people in the NUSA accompanied by the merc who killed Saburo Arasaka.”

V pinched the brow of her forehead in frustration, “I never. Killed. Saburo. I keep telling this to people and yet-” 

“I don’t care if you didn’t actually kill him. I care what everyone else thinks. Two thieves in Konpeki the night Saburo is zeroed? You gave them a perfect scapegoat.”

Through clenched teeth, V started, “Gee. I’ll remember that for next time.” 

Panam cut through the conversation, “You and I both know the corpos don’t know Aldecado from Snake from Raffen. They don’t care to find out either. All I hope is that they focus most of their attention on the remaining Wraiths in the area now that we’ve up and gone.” 

Bryce smirked, finally enjoying the game being set in motion, “but who’s to stop big bad ‘Saka from tumbling through poor old Tucson? If they wanted to they could probably make it all through the Western states before the NUSA made any significant fuss about it.” 

Panam rolled her eyes. “What do you want?” 

“My, quite the presumptive one are we?” They took a sip from their drink, shuddering as the cool liquid radiated through their body. They paused for a moment. “You’ve recently acquired weapons - it just so happens that I need some. For use in your protection from Arasaka, I assure you.” 

Panam deadpanned, “Cut the shit, I’m not giving you anything.”

“Now now, who said anything about gifts? Fair pay for quality goods,” they splayed a hand against their chest and produced a look of mock indignation, “I’m anything but a cheat.” 

Panam shifted from side to side. “Fine. But you’ll come to us, we’re not bringing them out here.”

“Tsk tsk,” they tutted, “don’t trust me hmm?” Only to be met with an annoyed glare from Panam and a slightly confused look from V. With a sigh, they drawled on, “So boring… fine. I do believe you mentioned something about contacts?” 

Panam motioned over to V. “We need to get in touch with a techie - Sammy Trevalo. Last time we met was in Tucson but I know he roamed up to Phoenix occasionally as well. Former Storm Tech rat, ended up burned because he was skimming secrets to Nomad groups.” 

Something at the name perked Bryce’s eyebrow in interest. “Sammy hmm? What could you possibly need that old dog for?” 

“Not your business.” Panam instantly shut down.

Bryce scoffed and rolled their eyes, “All biz with you nomads, jeesh. What else am I supposed to gossip about in this wasteland.” They eyed Panam and V until they realized neither were budging, before continuing with an exaggerated moan of frustration, “Fine, I know where to find your techie-” they let it hang.

Panam pinched her brow, “...How much?”

“Why free of course, what a better way to celebrate our new partnership in arms trading than a show of appreciation.” Bryce smiled a bit too brightly. 

V’s mind flashed back to her and Takemura’s meeting with Wakako Okado. The ronin’s words echoed through her head, “What is free often proves most costly.”

“What’s the catch?” V broke through.

Bryce leaned forward, “Multiple layers of reinforced concrete and steel stand between you and him.”

“And you want us to get him for you,” V groaned in understanding. 

Bryce shrugged with a smile, “He’s usually a rather resourceful lad, but it seems his luck ran out. Got raided by Phoenix PD and they found an assortment of stolen corpo implants… among other things. Now he’s locked up, and I don’t have the time to wait for his release nor do I want to take the risk he doesn’t survive his full sentence.”

“So you want us to break him out of a prison.” V deadpanned. Fully automatic guards, turrets, most likely a netrunner. You’d think if these cities put a fraction of their policing budget into solving the root cause, then -

“Don’t be silly. Sammy is currently being housed in a high-security prison, but seeing as it's filled to the brim, good ol’ Sam will be getting a transferral to something more low-security. And before you go thinking that it’s better for him, think more along the lines of stuffing fish in a barrel.” 

“So we’re aiming to hit the transport?” V questioned.

“Precisely.” Bryce nodded with a smirk. 

“Then what’re we talkin’ here, AV?” She looked over to Panam who returned the same look, hesitation.

Instead they were met with rather undignified chortling, “For a group of meatbags like them? The city would never waste money on the fuel. No, they’ll be transported by bus.”

“Now that’s more my style,” Panam smiled. 

V chuckled, “What, didn’t want to take down another city’s power grid?” She turned back to Bryce. “How do you already know all this anyhow?

“I’ve been planning Sammy’s breakout since he got himself locked up. I’m the one who managed to get him on the transfer list afterall.”

“Seems like you have all your ducks in a row then,” V paused, “the question is, why bother with us then?”

Bryce huffed, “Well for starters, I’m not paying you with eddies. Call it a mutual relationship - we both need Sammy - I provide the intel you provide the muscle. Second? I’m not going to pass up using a gang of veteran convoy raiders the exact time I need a convoy raided.”

Before V could pull Panam aside to mull it over, Panam jumps at the opportunity. “Deal.” 

Bryce’s eyes widen for a brief moment in surprise, clearly expecting much more of a fight, “Wonderful, love. How about I come by tomorrow and we can hash through the details then.”

“Roger. I’ll flick you the geoloc to our camp.”

“Sounds lovely, darling. Though, I do hope you have some amenities set up,” they fanned out their nails for inspection, “I must say this heat can get rather dreadful.” 

Panam rolled her eyes, “Afraid you might be disappointed.” 

Bryce emitted a dramatic sigh before clicking their feet together and standing up. “Tomorrow then.” They paused for a moment as they looked up to the sun that bore down on them, “...evening.”

“Tomorrow,” V and Panam said in unison. 

With that, Bryce was off, tailed by their two guards. 

As Bryce’s SUV drove off, back into the city, V let out a deep breath of relief, accented with a hint of trepidation. “A fucking prison break. Of course.” She said to Panam. 

“Don’t like it either, V,” Panam admitted, “but they do have one thing right about us.” V tilted her head, “We’re the best damn convoy jockeys this side of the NUSA. Or do I need to remind you of the time we stole a tank?”

V tried to put a smile on, but it wavered into more of an unconvinced grimace. Panam wrapped an arm around V and shook her affectionately, “Let’s save the doom and gloom for after we find out what this heist will turn into, eh?”

“Right…” V nodded.

“And listen, V.” Panam waited until V turned towards her, “Even if it stinks to high heaven, we’re here for you.”

“That’s the part I’m worried about,” V’s voice was more steady now. 

“How many times do we need to go over this V?” Panam’s fiery tone was returning once more, “We knew the risks going into Arasaka, we did it anyways.” 

Panam let the silence hang but was only met with V’s unconvinced face, “And V, that raid saved this family. We were destined to either sell our souls to Biotechnica or be slowly stripped apart by Raffen Shiv. The gear we looted from ‘saka will last us years, V. Years. And when we do need to eventually find work again? The Aldecados will be etched into every fixer’s brain across the NUSA. Though,” she chuckled for a moment, “Perhaps the name ‘V’ might pop up there first. Word down the grapevine said you were a near legend already before hitting Arasaka tower. Good thing you’re with us then,” she nudged V’s arm.” 

“What’re you trying to say, Panam?” V felt almost exhausted.

“I’m saying that this family owes you, V, whether you think it or not. You act as if we’ve never lost members during raids before. Hell, you should know from your days in the Bakkers, V. This is survival, and you were up there leading the charge the entire time.”

V wavered, now unsure. “Maybe…” only receiving an eye roll in response from Panam. 

“So brooding my god. C’mon,” Panam stood up and offered a hand out to V, who readily accepted the help, “Let’s hit the road.”

***

The ride back wasn’t the smoothest. Decades of neglect combined with the intense weather patterns that passed over the Southwest had worn down Arizona’s infrastructure to the nub. Luckily, Panam’s Thornton was as good as trucks came when it came to suspension. But even with some of the world’s best shock absorption, V was cursing with frustration with each mistyped letter on her holo. 

“Heya, evwrything wnt ok, we’re headed back.” she messaged to Judy, too annoyed to go back and fix her mistakes.

Judy’s reply was immediate, “Don’t drink and drive *and* text, V  ;P”

“>:(“ V responded, her face the complete opposite of the text, a wide grin on her face, before following up, “Shit roads. Half dirt at this point.”

Judy’s response was prompt once more, “Learn anything from the meet?”

V paused for a moment, deciding whether or not she wanted to have this conversation in person or over text. She drafted up a rather short reply, “Good and bad, I’ll let you know more when we get back,” but shook her head and erased the text. Last thing she wanted Judy to do was worry unnecessarily. 

“We know where to find the guy Panam was talking about. Problem is he’s locked up. I’ll explain it more when we get back to camp.”

“Oh jeesh. Well, at least we got something to go off of.”

Judy followed it up with another text. “By the way, dinner tonight smells absolutely delicious. Some sorta synthbeef stew. Living downwind of the mess hall is both tantalizing and agonizing.”

“I’ll tell Panam to step on it. Be home within the hour! :3” V texted back. 

“See you soon~ <3” 

Now that her thoughts were elsewhere, suddenly V didn’t seem to mind the road too much. She looked over to Panam, who glanced back with a raised eyebrow, knowing smirk along her face. “Whaat?” Panam could almost hear the smile in her words.

“Nothing.” Panam said with a chuckle, retraining her eyes back on the road, “I’m glad you finally have someone, V.” 

V’s goofy-ass grin shifted into something more soft, more appreciative, “I think I’m finally happy, Panam.” V paused for a moment before continuing, a bit more somber, “I just want it to last…”

“Hey now, none of that. It will last. So keep your mind on the good, last thing we need’s a gloomy-assed merc on a convoy hijack.” Panam certainly had a way with words. 

“How ‘bout a gloomy-assed Aldecado?” V grinned.

Panam only rolled her eyes in response, but was unable to fight down the smile that crept up on her face.

***

The mess hall was organized chaos. The room was filled with Aldecados lining up every which way for the day’s dinner, funneling in and around one another as people tried to both reach the food and their seats at the same time. Judy stuck to V like glue as they made their way to the old school cafeteria bench tables. They picked a spot away from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and sat on opposite sides. 

V tore into her stew as if she’d not eaten for days. Judy couldn’t help but giggle to herself as she slowly worked through hers, savoring every morsel. Warmth crept upon V’s cheeks as she noticed Judy looking at her with playful judgement. 

With a hearty sigh, V placed down the now empty bowl with naught a lick of broth remaining. Another Aldecado strolled by the table, fresh pot of coffee in hand, and refilled both of their cups to the brim. They both nodded in appreciation as their server set off to fill the mugs of other caffeine-hungry Aldecados. 

“So,” Judy broke the silence, bringing the cup up to her lips and breathing in the aroma before taking a sip, “you had good news then?”

“Sort of,” V shrugged, “It mostly depends on the info the fixer brings us.” 

“Difference between smooth sailin’ and uhh, what did you call it, V?…” she snapped her fingers as she tried to recollect.

“A turd wrapped in crepe paper?” V smirked.

“Exaaactly.”

“Essentially, yeah. Apparently Panam’s contact is locked in prison, but he’s set to be transported to another facility pretty soon. The fixer is giving us the detes on the convoy and we’re supposed to hit it.”

“Wooh,” Judy grimaced, “sounds risky then.”

“Potentially, yeah. I’m as blind as you are about the info at this point, though. Fixer’ll come by tomorrow to fill us in.”

“Any way you think I can help?” 

“Can’t know if you don’t tag along yourself tomorrow~” V floated over. Her foot had found her way to Judy’s calf and had begun brushing along its length.

Judy made a face of hesitation, “Would that be like… okay?” 

V reached out and took one of Judy’s hands in her own, “You’re part of this family too, Judy. Of course it’d be okay.” 

Judy blushed and looked to the side, “I guess I just sometimes feel a bit… disconnected, y’know. Like I’m looking from the outside in.”

V tilted her head in confusion, “I thought you were getting along with everyone just fine? I know Panam’s taking a liking to you too.” 

“It’s not that, it’s just...” Judy paused for a moment, trying to mull over her thoughts. “You got into the Aldecados by proving yourself to them, saving their hides left and right. I just sorta showed up.” 

“I think I get that,” V nodded her head in understanding, “for what it’s worth, if I’m an Aldecado, it’s because you helped me get there. Pretty sure I woulda fallen apart in Night City without you.” 

V paused, but saw Judy wasn’t convinced. “Not everybody needs to take on a Raffen camp solo or steal a tank to become a member of the family, Jude. If that were the case, the Aldecados would fade into dust. As a wise chica once told me, ‘it’s what you bring that counts.’” V began to stroke the top of Judy’s hand with her thumb, “You make it seem like you haven’t been THE go-to braindance techie of the camp.” 

“Pssh, usin’ my gonk-ass words against me is cheating. Still though, I wanna help, if I can.”

“Of course, Jude, we’d all love to have you there.”

And just for a moment, the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria faded into the backs of their minds. The background of chattering Aldecados, the clinks of metal silverware and the distant shouting from the cooks were mere afterthoughts as they held each other’s presence. All they knew was each other. 

