#brush ct

[fandomsoda]

Aight first Connection Terminated ref sheet done let’s go

Here’s Ink’s design!!

For context, brief summary of Connection Terminated’s plot here.

So, CT!Ink’s nickname is Brush, not very creative I know. But that’s just because these nicknames are only to be used by us as observers of the AU, in-universe they all still refer to each other by their original names.

Soooo character description time below the cut, boys- read the initial info post first or you’ll be confused.

Ink started to dust when the multiverse began collapsing, but was saved by Anti-Virus swooping in to activate his failsafes and apply code that allows Ink to live without his vials. Due to almost falling apart but never fully doing so, he is somewhat “scarred”, in the form of more black blotches all over his body. Ink has retained all of his memories from prior to the collapse. He’s got a very ring-leader type vibe and he’s the one enthusatically greeting the others and keeping things running. He’s often floating around observing things and trying to manage, often coming off as suspicious or shifty. He’s heavily pre-occupied with bringing XGaster back but he tries to hide it from everyone but Anti. No alterior motives, just wants the best and is being questionable. Trying to keep everyone sane until they figure something out.

His speaking font is Bad Script!

I should probably also mention that every character has a proper code name/name in the code, the title of the filegroup that makes them up.

Ink’s is “ai.ink_brush/protector:role/top:rank/sans:form/auto:vials[file-repair-failsafe].char”

now to translate-

“ai” - denotes that Ink is operating on a more independent level than other characters ; Ink is not tethered to any AU, nor is he really your typical “outcode”, he is a core, designated guardian. And thus I choose to label him as being supposedly an AI rather than an NPC like most of the other characters.

“ink_brush” - this is just a name, basically

“protector:role” - speaks for itself, he has the role of a protector

“top:rank” - rank within the multiversal hierarchy, Ink is at the top of the powercreep even if he’s not exactly the “strongest” (and no I will not debate this topic)

“sans:form” - Ink is a shapeshifter, noting his physical form makes sense.

“auto:vials” - the variable that denotes how much “vial energy” he still has left in his system, Anti found a way to make this auto-fill itself

“[file-repair-failsafe]” - his file was repaired and utilized failsafes, not completely rebuilt

“char” - he is a character

ok that was a lot, but I hope it lets people understand how these code names work, they won’t be super important but I just like them so they’re here to stay.

either way- hope y’all like him!

[secretly-a-trekkie]

things to think about

[thecoffeelorian]

Chapter Title: The Bet

Word Count: 1,542 words.

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest). Just when you're one step away from getting onto the ship bound for Naboo...some unseen force of nature finally intervenes, and you then have to make the biggest decision of your life.

AO3: Link Here

Extra Notes: My Clone Trooper OC, Commander Miles, has his first speaking cameo in this story! Hope you all come to love him as much as I do!

Chapter Masterlist: Link Here

The No-Pressure Tag List: @skellymom @masterjedilenawrites @littlefeatherr @ceejay3636 @red-plaidedandcladed

@knightprincess @carlixz @zaryashame @amazonian-bae @badbatchjedi

@weirdest-lights @crosshair-lover @clxnewxrs @offspringsdaughter @liliskywalker

@sunshinefanfictioninsp @sunshinesdaydream @nerfpuncher @burningfieldof-clover @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main

@techhasmjolnir and anybody else who might want some more Howzer x Reader stories in their lives.

There's a cold chill growing upon the back of your neck as you step out of the line, your focus now trained solely upon this Trooper. Judging from the shape and placement of his pauldron, he's some kind of high command official, like a Captain or a Commander...and as of this moment, he just might be a few steps away from bringing you in for questioning.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?” Especially if, should your fears prove to be correct, your own father has found a way to keep you from leaving.

“Are you the eldest daughter of Julian Minola?” Which, apparently, he seems to have figured out right as you arrived at this spaceport.

“I...am an eldest daughter, Sir. Why do you ask?” In response, his right hand beg­ins to move toward his left wrist, a sure sign that you just might be one comm away from the lecture of your life. “Well, ma’am, I may have just received a message from your father—” “—It’s because of my father that I'm getting on board that ship, Captain...?” “Miles, ma’am. Commander Miles.” You're not about to give up so easily, though. Not when you're standing just a few steps away from literal freedom. “May I ask if you’re, ah...dealing with any trouble at home?” In fact, if you can speak well enough to the Trooper before you...would it perhaps, be a possibility that you end up convincing him to let you go?

“...Of a sort, Commander.”

“And that is?”

“Simple. I’m not staying in a place where I’ll be sold off to the highest bidder.”

At first, you see this Commander’s entire stance go rigid, and for a moment, you can almost swear he’s about to call your father to this very spot himself. Perhaps you might even deserve such a response as well, considering you were literally one sentence away from broaching a very uncomfortable topic of discussion.

There go your hopes of getting away blame-free. On the other hand...even though your supposed ‘place’ is within a gilded cage and his was once within the line of fire, just how different are the two of you at the end of the day? Isn’t it an odd coincidence that the both of you were raised for one purpose and one purpose only, whether or not you try to fight it in the end?

Furthermore, isn’t it a cold hard fact of life that women can die in the delivery room just as easily as men do on the battlefield, especially when the wrong people are left in charge? It certainly appears to be that way sometimes, what with the few but frightening tales about such things that you’ve read on the holonet late at night. Things that could easily happen to you or someone else you know, even if you all do your best to take the necessary precautions first.

Sure, you and your sister didn't come off of some genetic assembly line with countless other girls both ahead and behind you, but in the eyes of Chandrilan society, you’re not the first daughter to be married off and, chances are, you won't be the last for some time yet.

Not as long as there are more people around that cling to the old ways rather than changing or rejecting them.

It’s not that uncommon, either, for younger men on this planet to remarry within a few years of losing their first wives, if indeed ‘the worst’ should happen to them. According to a few old family stories, that was exactly how your father came to exist in the first place, as your paternal grandfather had once been married long before meeting your grandmother. Is it really too much to assume, then, that the both of you are replaceable?

“...Hm... and what about Captain Howzer?” Your line of thought is brought to a halt the moment this good commander chooses his next approach, and an unexpected one at that. “Who...?” ‘Howzer’? Who or what is that, some kind of obscure Trooper code word? “Captain Howzer, ma’am. The one who spoke to you earlier?” —Oh. Oh-h-h. So that was the interesting Trooper you just happened to meet in the middle of your escape. The one who didn’t look at you strangely or start asking you questions about where you were going, but just interacted with you instead like—like you weren’t something to be judged, or bothered by, and for that, you had started having—feelings. Awkward, yes...but still feelings.

