#achilles and his bitch ankle could never

[untrisha]

I think I might be ready for one of those strong man competitions.

My boss said she had an appointment at 4:20 and I simply nodded rather than saying "blaze it" in response

[banes-favourite]

HC, why does Gortash have a cane? Is it just for funsies? Is it just more practical to carry around than a full-on heavy crossbow? Does he want to parade around looking all fancy, or does he actually struggle with walking and standing for prolonged periods of time, hence why he also ditches his own coronation so quickly?

I know most likely it'd be just for show cause he's one flamboyant little bitch. Either that or he had it made JUST to include it in the painting.

But it's nice to hurt him so, really, it could be anything. I saw an idea in a fic where Durge's urges took over him during their early relationship while they were sleeping together, and injured Gortash so bad they fucked up his hip, hence making the cane necessary.

It could also be another lovely parting gift from the House of Hope. Maybe smart little Gortash, after having played lanceboard with Raphael one too many times, finally manages to spot a win and, naively, he takes it. Maybe Raphael rewarded him with a broken leg that still aches in pain so many decades later because it never healed properly.

Maybe it was self-inflicted. Maybe the Chosen of Bane felt just as guilty as Bhaal's Chosen and (according to the in-game book at Bane's altar), there are ways to punish and redeem oneself. Maybe making life harder for himself by slicing his achilles' heel or shattering his ankle bone during a ritual of forgiveness will make up for the feelings he's having.

Or it can be less angsty and a heavy piece of metal fell on top of his hips/legs in the Foundry and standing up for long amount of times just hurts. Could be anything ngl 🤷

[brutal-nemesis]

Possessive whumper brutally punishing a whumpee who tried to escape?

I hope this is brutal enough for ya <3

Ingredients: possessive whumper (who'da guessed), implied starvation, Achilles tendon whump

“Now, now, dear, what ever am I going to do with you, hmm?” She twisted her hand into his hair, turning him to face her. “How do I get you to stop these silly little escape attempts?”

Glaring, he snarled, “How about you stop keeping me prisoner, you bitch?”

“You belong to me, my darling, so why would I ever let you go? I thought I made that much clear.” Her fingers traced the initials carved into his chest, and he jerked against the ropes tying him to the chair.

“You don’t own me just because you kidnapped me and took a knife to my fucking chest.” He looked up at her in disgust. “And I will never stop fighting you. No matter what you do to me, I’m not gonna be your perfect little-” he cut himself off, face flushing red.

She clicked her tongue and shoved his head forward, stalking over to the table where she kept her tools, running her fingers over them. “Maybe I’ve been going about this the wrong way.” She turned around, a large knife in hand. “You don’t depend on me enough,” the knife slid under his chin, “do you, darling?”

“You’re doing a pretty shit job of feeding me already I don’t-hey!” She’d crouched down next to him, shifting his left leg so it was next to the leg of the chair it was bound to, not in front of it. He hadn’t put much thought into why she’d tied the rope around his calf and not his ankle, but now that the knife was teasing around the back of his ankle, he felt dread start to pool in his stomach. He clenched the arms of the chair tightly, straining against his bonds. “W-what do you think you’re-you’re not really going to-”

“Oh,” she leaned over and gave his hand a quick kiss, “but I am.”

Before he could react, she quickly sliced across the back of his ankle, a loud snap ringing out as sharp pain lit up the back of his leg. He couldn’t hold back a scream, reeling forward as tears pooled in his eyes, the recoil of his severed tendon causing his whole body to shudder violently. And his leg, his fucking leg, the back of it looked wrong, broken, useless, and it hurt so damn much.

Even if he wanted to, he’d never run again.

[infinitelysordinary]

loving you is a losing game prologue!

prologue: the grass where you lay left a bed in your shape (i looked at it, soft, and i ached)

AO3 Link | Tumblr Masterpost

a/n: i’ve never been more excited to share a writing project of mine. shoutout to @pastelvangelion​ for coming up with this au with me, and for the hermbi discord for always having my back. i hope you enjoy!!

words: 1020 words

cws: suicide, blood, and canon-typical violence

I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell: I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.

— Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller

//

Scott runs through the forest on pure instinct and adrenaline. Twigs snap underneath the soles of his years old shoes, splinters in his ankles, and branches obscure his view. The moon hangs high, providing enough light for Scott to see the path beneath him and not much else.

An arrow whizzes past him, and Scott ducks just in time. He grimaces, quickening his already unbearable pace—Ren’s bow is a bitch, and he’ll likely die from just one hit. Behind him, he can hear Ren and Martyn’s feet hit the ground in a steady rhythm. Both of them are still on full health, and he’s limping along on only a few hearts.

Martyn catches up first, breathing hard. His yellow eyes shine in the dark, a beacon for mobs. He had sworn six years ago not to kill anyone until he was on red and didn’t have a choice. Unlike so many others, he had kept to that promise. “I never wanted Jimmy to die,” he says, his voice low. Probably so Ren won’t hear. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

Scott laughs incredulity. How could Martyn ask for forgiveness, after all he did? They spent years being amicable before circumstance split them apart, and even then, they held respect for each other. Scott had thought they were friends, at some point. “You let Skizz kill him,” he says plainly, calmly, before he stops running.

He’s tired of playing this game. He’s spent a year without his husband, and that’s long enough.

Grabbing his almost brokendiamond sword from his inventory, Scott whirls around on his heel and lurches forwards. For a moment, the battle’s in his favour—Martyn and Ren aren’t expecting a fight, and Scott’s running on a surplus of adrenaline—but it doesn’t last long. Scott’s good, but he’s not Dreamslayer level good. He knocks the sword out of Martyn’s hand, but only a few seconds later, Ren’s sword presses against Scott’s neck.

Scott laughs again, choking on blood. Ever since Scar died for the first time, Scott knew that he’d have the same fate. He just didn’t expect it to be like this: alone, in a forest, with people he would’ve called friends and who helped someone kill his husband.

“Mercy,” Scott drawls, mocking. His slips his eyes closed. Scott’s stomach churns, and in his gut, otherworldy power simmers, just waiting to be released. He’s felt it before, but he refused to use it, for fear of hurting other people or the world itself. Now, he lets the power flow through his veins lazily, just waiting to be called. 

Scott smiles. He won’t let Ren and Martyn get the satisfaction of getting a kill.