But ever increasingly, Judy’s mind became more and more pre-occupied by the annoying tease of a foot brushing up and down her calf. And of course, V’s smirk showed she full-well knew what she was doing to her.

“Home?” Judy breathed, perhaps a little too desperately.

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

[permanantheadache]

It’s officially the 5th where I am! Happy DEH Gift Exchange! @sincerely-us My person was @iellostar Hope you like this!!

The prompts were: evan and connor on a road trip. like, to set the scene: like those aus of people running away and disappearing when they turn 18. And: Connor comes out to his dad and it doesnt go well, he goes to evans and heidi and evan comfort him and its super sweet and cute.     And, like....for the art I did the first one, but...I kind of also did fic. Because I was worried that this drawing wasn’t very good. So, I combined the two prompts and made the fic below. It’s also on Ao3

Connor is smiling. It’s a gentle thing, this smile. Warm, happy. It’s Evan’s favorite, even though it’s the rarest.

Evan has been watching this smile form for the past hour. The further they get away from civilization, from all the drama waiting for them back home, the more relaxed Connor gets.

Anxiety and anger and stress leach away from his face, softening the line of his shoulders until he’s practically slumping in his seat.

“You’re staring,” Connor says. It’s not a complaint.

“I have a cute boyfriend,” Evan counters anyway.

Connor rolls his eyes, but his cheeks turn pink. “No, you.”

The road around them is deserted, which is how Evan’s anxiety likes it. This is the main reason he doesn’t protest when Connor takes one hand off the wheel to lace with Evan’s.

Evan pulls their joined hands up to give Connor’s knuckles a kiss.

--

It’s Heidi’s idea, originally. Long before Connor and Evan are even dating, she suggests that the two of them take a roadtrip, the summer before college. She thinks getting away from the stress of school and work, as well as their peers, might do them a lot of good.

She references Evan’s pin map, the one he abandoned at the beginning of the year--he’s replaced some of the old pins in their spots, as well as adding new pins to places that Connor mentions he’d like to see someday.

Heidi’s pleased that Evan’s retaken up his old habit, but she’s a little too smug about those new pins for his liking.

They have nothing to do with his crush on Connor, mom!

Not…not that he has a crush on Connor.

…

Okay, yes, he’s completely gone on Connor.

Thankfully, as Evan finds out later, Connor reciprocates those feelings!

But that’s a story for another time.

Connor is completely on board with Heidi’s idea, once it’s brought up to him. He’s perfectly happy to spend some time away from his family, especially if Evan’s there. The three of them make a cautious plan that, the month after graduation, Connor and Evan will hit the road.

Heidi, after nearly thirteen years of single-parenthood, is a master at budgeting. She helps them plan out where they’ll stay and the costs. It’s more than a little confusing to both boys, but to Connor especially. He’s shit at math and numbers.

Between their two jobs, and Heidi and Connor’s mother helping, they should be perfectly fine, money-wise, to do what they’d like.

“I wanna go to Bear Mountain,” Connor tells Evan.

Evan blinks, surprised. “I mean, me too, but isn’t hiking more my thing?” His eyes widen and he tries to backtrack. “Not that I think you don’t exercise! I just--”

“Let’s be real, I don’t exercise,” Connor scoffs, cutting Evan’s panic off at the knees. “But it’s in On the Road and you know I’m a hoe for anything to do with books.”

“Yeah, but you’re my hoe.”

“...”

“You know what I meant, asshole!”

--

They end up having to move up their timeline by a week. Because Larry and Connor get into their worst fight since the beginning of the school year.

The thing is, Connor and Evan have been open about their relationship to Heidi since the very beginning. And they tell Cynthia not long after. Both women are, to put it lightly, overly supportive of their relationship. It’s genuine, but Connor can tell that some of Cynthia’s furver stems from guilt. And because Evan and Connor have been mentally healthier since they became friends.

(They both still have their bad days. Some are worse than others. But, it helps. To not be alone.)

Unfortunately, Cynthia broaches the topic of telling Larry.

And she keeps bringing it up.

It takes two full months of convincing before Connor agrees to tell--if only to stop her nagging him.

Because Connor is a realist, he expresses his doubt to Evan. Larry has never been the most accepting--even about things that most straight, white men at least tolerate.

Connor won’t say that he’s worried, per say. But he’s got a bad feeling in his gut. And his gut is rarely wrong.

--

Connor has an emergency bag stashed at the Hansen house.

The first time that Connor has a fight with his family, post-becoming-friends with Evan, Connor crawls in through Evan’s bedroom window. It’s the middle of October, and freezing, and Connor has on shorts and a thin shirt. He’s shivering, in rage and because he’s cold.

After Evan gets done shrieking at the potential burglar, he loans Connor some sweats and makes him hot chocolate. He gets down all the spare blankets and make a cocoon in the living room.

Connor spends the night. The sweats are too short, but he wears them anyway. They don’t talk about what drove him to Evan’s house. They watch Food Network in near comfortable silence (though Evan can’t stop the worried look he keeps aiming at Connor, and Connor can’t fully relax until he’s passed out).

Connor crawls through Evan’s bedroom window three more times before Heidi (having caught on after the second time) gives him a spare key and a suggestion that he keep extra clothes in Evan’s closet.

“We’re always happy to have you over,” she tells him gently, closing his hand around the key she’s put in it. She’s smiling, her gentle amusement crinkling her eyes. “Just, maybe use the door?”

And so, there comes to be a small backpack filled with just enough clothes for an overnight visit and something for the next day.

At first.

Over time, the contents of the bag shift, as Connor comes over for impromptu sleepovers--and, as he and Evan became closer friends, more scheduled sleepovers--and switch out the clothes for fresh ones.

Eventually, Evan, kind of tired of how over-full the bag is getting (he keeps tripping over it when he needs something from the back of the closet), cleans out the bottom drawer of his dresser and puts all of Connor’s things in there.

It feels like something permanent, Connor having his own drawer in Evan’s house.

--

Connor drives, half-blind from the angry tears streaming down his face, until he reaches the familiar street that the Hansens’ reside on. He probably parks crooked.

He doesn’t care.

His hand is shaking as he pulls out his phone.

Connor: Im outisde

Fukc

Im outsidee

He can’t fucking type properly because his hands are shaking and he’s crying too hard and he hates this he hates his dad he hates himself he hates--

“--hey, Con, hey.”

He didn’t hear the car door open. Evan’s blurry figure is beside him, close but not touching. Connor nearly lunges to pull his boyfriend against him, immediately burying his face in Evan’s neck. He desperately needs the contact.

Evan is good at hugs.

(When Connor brings it up, their first month of dating, Evan goes deeply red. But he hugs Connor even more after that, so he counts it as a win.)

He breathes in Evan’s scent, a woodsy floral thing that never fails to send some signal to Connor’s brain that he’s safe . That, paired with the shaky hand running over his hair, practically hard-resets all the tension in his body.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, curled around Evan’s body, but eventually he finds himself pulling away. “I fucking hate crying,” he grumbles, voice crackly from tears. He scrubs at his face roughly.

Evan pulls Connor’s hands away from his face. He keeps holding them. “C’mon, you can wash your face. And you’re probably dehydrated now, so I’ll get you some water. Otherwise—”

“—otherwise I’m gonna end up with a migraine,” Connor agrees. He’s suddenly exhausted. He allows Evan to lead him inside.

—

Heidi is on the phone when they come in. Her back is to the door, so she doesn’t see them right away. “Yes, Cynthia, of course I’ll look out for him. Yes. As long as he needs to be here. He’s like a son to me.”

Connor can’t hold back the intake of breath at her words--she actually seems to mean them. It makes his chest ache. His eyes burn anew.

Heidi turns at his small noise. Her eyes go wide, and then soften with sadness and affection. “He’s here Cynthia. I’ll have him call you later.” She puts down the phone and immediately gathers him into a hug. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry.”

Connor crumples in her hold, going limp against her. And, he finds, he is not quite done crying.

There’s a brush of another hand on Connor’s back. “I’ll go get you that water,” Evan says gently. He leaves the two of them alone.

Heidi leads Connor over to sit on the couch. He sits, curling against her like a little kid. She’s patting at his hair. It’s nice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Connor shrugs. “Did my mom tell you what happened?” he asks, after a moment. His voice is scratchy as hell.

“She said that you and Larry had an argument.”

He scoffs. “That’s putting it lightly.”

She waits for him to go on.

“I just.” He sighs. “You and my mom and Zoe--you guys were all happy when Ev and I got together. I wanted. Part of me just wanted Larry to at least…accept it.” He laughs. It’s not a happy sound. “It’s not like I’ve ever exactly hidden the fact that I’m not super hetero.”

“Sometimes we’re blind to things we don’t want to see,” Heidi says gently.

Evan sits down next to them, placing three cups of water on the coffee table. He takes Connor’s hand again.

Connor chokes on a sob. “I don’t get why the hell it hurts so bad? It’s Larry , I shouldn’t be so cut up about this!”

It’s Evan who speaks, squeezing at their laced hands. “He should’ve been supportive of you. It’s not your fault he’s a--a shitty human being.”

“I don’t want to see him,” Connor confesses. “I don’t--I can’t…”

“Well, you’re staying here, honey,” Heidi says, firm. “As long as you want. Cynthia is sending Zoe over with your stuff in the morning.”

“I’m sorry. I’m shoving all my garbage off on you guys.” He feels like such a burden.

“Hon, we care about you. The people in your life that care, they help carry anything you can’t.”

Connor sits up, rubs at his running nose. Evan hands him a glass of water. He drinks half of it down. “‘M tired,” he says.

“It’s late,” Heidi agrees. “You boys should go ahead and lay down.”

Connor and Evan are still holding hands as they make their way upstairs. They curl up together on Evan’s tiny bed, but neither of them sleep yet.

Evan is tracing circles across Connor’s back with his free hand. His voice is quiet. “How would you feel about leaving this week, instead of next?”

Connor slumps in relief, giving a brief, jerky nod.. “That would actually be perfect.” His hold on Evan tightens. “I don’t…I can’t stay in the same town with him. I think I’ll lose my shit if I see him.”

“Valid. I think I might punch him if I see him.”

“Babe.”

“I’m serious. He hurt you, I hate him.”

--

They’re driving down to Harriman State Park, their first stop--mainly due to its proximity to Bear Mountain and the Appalachian trail.

It’s sunny, but not hot. It’s the perfect temperature for a hike. At least, according to Evan.

Connor has to sit down on a rock twenty minutes in. He’s sweating buckets and glaring at Evan. Evan is entirely too cheerful. “How are you so upbeat?” Connor whines. He reluctantly accepts an offered water bottle. “Don’t you hate sweating?”

“Of course I do, but when I’m sweating because I’m doing something I enjoy, it doesn’t affect me as much.”

Connor smirks behind his water bottle, giving Evan a raised eyebrow.

“Oh shut the hell up, you know what I meant!”

“Do I?”

“I’m not the one wearing black!”

--

The sun is just beginning to set when they make camp. Which is something that Connor actually knows how to do.

Those few years in Boy Scouts that Larry forced him to do are actually useful.

Connor scowls. He’s not going to think about Larry. He’s on a trip with his awesome boyfriend and he’s not going to let anyone ruin that. Not even himself.

It’s still early enough in the summer that night time is significantly cooler. It’s the perfect temperature for cuddling. Evan and Connor take full advantage and curl up together.

“Jeezus ,” Connor squeaks, flinching away from the icicles currently assaulting his legs. “Why are your feet so cold?”

A somewhat devious giggle slips out of his boyfriend. “I have p--I have poor circulation?”

“How come I haven’t noticed this before?”

“I usually wear socks at home, but I’m not going to sleep in sweaty socks. That’s gross.”

Connor heaves a long sigh and submits to Evan sticking his freezing toes all over his shins. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Evan hums happily and says, far too seriously, “I love you, too.”

It should be a big moment, them saying those words to each other for the first time. But, Connor likes this better. He likes that they’re calm and pleasantly sleepy from the long drive and difficult hike. His muscles ache in a good way (though he won’t likely feel that way come morning). And he is cuddling with his boyfriend, who loves him.

He snuggles more firmly against Evan and drifts off to sleep.

[thepilgrimofwar]

The Battle of Dawnspire Citadel

The empty halls of the Dawnspire Citadel were an eerie thing. The echoes just seemed to repeat forever. Steps came and went. Voices whispered in the dark, sourceless, like ghosts of a hollow. Zarannis and the rest of her battalion added to them, spreading out and ensuring that no stragglers of the Alliance remained.

Two clicks of the tongue.

She looked over to her right flank as her squad disarmed a cowering Gilnean. It was a strange thing, seeing something that had moments ago seemed so ferocious, now huddle into a ball. Zarannis had her rounded up and sent towards the prisons where they now held the majority of the Alliance forces on Quel’thalas.