You might have once thought that any and all of those awkward feelings had gone the moment that the two of you had gone your separate ways. Indeed, if the two of you were truly meant to never meet again, both you and that Captain might have eventually or gotten your first meeting, and so moved on with your lives. Now that you might, in fact end up speaking to him a second time, though...you feel that old heat rising in your cheeks all over again. “You...know each other?” “We’ve spoken before, all right.” A heat that could either excite you or embarrass you utterly, if it’s not dealt with in the correct manner. “So, then...what did he say about me?” But then again, there’s still your flight. Your one chance to trade Chandrila for Naboo, and it’s evident in the second pinging that you receive from your Comm. Can you really throw it all away now, just for somebody who might lose interest in you soon enough, if not also leave you behind instead? “Only that you were the kindest, sweetest lady he ever had the luck of meeting, and that he hopes you might yet return.” “ ‘Return’...?!” Can you really also run the future risk of some kind of complication when, or even if, whatever's waiting for you back home leads to the next generation of Minolas? “And how, Commander, do I end up explaining a change of heart to the Naboo University faculty? How do I explain it to the Queen?!” Oh, but your voice is getting shrill now, and perhaps also your bad temper right along with it. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end for you. This day wasn't supposed to be so jumbled, so confusing, as to send your mind into a tailspin. What, if anything, are you supposed to do with yourself now...? “Let me put it this way...” As though to answer you, the Commander touches a hand to his helmeted forehead, a single gesture might be a secret sign to remind you to calm down and think. “He’s eager to see you, that much is a given—but at the same time you’re eager to leave. I get that. I'm not going to make your decisions for you, ma’am, and you don’t have to listen to me if you don’t want to—but what if you were able to do both?” “ ‘Both’?” “Yep.” “How do I do both?” “Simple. You go back and listen to what he has to say, try whatever he offers for about a month...then, if it doesn’t work out for you, can go back to your original plan and leave for Naboo at your earliest convenience.” “What...you mean, like a bet?" “More of a trial run, really. That is, unless you’re willing to treat it like one?” “Hmm…” You absentmindedly finger the pouch full of credits hidden beneath your poncho, remembering the amount you'd saved up in secret before your escape. Would it be so wise to toss your money away upon a simple gamble, never mind a man who you don’t exactly know that well?

On the other hand, though...what if he did have a point here after all, and you ended up owing him instead? “...And what if I offered you five hundred credits as a reward, should I decide to stay?” The Commander becomes just a little bit flustered after hearing this, as he demonstrates the same nervous head-rubbing gesture that you’ve seen a handful of other Troopers do whenever they were stressed out or troubled. Clearly, you’ve given him a lot to think about in a short amount of time, if he hasn’t also done the same for you. “Well, I ah...I guess I would have to find a banker willing enough to open an account for me!” Nevertheless, if the possibility exists that Captain isn’t the only Trooper looking for a fresh restart in life, and as long as you yourself dislike the idea of an entire army getting left by the wayside— “Then I think you and I just might have a deal, Commander.” —Then let it be five hundred credits to start Commander Miles upon his way if he’s victorious, and if not, the longed-for flight to Naboo for you. “We may indeed, Miss Minola. Time to make it official.” Either way, the two of you seal the deal with a handshake, the sign of business in action...and then, just as the last of your three notifications comes, the commander finally motions to the pilot that she has full clear­ance to take off. Well, that's the end, perhaps, but only for now. For better or for worse, your one journey may be postponed, all right...but another journey seems to be just beginning, even if you can't exactly be too sure of the outcome just yet.

Maybe this time, though, if you keep a full heart and an open mind...you’ll be better prepared to see it through.

[blue-hamble]

Clan Cloud Brush is a Wind clan currently residing in Singer’s Brook, hidden by illusory mountains. Their lair is nested behind several physical and magical barriers. Most major buildings of the territory are communal. Many activities are primarily done outdoors: communal dining, clan meetings, teaching and training, crafting, and so on.

[threadmonster]

Random advice: if you have a surgery involving bones and surgical hardware (screws, plates, etc..) and you're worried something is wrong, ask for a CT scan. You want a CT scan. Push for a CT scan.

[hellsitegenetics]

Chicken Pot Pie! :D

this is an actual recipe, but I have not tested it so have no idea if its good.

Ingredients

1 tbsp. olive oil

1 1/2 lb. bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper

1/2 yellow onion, chopped

2 carrots, chopped

2 stalks celery, chopped

1 tsp. fresh thyme

1/4 c. all-purpose flour

2 c. chicken stock

1/4 c. dry white wine

1 c. frozen peas

1/4 c. fresh flat-leaf parsley

1 (14-ounce) package all-butter puff pastry

1 large egg, beaten

Directions

Step 1Preheat oven to 425°F. Heat a large cast-iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add oil. Season chicken with salt and pepper. Cook, skin sides down, until golden brown and crisp, 6 to 8 minutes. Flip chicken and transfer skillet to the oven. Cook, until the internal temperature of the thickest thigh registers 165°F on an instant-read thermometer, 12 to 14 minutes. Transfer to a cutting board. Discard skins and bones, and chop chicken. 

Step 2Place skillet over medium-high heat. Add onion, carrots, celery, and thyme. Season with salt and pepper. Cook, stirring occasionally, just until crisp-tender, 3 to 4 minutes. Add flour and cook, stirring, 30 seconds. Slowly stir in stock and wine. Bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook, stirring occasionally, until thickened, 4 to 6 minutes. Remove from heat. Stir in chicken, peas, and parsley. 

Step 3Cut puff pastry into a circle 1 inch larger than the outside rim of a cast-iron pie plate. (You may need to roll the dough on a lightly floured work surface to get it to size.) Place pie plate on a rimmed baking sheet. Transfer filling to pie plate and top with puff pastry; crimp edges. Brush puff pastry with egg. Bake, until golden brown, puffed, and cooked through, 20 to 25 minutes.

String identified: gt t. / . -, - cc tg at a g ac / , c cat, c ta c, c t. t / c. a- c. cc tc / c. t c. a / c. at-a a (-c) acag a-tt at ag gg, at

ctt at t °. at a ag cat- t -g at. A . a cc t at a . C, , t g a c, t t. cc a ta t t t . C, t t ta tat t tct tg gt ° a tat-a tt, t t. Ta t a cttg a. ca a , a c cc. t ac t -g at. A , cat, c, a t. a t at a . C, tg ccaa, t t c-t, t t. A a c, tg, c. t tc a . g t a . c t a a c, tg ccaa, t tc, t t. at. t cc, a, a a. t Ct at t a cc c ag ta t t a cat- at. ( a t t g a gt ac t gt t t .) ac at a ag t. Ta g t at a t t at; c g. at t gg. a, t g , , a c tg, t t.