Pushing the sword further to his neck, Ren says, “Major—”

But before Ren can finish his thought, Scott snaps his eyes open. He smiles sharply, before he grabs Ren’s sword by the blade and pulls it towards himself, hands stained with purple blood. If he’s going to die, it won’t be by Ren’s hand; it’ll be by his own. Scott’s power crackles for a moment, before it expands in a burst of energy that shoves Ren and Martyn back as Scott thrusts the blade into his own neck and shuts his eyes closed.

Then, in that horrible, wrenching second afterwards, Scott feels himself lift off the ground. His skin prickles with heat, and light creeps in at the sides of his vision. The power surges, flows, surrounds, expands—

And then Scott falls. He falls and collapses in a lifeless corpse, a shell of who he used to be. When he hits the ground, he explodes in an release of power, forming a crater almost thirty blocks wide and just as deep.

<Smajor1995> was blown up by <Smajor1995> using <R̷̘͓͋̅̃͆̈́͊̌̾̔̌Ḙ̵̢̡̛̩͉̲̜͖̦̰̉̑̾̑̉͘D̴̨̜̰̟͉͍͈̎̏̀Ą̶̢̞̺̱͕̳͎̳͎̽C̴̡̳̣͚̈T̸̗͎̗͇͕̈́̆̑͛͋̓̇̂̓͠E̶̡̼̱̠̔́̓͊̂̈̐̐̕͝Ḑ̷̊>

//

Two weeks later, snow falls lightly upon the empire of Rivendell. A white blanket covers the cyan roofs and lulls all its inhabitants to sleep. Chimney smoke fills the air, as elves tend to their fires with long and skinny hands, but the castle remains still. Nobody moves to tend to a fire or close the open windows.

After all, it has its own protections.

In the Royal wing, a gasp breaks the quiet stillness of the night as the emperor struggles to sit up in his bed. He shudders his way through his next, shallow breaths. He twists his hands in his sheets, bringing his knees up so he can bury his face in them, before he unfurls and reaches for his bedside lantern.

With a practiced efficiency, he uses the key twined around his neck to open his bedside drawer. There’s various items within that drawer, including valuables such as his communicator and crown, but instead, he pulls out the seemingly plain book and quill.

Balancing the book on his knees and steading his shaking hands, he begins to write.

//

#3 (8 days after the last one)

Different setting. I was in a cave, in an undisclosed—not the desert anymore. I was with another man, but his face was obscured. I talked and I moved around, but I wasn’t in control of myself. It was like I was watching something that had already happened before, a play from the perspective of someone involved.

Here’s a transcript of the conversation; I can’t make sense of it.

MAN: Oh, wait, I’ve got something for you too. [Throws a flower at me.] There you go. There you go!

ME: [Twirling the flower between my hands, like a lovestruck human girl.] Aww. That was cute.

HIM: I confessed my love.

ME: We’re married now.

HIM: For the poppies, I mean. For the poppies.

ME: Nope. For me.

Even though I was teasing him and obviously with a friend, I felt cold. Like hands were propelling me somewhere, though I didn’t move at all. Maybe hostile’s the right word. I don’t know. I can’t remember anymore.

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

Can I ask why the guidance counselor's assistant wanted to fight you to the point of stalking? This wasn't Recruiter Scott or whatever his name was, was it? Why did you have multiple adult stalkers that's really fucked up btw

You are thinking of a different blog with the stalker recruiter story sorry, I’m like 98% sure it was @ gallusrostromegalus. 

But anyway- the Assistant. It was a brand new job for her and she wanted to do Really Well. There were a couple of guidance counselors at the school, and I’m not sure if she was working for all of them or just my specific guy, but. I was apparently the only transfer student or something that year (10th grade) so she literally latched on to me. It was so weird. Like at first it was just sorta, oh, okay, she just wants to make sure I’m adjusting to the new school well, okay. But then she just…wouldn’t leave me alone? Like she kept showing up outside of my classes to talk to me, and she kept pulling me out of lunch to make me eat with her so we could discuss how stuff was going. But then she’d be like…Molly, you aren’t making any friends! What’s the problem? And I’d be like, you literally keep pulling me out of lunch where I have an entire table full of friends who are wondering where I am! But she never believed me??? Because I was sitting at an all senior table (two of the girls I knew thru theater) and she like. Didn’t believe seniors would be my friends or something?

And she just kept doing stuff like this like…I got into an academic problem at one point because my history teacher forgot to grade an important essay, but before my meeting with him she was on a tangent about how my grades are constantly in peril of failing (they weren’t) and even after the teacher showed up and literally said, “Sorry, this was my mistake, I remember Molly’s essay on Roanoke very well, I can’t believe I forgot to enter the grade” she was like…still acting like it was my fault? Like I acted irresponsibly somehow that made him forget to enter the grade for a paper I turned in and he read? And she did this with all my classes. Like she just kept really over exaggerating how bad I was doing in them (Like, I was only really having any issues in math and science, and none of those issues were Failure Worthy, like, I was still a pretty average student?) She kept trying to call Academic Emergency Meetings™ with like me, my mom and the teachers and every time they’d be like “She’s fine why are we here” it was so weird. 

I think the problem was she probably had a hold of my transcripts- when I switched school’s they made me come in to take an aptitude test or an iq test or something, and I got a REALLY HIGH score on that and the school was all excited and kept telling me about their honors programs, but then they got the transcripts of my grades and were like “oh. Well. Why don’t we start you off in a nice normal class”. And I think she must’ve probably saw that and determined I wasn’t applying myself or something, but the actual problem was just I Was That Unfortunate Kid Who Did Bad On Standardized Tests No Matter What. Like, give me a paper or a report and I’m fine, but tests just never worked out for some reason, it was so annoying. But of course that’s a Ridiculous Excuse, Molly, and I think she must’ve come up with the idea that like if she can make me try harder I’d be an amazing student and she could take all the credit for it? 

So it gets to the point where this woman is following me from class to class, badgering me the whole way about how I must be the laziest student she’s ever seen, and then she keeps pulling me out of lunch to complain even more about how I’m not applying myself or putting myself out there enough and that’s why I can’t find a place to fit in at the school, because obviously the fact some woman was stealing literally ALL of my free time had absolutely nothing to do with that, that’d be ridiculous. This went on the ENTIRE first semester. 