A Resounding Victory.

She penned the report in her head as she cleared the Citadel, wing by wing, room by room. Empty chairs and empty tables in each, signs of battle from when the Alliance first took the Dawnspire. It had been a slaughter, for sure. Almost as big as the one that just took place at the gates. Slaughter or no, it was at least a mercy that no one innocent was harmed in either battle. All that were involved were soldiers, who had signed up to fight and die for their respective countries. ‘Then why is it that I feel as if I have blood on my lands?’ She whispered, but her men ignored it. They knew something lay heavy on their commander’s mind and knew better than to ask about it.

Diplomatically, a disaster.

Zarannis finished her sweep, then returned by herself to the courtyard where the rest of the Sunguard were beginning to set up their defences for the probable counter-siege. She looked for Caeliri or any of her troops that bore her banners but were unable to find a single one.

“Where’s Commander Dawnsworn? I need to make a report,” She asked one of the Oathsworn present.

The Oathsworn looked at her, exhaustion clear in his eyes. “Dawnsworn left the field.”

“She what?”

“After the rest of the troops went back on her word, she fled the field of battle in disgust,” the tired Oathsworn mumbled, gesturing at the gates. “Her troops followed her without hesitation.”

Zarannis stared at the open gates that led into the hinterlands of the Goldsea, Duskstar and other lands far beyond. “So who’s in charge now?”

The Oathsworn looked confused. “Aren’t you?”

Colour drained from her face. Then came the flashes, both hold and cold. “Excuse me?”

“You’re Dawnward Wintergale, no?” Said the Oathsworn. “You, Dawnward Bael’nar, Silverbrooke & Remar are the remaining battalion commanders of rank.”

Anger welled in her chest, followed by sharp pangs of shame, and finally the sudden all-too-familiar weight of command settled on her shoulders. “You’re right,” she said, her tone now cold and assertive. “Carry on Oathsworn.”

Damn her. Light damn her!

Zarannis stormed back into the Dawnspire, marching down the wings of the Citadel until she was out of earshot of both her troops and the Oathsworn outside. Tears began streaming down her cheeks. The flashes got worse.

It was a simple battle. Kill them or they kill us. Plain and simple. And she had to go complicate things.

Guilt began to eat away at her as her composure disappeared completely. The betrayal in the eyes of Lorena Crowley and her men as she broke Caeliri’s promise to them. There was no way any of the commanders would have let them leave.

Why wouldn’t she listen to us? Why would she make a promise that we could not keep!?

The eyes of the men and women of her Farstriders fell upon her once more, like they did on the ramparts. Each of them clouded by vindication. ‘When a killer has broken into our home, come to kill our family, we do not usher him from the house like a guest,’ she justified to herself. Over and over.

And now she’s fled. From us, from her responsibilities, the consequences. Now both fall upon our shoulders. My shoulders.

At the corner of the what used to be the infirmary of the Dawnspire, Zarannis wept alone.

“The men are settling in, ready for a seige,” Vicren, her second in command said as he approached the corner of the infirmary, drawn to the sobbing. “You alright?”

Zarannis glared at him. “Is that how you address a superior officer?” She hissed, ceasing her crying and wiping the tears on her sleeve.

“You alright, ma’am?” Vicren repeated not caring for her tone. He was the only one of her officer corps both brave and stupid enough to ignore her attempts to pull rank.

She held her composure for a moment longer before sinking back down to the floor and burying her face in her hands. “What a fucking mess.”

Vicren joined her on the floor, leaning back against a ruined bunk bed. “What’s a mess?”

“All of this,” Zarannis gestured around her. Not just the room but the Dawnspire, Quel’thalas and the war that it was engulfed in. “Against the Amani, things were simple. We kill they kill, and the survivors go home. Plain. Simple. This is anything but.”

Vicren stared at the ceiling. “You sound guilty.”

“Guilty? For what?” She snapped back.

“Those Gilneans we killed,” he paused for a moment, letting her silence confirm his suspicions. “You know we had to, let them go and we’d have no chance in the coming siege.”

“I know.”

Vicren paused again. “And we broke no promises because we didn’t make any.”

“They believed we did. On Dawnsworn’s word, they believed we did. Whether we made them or not has nothing to do with it. The consequences will be the same. Dishonorable oathbreakers, that’s what we’ll be to the world,” Zarannis sneered. “The tides had turned. The battle was won. All she had to do is keep her mouth shut, and it’d have been a victory to be celebrated. The Retaking of the Dawnspire. Light knows we could’ve used some good news in this awful war. She ruined it by making promises she could not keep.”

“Sounds like your blaming her for everything.”

“I am.”

“Well don’t,” said Vicren. “It wasn’t her fault.”

“Like hell it wasn’t!” She snapped, turning towards him with disdain in her eyes.

Vicren remained calm, leaning further back against the wall. “And what were you doing when the duel was about to begin?”

“Staying my blade, following orders,” she sneered through gritted teeth.

Vicren looked straight into her eyes. “Dawnsworn’s orders? You’re a Dawnward too are you not? Acting commanders be damned. You stood by and let everything you’ve said happen, all because you thought that you wouldn’t be held responsible.” Though he did not raise his voice, his words cut her all the same, clean and clear. “Dawnsworn stepped up to the task to lead the army while you were too comfortable following orders.”

The flashes returned as Zarannis glared at her subordinate. She was tempted to threaten him, but stayed her tongue because he was right, and she knew it. “So you’re siding with her then?”

“If you think so,” her second in command shrugged. “If you ask me, no one’s at fault. You told me once, war is war. This is what you meant wasn’t it? She did what she thought was right. We did what we thought was right. We both live with the consequences.”

Zarannis scoffed. “But she’s run from hers, and I guarantee you, she believes she has done nothing wrong. Not for a minute.”

“Is it wrong trying to save lives?” He replied.

“It is when it costs ours,” Zarannis sighed heavily.

Vicren nodded. “Which is why we did what we did. We all tried to save lives. Just different lives, different ways.”

Sitting in the ruined halls of the Dawnspire Citadel, Zarannis buried her head in her hands, attempting to compose a letter to the Archon. It was a difficult report, but one that needed to be written. Her talk with Vicren had tempered it.

Archon,

What follows is my report of The Battle of the Dawnspire. I’ve done my best to keep my observations of the battle as impartial as possible. Given the consequences.

The battle itself was a resounding victory. Tactically we had secured our victory within the first minutes of the battle. However as you are well aware, or are soon to be well aware, we have lost our allies in the process. So, diplomatically, it was an utter disaster.

I attribute this disaster to a complete failure in command. Dawnward Caeliri Dawnsworn, self-appointed commander of the battle, sanctioned a duel between Sir Reginald Royce and and Monax of the Dying Suns. She accepted conditions that should he win, the survivors of the battle could leave unharmed. The promise was made on behalf of the army without the consultation of the other Dawnwards and ultimately, it was an offer that we could not keep. What followed was a slaughter that resulted in unnecessary losses on both sides along with the dishonorable breaking of oaths. Commander Dawnsworn then left the field, refusing fight and see the battle through and Duskward Vaelen Cindercloak also aided the Alliance during the closing moments of the battle.

No disciplinary actions should be required for any of them. Dawnsworn and Cindercloak acted honorably as according to their own personal codes. Monax simply accepted a duel. Wars are a messy affair and not having a chain of command has proven to be a massive liability.

This concludes my report.

Dawnward, Zarannis Wintergale

Art by Lin Wen Jun

@retributionpriest @stormandozone @thanidiel @thenaaru @jonathan-nevermore-smith @edaigoa @caeliri @felthier

[scarletwritingwolf]

The Art of Healing

Chapter 11: The Last Letter

Holy God. What was that wave? I’d wanted to leave quickly, the proximity to her had started to make me feel befuddled. Not a single iota of what my body or mind was doing made sense to me when I was near her. I was simply a man, helpless to her gravitational pull, with no earthy way for my feet to find the ground.

Once I was back in my apartment, I fell onto my couch, surrounded by many, many pieces of paper, everything Claire had sent me was strewn about the place. I wanted to push through, finish reading it all before morning.

I was still clutching the last envelope, but before I ventured to read it I needed coffee. As the magical, life giving fluid dripped from the coffee machine, I thought about everything I’d learned about Claire so far, her attention to detail was astounding, I considered her honesty remarkably brave. She had no way to know how I would feel about her candour, but she’d written it anyway.

The envelope had my address penned on it in her neat scrawl, and on the reverse side it said ‘The Last One.

I opened it, and a smaller envelope fell out ‘For you to read when you’ve finished everything else.’

I had no warning, no knowledge of how difficult this excerpt would be. She wrote of our moment at her parents home, how she wanted to re-connect with me; but didn’t know how to after running away. She explained spending the following two weeks plagued by nightmares of how her parents had died.

I had a lump in my throat that increased in size as I read about her trip to Glasgow. My hand shook as she recounted the day she had the abortion, the paper gown she wore, the white walls of the tiny medical room. I felt guilt and shame that she had been there on her own, but I acknowledged that she saw my previous offer to help her as I an assumption that she would keep the baby, she felt she had no other choice but to keep me uninvolved.

My heart was sore, and I wasn’t sure I could read anymore. I felt as though her words were testing me, daring me to cut her out with her brutal truths. She wanted to know if I could handle it.

Claire was graphic.

‘I laid on my back in the uncomfortable gown, legs in stirrups, staring at the ceiling until the doctor entered the room. I closed my eyes, and held Jamie’s hand in spirit. I felt a strange pressure as the baby was removed, and nothing I thought of could stem the tears now flowing down my face, when it was over I had a feeling of being so empty that I was weightless. I wasn’t sure if I would ever be me again.’

At this I cried out. I couldn’t handle it. I stood up, but felt weak at the knees, and fell to the ground instead.

I needed to calm the roaring and wounded beast within. So I started to say a blessing I’d recited when my mother died.

‘Deep peace of the running wave to you,

Deep peace of the flowing air to you,

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you,

Deep peace of the shining stars to you,

Deep peace of the Son of Peace to you.

May the road rise to meet you;

May the wind be always at your back;

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

May the rains fall softly upon your fields.

Until we meet again,

May God hold you in the hollow of His hand.’

I breathed in a steady rhythm, feeling better as I focused my energy on slowing my heart rate.

I was eventually collected enough to read her last note. After reading it half way, I realised I didn’t need to read further.

She needed me, and I needed her.

But the truth was, we had work to do, and who knows where it could go. We had so much to learn about each other, granted I knew a lot more about her now; I knew her past at least. But I wanted to know her future, to be a part of it, I just wasn’t sure in what capacity.

My caffeine buzz and a burst of adrenaline propelled me off the ground. I knew where I had to be, and without considering the time, I re-traced my steps.

It was raining, the frigidly cold drops saturated me almost instantly, but I didn’t care. I ran across the street, and started ascending the stairs of Claire’s apartment building, my shoes making a squelching sound with each step I took. I knocked loudly on the door and waited. I ignored the discomfort I was feeling due to my soaked clothing, and focussed on willing Claire to the door.

She didn’t yell out this time, but I heard her coming towards the door before finally opening it.

When she saw me no words passed between us, she simply jumped into my arms without a care about my wet form.

I couldn’t feel her tears, but I knew she was crying, she shook ever so slightly now and again.

We came apart, both of us shivering.

“Come in, I’ll put your clothes in the dryer and you can have a shower.” She led me to her bathroom and handed me a fresh towel. “Throw your clothes out to me.”

I shut the bathroom door behind me, undressed hurriedly and opened the door a fraction to give my clothes to her.

Her bathroom was a treasure trove holding every feminine product known to mankind. Everything smelled so good, floral and probably likely to attract cute woodland creatures.

When I’d finished my shower, I wrapped the towel around my waist and went in search of Claire. I found her in the kitchen, she’d changed into tight fitting cotton pyjamas and had on a regal looking robe, she was busying herself making tea.

The quiet prevailed for a while longer.

“Thank ye Sa-, Claire, for writing to me. I didna realise what an undertaking it would be to read the whole thing in a night, I ken it must have been hard for ye.”

“It was.” She breathed the words. “But I fucked up, and I thought it might help you forgive me a little.”

“I’d forgiven ye before I even read anything ye wrote.”

Smiling and passing me a mug of tea she said, “You have no idea how good it is to hear that.” She stepped towards me, and I stiffened without meaning to. Clearly taking this as my rejecting her, she halted and looked away. “But I understand that we need time, and that you have to be able to trust me again.”

I reached down to cup her chin, directing her face so that she was looking up at me. I placed a gentle kiss on her nose. “I’m sorry mo nighean donn. I didna mean to; I dinna know how to do this starting over thing, when what I desperately want is to go back to where we were before I bought the house.”

“It’s ok Jamie.” She whispered.

I couldn’t hold back. I pressed my lips to hers, I felt her sigh. None of the electricity had disappeared, my desire for her was more desperate than it had been before.