Closest match: Neolamprologus multifasciatus genome assembly, chromosome: 18 Common name: Many Banded Shell-Dweller

(image source)

[satoruhour]

if you haven’t done it yet! aftercare with gojo?

a/n: oh i just HAD to write this thank u for the prompt mirah <3

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie / breeding kink but it’s described as briefly as possible

he used to think aftercare was sort of boring? i feel it’s because he never really found the right person so he usually does the bare minimum, cleaning his partner up, getting them water and making them feel comfortable

but he always felt empty inside after they fall asleep, always keeping his distance no matter what

that was until he got together with you and he feels like he’s been missing out on so much

i have a headcanon he’s so unused to affection that his partner will be the one to introduce aftercare to him

like foreplay, aftercare can anything you want it to be!

and he laughs at your comment, fingers shaking from how much he liked you when you sink into his side with the tv droning on at the back

gojo loves all forms of aftercare but i feel he would love a few minutes of cuddling and skin to skin contact before you actually clean up

always has a packet of wet tissues on the bedside table and a glass of sweet sweet tea

it’s kinda gross bc of how sweet it is and if you have a sweet tooth too then good for you

but otherwise it’s insanely sweet, and he uses his cursed energy to heat up the tea!!! waow

but if you dont want hot tea then u gotta drink lukewarm tea sorry

he always carries you. dont try to fight him but he loves to take care of you after sex. loves to wash ur hair and body and you’ll do it back to him :)

sometimes it escalates to another round but most times he likes the two of you in the quietness of the bathroom and just the swooshes of the water

he doesn’t prefer the bathtub or shower more but he’ll pick what you like and go along with it

if you still have energy he likes to watch random youtube videos like cat memes or funny videos (the ones he picks are not exactly funny however…)

you two rarely watch movies bc they’re really long but if you do you’re usually the one to fall asleep bc gojo is naturally replenishing himself with his technique. and also he likes to watch you sleep

creep

he takes photos of you when you’re asleep in his arms and he shows it to you the next day but one day youre suggesting to him that maybe he can fall asleep first

and when he stops his CT it’s like … woah. he falls asleep so soundly in your arms that it’s adorable and now he’s more open to being tucked under your arms to succumb to sleep first

that time also allows you to say your confessions softly and to admire him without any teasing

this time is very soft and delicate and intimate and satoru thinks it’s his favourite, but then again every moment with you is a blessing ♡

the air is thick and musky with sex, skin laced with tear stains while gojo continues to rock into you long after you’ve cummed, moans and pants leaving your mouth with whispers of satoru’s name. the kisses he litters there makes your skin tingle before he’s releasing in you, and it’s thick, filling you up while his lips meet yours passionately, muttering confessions with a smile.

“baby…” gojo pokes your cheek, your expression close to pure bliss from the orgasm that he’s a little worried but he knows you’re being dramatic. it’s something you picked up from him. “you okay?”

your eyes crack open a bit as your hands make their way to his cheeks, feeling the fat of his cheeks fill up your hands when he smiles. with a free hand, his hand engulfs yours, planting a kiss to it and the smile-turned-grin he gives you is blinding before he decides it’s been too long that he’s kissed you.

slipping out of you, he pulls you closer with an arm while the other brushes the sweat-filled hair from your forehead, lips capturing yours softly. you move together, languid and slow and satoru cannot stop smiling as he pulls away, drunk on you.

“let’s get you clean, hm?” gojo plants one more peck on you after twenty minutes; twenty minutes of talking in whispers and kissing (satoru’s doing). he waits for your outstretched arms, hooking his own under your neck and knees just as you plead for him to carry you. “such a big baby.”

you giggle, mumbling a soft yeah before pecking his cheek, holding his stare so full of ardent love that your heart feels like it might actually stop — it almost does when you feel the cold water from the shower head hit your back and you jump with a yelp.

satoru laughs, “my bad, heater wasn’t on.”

“bastard.”

“you certainly don’t think i’m one by how much you were screaming my name just n—”

you groan as his giggles only increase in volume, swooping you up easily before it falls silent and it’s only the sound of the shower filling your ears.

soon, the night is calm, something that isn’t the case usually with gojo, but you’ve casted such a deep spell on the strongest — the weakest when with you — that all he can do is watch your content face and humming voice with a silent love, fingers gliding through his white locks with shampoo and suds.

recently, satoru finds that he’s starting to smell more and more like you.

i have chronic loving-gojo-satoru-like-an-clinically-insane-person disease

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexYou Pep-Talk

Summary: Pre-relationship yearn alert! This is a BIG yearn. Thank you @orangekittyenergy for the idea! Gale goes to seek you out (gender neutral) after a long day. Mutual pining, angst, fluff. Word Ct. 1.4 k

Master List | Read on Ao3

After the merriment and bustle of the night wore away and gave into the doldrums of sleep, Gale flicked his gaze around camp searching for you. You slipped away and although he expected you to return, the emptiness in your absence haunted him. 

He sat outside of his tent, then stood, pacing with book in hand. He wasn’t worried. Not necessarily. You had been traveling for a few weeks together now and you had a certain levels of tenacity it seemed even gods and devils refused to trifle with. 

It was just that he had grown accustomed to your company post-dinner and campfire camaraderie and felt a pang of remorse in your absence. The night air too quiet without the soft hum of your laughter. Sometimes, he would read aloud to you, other times you would both get lost in conversation, and sometimes would sit in utter silence. It intrigued and terrified him, that you sought out his private company despite the others being starved for your attention. 

It was quite flattering and made him want to rip out the persistent thrum in his heart. He couldn’t indulge in such frivolities and would cause far less suffering to not humor the feelings at all. The orb’s ever looming threat didn’t allow Gale to succumb to whatever emotions festered in his gullet. At least, not consciously. 

His mind began down the treacherous path of ‘what ifs.’ It was a game, like lance board, Gale was excellent at. As the moon greeted the stars, Gale’s anxiety intensified, his mind whirling with options. It had to have been a least an hour you’d been gone, longer than you’d take for bathing - not that he knew exactly how long that was! It was just something he happened to notice. Coincidentally. 

The foreign thrum of desire stirred and the thick hair on his arms stood straight up as he wondered if you were bathing. If you allowed the water to kiss your supple skin, to know your secrets. Gale shook his head, embarrassed and felt his face redden. Keep it together. They could be dead and you’re fantasizing over their wet body? You should be ashamed of yourself. 

Gale expected you to traverse through the trees any moment, prepared to feel ridiculous at his worrying. Why did he care? It’s not as if there was anything more than friendship between you two, at least from your end. He had to repeat this to himself to be convinced. 

When he overheard Astarion ask Shadowheart if she’d seen you, Gale felt the whispers of envy touch his heart and decided he spent enough time wasted, musing over your whereabouts when you could be lost, or worse besides. 

He couldn’t tolerate the sudden pain that gripped him with that ‘what if,’ and he walked into the brushes to find you. 

*** 

Relief roiled through him at the sight of you, despite your disheveled appearance. Gale’s breath caught in his throat and he stopped, gripped when he looked upon you in the pale moonlight. Your eyes were red and swollen, it seemed like you’d been crying. He felt his knees buckle and he cleared his throat, so not to startle you. 

You whipped your head around and Gale’s lips parted when he saw crimson blossom across your cheeks as you wiped away the streaks with the back of your hand. “Oh, I um.. how long have you been standing there?” 

“Not long, I assure you,” Gale’s voice was tender, quiet. He held up both of his hands at waist level, palms facing up and smiled at you. “May I join you?” 

You hesitated for a moment and Gale panicked that he’d made the wrong move, said the wrong thing and of course he had already messed up any chance he might have because he was so pathetically out of practice. You’d think a man who bedded a goddess would have a bit more self confidence in his seductive prowess, but being shunned and cast out by your former omnipotent lover does a number on one’s self esteem. 