And as I mentioned in the post I referenced this lady in- I had a partially torn Achilles tendon that wasn’t healing properly, so I was really slacking in gym class. Like, I just really need to paint the picture of why I was putting off gym class: I was told to stay off my feet as much as possible. But this was a BIG SCHOOL (the distract blew like all their money on it making it the huge and ridiculous with way too many features and then they were like ‘wow oops suddenly we’re poor’). I had classes all over the school. So even if I didn’t have gym one day, it’d still be enough walking that my ankle would be swollen by the time I got home. And the gym classes were like “run laps for six minutes and then do ridiculous amounts of stretches until the teacher gets bored and then get shoved into a game of soccer or whatever with the most competitive kids in the school”, and then the big ‘final’ grade for the semester was to run the mile in however many minutes. And if I can’t get through gym class without tapping out or heading to the nurse’s office, there’s no way I could have run a mile. So, I kept putting it off. The gym teacher’s still weren’t accepting my story without a doctor’s note, so I just, uh, started getting the stomach bug on days they rescheduled it to. And here’s the thing- like 97% of gym class is just showing up. By all means, I was passing gym class. If I just didn’t run the mile, it wouldn’t have even brought me to a failing grade, it just wouldn’t have been a grade up to the standard’s of this ridiculously fitness obsessed high school (I remember when I told them my 9th grade school didn’t have gym class, they all looked like they were gonna have a stroke from the sheer shock of it). 

So this lady, who is 100% stalking me by this point, to the point where teachers and other students are asking me wtf is going on, I’d walk out and see her and literally feel sick I was getting so annoyed- but she’s loosing her shit about this gym thing. She kept trying to convince me that I was making the biggest mistake of my life by ditching the mile (and like first off, she had no proof I hadn’t been sick, so I was insulted by that), that not running the mile was going to leave a permanent stain on my record, this was totally going to effect my entire academic career, they were going to SUSPEND me if I didn’t run it, and like…I am a shy ass person!!! I couldn’t bring myself to ask anyone for help with this situation because the concept of talking to people was scary!!! Like, my mom new it was a Problem but she figured it was just because I was a new student. I definitely knew what was going on was an issue, but I was like 15 and couldn’t figure out how to stand up for myself and get her to leave me alone. I take ‘being polite’ to the point of a character flaw, sometimes. 

So, one day, after pulling me out of class like five times to tell me I absolutely have to go to this mile run, because it’s the last after-school scheduled one before they like, I don’t know, kill me and sacrifice my body fat to the gods or something, I’m trying to sneak onto the bus because dude. My ankle was visibly throbbing. You could literally SEE it moving it hurt so bad. This woman intercepted me and like practically dragged me to the track- which was, of course: To the front office, out a secret side door, across two parking lots, up five different flights of steps, and down a winding path before we FINALLY get to the track- and I’m trying to like, not be forced into this, like hey teachers, would you just literally look at my leg for a moment- And this woman fucking snaps. Starts going off like, I’m a bitch and an awful student and incapable of making friends, I’m too lazy and I’m never gonna succeed in life, she spent like!!! 10 minutes telling me that I’m the worst person to exist!!! It was so fucking ridiculous. I tried to speak up for myself at that point, which just enraged her more and like, you could tell she was getting ready to physically fight me. Like this woman was literally going to pounce on me, one of the teacher’s made her leave at that point and she just stormed off. So I’m like, Totally Not Crying and can barely walk and just almost got punched by a guidance counselor, but, oh, well, you missed your bus, and in the time it’ll take for your mother to come get you, you might as well just run the mile!!!! 

I was LIMPING by the end of it (and I finished like, 20 minutes after the other students that had to make it up, so I got a bad grade on it ANYWAY). I was then left to my own devices to get back to the front of the school where my mother was to pick me up, and I wasn’t very well acquainted with the outside of the building yet, so after getting turned around more times than I’m proud of I finally get there, literally crawling and Totally Not Crying. 

My mom called my guidance counselor the next day and like- honestly, this poor man. He was this tiny old, Mister Roger’s knock-off who barely spoke above a whisper. My mom literally M U R D E R E D him oh my God the other people in the front office could hear her yelling through his phone. 

I don’t know if the lady got fired or if the school just did a Very Good Job at keeping her away from me, but I never saw her again after that. She was not missed. 

[custer-mp3]

long-ass general life update for you nosy bitches // tw: men, my bad legs

so boring to say i’m settling in but i am, i just wish there was something better to call it

there was somebody camped out in the back of the park across from our house down by the railroad tracks, on what we think is technically railroad property, and the parks department came today and tried to haul their shit away without a police order cuz “it’s just trash” no dude it’s a tent that’s someone’s home you leave it the fuck alone so Agatha screamed at them until they went away but then the cops came by & tagged it so now they have 3 days to move or the parks department’s allowed to come back & take their shit away

when we were trying to figure out whose site it so so we could reach out to them thru the drop-in center we noticed the tent was locked but had been cut open and the rain fly was ripped off and Agatha says it’s probably fine but it looked like somebody rolled their shit hella bad & i’m just worried about whoever it is, it looked like multiple people (or at least a guy and a girl) and i hope they’re okay like. physically

thanksgiving weekend launched me into the flare of the century i’m still not recovered from. i dared unpack my boxes of books yesterday (which were all small!! 6 free USPS boxes!!) and my knees had just. Had It. from that 20 minutes of activity. my wrists and elbows are flaring rly bad rn too & i had to buy ankle braces cuz my Achilles was already super fucked up from moving & like. whole body hurts.

i was limping around super bad at work--like unable to actually walk, just kinda toddling around in slow-mo if they needed me to move somewhere--and my manager made fun of me to my face IMITATING MY LIMP ON BLACK FRIDAY when i requested a break then my ASM and tenured keyholder ALSO made fun of me on Hell Saturday and i’m going to burn the entire store down

marina says report them to HR but that’s not very anarchist of me and i just don’t care enough to ruin their lives cuz it’s a temp job anyway and i can make it thru the holiday surely but it’s also like. i am the most able-bodied disabled person i know. i get more shit done in a day with 2 nonfunctional legs and fucked up arms and guts that are trying to escape my body and The Brain Fog TM than most people in full health do. if you’re being this awful to ME to my fkn FACE, ON THE CLOCK, how awful are you to “““actually disabled”““ ppl like out in the world on your free time

i just hate that there are no buses on sundays, no buses after 7, and i keep getting put on these dumb fucking late closes that mean either paying $15 for an Uber or walking the 3 miles home in the dark and the cold and some days i just physically Cannot with my Body and have to pay for the Uber which sucks ass cuz i’m making barely above federal minimum wage again

but i’ve been walking dogs and stuff with Kara. she’s got a hot friend who saw the picture of my halloween costume she threw in the groupchat and apparently thinks i’m cute and has been inquiring about my existence ever since so she asked me if she could give him my number and like sure bro i’ve met this dude exactly once AND I DIDN’T HAVE EYEBROWS ON AND WAS STANDING THERE RUBBING MY EYEBROW STUBBLE IN MY OVERSIZED SLIPKNOT HOODIE AND PAJAMA PANTS but i would like him to throw me thru a brick wall so sure but then he tEXTED ME and we set up a hangout which was supposed to just be coffee but turned into a whole-ass actual lunch date which like. worm. and made out in my living room cuz why not.