She opened her mouth in wanting, as I kissed the nape of her neck and muttered between kisses “I have to tell you something Claire.”

“Mmmmm, what is it Jamie?” Her hands were now around my neck.

I stopped my barrage of kisses, and lifted her off her feet to wrap her legs around me. “I think I’m in love with you.”

She looked stunned by my admission, I worried that perhaps I’d blurted that out a little too soon, her face deadpan she said “I guess it’s good that I know I’m in love with you then.”

This woman had never been more appealing to me than she was right now, I carried her to the couch, keeping her in my lap we kissed like teenagers, clothes were being tugged at, skin was fire, and breathing was ragged.

At some point things slowed, we were both exhausted. Somehow self control had prevailed; her clothes and my towel remained in tact. I laid down on the couch and she nestled in on top of me. I whispered Gaelic words to her, and fell asleep patting her hair.

. . . . . .

I opened my eyes to sunlight streaming in the window, unfortunately it wasn’t sunlight of the early morning kind, which meant I’d no doubt missed my 9:30 meeting, and was probably likely to miss my 10:30 meeting too. Claire was still sleeping in the crook of my arm. She stirred when I kissed her head.

“Claire, I think we’re late. As in I think it’s almost midday kind of late.”

I could hear groaning somewhere beneath her hair. “It’s lucky that I don’t have my first client until 1pm then, why do you think I didn’t have an alarm set?”

“I should probably have brought my phone, or my iPad, or something that would help me get up in time.” At this I started absentmindedly looking around for my watch.

“Lucky for some; they have people working for them, I guess it’s good to be a construction mogul sometimes.”

I chuckled, if only she knew how useless my assistant could be if she didn’t have very specific directions. “I’ve got to make a call to Murtagh, can I borrow yer phone?”

She pointed to the direction of her phone, “It’s somewhere over there, can you tell me what the time is?”

It wasn’t until I got up that I realised how cold it was, I wrapped the trusty towel around myself. “It’s 10:45 Sa-, Claire. Just give me a minute, I’m just going to make this call.”

She forced herself up, I hoped that she was heading to the dryer to get my clothes.

I rang Murtagh twice before he finally answered.

“Jamie! Where are ye? I’ve been callin’ ye all morning!” He was yelling down the phone, almost deafening me.

“Relax, I’m fine, I’m with Claire. I was calling to check that ye made it to the meetings this morning, will ye apologise for me?”

“I’m at a meeting right now, I’ve already made yer excuses. Don’t rush in laddie, we’ll speak soon.” Murtagh hung up.

I turned around to find my clothes in a neat pile on the kitchen counter.

I could hear Claire shuffling about in what I assumed was her room, I stayed at the door not wanting to intrude.

“You can come in Jamie.” I hadn’t expected her to be naked. I drew a sharp intake of breath. All of those moments I’d been away from her picturing her beautiful naked form, here she was. Her milky skin looked almost transparent in the sunlight, her slender frame made her pulse points obvious, and without touching her I could knew the pattern of their beat. She didn’t meet my gaze as I entered the room, but I knew her whiskey eyes would be gleaming with their hidden gold flecks. She was majestic in every sense of the word, seeing her like this made me want to bend the knee and swear enslavement to her forever despite all that had happened between us.

“Ye are beautiful.” I whispered as I approached her. “Can I touch ye Claire?”

Her body gave me all the response I needed. She melted into me, kissing me deeply, every thrust of her tongue sent me further over the edge. I ran my fingers gently over her supple breasts. I needed her warmth, to reacquaint myself with it, but I knew where it was going, and we weren’t ready to tackle that hurdle yet, that much I knew. I forced myself to pull away.

“Claire, I canna, not yet. Let’s take it slowly, get to know each other.” I felt guilty for sending such mixed messages. I watched her face carefully, to be sure that I caught whatever emotion crossed it, but whatever it was; it didn’t betray her.

She untangled herself from me. “I’m going to take a shower now Jamie, join me if you’d like.” I couldn’t be certain, but I felt as though she was trying to show me her ability to be patient, to give me space. I was grateful for it.

“Ye shower, I’ll cook something for breakfast.” I paused, unsure whether or not to say the next words. I uttered them in such a small voice I wasn’t sure she would hear, “Tha thu nam banrigh.”

She smiled. “Should I know what that means?”

“No Sa-, Claire, but one day ye will. And ye’ll understand why I say them to ye.”

“I think I can live with that Jamie Fraser.”

[sociallyacceptablemadness]

Prompt 7!

melody

So, the minute I saw this prompt in my inbox forever ago, I had an idea that fit it.

BUT...it contained quite a few spoilers for my current series, so I can’t share that yet.  Here’s the alternative, which is self-indulgent Hancock introspection that’s...angsty but fluffy at the same time...flangsty?

I dunno.

Whatever it is, I kinda like it and I hope you do, too.

    Hancock took a long drag off his cigarette, holding the smoke in his lungs for a moment before letting it out in a long gray stream.  It was a warm night, the air heavy with a recent rain that had hung over the Commonwealth for most of the afternoon.  He’d stood in the same spot as now, waiting for her to come back, smoking through a full pack before that familiar flash of blue cut through the gloom on the edges of south Boston, just in walking distance of the Castle.

    They’d agreed to meet back at the Castle three days before, parting with a chaste kiss under the eaves of some ratty abandoned building, a safe enough distance from Goodneighbor and the Old North Church.  She disappeared with the press of a button on her Pip-Boy, whisked away to a place he could only imagine, a place where her son was and where he wasn’t welcome.  He’d hoped that, with time, it would bother him less, but each time she left, it still wrenched his gut.  She never came back in a good mood; she always seemed exhausted and worn down, despondent, listless.  However long she was gone, it usually took twice as long for her to start eating and sleeping normally again, though it seemed that each trip still took a little part of her away.

    He wanted to tell her to stop going, to stop doing something that was so obviously destroying her, but it was her fucking kid.  Even if he was old and emotionally bankrupt, he was still her flesh and blood and Hancock wasn’t that big of a dick.  He may not have understood the relationship, but he knew Nora loved Shaun and was doing her best to make it work.  He’d already shoved her husband out of the picture; he wasn’t going to get greedy and take away her kid, too.

    Hancock sighed and sucked down the last centimeters of his cigarette, tossing the spent butt into a nearby bucket and turning away.  He trudged down the stairs into the dark hallways of the Castle, barely acknowledging the Minutemen he passed as he headed toward the General’s quarters.  It had been a quiet day that devolved into a quiet night, Minutemen radio’s mournful violin playing with barely an interruption for hours.  He silently wished for an interruption, an attack, a horde of mutants or gang of raiders to come crashing toward them.

    Something, anything to take his mind of the stupid Institute and some stupid old man he’d never met.

    The lights in her room were turned low; he could see orange lantern light spilling out of the door she’d left propped open.  The radio echoed in here; she must have it playing on her Pip-Boy, too.  He took a breath and tried to plaster a smile on his face, but froze when he saw her through the door.

    She was dancing.

    She had told him about her old love for some lost art she called ballet, once pointed out a woman on a faded poster wearing a stiff, weird skirt and balancing on her toes, but he’d never seen her dance.  Not like this, at least.

    She’d stripped to an oversized shirt and underwear, red hair in a bun at the back of her head, standing with her back to him.  She extended one long, lithe leg out straight, toes pointed, back ramrod straight.  As he watched, she lifted the leg higher, swinging it back and twirling, muscles flexing as she moved.

    It was strange, but oddly mesmerizing, the way she moved around the large room, back curving, arms held aloft, dipping and swaying as the violin music rose and fell.  Occasionally she lifted on bandaged toes and faltered, but kept going.  It wasn’t anything he ever would have called “dance”, but in the small glimpses of her face he got as she twirled, he could see a rare peacefulness.  

    The music cut off abruptly to announce the hour, startling them both.  He jumped a little just as her leg buckled under her and she landed with a soft smack on the concrete floor.

    “Shit,” she muttered, sitting back and rubbing one ankle.

    “Ya’ alright, Sunshine?”

    She looked up sharply and narrowed her eyes. “How long have you been there?”

    “Not long,” he said, striding over and holding out a handle to help her up.  She hauled herself to feet and limped toward the bed.

    “Got to see my mediocre performance, huh,” she said, not looking at him as she sat down and yanked her hair out of the bun.

    “Didn’t seem mediocre to me,” he replied, sitting next to her.  She gave him a wry smile.

    “I’m more than a little out of practice.”

    “Still looked good.”

    Her smile softened the tiniest bit as she took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “I used to be really good,” she said.  She was contemplating her feet, head cocked a bit. Hancock followed her gaze but said nothing.  Her feet were small and bony, crossed with prominent blue veins and dotted with calluses.  She didn’t take good care of them, slapping duct tape over blisters and walking on massive bruises and hard sprains.

    “I was always good at everything I did,” she said softly, “Not trying to brag -- stuff just came naturally to me.  Dance, practicing law…”

    He sensed a “but” and waited to see if she’d continue.  She didn’t, instead shaking her head and scooting farther onto the bed so she could lean over and rummage through the nightstand on the other side.

    “Are we out of Med-X?”

    “Guess so,” Hancock replied nonchalantly.  There had actually been two full vials in the drawer that afternoon, but he’d smuggled them out and dumped them in the clinic before she came back.  He hated how easy it had become to lie to her about it and while he was sure she suspected him most days, she never said anything.

    “Use a stim,” he said, “In the bottom drawer.”

    She made a small noise of irritation but acquiesced.  Minutemen Radio was playing again, a more upbeat melody this time.  Nora leaned against him and closed her eyes.  After a moment, he could hear her humming along.

    “Dance for me,” he said, nudging her a bit.  She looked up, brows drawn together skeptically.

    “You really want to see me stumble around like that?”

    What he wanted, he didn’t say, was to see that peace in her face.  That lack of care, the openness and freedom that made his chest tight with how beautiful she looked.  He wanted to see her do something that wasn’t work or chems or worrying.

    “Yeah,” he answered, smiling at her. “I wanna see those awesome legs in action.  Gives me ideas.”

    She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and stood. “Only until the next hourly check-in.”

    “Plenty of time to plan what I’d like to do to you.”

    “Pervert.”

    “Only for my sunshine.”

    She smiled and rose on tip-toes, whirling away from him with a flip of red hair as the melody continued on.

[clevercatchphrase]

2017 in review, and goals for 2018

If I had to describe 2017 in one word it would be... monotonous. Sure, there were plenty of ups and downs, but for the most part, especially the latter 6 months, I just felt like I was going through the motions, holding my nose to the grind stone, doing work and paying off student loans. 2017 blew by me, and I remember thinking each month passed by with unusal quickness. There's a strange sense of disociation with that, like I wasn't really connected to reality for most of the year, and instead watched it pass me by from a seperate temporal window. In a weird way it may have been a bit of a godsend as well. I hear 2017 was hard for a lot of people, but feeling so disonnected from the year may have protected me and cushioned the blow in a sense.

I lost a family member this year in early june. I knew it was coming ever since january as I hated having to watch them deteriorate and get worse and worse until they finally passed. The three months leading up to it and the three months after were particularly hard and left me feeling unable to write or draw or do anything productive. I still miss them terribly. I always will. But I hope I won't let it immobilize me as much this year as it did last year.

Anyway, Let's review my goals for last year and see what I've accomplished. I’ve a lot to say, so for brevity’s sake I’ve put it all under the cut.