When you nodded, he tumbled off the cliff and the orb revolted as it mingled with the rush of adrenaline and rapture he felt from the simple gesture. One nod. To Gale, it was everything. He felt welcomed into your world, elated you’d allow him to offer support. You didn’t have to, and yet you did. 

Gale joined you on the boulder that was nestled in the thicket, the soft buzz of nighttime harmonizing with his unsteady breath. “Hm… I know that look,” Gale said, gazing at how your lips curved. “And a clear mind does not eviscerate flowers quite like this.” He fingered a petal and gestured at the flowers and stems, all petals plucked intentionally from their root. “A nervous habit, no doubt.” 

You sighed and his heart swelled, “I just don’t know what I’m doing. Every lead ends up in either more unanswered questions or unhelpful ends.” You groan and grip your chest, your breath coming in unevenly. “I’m exhausted,” as your head fell into your hands Gale, without thinking, rested a hand on your upper back and stroked your hair behind your shoulder.  

“Ah, heavy is the head that wears the crown.” Gale felt warmth pulse through him as you laughed, whether genuinely or out of pity he wasn’t to know. He wasn’t sure he cared. “For the record, you have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes most skillfully. You’ve shown remarkable courage and determination and, I’m confident the others would agree, many of us would not be so fortunate to still be alive if not for you. You must know that.” He rubbed his fingers in small circles along your upper back. When he became conscious of what he was doing he pulled back, ashamed and nervous by the electricity that seemed to flow between his skin and yours although barred by cloth. You whined a little and Gale cocked his brows, “What?” 

You turned and as your gaze locked with Gale he drowned. Oh. He was jolted by the flash of profound need and emotion that coiled through him. Every part of him felt aflame and he worried that it was his end, that the orb was at last collapsing in on itself. Yet, as he remained next to you in the thickening silence, he realized it wasn’t the orb at all. When you spoke, Gale thought surely this was the moment he was becoming a mindflayer, a wicked dream to lull one as they succumbed to the parasite. “I.. .can you do that again?” 

“Gladly.” Gale shyly returned his fingers to your back and as you leaned into his touch, Gale knew it was not longer a matter of if, but when. As you leaned farther, you almost rested in his shoulder and his throat closed. He swallowed hard and tried to steady his body and mind, every cell quaking with anticipation and overstimulation. 

He inhaled. Temptation. You smelled like rain or fresh cut grass. You smelled like home. It was when you leaned into him, he was certain he forgot how to formulate a thought. Your head nestled against his neck and your side pressed into his. He wondered if the quaking was from your body or his. He dared not move, frozen as if Tara had fallen asleep on his lap. 

The pain that coursed from Gale’s chest through his veins was almost enough to send Gale back to camp. The undue excitement made the orb restless. Agitated. He was both grateful and nostalgic when you pulled away and sat up. “Thank you, for that. Let’s get back to camp. I don’t want the others to worry.” You smiled at Gale and it seared into the crevices of his mind, a look he would capture a thousand more times and it would never sate him. You gave his hand a squeeze and then stood, offering your hand to Gale’s with a cheeky grin. “Here, I’d hate for you too put too much strain on those creaky knees of yours.” 

Gale’s hearty laugh took him by surprise and he took your hand and stood with a grunt. “A wizard is useless without his knees, shame on you for poking fun at their fragility.” Gale chased the feeling of you, of this closeness and realized that, even before his isolation he had never met a person quite like you. Gale would have stood there in stunned desire forever had you not taken his hand to guide him forward, the movement breaking the trance and he pulled his sweaty palm from yours, embarrassed. He wiped them on his shirt and followed you back, his heart and head swimming with the idea of kissing you. 

[jeonscatalyst]

Lets talk about it.

Why Jikook keep showering, washing up at the same time, saying lets brush our teeth together, lets go to bed together? Lets buy matching clothes together (Jk's idea, who's surprised? we saw his concept matched Jimin's). Deciding what, when, how much to eat together? Why do they always turn the camera off & back on washed up at the same time? Doing their morning & nighttime routines together? Compare that to when Tae was with them in Jeju, for days & not once did he join in on their routines with either of them, not Jk or Jimin, nor accommodate their sleep schedules or eating schedules. He went to bed on his own before them, went out did his thing without them, while they did their own thing and only Jikook went to bed together at the same time in jeju. They certainly didn't talk about washing up & showering at the same time with Tae, cause every time it was Jikook saying it & coming out with fresh clothes & hair at the same time. I know y'all close, but why you acting like more? Why you asking permission from the other to have seconds. Giving googly eyes to get your way. Just eat it, why you asking? In NY sleeping in the same tiny bed & same bed time. In CT brushing teeth same time, same bed time, same shower/washing up, waking up for morning cuddles and booty slaps. In Jeju, all of the above, same bed time, same shower time, same bed for a little bit, same wake up cuddles, their suitcases laid out next to each other in front of the shower. Now again in Japan. Same lets wash up, lets brush our teeth together, lets eat, lets go to bed and annoying each other with lights til they go to bed. I think they're perfectly content doing this for the rest of their lives. You're married at this point. Might as well make it official one day lol. I just love them so much & so happy they have each other and match each other's energy and freak. Good for them.

Tbf anon, Jikook weren’t going to leave the cameras on while they showered right? They didn’t want us to see “things” and by “things” I don’t mean what you are thinking……wait you know what, maybe I do.

You know all these years, we had heard from jikook themselves and other members how much those two spent time together at nights, eating, during the day, hanging out etc but I think for the first time ever, we get to actually see how it happened.

Like you said anon, not once did we see Tae try to follow their shower and night programs in Jeju as he always showered and went to bed way before Jikook were ready to while jikook always made sure to do these things together. It reminded me of the Vminkook Vlive in 2021 when Jikook found out that Tae had already showered but Jimin said him and Jungkook were yet to shower. Anyone who has been paying attention all these years would clearly see the pattern. This is why Jikook were always said to be together or spending their nights together. They make time to spend with other people doing different things but at the end of the day, they always settled with each other. Let also not forget what that staff said about never seeing Jimin and Jungkook separated from each other backstage.

[luveline]

u are the most amazing writer. im in hospital rn and have been for a few days but thinking about aaron hotchner finding out reader was in hospital and freaking out?? 🐇🧃💖💃

get well soon my love, and tysm for requesting ♡ fem!reader

"Hello, handsome," you say, phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder, naked thighs stretched out in front of you, "funny thing." 

"I doubt it will be funny," he says. Aaron knows you too well, that's for sure. 

"Well, it's not actually very funny. I'm at Stafford." 

"Right." 

"Stafford–" 

"Hospital. You're in Stafford Hospital?"

You brush a hand down your hospital gown and sigh. "You could say that." 

"Are you hurt?" 

"You could also say that. Will you come?" you ask quietly. 

"I'm on my way. Ten minutes." 

It's an impossible promise and one he can't deliver on, but twenty minutes later he's opening the door to your room with his go-bag on his shoulder. "Shit, are you going somewhere?" you ask.

He frowns at you deeply. "What happened?"  

"I hit my head at work. Threw up, passed out. I had a CT scan, I'm waiting for them to come back and tell me what's happening." 