yesterday we hung out again (the coffee i was promised) and walked dogs with Kara in the cemetery and went to Kinko’s and the sketchy Halloween store that’s still open in fkn December and also made out, and then he was like “we should have an Actual Date For Real People” and i was like mfkr what?!?????? is that not???? no??????????????

so that occurred t o d a y cuz you can’t call me anything but efficient and spoiler alert, it was NOT a Real People Date, it was a fkn punk shitbag date, we definitely smashed then cuddled and tried to get Parsnip to interact with the other cat in a peaceful fashion and listened to Ministry and helped Agatha with the camp/park service situation and dealt with the cops when they showed up and had the aUDAciTY to park in front of our house to pull that shit then ran errands and cuddled and went to a Food Not Bombs meeting like. mfkr. that aint a date. that’s hanging out. how. is the prior 2 things with designated start times and wearing Nice Shirts and Going In Public Together Solo and shit not dates but tODaY was a date. fkn. WHAT

anyway he’s simple and sweet and hilarious and pro-SW anarcho communist and insanely hot and self-deprecating and i want to climb him like a tree but he too is divorced once over and we’ve Talked about it & it’s made me feel Better about my own shit & like. i want him to throw me through a brick wall and buy me food and leave me alone, and he’s in a non-monogamous relationship with one of Kara’s friends and his partner’s like “bro u need to date other ppl so i don’t feel bad” and y’know, that’s fuckin stellar imo. for me.

like what this whole fkn Ordeal has made me realize is i actually hate being in capital-R-Relationships. i do NOT want the pressure of being somebody’s whole world, i do not want the EXPECTATION of being solely responsible for somebody’s emotional happiness and well-being, i just wanna be friends with people and hang out and make art and occasionally make out and otherwise be left alone to do my own thing so this is like. rad as fuck. that this just sorta fell into my lap fully-formed and i didn’t have to do a bunch of screening and dealing with fuckboys and everything i was dreading abt y’know. finding someone to make out with in the midwest

and it was all because of my dumbass pun-based nu-metal halloween costume, which is the best thing that’s happened to me in decades, so. thank u jonathan davis

but i’m making friends--mostly thru Kara, but the other fellow new KH at work is the oldest person in the store (older than me by a couple years) and ALSO super into all things manson-adjacent and ALSO super queer and everything and has given me a ride home a couple times and i love her so maybe we’ll end up being friends in the long run too--and like living with Kara’s been good cuz there are always people around and she doesn’t mind me inviting myself on stuff sometimes so

there’s some sort of Krampus parade thing this Saturday in which for $2 you can actually be beaten with sticks and the squad’s going to that and we’re all doing FNB on Sunday and i know aforementioned dude is gonna be there but also so is his partner so like. that’ll be Inch Resting. but. we’ll survive. ‘we’  meaning me.

idk if it’s some sort of fucked up coping mechanism from coming dead last in my own monogamous relationships for uhhhhhhhhhhhh my entire fucking life but y’know. i kinda just feel whatever abt it!! like cool!! there is the dude i am fast friends with and def have a mutual crush on and am also currently fucking! and there’s the person he’s been dating for 3.5 years and owns a house with, and they’re a Thing!! and idk where i fit and what the vibe’ll be idk if the partner’s other ppl are gonna be there too so it’ll be weird fr all of us or it’s just me and like honestly how do y’all NAVIGATE i just don’t wanna make fkn heart eyes at the wrong time or NOT make heart eyes at the wrong time U FEEL ME

but also y’know what, whatever, fine. i’m like the least possessive person in the universe. like. i like that it’s all out in the open and people aren’t running around on me or anybody else. can’t believe this is my life, honestly. idk if the squad was conspiring on this or what cuz kara has terminal Nice Person disease but. good job fam. 

i was in a real dark place this time last week and it only got worse over Hell Weekend, like. feeling directionless / unmotivated / isolated / lonely / traumatized / failure. it’s really been hitting me hard that i’m [redacted] years old & getting d*vorced & back in a punk house in a city i’d never set foot in before & working the shittiest shit job in the history of shit jobs and i’m never gonna see this person that was my best friend for so long again (cuz, y’know, i know i don’t talk abt the Private Life on here very often/in very concrete terms ~~this post being the exception~~ but. we were Best Friends. for a very long time) & i’m officially losing this friendship that meant so much to me and does mean so much to me, because i do care about him as a friend. like. fuck him as a spouse, he’s terrible at that, but as a friend i don’t want to see him struggling. which is bullshit. cuz he was abusing me and my life was a living goddamn hell in VA. but it’s hard to let go of the basis of the whole goddamn Ordeal to start with, and it’s hard to reconcile My Friend Whomst I Adore with My Ex-Husband Who Triggers Me On Purpose & Reads My Instagram Messages & Has Been Blackout Drunk For Months & Won’t Let Me Have Space Even In My Own Office, and it’s hard cuz the only people i know who’ve gone through something like this are dead. and all of that’s hitting at once. and i can put up with a lot of shit but i cannot put up with feeling like a failure within myself. and shit was truly fucking bleak.