GOALS FOR 2017 1) Finish my 50 billion fan fictions so I can get back to drawing Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha. HAHAHAHAHA. The depression I got halfway through the year throughly put a halt on this. I haven't even finished one of the fics I've started in 2016. I got close, seeing as i participated in NaNoWriMo this year to try and force myself to finish, but I still need to revise and edit all that I've written and the motivation is non existant. GOD, I have so many stories too, all of them still undertale fan fiction because I'm still not over that game. I'll list them all when I share my goals for this year later below. 2)Draw in 2 pages of my sketch book each week so I'll finish a sketch book in a year. I was SO CLOSE with this one! I filled out 95 pages! But you know what i discovered in august? I realized that my 100 page sketch book.... was actually 150 pages! Oh well! I drew more this year than I thought i would! Just because i didn't hit 100 pages, doesn't mean I didn't accomplish something! 3) Finish 14 out of the remaining 27 lessons on my duolingo course I went fucking above and beyond with this one. I hit this goal back in may, and then I completely finished up the danish duolingo course by november. I also passed my 1095 day streak which translates to doing duolingo daily for OVER 3 YEARS STRAIGHT. I still practice daily to build my vocabulary, and I know I can't speak it for the life of me, or follow along with fast speakers, but give me a few minutes and I can probably read it for you. Funny how that works, where I can understand danish if it's written out, but ask me to translate from english to danish and I struggle like a butterfly in a tumble dryer. 4) Become passibly fluent in ASL I have this box of 600 ASL flash cards, and this year I practiced two of them a day until I got through the entire box. I certainly learned a bunch of new words but I wouldn't say I was fluent yet. I certainly don't know all the grammar rules yet. I HAVE been able to sign with people at my job, though I do rely heavily on fingerspelling still. Most everyone I talked with seemed to know I was trying and they seemed really excited that I could understand them if they were patient with me. I put more of my focus on Danish last year, but now that I'm done with Danish, maybe I can focust more on ASL. My sister told me about this site similar to duolingo called "memrise" that actually has an ASL course, so you can bet I'll be looking into that. 5) Read the entire dictionary I did this! I kept two spiral note books and wrote down any words I thought were cool or interesting! I haven't gone back and re-read the words I wrote down, but maybe I will this year! It was exhausting. It was weird. I still can't believe I spent about 200 hours last year doing this. 6) Read one new book every month Much like my sketch book goal, I almost completed this one. I kept it up every month until October, and then I just... stopped. I read more than I thought this year, though I ended up usually waiting until the last week of each month to read, and I also cheated by counting the dictionary as one of the things I read (hey, it's a book, ain't it?) I also re-read old books that I know I like, so not entirely 10 new books were read this year. Reading 1 new book a month isn't one of my goals this year, but I hope to read more new stuff reguardless, 7) Actually use the tutorials and references I reblog Seeing as I barely did any digitial art this year, I can't say I did this one. 8) Do more art streams I think my goal was to stream once a month. I clearly didn't do this. I DID stream in 2017, I just didn't tell anyone. Idk why, I just... went live for people to see but didn't let anyone know I did. I also only streamed like... twice? sigh... So... out of the 8 goals I set, I would say I accomplished close to half. I read the dictionary, I finished my danish language course (which I'm counting as two completed goals) and combining the "read 1 new book a month" and "draw 100 pages in a sketch book" I'll count that as one completed goal. I went through all my ASL cards, though I'm not fluent, OH! I also wanted to pay off 6k loan that I had. I want to count this one as a success because I DID FUCKING PAY OVER 6 THOUSAND DOLLARS IN LOANS THIS YEAR. I got a surprise loan I had no idea about in june that was 1500 dollars, which threw me off. I managed to pay it off in 2 months, BUT IF THAT LOAN HAD NEVER EXISTED I TOTALLY WOULD HAVE FINISHED PAYING OFF THE 6K ONE. I've got a little over a thousand left to pay on the 6k loan now, which I will complete by the end of January. I'm so close to being under 10k in debt... GOALS FOR 2018 1)Go from being 5 figures in student loan debt down to 4 figures in debt (pay off 2 out of 4 loans) If everything goes according to Keikaku I'll achieve this by the end of June. This has to factor in things like updating my car registration in april, oil changes, tune ups, tire rotation, gas and food expenses, but as long as I don't get fired I should be fine! 2) Stretch Daily Not exercise. I never exercise. But it would be nice to increase my flexibility. 3) STOP TOUCHING YOUR GODDAMN FACE/ find an effective acne treatment I also want to try washing my face daily. Im fucking 25. I shouldn't have this many pimples. 4) Do another song comic I made A lyrictale for Undertale at the end of 2015 in ten days. I want to make another. I already have it scripted, now I just need to do it. 5) Do at least one art stream a month. Hey, maybe I can stream the next song comic I do. Sure, it'd spoil the song and story for everyone, but doesn't that sound fun? 6)Practice ASL I just started looking into Memrise and their ASL courses. They actually have A LOT, AND! THEY HAVE SIGN LANGUAGE COURSES FOR OTHER COUNTRIES! This year is gonna be fun. (Also, the only reason I want to learn ASL because of Undertale. I'll let you figure out how they are connected) 7) Sew 4 stuffed animals I started sewwing a Hobbes plush in the middle of last year. His body is finished. I just never did the head. The other three stuffed animals I want to make I will keep a secret because I love to keep people guessing. 8) Make two AMVs There are two songs I want to put to Avatar; The Last Airbender, and Avatar; The Legend of Korra. I have about half the footage... I just... need to rewatch the shows and put the clips together. Hey, maybe after I find all the clips I can do a stream of that as well. 9) Last but not least, finish my many, MANY Undertale Fan Fics. a. You Monster (34 out of 37 chapters are written, but only 29 are posted) b. Finish the "Of Two Minds" series (it's explicit don't look) c. Color Theory (A chasriel one shot) d. Something Left Behind (Terrible AU Idea #647) e. Let's Get Real (Self insert, joke, parody thing that will also be explicit) f. Game Day! (something about soccer games with Mettaton along the same vain as Field Trip!) g. Would You Like Fries With That (Nicepants because there's not enough of it in the world) h. Science Fair! (something with Undyne and school projects along the same vain as Field Trip!) i. One that is so horribly dark and fucked that I won't even describe it here. Welp! Those are my goals for 2018! What are your goals for 2018? Whatever they are, I wish you success and improvement, health and wealth! Stay safe this year! I love you all~

[divagonzo]

Hair (Romione, George, Hinny)

I blame @blvnk-art for this fic. I was thinking on it this morning, especially Hermione deciding to shave her head and my muse smiled on me, threw a gallon of glitter on my head, and voila! The story poured out.

Rated T for bad language, some lime innuendo (it’s very light and Ace safe) and adult situations.

Hermione slipped out of the bed she shared with Ron and padded softly to the boy’s bathroom. She still felt grotty from yesterday, even after a scalding hot bath for an hour. While lying in the bed with Ron, his arm a comfort across her hip but sleep escaping her once again, she came to a pragmatic decision.

She closed the heavy door and picked up the brush she brought with her out of the beaded bag that was her lifeline. Her hair, the one thing on her that stayed when she wasted away, was officially a lost cause. She dropped the brush into the sink and pulled back her hair, trying to talk herself out of the decision made.

She had no logical argument to keep her hair, not when it had grown nappy, knotted, kinked beyond any ability of magic or potions. Exhaustion and pragmatic consideration made it an easy choice when she was standing in the boy’s bathroom of Gryffindor tower and Harry’s razor sitting in front of her.  One casting from the wand she hated with all of her soul sharpened the blade on the muggle safety razor and she went to work, with the wand in her hand and then the razor in the other.

It took an hour to shed the old hair, and the old Hermione, with the wand she hated with all of her soul. Each slash on her head dropped inches of burned hair onto the floor. It took another hour, with some well-timed shaving soap and the razor to get most of the stubble left on her head.

She was reaching for a spot that she couldn’t quite reach when amazing hands touched hers, wrapping her into a warm, loving embrace.

“Do you want me to get it?” a half-asleep voice rattled in the tiled lavatory.

“Yes, please,” She replied with her battered voice before bending her head down for his tender hands.

Each scrape of the blade through the soap and stubble felt like shedding everything that had happened. Each touch from his hands healed some little spot in her soul that was crying in agony.

“There, I think that’s all of it.”

She lifted her head and stopped. “Would you check?”

Ron nodded and touched her cheek, wiping away a stray mote of soot. His deft fingers worked their way around her head, from over her ears to the base of her neck, to the tender spot at her temple where a spell grazed her sometime in the fighting.

“I think you got it all.” He reached over for the aftershave, which seemed entirely silly to have in a bathroom of boys who wished they had a use for it in enticing the girls. “But I know you need this, at least this morning, even if it smells like shite.”

Hermione exploded in laughter, echoing around the room. Tears were streaming down her face and Ron joined her.

“God, it feels so good to hear you laughing.”

“We’re alive, I’ve shaved my head bald, with your help, and nothing makes sense or seems real. Laughing seems about the only response I can muster to everything being mental and utterly sideways.”

Ron splashed some of the grotty aftershave into the palm of his hand and splashed it on her scalp. She hissed for a moment. “Damn, that stings.”

“It’s necessary if you scraped skin and drew blood. Now since it’s bloody fuck thirty, do you think you can now sleep?”

“I think so but only if you’re there with me.”

Ron led the way back to his bed, finding the next one empty of Harry. They shared a look and shrugged, crawling back into his bed and closing the curtains. Within moments, they were fast asleep, letting the world pass them by.

George wanted to scream bloody murder. The nightmare haunted him everywhere. He couldn’t escape, no matter how much he wished and prayed he’d wake from it. But no, each reflective surface in the house taunted him, abused him, made him see Fred everywhere. But that was impossible. The family laid Fred to rest under the enormous oak tree on the edge of the orchard, across from the pond.

That was, if his memories weren’t lying to him, a flickering candle in the moments before his brain shut down for good and he put the wand to his temple and joined Fred permanently.

He ran from his bedroom to the loo, barely making it before he emptied the contents from the Firewhiskey bottle from his stomach into the toilet.  He didn’t remember drinking a fifth’s worth of it yesterday or today.

George wiped the back of his mouth, smelling like shit and praying he’d wake.

He stood up and went to the sink to wash the grotty taste of rancid alcohol from his mouth and pray again he’d wake from the living nightmare he was trapped in. He looked down and saw the shaving soap and straight razor in front of him, next to the taps, laid out precisely. Fucking Percy. He should have died instead of Fred.

“Tosser, wankstain, pisspot,” he heard the echo of a voice inside his head. He looked up and saw Fred in the mirror in front of his face. “You know you love that asshole prat as much as I do.”

“He left, the fuckstrumpet. I hate him. He’s here and you’re not.”

“Oh I’m here and thinking you’re a pathetic mourner. Look at you, stinking of Firewhiskey and wondering why I’m even here talking with you.”

“Asshole,” George replied. “You can’t even leave me to have a fucking pity party like I deserve.”

“Who said anything about deserving it? I should be the one having it. I died and no one set off fireworks or even crackers. What kind of send-off was that?”

“Mum wouldn’t hear of it. She said that we should honor you, not fucking celebrate you were dead, asshole.”

“Yeah, well, mum always got what she wanted.”

Knock, Knock, Knock.

George looked back to the mirror and saw his own reflection. Argh, damn it and reached for the razor.

Ron battered the door with his shoulder until it gave way under his efforts. He found George looking in the mirror, half of his head already shaved, tears streaming down his face.

“The hell, George?”

“I can’t stand to see him taunting me.”

“You look nothing like him.”

“I don’t now.” He tried to move the razor to his wrist and Ron caught him.

Ron didn’t budge while holding George’s wrist. “Sit on the toilet.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry, no can do. Now sit.”

George collapsed and did as Ron said, sitting on the toilet and feeling miserable.

“I won’t have you looking like a deranged muggle.” Ron lathered the soap and checked the edge on the razor before finishing the job George started. It took a while and he waited a few times for George to quit sobbing so he wouldn’t accidentally hurt his older brother.

“Now, feel that and see what you think?”

George ran a hand over his scalp, finding him shaved down to nothing. “I have to see,” he muttered. He pushed Ron out of the way and looked in the mirror and saw… himself.

“Damn.”

“Yeah, you’re pretty fucking ugly.”

“Asshole.”

“Sometimes. Now,” Ron handed George the blade. “Shave mine.”

“Why? Your hair is fine.”

“Rubbish. It’s too fucking long and needs a cut.”

“Use your wand, tosser.”

Ron handed over his wand. “Make mine just like yours.”

“It’ll look like shit,” George put his shaking hand behind his back.

“Nonsense. Cut it.”

“Fine. Don’t complain to me when Hermione says you look like the nasty underside of a troll’s ass.”

George went to work, cutting the overgrowth of hair on his younger brother’s head then setting out to shave him down to nothing. It took a while, considering that it appeared Ron hadn’t had a haircut in over a year.

“Mum put you up to this, didn’t she?”

“Nope. She’s not noticed. I want a change. This seemed fitting.”

George kept working, trying to miss the freckles that might be turning into moles on Ron’s neck. He tried to ignore the scars that wound up onto his neck, white ones that were even more pale than his skin.

“Done, git.”

Ron got up from the toilet seat and went to the mirror, smiling at the job George did.

“You like it?”

“I certainly do,” Hermione said from the doorway.

Both of the men looked at her. Ron smiled and George, gobsmacked. “Where the fuck is your hair?”

“I left it in the loo at Hogwarts. It was too damaged to save it. Feels nice, doesn’t it?” She rubbed her head that had almost no stubble. “You’ll learn to like it in a day or two.” Ron left with Hermione.

George looked in the mirror and saw he was George, not Fred. Maybe the next hour wouldn’t be as surreal or sublime.

“You’re not considering being like those berks, are you?” Ginny asked from the doorway.

“No, but not for the reasons you think.” Harry was trimming his beard that he’d let grow. He liked looking in the mirror and seeing someone he barely recognized. “If I did cut my hair, it’d grow back in a night and be just as untamable as it always is. So why bother?”

“Well thank Merlin for that. I was going spare seeing three bald people in the house, wondering if I was stuck in a lunatic asylum. But then when it’s those three, I have to question their sanity, too.”