His jaw twitches as you explain. Looking rather formidable, Aaron puts his bag down on the plastic wrapped chair beside your hospital bed and leans down to hold you. "Oh, careful of your head," he says as you reach for him. His voice is strange. "Careful." 

Things are quiet for a while. Just his arms around you and the beep of your heart monitor. 

"How do you feel?" he asks, and the dam breaks. "How did it happen, honey? Where did you hit your head?" He puts his hand on your shoulder and nudges you back gently. "Can you show me?" 

You arch your neck down and tuck your hand behind your head. "Right here. I don't know what I was doing, I just slipped."

He encourages you forward with one hand. You're unsure what he's looking at or how bad it might look, but he must feel sorry for you either way, the hand on your shoulder rubbing sympathetic quarter circles. 

"I wish you would've called me as soon as it happened." 

"I was a little busy." 

He's quiet, brooding. You look up into his face to try and gauge how he's feeling beyond that, but he's impassive; his expression reveals nothing.

"Are you mad?" you ask worriedly. 

"Mad?" He shakes his head. Careful, he slides a hand under your leg and moves it aside to sit on your hospital bed, his thumb in the tender underside of your knee. "I'm just– I've seen so many–" Your heart monitor reflects your surprise as Aaron stutters. "I couldn't imagine what happened to you. I was afraid to ask. Honey, it's eight at night. Thinking about you here, alone and in pain–" He clings to your knee. 

You understand his reaction, then. You've had hours to make sense of your sudden injury. Aaron's only just found out, and he's lived through enough bad phone calls to panic himself thinking about another. 

"They couldn't find my phone. I would've called you if I remembered your number," you say, putting your hand on his.

He seems to realise he's been panicking. He takes a deliberate, calming breath, a professional through and through. "I," he begins, his hand trailing down your leg to rub right back up, "am going to write it on you. In permanent ink." 

"I'll get it tattooed if you promise not to change it." 

"Deal," Aaron says. "Are you sure you're not in any pain?" 

He's much calmer from that point, checking your medications, helping you change into the pyjamas he's brought in his go-bag, and tracking down a nurse to see what your arrangements will be that night. Then he pulls his FBI card to talk to a doctor, and things go much quicker after that. 

[tsukimefuku]

kintsugi :: higuruma hiromi

Higuruma, former lawyer, curse user, and reformed jujutsu sorcerer tries to make sense of what his life has become after the war is finally over.

content warning: spoilers for jjk 269. hinted kusahigu. mostly fluff and introspection, some hurt and comfort if you squint.

wc: 1.8k

notes etc.: written to the sound of “here I dreamt I was an architect” by the decemberists. Inspired by this stunning higuruma fanart by @valleyofwater.

The sun hung high, and fully illuminated the classroom with the golden spring warmth. The blue sky surrounding it would be pristine, if not for a few stray clouds that on occasion cast its shadows over Jujutsu High, only adding to the idyllic, leisurely ambiance. 

“I didn’t understand that very well,” Yuji admitted as he sheepishly scratched the back of his neck, earning him the indignant grunts from Megumi and Nobara.

“What do you mean? Higuruma-san explains things much better than Gojo sensei ever did and you learned from him, of all people!” Nobara complained, leaning over her classmate’s chair and smacking the back of Yuji’s head with her fist. She then proceeded to adjust her eye patch and sink into her chair with her arms crossed over her chest.

“His explanation was, indeed, very clear,” Megumi chimed in as Yuji attempted to soothe his pain by brushing his fingers over a growing bulge on his scalp. 

Higuruma, unaccustomed to juggling three teenagers, solely watched the unfolding scene in utter helplessness. With a sigh, he reclined back against the black board while looking at Itadori.

“What exactly did you fail to understand?” 

Yuji cleared his throat for a second, knowing full well his answer would earn him another round of getting kicked around like a poor puppy.

“Everything,” he whispered, lowering his gaze towards the floor before Nobara’s protests in disbelief reverberated like a roar throughout the vicinity.

With a sigh of resignation, Higuruma relaxed his shoulders while checking his wrist watch.

“You do better with practical lessons, Itadori,” the reformed jujutsu sorcerer remarked.

“I do!” Yuji confirmed, starting to pull a contented smile on his face.

“That wasn’t a question.” 

“Oh.”

That smile left as quick as it came.

Megumi covered his face with his palm, and wondered for a second when the elation for being back to normal life gave place to the mundane, every-day annoyance of dealing with Itadori and Kugisaki’s shenanigans.

“Let’s wrap this up for the day, and tomorrow we can have a practical lesson at the Dojo,” Higuruma concluded, crossing his arms.

After some fumbling around, the three students finished packing their things. Nobara and Megumi stepped outside, as she tried to place a bet on who would get to the vending machines first. Megumi’s grumpy demeanor did little to hide the fact that he had, even if begrudgingly, taken her up on her challenge.

Yuji remained on his chair, though, still ruminating on his hardship to learn about the inner workings of the cursed energy world as quickly as his classmates.

Higuruma looked at the boy, and remained silent for a short while before asking him what was the matter.

“It’s just… I don’t know, after everything that happened, I thought I could learn these things faster now, you know?”

Softly brushing his hand around his jaw, Higuruma pondered for a moment.

“Each person has a different learning process. I learned jujutsu by reverse engineering my own cursed technique and figuring out how it worked. Most learn about cursed energy and then go onto training their own CTs all the way up to domain expansion. It’s fine. With only three students, we can tailor classes for each and every one of you.”

His words seemed to soothe Yuji, who looked at Higuruma and spared him a relieved smile.

“I guess you’re right,” Yuji conceded, pondering for a few moments before proceeding, “you remind me of someone.”

“I do?”

“Yes,” Yuji replied, getting up and walking towards the door. For a second, Higuruma’s suited up, responsible demeanor brought him flashbacks of a much lighter colored suit, a blonde, side parted hair and a pair of green shades. “He was a very serious person, and kind, just like yourself.”

Higuruma’s mouth fell slightly open, but no words came out before Yuji waved at him, bidding his teacher goodbye before sprinting towards Nobara and Megumi.

I am so out of my element. Why did I agree to come here, of all places? Higuruma asked himself while sinking down on his desk’s chair. 

“Rough class?” 

The familiar, low baritone voice came accompanied by a few footsteps inside the classroom. Hiromi lifted his gaze to see the signature brownish-beige trench coat, along with the man who wore it.

“Good afternoon, Kusakabe,” Hiromi offered, nudging himself over his seat while motioning to get up. Kusakabe signaled for him to keep seated with one of his hands, before leaning himself on the desk’s side with his hands in his pockets and a lollipop shoved into his mouth.

“Rough life,” Higuruma replied, half in jest. Truth was, those past few months — nearly half a year after the fight at Shinjuku against Sukuna — felt like some sort of uncomfortable fever dream to Higuruma.

He was offered the opportunity to atone for his crimes as a teacher at Jujutsu High, and he seized said opportunity. However, the former lawyer caught himself struggling to fall asleep most nights while pondering. He didn’t know, unfortunately, what had made his soul so uneasy.