so the whole social life thing just came at a good time y’know & even if things otherwise aren’t going the way i want there’s at least one good spot in my life. i got friends, i’m getting out of the house, i figured out where the good cemetery is, people are buying me food & talking me through all of this & rubbing the shaved part of my head & i’m happy

kara’s got a dr’s appt tmrw AM & the dude is apparently our designated Responsible Adult With Car so he’s picking her up from that & will be in my house once again tmrw morning & i fully plan on hiding in my room and pretending to be asleep cuz fuck that lmao don’t make me socialize i was not emotionally prepared for that

hayden sent me a 1995 Marilyn Manson gig poster and an enamel pin of a jackalope wearing a cone of shame & honestly??? i do not deserve him, talk about great friends

we need to get a frame for the poster but then me & kara are starting a MM wall in one of our living rooms & it’s gonna be great. the dude’s gonna come over with a drill & help me hang shelves in my room some time soon so i can finish getting unpacked cuz i’m just down to the boxes of art and getting all my shelf crap squared away & then i can finally finish Unpacking For Good

me & kara cried on the kitchen floor together last night from laughter bc i still have not learned my lesson in How Much Soup A Bowl Can Hold and my lizard brain was convinced if i got the beans under the liquid it would all fit, which, spoiler--it did not, and all my makeup ran off my face. it was that good. i love her so much

anyway thanks for listening check out the distro so i can buy groceries until my food stamp paperwork clears which will probably not be for almost another goddamn month i’m so pissed

xo

[openthevoid2]

Christine- The Nephilim

"They get angry when they drink. I get angry when I don't." She growled. Quickly Benjamin reached in his duffle bag, amidst the weaponry he snagged the Whiskey bottle and handed it to her. Downing the alcoholic beverage Christine sighed in relief. Bullets blazed through the forest as bark from distant trees exploded into shrapnel. Ducking behind a boulder she felt the air ripple violently as bullets whizzed past. The strong taste flooded her mouth as it crawled down her throat into her stomach where it burned, like a volcanic eruption. Gasping her eyes widened, as she quickly finished the bottle holding it by the neck. Benjamin eyed her bewildered as to how getting hammered would help in this chaotic battlefield. "Are you okay?" He inquired, his words stirred the air like leaves in the wind. "Never better." Christine quickly responded. "You sure, cause you drank that like water." He commented. "I said I'm fine Benjamin, I'll keep in touch." Loading her firearm and bag of tricks strapping it behind her back, she took off into the woods. The buzz of the alcohol fueled her drive to complete her mission. Nothing else mattered, tightening her grip, the bottle become a weapon. Closing in on a nearby target she swung the bottle in a left hook fashion smashing it against someone's head. "Ah!" They cried out crashing into a tree, shattered glass littered the ground. Walking through the thick brush, Christine equipped herself with a gun aiming into the foggy thick forest glancing through the scope. All was quiet as she sniped three targets, they all fell dead. Like on a boat at high seas her steps were flimsy as she waltzed through the forest obviously quite drunk, she dug into her pocket pulling out a lighter lighting a cigarette she lit the end and pressed it against her lips. Exhaling her eyes rolled back cracking a small smile reminiscing on her past which was of a time when the skies were much brighter. Suddenly a faint odor bought her to reality. "Huh?" She caught the scent of fresh gasoline. Scanning the ground she rubbed the dirt feeling a damp section, sniffing her fingers she was correct. With superior eyesight see could see a housing facility where more of her enemies were staying. "Well, my birthday's next week. Let's light these candles a bit early" Christine muttered. Crouching she placed the cigarette on the ground instantly it ignited as the trail blazed toward the facility. It quickly burst into flames, as bodies, and limbs flew into the air scattering the ground like rain. "Incinerate." Christine mumbled as the reflection of fire glistened in her eyes. Stepping back she bumped into a solider. Twirling around she snapped their neck, taking a grenade from their hand she took off. Within the next few minutes. "Hey! She's over here!" Someone shouted. Speeding away she jumped through the low branches and corkscrewed from a tree tumbling to the ground. Within seconds she was surrounded, all was quiet as she unveiled two pistols, swirling in a swift motion the encircled wave of men lay dead. Within the mist a lumberjack emerged from the darkness, he was over 8ft tall hairy armed, and scarred from previous battles, the skies cracked as rain fell down. "Hey you little shit, you're dead meat. We've been looking for you for quite some time." His thick Russian accent roared through the rainy fog infested forest. She quickly fired shot after shot into the monstrous man. He laughed jovially, the earth quaked as he approached. "Your American shit like that won't work on me, I've trained my body to endure relentless treatment especially high velocity firepower; I'm essentially bulletproof. 350lbs. of pure muscle a-" Christine rolled her eyes. "Yeah yeah, FEE! FI! FOE! FUM!" She mocked in a drunken slur. Burping loudly, she laughed leaning against a tree. He grit his teeth. "You're filled to the brim with alcohol you couldn't possibly do much" "Come catch these hands then." Christine grimaced as the rain fell. He loomed a devilish grin, sizing up Christine he chuckled. "With pleasure young lady," Without hesitation he rushed for her tiny frame. Christine parried his colossal hands, moving in such a perplexed grace her fighting style was unpredictable. She teetered side to side, punching and kicking Lumberjack, dodging attacks and even performing acrobatic moves to assault him. Slipping between his legs she clung to his overalls and climbed his back. Peering the scenery from new heights she saw Benjamin, quickly waving she laughed. "Hey BennyBoy!" Benjamin sighed in disbelief that she was bold enough to attack such a giant. "Piggyback ride!" Christine yelled. "Aaaargh!" The lumberjack grew frustrated scrambling to capture the young woman. Reaching all over his body as if a squirrel crawled on his back, Christine quickly took hold of his ears and steered him directly into a great oak tree. "Whoa there boy, easy!" Christine said. Lumberjack bucked like a wild animal but Christine held on tight. Realizing she needed to tackle this from a different approach she devised a plan. "GET THE HELL OFF ME!" He spun in a circle faster and faster. Gaining speed Christine lost her grip and crashed to the ground... Woozy and nauseous a growl in her stomach told her the alcohol wasn't a good idea and she vomited. "That was quite the display of drunken boxing, haha never have I seen quite a graceful display of power." Lumberjack said quite impressed yet furious. The downpour continued relentlessly as the fog grew thicker. "My hair is gonna frizz." Christine sighed. Lumberjack disappeared within the haze but she knew he was still nearby. Now alone in the woods the grey. She knew how to end this. All was quiet before a loud buzzing pierced the ambience. "Arghh!" Time slowed down as Christine heard the ear shattering chorus of loud machinery, peering into the shadows she could just barely see a shadowed silhouette. Suddenly Lumberjack appeared. Leaping from the mist with a chainsaw in hand Lumberjack dove for Christine. Sliding on her knees through the drenched soil she leaned back parrying the oncoming blades of the chainsaw. The air tore like rice paper. Time resumed as he swerved around bringing with him his spiral of death chainsaw. Back flipping continually managing to evade Lumberjack Scratching her oak brown hair Christine wiped her mouth and spit. "Okay, come on big boy," Lumberjack slammed his fists in the ground rushing for her, arching the weapon over his shoulder he slashed every tree in sight. Christine swerved and flipped past him. Snagging his chainsaw in a thick tree trunk, he swirled around searching for Christine. "Where are you, you bitch" He screeched. Christine swiftly and with precise accuracy punched and kicked Lumberjack in all his pressure points. The whizzing of the chainsaw grew louder as hidden within the shadows Christine continued her assault. "Argh!" Lumberjack felt his entire body go limp as he slumped over the chainsaw was behind him still buzzing caught in the tree. Panic flooded his mind as his eyes searched the area for young Christine. "Argh!" She called out springing into view. Raining pattered her clothes and hair as she delivered a haymaker to Lumberjack's temple. Stumbled his ankle was severed by the chainsaw, blood splashed the ground as he cried out in pain. Unleashing a fury of punches he wheezed in agony. Every step was like tiny thorn burning in his big heel which hurt like hell. Everything suddenly became inaudible, only Christine's heartbeat. Steadying her feet she parkoured his monumental body and leaped in the air tornado kicking Lumberjack. Pulling out twin pistols loading with pure diamond bullets she fired shot after shot. Lumberjack now weakened began to crumble physically as the bullets left their mark with tremendous pain. "Oh found my Achilles heel. Diamonds as firepower huh? How'd you figure that was me vice?" Lumberjack asked impressed through the pain. "Easy I noted the Russian experiments, that lead based firearms are of no effect. Yet diamonds, oh they're for some reason pack quite a punch." Christine added joyously. Pushing through the pain Lumberjack gripped her throat and strangled her against a tree. "Well...," With blood oozing off his lips. "THATS THE LAST TRICK IN YOUR BOOK!" He shouted. Aiming the gun at the ground she unloaded two final shots, diamonds blasted straight through into his kneecaps. "SONOFBITCH!" He screamed he tossed her high into the sky as if he was a professional shot-put player. Time seemed to stop as she sailed high into the air. Backflipping through the sky Christine grit her teeth. "THIS ENDS NOW!" She cried descending fast. With all her strength colliding into Lumberjack she gripped his overalls and using his colossal frame to her advantage, Christine spiraled his body downward into the buzzing chainsaw. Lumberjack collided face first into the horizontal spinning blades. Blood sprayed everything. A croaking in his throat as he faded. Christine was sprinkled in a deep raspberry red. Rain caused the carnage to spill into the soil. Breathing heavily, she slumped down. Her heartbeat synced with her breathing as she slowly stood to her feet. Looking at her shoulder it was out of its socket. She bit down on part of her shirt as she grabbed her left arm and wincing popped it back in place while still eyeing the body with a haunting seriousness. Gasping through the pain Christine confidently walked away. Her body bruised and beaten. Getting to her bag her phoned Benjamin. "Hey....yeah I surprisingly handled it....yeah I'm heading back now...quick question...I'm fucking starving. Think we could get some sushi soon?.." She mumbled holding her stomach. Disappearing into the storm.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