“Not me. I actually like this look. It’s low maintenance and people don’t immediately recognize me.” He turned and saw her staring. “What about you? You going around the twist and cutting it?”

“I’m thinking about it. But not right now. Seeing them bald is a sight enough. Mum would be mental if I cut my hair.”

“And you?”

“I might in the future. But for now, I’m keeping it.”

“You think I should trim mine down?” The look on his face was inscrutable.

Ginny looked at Harry for the first time, really looked at him. He’d changed so much in the months since they were gone, changed so much that she wondered if he was the same sweet person under it all. Then again, she wasn’t the same person since the wedding back in July of last year. A year’s worth of insomnia, torment, incessant worry, and anxiety had tempered her too.

“Maybe the beard some, so it looks presentable. But the hair? No keep it. It seems to suit you now. But you might want to pull it up sometimes.” She budged over to him and pushed his shoulders down some, forcing him to kneel in front of the mirror with her standing behind him. Deft fingers worked to pull his long hair up some into what looked like the start of a ponytail she wore often. “Ginny, this – “

“Rubbish. Sit still so I can do it right.”

She manipulated the hair in such a way that it stayed tucked into a neat ball on the back of his head. “I got the idea from Mum, who puts her hair up when she’s baking all day.” Ginny stepped back and let Harry see that she’d twisted it just right and formed it into a ball on the back of his head, securing it with one of her hair bands.  

“So I don’t look like a ponce with this?”

“Nope. You look like Bill on a hot day.”

“I take it that’s a compliment.”

Ginny shrugged. “Take it how you will.” She left the small bathroom and Harry looking in the mirror.

In the future

“I have to do something with this mess.”

Hermione looked up from her Ancient Runes book. “So now it’s a mess?”

“Well, yeah. My hairbands didn’t hold it out of my face enough in the Hufflepuff match yesterday. I dropped the Quaffle twice because I couldn’t see well enough.”

“I don’t seem to have that problem anymore,” Hermione ran her head over her bald scalp. She shaved it daily and claimed it was soothing for her anxiety. “But I doubt that you want to go so far to the extreme that I have.”

“No, I don’t think I have a head that would look pretty without hair.”

“So get it cut then and be done with it.”

Ginny lifted her long hair, well past her shoulders and almost to the middle of her back. “It’s a drastic change, I reckon, if I do it.”

“And so was going from bushy hair to none in one cut. But if anyone has the nerve, you do.”

“I don’t want to be bald.”

“So get a pixie cut. It’s short but also feminine and can be quite cute.”

“Do you know how to cut it like that?”

“Nope. I only know how to go from expansive to none.”

“Luna?” Ginny asked. Hermione thought for a moment. “You can ask her. She is knowledgeable about many things.”

“You know, I think I will.”

Ginny pulled her wand from the waistband of her pyjama bottoms and conjured her Patronus, seeing the massive  horse erupt from her wand. “Luna dear, can you pop up to the Prefect’s Loo shortly. I need a haircut and Hermione says you might be smart about it.” The steed galloped at the closest wall and disappeared.

“Want me to come with?” Hermione asked, putting down her book.

“If you want. I doubt it will take all that long.” Ginny went to their en suite and picked up her shower tote. “I figure a dip while in there would be fun.”

Hermione went to get a change of clothes from her bureau. “I think I will. I could use a long soak in the bath to forget Ron tonight.” Ginny snickered at Hermione’s quandary.

The two ladies made their way to the Prefect’s bath, letting themselves in with the password Haggis. They found Luna already inside, lazing at the edge of the bath with her feet in it. “You should do this. The bubbles tickle the kelpies.” She looked up at the other two people. “So you want me to cut your hair?”

“Well, Hermione seems to think you could cut it and make it look smarter than she could manage.” Ginny sat down at one of the sinks and pulled the brush from her shower bag. “Let me do this one more time before you take a wand to it.”

Luna moved Ginny’s hair to the side. “So you want something cut on the top and short in the back? Like a Pixie cut and not the banshee one you have right now?”

“Yeah, a pixie cut will be great.”

“Don’t take too much off of the top, Luna. We do want her looking a little feminine.”

Ginny gave Hermione a rude gesture and Luna a smile. She closed her eyes. “I trust Luna completely.”

Luna lifted her wand and went to work, cutting the expanse of hair she had put into a hairband then worked around to the top. She took off hair above Ginny’s ears and cut the front to where it wasn’t long but also wasn’t cut so short to look like bangs.

“You can look now, if you want.”

Ginny opened her eyes and saw Hermione standing with Luna behind her. Luna appeared pleased while Hermione was apprehensive. “Well, what do you think?”

Ginny ran her hands through the short hair on her head and through the longer locks on top. One eye was slightly obscured with the hair but a headband could fix that for Quidditch. “I like it. It’s cute.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, and besides,” Ginny turned to smile at her friends, “I’d not tell Luna she did a bad job when she didn’t. I like it. I really like it.”

“Well, I think you’re cute.” Luna leaned down and kissed Ginny on the cheek. “I’m going to the bath.”

Hermione offered Ginny a hug and joined Luna in the bath. Sighs erupted every now and then while Ginny evaluated her new haircut.

“Bet Harry will love it,” Ginny said to herself.

“He’d love you if you were bald,” Hermione cheeked back.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” Ginny said. “And Harry is nothing like my brother.” Ginny didn’t mention that she appreciated Harry pulling her hair at Christmas.

Yes, there was just enough up top for Harry’s appreciation.

[nyruratchet]

Notes 5 - It’s Been A While

This is not the life I though I’d have. I had so many plans. But life has been stolen. I’m sitting here my bed, in a tiny NYC room that I pay way too much for, with a roommate next door who takes me for granted, and bills staring me in the face every which way I turn.

I did everything I was supposed to. Every damned thing that was asked of me and I ended up HERE. I wanted to be a performer, but my parents didn’t support me going to California or Rutgers right out of High School to pursue my passion. This was very selfish on their part and I think I will carry resentment for that until the day I die. Because I will never ever know what could have been. But I own my part in that decision. I could have defied them, sure; been “cut-off” (from what I’m still trying to figure out...we still have no money). But instead, I did what they wanted and ended up nowhere and with nothing to show for my obedience...but I digress.

Sorry, it has been a minute since I last wrote. I had started dating someone and...actually thought again if I put all my effort into it, that finally there would be fruits of my labor. Again, life gave me a big fuck you. Why didn’t it work? I chased him far longer than I should have. I accepted far too little from him in return for what I was willing to give. Distance was an issue, but it could have been bearable had he been able to meet me halfway. He’s a good person. Just has lots of growing up to do. He will get there though; but without me. So, it didn’t fit and I cried SO much until I realized I didn't love him and I wasn’t ever going to. Aint that some shit; finally a guy “wants’” to date me and I’m the one who has to end it. I guess the first try is always destined to be a failure?

I posted recently about my role in friendships. YES, I know I have been MIA. But if you don’t understand why I’ve been physically non-present...I don’t know what to tell you. I try my damndest to respond to all texts; but sometimes my mind doesn’t allow it to happen.  This year has hit me SO much harder than I thought possible. Therefore, all my energy has been put into staying alive. Now, don’t be afraid of me saying that. I’m not looking to end my life. But when life keeps dragging you beneath the current and you keep rising enough to barely catch a tiny breath before being plunged into the fathoms below once more, you begin to wonder if you should just go with that flow and let it carry you away. Talk to someone? Been there, done that. Doesn’t help me. My problems are tangible. Money, Career, Love. Period. Scheduled venting sessions offer me no resolution. I entered myself into therapy in college. Went on for 4 years until it was no longer covered. Then when I got on employment a few years later in NYC, I resumed for another year hoping maybe someone else could help me figure out why I’m so miserable. 4 therapists/counselors later...nothing. So, I stopped paying the mere $30 copay there was (which was still a struggle because I was on food stamps as it is; still pursuing my dream to be on Broadway and become a recording artist) and went on with trying to at least solve one of my problems...money. So, I got a job instead of being a starving artist. 

Inflight crewmember with JB. FML. Why did I do this to myself? I did. I was in a bad place and things got a bit better but now I’m worse off. Mo money, mo problems?? HARDLY. Money would solve most of my problems right now. 

Rent. Utilities. Food (I make too much to be on food stamps no...so says the gov’t). Mental Health. Music...

Oh my music...So, I told you all I would explain more on why good artists struggle to get GOOD music out. Here goes my attempt:

1. Write music: doing this on your “off-time” from working for someone else’s business is exhausting. But if you love it and are driven, you can do it. I have many songs that I have written tired as shit after my redeyes. I’m actually a beast at catchy melodies, lyrics, and vocal harmonies.

2. Purchase equipment/software: Home studios or some type of set-up is pretty much a necessity. I need to have song fully imagined so the producer and technicians know the progression when recording and building the song. (Mic-$80, Logic X pro-$200, Studio Headphones: ~$100, Pop filter: ~$20, New computer: (varies, but given that I’ve had computers crash etc. I’ll tell the most recent price) $2500,  

3. Find a producer: So...unless you have magical fingers and can play instruments, the next step is finding a talented producer to do your backing track/orchestration. And good producers need to be PAID by the hour for a custom production. (~$25-50/hr) OR you can purchase exclusive rights to a already produced beat for a for ~$150...but even those can get pricey.

4. Book a studio: So, if you’re doing an original song you will definitely need multiple studio sessions. For one song I worked on, I spent about $700 dollars for 3 sessions only 3-4hrs long each. 

5. Proper mixing/mastering: there are online services that can do quick mastering. LANDR cost me $15/month. But when I’m doing original music, that needs professional mastering/mixing. What does that mean? More time for you or an audio engineer you trust to be in a studio. So, depending on who/where that is...lets say ~$25-75/hr (good mixing will take a few hours at least on the first sit down.

6. Song is done. What’s next? Promotion...see where this is going? Social media. You need photos/artwork which its own separate expense if you don’t do your own. And then if you aren't yourself a IG/Twitter/Snap influencer with 20K followers, you need to pay them to post your song so people give a shit to even listen let alone PURCHASE your art on iTunes/Amazon/Tidal/Soundcloud.  And influencers/promotion services charge HUNDREDS. So, when I beg and plead my friends to SHARE, LIKE and post I’m doing so because I need your help. I can’t ever afford good promotion. 

7. Release Music: You have to pay to release your music on streaming/music services ~$40. They then take a percentage of sales from each platform.

Now, your ONE song is out. Lets say a couple thousand people streamed the song for free on Spotify or Pandora. How much you think an artist gets?  Well, lets put it this way. I’ve done a few songs and have seen no money. I’m literally hemorrhaging money just to do something I love. But that forces me to do more of what I hate is being a flight attendant. Why don't I do something else? Oh honey, trust me...I’ve been working since I was 15. Dont you think I’m looking? I’ve been looking and brainstorming. Nothing is looking good. So, yes I know I’m the only one who can get myself out of a situation I don’t like. But it is beyond me right now. But I DO wake up each day hoping I find SOME way to make a change. But I do fear I will reach the point of hopelessness fairly soon; and the point is different than the braking point aforementioned.

So, I was doing all of this music creation on top of a depressing dating experience and roommate issues AND job related stress. I’m honestly not sure how I’m alive. I’m not suicidal but at one point I contemplated calling a hotline to see exactly what they are trained to do should I reach the braking point. I didn’t do it. I cried myself to sleep again; rolled out of bed the next day to go to work as so many adults do. I KNOW I’m not the only one struggling. But when your lot in life feels like a mistake and loneliness is staring you in the face every day you are “blessed” to open your eyes, you keep asking yourself (well, I keep asking Myself...) Why the FUCK am I here? No one (on the grand scheme of things) is paying attention my music and guys literally seemed repulsed when I express interest. I’m know I’m supposed to matter but, this world keeps telling me otherwise. So, yeah...sorry, it has been a while. But without music, I guarantee I’d be gone by now. Guess we’ll see how long this will last.

[guksthighs]

Early Bird

Group: BTS

Pairing: YOONGI(SUGA) X JIMIN

Excerpt/summary: ‘ They were too different; an early bird and a night owl maybe it was doomed from just this small fact. ’

Genre: Angst, eventual fluff

Length: 3.1k

Warnings: mild swearing, sexual scene 

Inspired by: @artofennun (and her domesticau yoonmin )

A/N: I’ve always been pulled out of my writer’s block by looking at your art or watching your live streams and I hope I’ve done this piece justice!  

Jimin was an early bird, every morning he would be up long before Yoongi and with a satisfied sigh and opening the blinds with the same vigour every morning, he would be greeted by a groan or muttered swearing from Yoongi. It was their routine, and Jimin would always give compensation for it by showering him in kisses or making him a coffee.