“At least we are not shacked up like sardines inside a makeshift bunker while fighting for our lives against a genocidal maniac,” Kusakabe promptly replied, earning him a nod from Higuruma.

”I guess you’re right. How has life as the new NSS headmaster been?”

“Almost pushing me back into smoking. Sometimes, I wish these lollipops were made out of pure nicotine.”

At that, Higuruma spared a quick, discreet smile.

“That bad?”

“Don’t even get me started on it,” Kusakabe grunted, glancing over towards the windows. “It’s a beautiful day, huh?”

Higuruma looked down at his hands, which sat together over the desk. After Kusakabe was done admiring the view, he turned his eyes to Higuruma, noticing the man sinking further into himself.

”Higuruma, how have you been? Is everything alright?” 

“I…” Higuruma let his voice drag, uncertain just as his feelings had been about everything that had happened ever since that fateful day in Keita’s trial, “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Kusakabe inquired, confused.

“I thought I was supposed to die back at Shinjuku. I believed that I would fulfill my duty, and… I don’t know, achieve some sort of spiritual absolution if I died while playing my role in the battle against Sukuna. But I just lived. It doesn’t make sense, it’s not adding up to me.” 

Kusakabe quickly realized this was the first time Higuruma was effectively putting these feelings into words, and conceded him the moments’ reprieve necessary for the man to collect his thoughts.

“Everything I’ve learned since gaining my CT was how to fight a war.” 

Higuruma sighed, and upon further contemplation, realized that what he said wasn’t the entire truth.  

“Actually, ever since I was a lawyer, all I ever did was fight a war, be it symbolically or literally. No one told me how to live my life after it was over, in peaceful times. I don’t think I quite know how to do that.”

“No one does,” Kusakabe quickly interjected.

“What?” Higuruma asked, his voice slightly surprised.

“No one knows how to live life. We’re just… living it, and doing what’s needed to get by. Clinging to what might give it some meaning from time to time.” 

Higuruma looked down, and let his colleague’s words sink in slowly. For all this time, he’d felt like a movie that overstayed its welcome, dragging along its plot for much longer that it should have. Upon experiencing the warmth of the sun coming through the wide set windows caressing his skin, however, Higuruma thought it didn’t seem so bad, after all.

“Everything I had ever believed in was broken, and I guess I was, too. My life,” Higuruma remarked, “and I’m finding it hard to piece things back together. I don’t know if that’s possible.” 

“I suppose you’ve heard of kintsugi,” Kusakabe said while pulling another lollipop from his pocket and replacing the already finished candy with a new one.

Higuruma was taken aback by the sudden shift in the conversation.

“The practice of fixing broken ceramic pieces with gold? Yes, I’m familiar.”

“Your life is the broken ceramic.”

… What?

Kusakabe had no ease for metaphors, and it showed in Higuruma's completely puzzled expression.

With a grunt, the seasoned sorcerer pulled the lollipop from his mouth and began gesturing around, as if trying to pull the words to have himself make sense out of thin air.

“What I mean to say is… broken things can be fixed, and sometimes the way they’re fixed can make them more valuable than they were before. Or something like that.”

Higuruma’s confusion subsided for the most part, but he remained silent to see if Kusakabe would offer some final commentary.

He did. 

“There is value in the healed cracks. That’s all. Perhaps this second chance you’ve been given is an opportunity to do just that. Heal those cracks with something valuable, I mean.”

Higuruma’s eyes traveled gently over the classroom in front of him, and he finally gazed out the window while actually paying attention to it for the first time in a long while. He saw the golden rays of sunshine projecting a soft, welcoming light over the students’ desks, noticed how clear the sky truly was, and the cloud-scattered blue that encompassed it all together as a visual symphony.

“It really is a beautiful day, after all,” Higuruma remarked, looking back at Kusakabe with a smile.

Kusakabe’s eyes met Hiromi’s, and this was probably the first time he had actually seen the man smiling with actual joy.

In a second, Kusakabe coughed, feeling his face warming up, and averted his gaze while covering his mouth with his fist.

“Is everything alright?” Higuruma asked, gently tilting his head to the side. “Did you choke on your lollipop?”

“No. It’s okay, I’m fine,” the other man answered, mentally pulling himself back to normal. “I just really have to go back to work.”

“Oh. Okay. I should probably leave this classroom too and get something to eat.” 

Kusakabe nodded and propped himself up, walking towards the door. However, he stopped as he was nearly past it, and turned around.

“Higuruma.”

The former lawyer had just gotten up himself, and turned to face his colleague.

“What?”

“Me and some other people from jujutsu high — assistants, mostly — will have a happy hour this Friday. Would you like to join us?”

The question caught Hiromi completely off guard, and he faltered for a few seconds before clearing his throat and answering, “yes. I appreciate the invite.”

Kusakabe nodded once more. “Okay. See you this Friday, then.”

As he watched Kusakabe leaving, Higuruma could feel the liquid gold slowly seeping into the cracks of his broken life, gluing things back in place.

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[thecoffeelorian]

Chapter Title: The Proposal

Word Count: 1,185.

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest). As you return home under the watch of Commander Miles, you're expecting nothing less than the worst lecture of your life. However, the same force of nature that stopped your escape isn't quite done with you yet...

AO3: Link Here

Extra Notes: This was sitting in my drafts for a literal forever (maybe 3 months), but now it's here, so...I hope you all enjoy it, because all the good stuff is around the corner! ;)

Chapter Masterlist: Link Here

The No-Pressure Tag List:

@yoitsjay @gun-roswell @skellymom @masterjedilenaaa @littlefeatherr

@knightprincess @crosshair-lover @yeehawhijack @etod @ci-avmovies14 and anyone else interested in more stories about this Clone Captain!

“Hello…? Is zis thing on?”

“Reading you loud and clear, Captain.  What’s your status?”

“Optimistic.”

The comm between Commander Miles and Captain Howzer—the Trooper that you had the curious luck of meeting in the street not thirty minutes ago—is on full playback now, along with everything you just agreed to do in order to watch it.

And wouldn’t you know it, you’re trying your hardest not to stare too long at that smaller blue version of your Captain.

“I’ve just spoken with the master of ze ‘ouse, and I do believe we’ve come to a sort of, er…agreement.”

Agreement.

Really.

You wonder for a moment about what sort of agreement could ever be made between him and “Daddy”, considering he certainly wasn’t ever that negotiable with you.  Not since he’d found a way to keep both you and Briana single forever, whether either one of you liked it or not.

And if that’s not making you feel awkward enough...then being led back to your home like you’re some kind of escaped prisoner, with or without the vibrocuffs, has certainly put the stomp back into your step. Sure wish I could have made an agreement with him…not that he’ll listen.

In fact, there’s a flush of annoyance rising in your face as the Sergeant escorts you back through the streets of the Eastern District, the area of Chandrila where all of the once-active wartime industries can be found as well as your home territory.  These great producers of weapons, navigation devices, and other equipment will no doubt be shuttering their doors soon, thanks to that double surprise of Palpatine’s tragic accident and the gradual end of the war that followed…and so far, that’s not counting your family’s own business. Not yet.