Just for you bubbles: Lets have some obiyuki food sharing with FEELINGS

Belling the Cat (Chapter One)

“Are you okay, Obi? Do you need me to carry you back?”

He laughs. Or at least he tries. Pain shoots through him like lightning as he leans back against the tree; His throat feels raw, breath rattling wetly in hischest as he struggles to breathe. Every inhale is a trial, every exhale a release encouraging his surrender.It’s too much effort to turn his head, so he shifts his eyes towards Torou andsmiles bitterly at her intent expression.

Ah, she’ll be getting a much larger cut without him in thepicture.

“It’s fine,” he rasps. “We finished the job, didn’t we?”

Her eyes round like a doe, but he’s not an idiot. Alow, hoarse sound vibrates through him until the back of histhroat constricts, turning it into a wheeze. 

He doesn’t look away - not when she is capable of slitting his throat with only a tokenstruggle. One move from her will set the rest of them upon him like a pack of wolves. He needs toleave before any of them get it in their heads to finish off what their targets started.

Sinking his hand into the loamy earth, he wraps an arm around his middle and pusheshimself back, using the tree as a brace. His feet slip in the mud, dropping him abruptly before hecatches himself. Clenching his teeth, he holds himself tight to prevent the scream thatwants to rip out of his throat. 

Torou flinches, one footshifting towards him, and Obi glares. Even lame dogs have teeth and he intends to show them to her if she would but try to take him. 

He coughs, sharp bursts of pain stabbing him from theinside, and he brings his full weight onto his feet. “The money…” he gasps onthe inhale and swallows. The back of his throat tastes like metal. “It’s mine.”

She’s frozen, her eyes locked on him. She slowly nods.

With one last sneer, he turns. This way, he thinks,is the way back. He can collect his money and find a discreet place todrink this pain into numbness. And maybe find a physician. He might need one this time.

Shuffling, he limps into the forestsembrace, waiting for the knife to his back that never comes.

~ ~ ~

It’s pouring.

His breath fogs his vision as he inches forward andthe rain slices through the canopy, stabbing his skin until it is numb.

At least he can’t feel the way his skin gapes openanymore.

His clothes are soaked through, heavy and pulling himtowards the ground with each step. How much longer was it going to take toreach the rendezvous point like this? Hours? Days?

It’s colder, he thinks, than when he started. Nightmust be coming soon. Or had night passed already into morning? He pauses, leaning against a tree and closing his eyes. Pressing his hand to his stomach, his body gurgles in protest and helooks down. His vest and belt are stained red now. 

Obi stumbles, falling to his knees and he stares at hisfront. What was he doing again?

Rendezvous. He needed to make to to the rendezvouspoint.

Right.

But… he had time. He could- he could rest… for a littlebit. Just a bit.

~ ~ ~

The sound of rain is deafening now, pounding the earth in a relentless cacophony of noise. He watches as tiny rivers slide between his knees, soil giving way to slowly suck him underground.

Heavy boots smack against the muck, rousing him from his daze. Blinking slowly, he turns his head until he sees the outline of a man approaching him in the dim, heavy coat drenched with rain and caked with mud. At his hip, Obi can see the bulge of a short sword.

It’s a wonder they found him so quickly.