Yoongi easily slipped into the pattern of being awoken by these blinding sun rays, just to have Jimin straddle him and pepper his face with kisses. And as much as Yoongi liked to pretend he hated it, it did eventually become the highlight of his morning.

This honeymoon period only lasted so long though. Yoongi was struggling to sleep, tossing and turning; his mind refusing to let him rest with the added pressure of composing; it all bundled itself up into irritation that was taken out on the easiest target, Jimin.

The first morning of many bad ones to come, played out as normal, Jimin got up and stretched before walking to the window and opening the blinds, he smiled as the sun illuminated his face and turning to look at Yoongi, he watched the small patch of black hair retreat into the white sheets. Gently he approached the figure, sitting on the bed Yoongi felt the mattress dip slightly and let out a groan to keep the boy away, Jimin didn’t get the hint. Dragging back the covers slowly Jimin dipped down to plant a kiss on the elder’s head only to be swatted away, pulling the duvet back up Jimin was not disheartened as he went to make Yoongi a coffee.

Whilst Jimin strolled into the small kitchen, Yoongi’s dog Holly played at his feet, and Jimin scooped him up and nuzzled his face into Holly’s fur. After a few minutes of having his face licked and baby talking the dog, Jimin put Holly back down, and with one last stroke he went back to making the coffee. A lock of bubblegum pink hair fell into his eyes and as he pushed it away, then continued to pour the hot water into the instant powder. But his shaky hand spilt some of it which landed on his fingers causing him to squeal and place it in his mouth, but he continued tirelessly in making the coffee.

Finally when he finished, did he allow himself a small grin of triumph before walking back into the bedroom, Holly in tow as he sat on the bed again and Holly dug into the covers.

“Get out, both of you.” Yoongi’s voice was gruff and Jimin wanted to fight back but he knew he was at fault for walking his boyfriend up the same way every day when he had been told countless times how much he needed to rest.

“There’s a coffee on the table,” Jimin muttered, before he scooped Holly up, who barked in protest as together they began to leave.

“I don’t want your fucking apology coffee; I want an uninterrupted morning for once.” Yoongi’s head was poking out of the covers and Jimin pushed down the urge to ruffle his hair, the urge to nestle into his clothes, the urge to nibble on his earrings. Jimin nodded and walked out, his feet dragging on the cold floor; he had left his slippers next to the bed.

Recently, Jimin had noticed that Yoongi enjoyed their morning ritual less and less; but the vocalised outburst had still taken him by surprise, he was still hurt every evening when he was clearing away another untouched coffee but those were just actions, these were words confirming his fears.

Jimin sat on the sofa, knees to his chest as he wondered if Yoongi was finally bored of him. Speculating if their love was not destined for a massive ending but just to fizzle out, Jimin shook his head trying to rid himself of the thoughts but they had been plaguing him for the last week. They were too different; an early bird and a night owl maybe it was doomed from just this small fact.

Jimin slept badly ever since he had decided that Yoongi no longer loved him, in fact, he finally understood why the elder never woke up early; now he was also exhausted all the time. Even when he was asleep, his dreams were intense and often lucid, Jimin constantly having these weird dreams meant he no longer looked forward to sleeping. But he still woke up before Yoongi, he still drew the blinds, he still tried to kiss him, still made an apology coffee and every day these actions seemed to drain him just a bit more.

Jimin refused to believe that what they had was over, but it was hard when the evidence was staring him in the face; the multiple coffee cups building up on Yoongi’s desk and the bags collecting under both of their eyes.

One morning Jimin woke on the sofa, alone and shivering. He was confused, pushing his hair back before getting up and walking back to the bedroom, but as he walked closer to the door; moaning and the creaking of the bed increased in sound. Jimin pushed open the door timidly, scared his worst fears were about to be confirmed. There was a girl on top of Yoongi, long black hair falling down her curvy figure and he could hear Yoongi’s grunts intertwining with her moans. He dropped to his knees, tears rolling down his face as he repeated no.

A hand moved the girl to the side and Yoongi looked at him with no emotion, “get out.” Jimin wanted to fight so badly, wanted to run up and slap his elder in the face. But as he stood back up, slightly wobbling on his feet the girl turned around and it was Jeongguk’s big eyes that met his.

Jimin woke up with a gasp, the room was still dark as he ran a hand over his face; he felt the dampness of his tears and just wanted to cuddle with Yoongi for a bit. But as he snuggled into his boyfriends chest he was pushed away, before Yoongi turned around again, muttering slightly.

Wide eyed Jimin covered his mouth with his hands as sobs racked his shaking body, Yoongi didn’t love him anymore.

So he got up and tugged open the blinds but this time slightly more viscously. Then got back into bed, tears still trickling down his face as he drifted back to a restless sleep.

Yoongi woke up a few minutes later, unlike Jimin unable to sleep when it was light and when he felt the slight dent in the bed next to him he turned ready to reprimand the boy, what he saw instead made his mouth go dry. Jimin was curled up, facing him with tears dripping from his eyes and onto the slightly damp patch of his pillow; his heads shaking from side to side every now and then.

Yoongi ran a hand through his hair, pulling it slightly in frustration. That must have been why Jimin had snuggled into him. Yoongi groaned slightly, scared to wake the younger boy but still running a hand slowly through the bubblegum locks did he manage to soothe him and the tears finally stopped.

Yoongi pushed the pink hair away from the boy’s face and studied him closely; it was the longest he had looked at him in such detail for a few weeks.

Finally, he noticed the bags collecting under Jimin’s eyes so similar to his and the slight frown that had settled on his forehead. Yoongi placed a light kiss on the line before getting out of the bed, determined to make up for being so shit.

When Jimin woke up again he automatically reached out for Yoongi. But the bed was empty, assuming he was hallucinating he stretched out an arm and felt around Yoongi’s side. But he found nothing.

The curtains were already drawn and the morning sun greeted him. But this was not normal and Jimin in an already shaken state pushed himself out of bed. He rushed to the door in a blind panic just to knock onto a hard chest, this was followed by a hot liquid being spilt on his top and the floor and was quickly followed by a string of curses from Yoongi.

“Jiminie,” Yoongi quickly pushed him back into the bedroom before placing the coffee on the table, “quickly take off your top otherwise it will stain.”

But Jimin stood there, arms crossed over his torso, “are you cheating on me?”

Yoongi dropped the glass, the sound of it shattering on the floor was the only sound in the apartment followed by Holly’s yaps. Then his arms were around Jimin as he held him firmly, “I could never- I would never cheat on you,” he murmured into Jimin’s ear.

Jimin didn’t return the hug, his body completely stiff and Yoongi backed away aware of his uncharacteristic frown.

“Jimminie?”

Jimin gave him a tight smile, “I’m not some sort of housewife Yoongi,” Yoongi looked at him shocked, it took a lot to get Jimin this angry and yet he could see where he was coming from, “I’m not always going to crawl back into your lap when you’re a dick to me for weeks.”

“I know, I’m so-”

Jimin cut him off, a broad smile on his face as he said with a laugh, “you obviously don’t. You think I’m weak. You think that love will fix this. What love Yoongi?” A tear slipped down his face, “you don’t love me so how can this be fixed?”

This time when Yoongi hugged Jimin, he wasn’t stiff but hugged back. “I understand you’re angry. But please at least take off your wet top I don’t want you to be ill.”

Jimin sat on the edge of the bed, pulling off his shirt and looking at the floor, tears still slipping down his face. Yoongi quickly pulled his maroon jumper off and pulled it over the younger’s head.

Then Yoongi rubbed his hands on his legs, obviously stuck for words before he began walking out of the room, suddenly he was turning on his heel and was running back to Jimin. They both paused before Yoongi ran his hands through bubblegum locks and looking into Jimin’s eyes kissed him softly on the lips.

After a few seconds, Jimin pulled away and Yoongi looked down before turning to leave again, but Jimin’s hand wrapped around his wrist and Yoongi realised he was being given a second chance.

Turning he smiled softly and with his free hand stroked Jimin’s head, “I’m sorry I am such a bad boyfriend. You’ve been the only thing getting me out of bed in the morning, thank you.” Jimin moved his head so he could look into Yoongi’s eyes and then at his lips, the next time they kissed it was hungry and possessive. But this just reinstated what Yoongi had said.

“Your breath is awful,” Jimin complained and Yoongi laughed running his neck bashfully causing Jimin to laugh and kiss him again. Then he got up and pulled Yoongi to his feet, as they walked arm in arm to the bathroom.

Standing next to each, Jimin looped his arm through Yoongi’s as they continued to brush their teeth, leaning his head on his shoulder, “Yoongi, you won’t believe this dream I had; so..”

But Yoongi was already zoning out as he watched Jimin’s reflection and deciding he would wake up earlier than Jimin from now on so he could always see his crazy bed head and listen to his bizarre dreams, “I love you Jimin.”

Jimin paused mid-word and blinked at the elder in confusion before grinning and planting a foamy kiss on his cheek; “I love you too idiot.”

If you enjoyed this please do not hesitate to like, reblog and comment~

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! For my masterlist: click here

[rinusagitora]

we will carve a home out of the hollow in your chest

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Momo Hinamori, Izuru Kira, Renji Abarai, Shuuhei Hisagi, Tetsuzaemon Iba, Shinji Hirako, Byakuya Kuchiki, Shunsui Kyouraku

Pairings: RenShuuKiraHina, mentioned badship AiHina

Words: 1900+

Summary: Canon divergent, pos TYBW arc. WARNINGS– body horror, violence, mass death. 2/4. The war is over, and the losses are permanent, but they know how to manage.

FFN | AO3 | Previous | Next

She wasn't like Renji. She couldn't compartmentalize like he could. She could distance herself, distract herself, but the shock had worn off by then. Every bit of rubble she turned over, she feared she would find Izuru, lifeless, that arm contorted in some freakish way. The dread made her nauseous.

She couldn't take anymore bodies. She couldn't distance herself in her worry. Izuru was alive when she thought he was dead, and he was gone because she scared him away. It was almost worse in that way because it was her fault and her fault alone, like the times she turned her sword against her brother and her friends for that man.

She needed to create, to breathe life into something. But even if there wasn’t any shortage in charcoal, she was without her sketchpad.

Reconstruction wasn't art, but it was better than tally after tally after fucking tally. If she asked, she knew with almost absolute certainty that she could tug at Hirako-taichou’s heartstrings and land herself in the west of the Seireitei for a couple of hours.

Her captain was in a tent with their new Head Captain and Kuchiki-taichou, bent over a map until she entered. Her captain looked so tired. He didn’t walk over her and wrap her in a one-armed hug and he didn’t jostle her with a friendly, confident grin. He didn’t even smile at her, like the bags under his eyes were too heavy for his cheeks to lift. She hated to see someone who had so quickly one a spot in her heart so exhausted.

“If you have a moment, could you reassign me to the west end of the Seireitei? Please? I need a break from all the bodies. Just for this shift….” She pleaded under her breath.

She wasn't met with an immediate yes or no. Hirako-taichou merely looked to Kyouraku-soutaichou, who then looked at a roster.

“I think we can afford an extra man there.” The head captain said.

“We can't. We need to clean up all of this, account for as many bodies, and then track down and incarcerate any deserters.” Kuchiki-taichou responded.

“We’re spread a little thin, but when aren't we? It'll help us take down some of those tents sooner rather than later at least. It couldn't hurt to switch the poor thing for just one shift, Kuchiki.” Kyouraku-soutaichou said. His calm amazed her-- she always wanted to clock Kuchiki-taichou ever since his cold dismissal of Renji’s life not even two years ago.

Kuchiki-taichou’s lips tightened into a line. It, at least, seemed he wasn’t hot about the tents either.

“Meet up with Iba-fukutaichou, Hinamori-fukutaichou. He’ll delegate you where you're needed.” Hirako-taichou said.

She bowed graciously to them and made herself scarce. She had already thrown a wrench into their carefully balanced schedule, she couldn’t make herself a nuisance on top of it.

Iba-fukutaichou had always been among her favorite lieutenants-- outside of Renji, Shuuhei, and Izuru of course. He had always been more noble than any of the aristocracy, and down to earth and so very sweet. She wasn’t close to him, they had only spoken before lieutenant meetings, but he was good in her book. Not many were anymore. Especially not men.

The west of the Seireitei was different from the rest. The air was much fainter of burnt fat and decay and the walkways were clear if not just slightly crumbled where they hadn’t been repaved. It was a totally different atmosphere on top of it. It felt like she had finally bobbed above the dirty water for a breath of fresh air.

Yes. It wasn’t art, but it was an escape from all her anxiety, that awfulness in the rest of the Seireitei.

Iba-fukutaichou was among his men as they pieced together platforms with smooth slats. He straightened as she approached.

“I was told you could give me something to work on here.” She said. “I would appreciate anything. Really, just put me somewhere. Please.”

“Happy to have you, Hinamori. Just join the rest of us. If you need any help, just shout.” Iba-fukutaichou replied.