“Is that so?”

“Yes. He’ll just need a certain lady back under ‘is roof in order to, er… finalize the plans.”

As for yourself, if the building storm within you is any indication of your own future—

“And in return?”

“We recover a lost asset.”

—Then your own smaller war is just beginning, and you start feeling the weight of it as soon as you’re standing back before your own front door, the Commander rapping upon the gilded knocker to get the attention of whomever may be listening.

“One moment…!”

A few parsecs later, that whomever turns out to be your housekeeper, an elder Twi’lek known as Orinna, who just happens to meet you and your escort the moment the door is opened. “Y/N Katherina Minola!” A small feeling of guilt pangs through your body as you take in her change of expression from pain to confusion, you having said what should have been your goodbyes not one hour earlier. “Just what are you doing with zis man?!” 

In fact, she must be properly furious at you for playing her for a fool, sneaking away without any protection, and putting the rest of the household into a panic—and that’s just without you also feeling a little angry at yourself for lying to her.

“…Well, um…it’s like this…” After all, since she gladly stepped in to give you some extra maternal support after the death of your mother, she certainly deserves better treatment than the kind you’re giving.

Nevertheless, the good Commander takes all of this drama in his stride, for he doesn’t think twice about removing his helmet and addressing her directly.

“Apologies, ma’am, but I was just escorting this nice young lady home to meet her future.”

Orinna’s mixed reaction soon turns to one better suggesting curiosity, a thing you can determine by the slight raising of her eyebrows.

“ ‘Er future…?  Whatever do you mean?”

“I believe Commander Miles was referring to me, ma’am.”

It’s not that long before you feel your own eyebrows go up as you hear that all-too-familiar voice speak up from behind her, and with it, the breath goes out of your body.

There he is.

Captain Howzer.

The man you saw in the street, over the comm system, and as soon as Orinna is careful to step aside to give him room…standing right inside your doorway.

“Welcome back, Miss Minola.”

Only this time, now he can also see your face plainly without the guise or protection of any hoods…and, quite unlike the “interested” young men you’ve spoken to before, this time, he’s actually not just speaking at you, but to you.

“I trust zat your journey back ‘ome was not a difficult one?”

Is it any wonder, then, that you feel your legs wobble ever so slightly at the sight of his smile…?  Is it all that mysterious that your heart rate has gone up a few notches solely because of one glance from his direction?  It must not be that surprising for someone with his looks, because he could look perfect standing in a mud puddle, and even worse—he knows it. What a clever, brazen bunch these Troopers must be!

“N…No, Captain,” you hear yourself say, almost whimpering out your reaction.  “I—I had help.”

Commander Miles takes this as his cue to join Howzer upon the steps, each of them gripping the other’s hand in an enthusiastic greeting.

“What d’you think, Cap?  Is she a keeper?”

Howzer looks back at you a second time, and with it, you feel your heart start to beat a little harder.  Does he see that smattering of acne scars left over from your teenage years, or are they no longer visible…?  What about that little scar upon your forehead from where you fell as a toddler?  Would he take both of these things as a part of you and accept them, or turn you away in disgust instead?

“The finest keeper in all of Coruscant!”

Oh, Force help you, he likes you.  Your face must be as hot as a sunrise on Mustafar by now, and you can barely keep yourself steady—and he likes you.   This feeling grows by degrees as he bravely takes your hand and raises it to his lips, thus proving himself to be the officer and gentleman both on this fated morning.

“I thank you for returning to us, Miss Minola.  Will you be staying ‘ere, then…?” In return, you’re just barely in control of yourself in time to start playing the lady, the rest of the people around you almost completely forgotten.

“As long as I’m able, er…Captain…but may I ask, if it’s not too out of the ordinary…why?”

“For the same reason any gentleman of Chandrila would wish to meet a lady.”

He uses this moment to release your hand; then, after withdrawing a few steps, raises both of his own with the palms up in an offering to you.

“Now that I have had ze ‘onor of meeting you face-to-face, I am therefore moved to ask for your hand in marriage.”

For a few blissful seconds, you’re staring into those sweet brown eyes, and finding yourself one breath away from accepting him as your future husband.

Then…you see your father walking out onto the front stoop with a look of wild glee upon his face, and reality strikes.

**********

Parting Thoughts: ...If there is anyone who used to get regular notifications about this story, but suddenly is not...that's because I either didn't get any further reactions from you in my last update, or you missed my poll and interest check from yesterday morning.

So, if there are other readers out there who didn't make the tag list up above, then please PLEASE leave this emoji (👩‍🎤) in the reblogs/reblog tags, because it might be the only way for me to contact you, and I kinda want an accurate count of readers, too!

Thanks for your time, and have a great day!

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

a/n: so. this wasn’t a fic i planned on writing but kind of needed to, in order to just process some shit. i had the same thyroid surgery a couple of years ago, but only had half of it out at the time. i recently had a little bit of a scare that there was something going on with the remaining half (there wasn’t, i’m all good!!) but i sat down ready to write a different andrei fic and this one came out instead 😬 it’s kind of funny, because i wanted to post an andrei fic on the one year anniversary of posting that first andrei fic and it weirdly worked out that this fic is an opposite of that first one - andrei taking care of reader as opposed to her taking care of him after the acl injury. anyway, stupidly long note over and just one final thing: i have been so grateful and blessed by all the love for my hockey fics this past year and i’m looking forward to writing more fun fics for you guys 🤍

word count: 6.6k

tw: cancer mention, surgery mention, incisions and scarring mention

summary: when you have a medical scare, it’s andrei’s turn to take care of you

You manage to keep your emotions under control and locked away until you get home and Andrei’s head pops up over the back of the couch, television remote in hand, smile on his face as he asks, “how was your day?”

The words are barely out of his mouth before you’re bursting into hysterical tears, sobs wracking your entire body. Your bag slips off your shoulder and lands on the floor with a thump and you can’t see Andrei’s face fall in fear through your tears. But a second later, his arms are strong around your body, his chest solid under your cheek as he crushes you in a hug.

You’re grateful for it, for his solid presence, because the second he touches you, your knees buckle and he’s the only thing keeping you standing.

“What happened? What’s wrong?” Andrei’s voice is thick with fear, one large hand stroking the back of your head. His voice shakes when he asks, “did someone die?”

You manage a shake of your head against his chest, breath hiccuping out of your chest. Your lungs feel tight and you’re pretty sure you’re not getting enough oxygen in on your shaky, shallow breaths. Andrei pulls back slightly and cradles your face in his hands, fingers gripping just slightly too tight. The pressure grounds you and even though you’re still sobbing, your breathing feels easier.

“Solnyshka, please, what’s happening?” Andrei studies you with worried eyes, his accent stronger than usual. His thumbs swipe over your cheeks, like windshield wipers getting rid of your tears. “You’re scaring me.”

“D-doctor called,” you manage to choke out and Andrei’s grip on your face gets tighter. Your stomach swirls with nausea and you’re afraid that you might vomit on him.

Andrei mutters a curse under his breath, your reaction isn’t for good news.