Obi stares blankly at the man as the other appraises him with a grim look. He’s broad and able bodied–likely an excellent swordsman in his time–but older. That’s good. Older men tend to move more slowly, especially in the damp. Keeping one hand pressed to his gut, he lets the fingers of his other twitch towards his blades.

“You look like you’ve had a rough day,” the man comments.

Obi exhales, as close as he can come to a laugh. That was an understatement. The man smiles, the sort of warm expression that would put a lesser man at ease, and takes a step closer. Silently, Obi palms two knives from their hold, sliding them between his fingers. Just a few more steps… just a few more and he can sever his achilles tendons. It’ll be enough to maim. Enough to get away. He’s had enough death for today.

“Why don’t you come with me?” the man suggests. “I don’t live far from here. We can get you dried off and patched up.”

He’s sure.

The man hesitates just out of reach and looks at him, considering, before extending his hand. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Obi swings his arm around, slashing the air and instantlyregretting it as the wound at his chest rips and his blades meet nothing but air. 

The man holds his palms forward, placating. “Calm down,son. You’re hurt.”

Obi bares his teeth, clambering to his feet and slipping in the mud as he stumbles forward. The man backs away slowly when he flips the knives in his hands to stab.

“Come on. You don’t want to do this.”

He’s right; he doesn’t. He wants to crawl back under the tree and not move, but surrender isn’t an option, is it? The man backs up further, opening his coat to reveal the hilt of his sword and Obi charges forward. 

The man draws, blocking him easily. Metal clashes and Obi throws his full weight forward, attempting to force them both to the ground, but the other’s footing is solid. The man shoves him back with a grunt and Obi slides, almost tripping over his own feet.

Shaking his head to clear his swimming vision, Obi charges again, swinging his arms wildly as the man deftly dodges each blow. His ankles wobble as he surges forward and the man side steps him, sending Obi tilting forward, his blades fumbling from his weakening grasp as he falls face first onto the wet ground. 

He gasps, feeling every bone in his body rattle with pain. Recovering, he catches the glint of metal in front of him and he crawls forward through the sludge, retrieving one blade before spinning up onto his knees with a scowl.

Lightning flashes before the sharp crack of thunder snaps overhead and the man lowers his sword.

“I think you’re done, son.”

Obi bares his teeth, dragging himself to his feet once more. He sways. “No.”

The man’s weathered face flattens, his expression turning towards pity. “Yes.” 

In the next moment, it feels like a club has beencracked across the base of his skull. His vision stutters, numbness shooting straight down his spineand he tips forward. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see pale white hairplastered to a paler and far more unforgiving face.

Oh. There were two of them. 

Of course.

How careless.

He never feels himself hit the ground.

~ ~ ~

He wakes again as he is jarred, the smell of wet horse dragging across his face before he is flipped forward and then settled over two arms. Hands slide under his knees and shoulder blades while his head and arms fall limply back. Against his wrist, he can feel rough strips of hemp digging into his skin. 

“Mukaze!” he hears a man call out through the sound of rainfall. “Are you injured? What happened?!”

“The blood’s not mine,” the voice vibrates against his side, splitting his ears. “I’ll tell you about it later. Are there still people in the clinic?”

“Aye!” the man replies. “Shirayuki and several of them are still inside.”

“Then run ahead and let them know I have work for them.”

~ ~ ~

The warmth of the room is as suffocating as the sound of at least five voices raising in a riot. His nose is assaulted with the overpowering smell of herbs and bitter tinctures.

“Dad!”

“What is this, Mukaze?”

The chest he is pressed against huffs. “We found him in the mud.”

“Why did you tie him?”

The man- Mukaze, was it? makes an embarrassed noise. “He was, ah- a little unruly. I didn’t want to takethe risk of him snapping my neck on the way home.”

There is a strong sound of disapproval before an older woman’s voice breaks in. “Lay him down and take off his clothes. And for the gods sake, untie him. We needto see how bad it is.”

Obi is jarred and then flopped forward, his face pressed against smooth wood as fingers work at the rope. “He’s lost a lotof blood and is a bit wild. Itoya and I think he might have something to do with the attack on the Brigalti house. I don’t know how likely he is to—”

The ropes part and his hands are free. Obi stomps his foot down on the man’s boot, flinging his head back and feeling his vision jar when he hears the satisfying snap of his skull meeting his captors face.

“Son of a bitch!”

There is a chorus of screams and he twists himself around, his hand reaching for his blades and finding them missing. Blearily, he looks around the room, scanning for the door and pushing himself towards it.

“Stop him! Stop him!” someone yells. Wood scrapes against thefloor, glass shatters and someone curses. Two arms band around his his elbows, yanking him backwards and pulling the wound open further still. He wails.

Somewhere, a woman screams. “Stop, stop. Get him tothe table.”

Obi kicks at empty air before dragging his feet. He’s lifted, flung onto a hard surface and his arms pinned. “Your belt, Itoya!”

He panics, smooth leather sliding across his wristsand he bucks up, freeing himself to swing his fist. It never lands. One hand wraps around thesloppy punch and slams it back to the table before another body throws itselfacross his torso, trapping his other arm and knocking the wind from his lungs.

“Hold still!”

Obi kicks wildly, roaring as he feels the leather loopback around his wrist and then tighten, binding him firmly. At his other side, someone ducks under the table, grabbing hisclawed hand and repeating the treatment. He yanks frantically, his throat rawand his eyes stinging.

“Kazuki! Get his feet!”

“What? Why do I-?”

“Kazuki!”

“Okay! Okay!”

The weight is gone from his chest, but he is still helddown by his shoulders. Another weight crosses his thighs and his lungs seize,screaming hoarsely and wrenching uselessly at his legs as he feels somethingwrap around his ankles.

He catches movement, a cloth coming at his face and arches his neck, snapping his teeth at it. It flinches back.

“Someone hold his head!”

Pressure winds around his skull, and he twists hisneck, but the hands are like a vice pressing at his crown and jaw, forcing hismouth shut. He roars, the sound muffled and weak through his teeth before thesoft press of cotton is over his lips and nose. He holds his breath, yanking franticallyat where both of his arms and his ankles are tied. Panic strangles him, forcinghim to take a deep gasp and—

“That’s right,” a soft female voice cooes. He flinches, trying to pull away but the hands hold him firm. He drags in anothermouthful of air, the strength draining from him. Everything is slowing down. “Deepbreaths. Take deep breaths.”