“Thank you.” She would’ve asked where Shuuhei and Renji were and if he knew where her dear Izuru had run off to, but she figured they would only be a distraction. Distractions-- Izuru-- made her sad and they couldn’t afford that then. It was like Renji said-- one step at a time.

She would ignore how it felt like she abandoned her dearly beloved and thank whatever higher power had taken the Soul King’s place that flooring was busy work. It didn’t require quite the amount of attention as her art or reading, but it was nice to busy up her hands with something more visibly productive than tolling bodies. The hours passed just as quickly either way.

Shuuhei described her as beat when he and Renji came to fetch her. He must’ve meant she didn’t look much different than she normally did because sleep eluded her. The noise did not, on the other hand. It was difficult to not listen in on the conversations around her, bored out of her mind and worried out of her hyde. It was still mostly who was still missing, grief over the deceased, cynicism in hushed voices.

She was a terrible leader. If she couldn’t hold herself together, how could her men? They were the gears of the Soul Society. Their leaders were merely the lubricant that kept those gears cool. Without them, the gears would surely be ground away or pop off their spindles.

If she didn’t listen in, she probed for Izuru. Normally, she could pinpoint any of her loved ones’ reiatsu at any time with little trouble. Izuru’s was unusually faint, however. Like he really was gone. But she knew otherwise. Half the Seireitei knew about that scene at the tents, and her brother was there too so it couldn’t have been a hallucination. Izuru sulked somewhere, because she was a terrible excuse of a human being and an even worse lover.

There was a sudden change in the cadence and the speed of the murmurs around, and the sudden silence as she picked up on a pinprick of Izuru’s reiatsu. It felt so distant, but she heard his footfalls. Each was like a kick to her gut. It brought tears to her eyes-- relieved and terrified. She wished his reiatsu was strong enough to tell how he felt-- if he hated her, if he needed her.

Or perhaps it was just a hallucination. Perhaps she had finally been driven undeniably and irreparably mad. Or maybe the entire thing was just a long nightmare, and she would finally wake sandwiched between her boys and they would kiss her at breakfast as she told them about the most horrible dream she had ever had.

She stayed silent. If he wanted her, if he was even real, she figured he would speak. Aizen’s voice never accompanied his phantom presence. The memories of his words, but never his voice.

“... you hold yourself when you’re asleep.” Izuru rasped finally. He sounded winded.

Tears welled in her eyes as she laid sight on him. He was paler, more ragged, with a blanket tied around his shoulders.

“You’re here.” She sighed.

He nodded solemnly. Izuru normally wasn’t one to smile in the first place, but those blue eyes were so emotive. Those same eyes were dull and they were lifeless then, like he belonged on a metal slab and knew it. Her teary stare was no different from the others he must receive.

“Do you not want me to be?” He asked plainly, as if bored.

“I always want your company, you know that.”

“You wanted Izuru Kira’s company. He is dead. I am but a humble war machine in his shape.”

“Don’t you say that.” She quivered. “Don’t you say anything like that again. You are my beloved Izuru. We’ve all been turned into war machines. But it’s over now and we’re going to rebuild our home and our lives, and we want you in that.”

“The man you loved is dead.” Izuru iterated. “He is only a small percentage of my reiatsu. The rest is reiatsu from fallen soldiers mashed into me so I can operate.”

“So?” She sniffed. “You look like my Izuru. You talk like my Izuru. I can still feel my Izuru’s presence. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, then it’s probably a duck.”

“You’re still as deluded as when Aizen fucked you.”

She flew upright. Her knuckles stung after they connected with his cheek. “How dare you bring that monster up.”

“The man you share all those happy memories with is gone. He died, and he let all of his men die too. Every single one of them.”

“We lost a lot of good men against the Quincies. It’s not your fault.”

“Like Aizen was coerced by Gin?”

Her knuckles stung as she backhanded Izuru again. His expression didn’t change as he stared down the row.

“Have you come to be cruel to me?!” She barked as embarrassed tears streamed down her face. She didn’t turn to Renji or Shuuhei  when they startled awake. “Izuru has always been like that. You’ve been so sarcastic and mean since Ichimaru died. You’re damn right I was loyal to Aizen, and I’m loyal to you now. Did you really think we would cut you out of our lives just because you’re having a tantrum!? You underestimate my tolerance!”

“You’re morbid to love a dead man.” Izuru growled

She slapped him again. “Enough of that! I don’t want to hear anything like that come out of your mouth again.”

Izuru stared off to the side, past the audience they had garnered. He got that thousand-yard stare when he was sad, when he truly debated death. She knew it well. How could he claim to not be Izuru when he was still so much like him?

“And what will you do if I refuse?”

She burst into humorless, bitter laughter. “You expect me to discard you? I couldn’t leave that monster when he raped me nightly, I wouldn’t have left him after he stabbed me! What the fuck makes you think you can make me leave you?”

“... I ought to go.”

“No, you’re staying. I’ll make you. Renji and Shuuhei will hold you down, and we’ll call Kuchiki-taichou in to hold you somewhere.”

He finally looked at her. “You’ll make me stay? Like you made Aizen stay?”

She slapped him once more and wailed. She couldn’t see his gaze through all of her tears, but she could feel it like a drill.

“You and I are taking a walk.” Renji plucked Izuru off the bunk and dragged him out. She couldn’t bring herself to look anyone in the eye as she walked in the opposite direction.

She knew the pain would fade, she thought as Shuuhei laid her head against his chest. She knew they would come together again just like they did after those men exited their lives, she knew her kisses would ease his pain, but Izuru was stubborn and she hurt too much to look at him.

Perhaps she was a fool, she thought, to let Izuru get away with a mere lecture from Renji. Perhaps she hadn’t changed since Aizen. Perhaps she was morbid and sad and needy, but he never seemed to mind it in the past.

[sambaguy]

Samba Guy Scores Big At RSD

Sorry I haven’t posted anything in a while. It’s been a really busy couple of weeks and I haven’t even had a second to catch my breath. First things first, there was Record Store Day 2015. What a day for music lovers. I’ve been looking forward to RSD since the last one. My top priorities were the Run the Jewels “Bust No Moves” 12” and the Father John Misty “I Loved You, Honeybear” 7” which was pressed on red heart-shaped vinyl, but I was also able to score the Neko Case reissue, the Of Montreal live album, the Grizzly Bear Horn of Plenty reissue featuring new artwork, Metallica’s No Life Til Leathr, a cassette reissue of their 1982 demo tape available officially for the first time, Vampire Weekend’s “Step” 12″, featuring “Step”, the remix featuring Danny Brown, Heems, and Despot, and the instrumental, Cloud Nothings’ album Here and Nowhere Else remixed by Ohio artists, J. Dilla’s Love 7″, which features unreleased material, as well as the “Fuck the Police” 45, which is shaped like a badge, of and of course Courtney Barnett’s “Kim’s Caravan” 12″, featuring the new album track “Kim’s Caravan” back with a cover of John Cale’s “Close Watch” as well as D’Angelo’s “The Charade” 7″, featuring “Charade” with “1000 Deaths” from Black Messiah, which I also bought on vinyl because I felt like that was in the spirit of things and besides I had only ever streamed it on Spotify when it came out and I thought the vinyl of it would sound even better (if that’s even possible!). Oh and I got the 10th anniversary pressing of the Decemberists’ Picaresuqe, which includes a postcard set and a booklet, as well as Four Tet, Jamie xx, John Talabot, and Koreless’s soundtracks for the two-minute film “Continuum”, on 7″. Oh and the  Get Behind Me Satan vinyl reissue which was the first time that album has ever been on vinyl. I don’t really like that one but it was the first time it’s ever been on vinyl for the first time so I was pretty obligated ha. So it was a pretty good RSD. There was a little bit of a hiccup about halfway through, though, when the serum began to wear off and I could feel myself turning back, my body contorting and stretching, fighting to expel this self—this self that I cannot live without but isn’t natural for me and I have to try constantly to keep alive–and replace it with my original, boring self, the self that doesn’t even like Mikal Cronin, the self that has never even heard a Sharon Van Etten song. This self, my true self, I have banished to the depths of my psyche, but only by way of the serum, which is expensive and tedious to make and even more exhausting to take. It’s never worn off in public before, but here, as I was flipping through the Record Store Day releases with my buddies, I could feel the change coming. Quickly, I turned to my friend Aaron (who is also one of my roommates) and told him, as sincerely as I could, “Hey man, I’ve gotta run home for a sec.” He looked at me with a weird look on his face. “What are you talking about?” he said. “That’s far and we’re already here and we were gonna get brunch after this with the girls.” I had, in my slipping-back-to-normal state, forgotten about brunch. My mind felt like a pool of gasoline someone had lit on fire. “Yeah man, I’ll meet you guys…there…,” I was able to spit out without sounding too strained. Aaron had noticed the new Lord Huron album on an eye-level wall shelf and was now walking toward it. “Okay? See you there?” He wasn’t listening. I half ran and half limped to the checkout counter. My body was changing. In another couple of minutes, I wouldn’t want any of this vinyl, would be appalled I was even in a record store on Record Store Day. I put my haul on the counter. The clerk was wearing a tight yellow shirt with a weird line drawing on it and had long hair a similar color to his shirt. I didn’t know what to make of this.. He rang me up quickly (luckily) but didn’t comment favorably on a single one of my purchases (which is normal for me at this place, whenever I come, which isn’t very much). I panted out “thanks, man” and lifted the two plastic bags off the counter. My head was now shaking uncontrollably and I could feel the change almost upon me, like I had to sneeze but couldn’t quite. I emerged, rat-like, into the bright San Francisco sun and ran as fast as I could to the coffee place across the street. They have a bathroom. The stale, wet, burned smell of roasted beans hit me hard and I almost ran into a woman wearing cut-off black jean shorts and a jean jacket with cut-off sleeves who was waiting in the long line. She looked at me with a mixture of fear and disgust. I limped to the bathroom which luckily was unlocked and let myself in. I pushed the heavy door shut and locked it. Turning just in time to see myself in the mirror, the transformation was complete: my face was slightly more handsome, my clothes fit slightly better, my hair was less contrived. I hated this self. I had never felt good like this. Something always was missing. I hated my mind. My new (real) self now looked down at the shopping bags I had set on top of the sink and picked them up. Looking inside, he sneered. This person now walked out of the bathroom and straight out of the coffee shop (I would have liked a coffee) and 15 minutes later was back at my apartment. He watched a little reality TV, drank a glass of water. It was at least a week before the urges of my half of the self took over enough and we were able to finally, quietly, locked in the apartment’s half-bath near the kitchen, drink another vile of serum. After the painful transformation, I emerged, looking like myself, licking my lips. I went into my bedroom and picked up the bags from Record Store Day that had been dropped in the corner by my trash can. I can’t wait until RSD 2016.

The new My Morning Jacket might be my AOTY. Definitely my AOTW I think. I mean, it’s just totally gorgeous. It’s not even possible to describe. I haven’t heard anything better than it all week I don’t think. METZ is a strong option too but I haven’t really had the chance to listen to it all the way through because I’m saving it for the gym and I don’t go to the gym. The Best Coast album is pretty good (her performance on Jimmy Fallon was all I’ve heard from it though) and the Mikal Cronin is amazing. Also the new the albums by Torres, Django Django, Downtown Boys, Hop Along, Superchunt frontman, Palma Violets, Turnoever, Thin Lips, Michele Route, Dendritic Amor, Scallop Hotel, Gacha, Oddisee, Battle Axe and Nosaj Thing are all really, really good. And there’s a Compilation by PC Music that I still need to really listen to. Don’t know if I am really on board with them or not. I get it, but it still seems basically pretentious and the only things I’ve heard sound like the music was made by the chipmunks in those Kia commercials on crack. Also I know Rich Homie Quan’s new mixtape is pretty all over the place and boring, but I am not really actually too much of a rap guy. Or at least I haven’t felt like listening to much rap lately. Also really excited for new Tanlines. I can’t wait to sip some lemonade and listen to their new album all summer long. I’m just looking forward to whenever the entire new Tame Impala album comes out. They are a band right on the cusp of being one of the biggest in the world. Not that that’s hugely important, but it’s still fun to watch. But I’m sick of hearing all these little bits of it! But all the songs released so far have been incredible pieces of art, so I can’t wait to hear the whole thing at once like it’s supposed to be heard. The newest song they released “Eventually” (get it? Sorry) is my least favorite song released from the album so far but I still like it. It’s my second favorite after the perfection that is “Let It Happen.” Basically: “Let it Happen” > “Disciples” > “Eventually” > “I’m a Man”. But really, listening to new Tame Impala in pieces as opposed to sum of its parts might be the most aggravating auditory experience. It’s like hearing The Wall on random play. All I wanna do is highlight track one…and push play.

– Samba Guy, May 8, 2015