The acrid stench of fermented berries works fast,numbing his fingertips and toes before working up to his shins… his elbows. He triesto hold his breath.

“You’re okay.”

He whines brokenly, pinching open his eyes to see a sea of green hovering over him. 

He doesn’t want to die. He always said- he always saidhe was ready, when the time came, but he’s not.

“Shhh…” Something touches to his brow that ripplesthrough his whole body. ”It’s okay. You’re safe. Sleep.”

Doesn’t want… to die….

~ ~ ~

It’s dark, and he is far, far away from his body, thelull of his heartbeat steady in his ears. It’s pleasant. Warm.

His eyes open.

A woman, face and hair obscured behind a white mask,stares at a body laid flat and lifeless before her. A faint itch vibratesacross his skin and her fingers draw back, stained red and holding a bloody threaded needle. She turns her head away, a muffled voice carrying itself somewhere else,murmuring words he cannot catch.

His eyes closed.

Icy fingers wrap around his heart, slipping lead intohis arms and legs. He can’t move. The great, gaping maw of a specter opens wideand licks the blood from his open wounds. Its touch freezes him down to thebone, seeping under his skin to take his lungs hostage. He can’t breathe.

His eyes open.

The dull glow of candles warms the dark and he canfeel the back of his head being cradled, another massaging his throat.Something bitter is being forced through his lips.

He’s drowning.

He sputters, gasping, the poison flooding his throat.It doesn’t burn like the others had said it would. There is a soft exclamationnext to him, the shuffling of chairs and raising of voices. Green fills hisvision again.

His vision shifts, his body jared and cheek comes intocontact with a hard surface. Fluid expels from his nostrils and throat.

Now it burns.

His eyes close.

Warmth surrounds his body again, lapping his skin in agentle rhythm. A rough cloth passes over his skin, leaving a trail of cold inits wake.

Someone is humming.

Suddenly, there is the jar of wood rattlingrhythmically in time to a fist. His heart seizes.

“I’m not done yet!” a voice echoes through a small,enclosed space.

“Don’t leave him too long in that water,” another calls from further away.

There’s the sound of grumbling and this time thenearer speaks far more softly. “I’ll leave him in as long as it takes to getrid of this stench.”

His eyes open.

He’s being shifted, the dull knife of pain registeringin the back of his mind. Blonde hair and eyes almost like his come into hisvision. At first he thinks a girl is the owner of the scowling face, but hisvoice corrects him. 

“You’re heavy,” he complains.

His eyes close.

~ ~ ~ 

Pain registers, full and bright, as he opens his eyes to a sun drenched room. It is manageable, but he doesn’t recognize this place.

Heart in his throat, he tilts his head, scanning the space quickly. In the corner of the room, a slip of a woman stands with her back to him, working some concoction over a stove. Dragging his gaze from her, he looks around for his clothes, knowing without looking that the fabric wrapping his body is not his. It is far too heavy.

His eyes land on his beltand hat on the corner table - hopefully his knives are there, but he sees nothing else. He pushes himself up with a grunt, surprised at how much effort it takes, how shaky his elbows are under the weight of his torso.

Glancing down, he sees that he is wearing an oversized white shirt. He’s not sure if he iswearing pants.

“Where are my clothes?” he wants to demand, but it comes out as a rasp. What’s wrong with his voice?When did it ever sound so weak?

The woman starts, turning around with wide eyes. She ignores his question. “You’re already awake!” she smiles. “Are you hungry?”

He is. “Where are my clothes?” he repeats with a glare.

Her smile falters before she folds her hands in front of her. “We had to cut them off of you,” she informs him before gesturing at the table. “That is all that survived.”

Obi grunts, annoyed. He liked those pants. 

“Don’t get up,” she says when he shifts towards the edge of the bed.

He scowls at her. She frowns.

“I’m not interested in sewing you back just because you’re being stubborn.”

Obi glowers. “You can’t make me stay.”

The woman’s face becomes markedly unimpressed. “Fine,” she says, waving her hand towards the door as she turns her back to him once more. “Thedoor is open. I won’t stop you.”

Obi stares at her back suspiciously before swinging his legs off theedge of the bed and furrowing his brows at how lifeless they feel. Slowly, he shifts himself towards standing and his head swims. Catching himself on the headboard, he holds himself for the space of two breaths before his wobbly knees give out, sending him careening directly to the floor.

He groans in agony. Across the room, he can hear a soft exhale of exasperation before the woman pads over to him. 

“What did you do to me?” he asks, staring at her out of the corner of his eye. He can’t look too intimidating as a heap on the floor, but he will surely try.

She crouches down. “You’ve beenin bed for the last two weeks while your injuries healed,” she says. “It’ll take some time before your body is up for walking again.”

His ire rises. “You drugged me?”

She nods. “Yes. You shouldn’t have to feel that much pain.”

Obi blinks. Oh.

Her hands reach towards him and he flinches. The woman pulls back, frowning. “I’m going to help you back to bed,” she says. “Unless you like your newhome on the floor.”

His lips twist petulantly. “No offense, Miss, but shouldn’t you ask someone bigger to do this?”

Her expression flattens once again. “You’re not thatheavy.”

He wants to tell her that the pretty blonde boy disagreed, but she is sliding her arm under his armpit, adjusting him tositting before wrapping the other under his knee and pulling him across both her shoulders. With a soft grunt, she pushes herself up high enough into a crouch to roll him back onto the mattress.

He lands with only a mild sense of pain and stares.

Face flushed, she smiles over at him, panting. “See?” she grins, pushing her hair out of her face. “Now, unless you have any other objections, may Isuggest some food?”

Obi feels his heart twist in his chest. He nods.

~ ~ ~

The young Miss sits at bedside, blowing on spoonful of porridge, a bowl cradled in her lap. When she holds it out towards him, he hesitates. He wants to do it himself. 

She looks at him earnestly, pushing the spoon closer to him and clenches his jaw before relaxing, slowly opening his mouth. Her lips tilt in a small grin as he takes it, swallowing with very little effort. It’s thick and a littlesweet.

She pulls the spoon back, lowering her gaze. “By the way,” she says, scoopingup another bite and blowing on it. “My name is Shirayuki. What’s yours?”

His brow furrows as he stares at her, trying to figure what she’s about. She peeks up at him from underneath the hood of her lashes and he looks away.

What’s the harm?

“Call me Obi.”