You raise a shaky hand to your mouth and press your fingertips against your lips, muffling your voice as you choke out a fragmented sentence, “b-biopsy was, um, it’s - they said. Oh fuck, um, c-cancer.”

The word hangs in the air between your bodies, dropped like a bomb.

Andrei’s eyes go wide and he stares at you, jaw going slack. “Fuck,” he grits out the curse and you press the heels of your palms into your eye sockets, hard, until you see little white starbursts.

One of his hands slides down the side of your jaw until his thumb is right over the lump just above your collarbone, the cause of your tears. He’d been the one to notice it months ago, pressing a kiss to your skin and mumbling that something felt off. You’d brushed him off, like an idiot, thinking it was nothing until he had mentioned it again a few weeks later, noting that it was bigger. Twice more he had to comment on it before you went to your doctor, starting down a path of blood draws, ultrasounds, CT scans, and most recently, a biopsy.

You feel like an idiot for waiting so long.

Andrei’s lips meet your forehead, a warm kiss stabilizing you. He mumbles something against your skin and wraps his arms around you again in a tight hug. You lean heavily against him, mind going a mile a minute, your doctor’s words ringing in your ears. Without realizing it, Andrei gently ushers you up to your room, helping you strip off your clothes and turning on the shower for you. You blink at him and he cups your cheek.

“Shower,” he says, voice hoarse. “Clean the day off, yes? Then we figure it out. Together.”

You nod, wiping at the tears still sliding down your cheeks. “Please don’t leave?” Your voice cracks. You don’t think you can be alone with your thoughts right now. “Just…just tell me about something. Anything.”

“Okay,” he nods and leans against the countertop, arms crossed over his stomach. He’s quiet for a few moments while you get situated in the shower, hot water running over your face. You splutter out the water when it fills your mouth and tears well up in your eyes again. Andrei’s eyes study you as he slowly begins to tell you about practice, clearly trying to remember each and every little detail that he can to try and distract you.

It sort of works, drawing a faint laugh when he tells you about Pyotr’s latest adventure in the crease, but also your brain can’t stop thinking about the c-word. It’s a constant loop in your brain - “I’m sorry, the biopsy was positive for malignant cells. Thyroid cancer. I’m scheduling you for an appointment in two days to discuss the plan going forward.”

Without you really participating, still in a daze, Andrei turns the shower off and bundles you in a towel, rubbing his hands up and down you arms to get some warmth in your body. He guides you into the bedroom and quickly helps you into sweats, bundling you up under the covers before climbing in next to you and pulling you close so your chest is flush against his.

“You’re shaking,” he comments, squeezing you tightly. Your head is tucked under his chin, nose pressed against his neck.

“She didn’t say,” you mumble, cutting yourself off. “What if it’s - what if it’s bad?”

Andrei shakes his head above you and his fingertips draw nonsense patterns on your back. “It won’t be,” he says firmly.

“But what if it is?” You press him in a shaky voice. “What if I’m like, just -“

“Stop,” he says shortly, interrupting your spiral. You shut your mouth with a little snap. “When do you see doctor again?”

“Two days,” you reply. “The first appointment, eight in the morning.”

Normally your doctor is booked up weeks in advance. The fact that she’s squeezing you in last minute only makes your heart beat faster, nausea churn in your stomach. It must be bad, for her to make sure you get in quickly. If it weren’t, wouldn’t she just let you schedule a normal appointment?

Andrei’s talking, but you don’t hear him over your spiralling thoughts. “Sorry,” you tap on his chest, drawing his attention. “I wasn’t- what were you saying?”

He kisses the crown of your head. “You can have breakfast before? I’ll take you for coffee before we go to the appointment. Is the office near that coffee shop you like?”

“You - wait,” you’re still not really processing what he’s saying, too hung up on cancercancercancer.

“Breakfast before your appointment,” Andrei repeats. His legs tangle with yours.

“You don’t have to -“ you start to say, shaking your head. He doesn’t need to be burdened with your medical stuff now.

Andrei interrupts you with a little pat to your ass. “I’m coming with you, final. No arguing, solnyshka,” his cheek rests against your head and you can feel his hands tremble a little against your back.

“Okay,” you murmur. “No arguing. But you might be late for practice…I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

The thought of going to your appointment alone is terrifying though and you’re grateful that Andrei offered, that you didn’t have to ask. Because you wouldn’t have asked, not when you know he’s busy and distracted with the season. Not when you’re an adult and should be able to handle this on your own.

“Leave to me,” he says. “I’ll handle, okay? Just try to relax now and then we’ll have dinner.”

“I can’t eat,” you reply immediately, your stomach lurches violently. The thought of food is enough to have you ready to rush for the toilet. Frankly, you’re surprised you haven’t already vomited from the sheer anxiety of the situation.

“Then you can watch me eat,” Andrei jokes, surprising a weak giggle from you. You can feel his cheek move against the top of your head with a smile and allow yourself to focus on the steady beat of his heart under your cheek until you fall into a fitful, unsatisfying sleep.

The next day drags and speeds by and before you know it, you’re waking up at 4:30 in the morning on the day of your appointment. You try to stay quiet on your side of the bed, so you don’t wake Andrei up - there was a game last night and he’d gotten home late - but he’s more attuned to you than you realized. His hand slides over your hip, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper into the dark. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

His eyes are still shut and his voice is low and hoarse with sleep, but Andrei’s lips curl up in a sleepy, lazy smile. “Didn’t wake me,” he mumbles into the pillow as his hand finds yours. You lace your fingers with his, feeling the ridges of his knuckles with the pads of your fingers. “Don’t want you nervous alone.”

“Thanks,” you manage to choke out the word around the lump of emotion lodged in your throat. Andrei tugs on your hand and you slide closer to him, letting him tuck you under his arm and bury his face in your neck.

“Sleep again. Alarm is set,” his breath is warm on your skin and his arm is a heavy, reassuring weight over your stomach. You close your eyes and let yourself mimic Andrei’s slow, steady breathing. It’s not easy and your brain continues whirling a mile a minute, thinking about the lump on your neck, the possible treatment, possible long term effects. You just wish you knew already how bad it is.

Andrei grunts next to you, blowing little pieces of hair from your face. “Stop thinking, solnyshka. You’re going to start a fire with all your thoughts,” he kisses your shoulder and pulls you closer, crushing you against his side so tightly it’s almost hard to breathe. You focus on the weight of his arm and the heat of his body until you can feel your heartbeat slow down.

The next time you wake up, it’s to an empty bed and the smell of eggs and bacon in the air. You yawn and stretch out, turning your head to see the time on your Hatch. 6:45, a much more reasonable time to be awake.

A pit sits heavy in your stomach and you scrub a hand over your face, swallowing harshly around the lump in your throat. Just over an hour until you really know what you’re dealing with.

You can hear Andrei moving around in the kitchen and with a heavy sigh, you push yourself out of bed and move on auto-pilot to get ready for the appointment. You take time with your hair and makeup, feeling a little bit better once you start looking like a human again.

“Hi,” you greet Andrei quietly once you head down to the kitchen. He looks up from where he’s scrolling on his phone while eating his first breakfast of eggs and bacon.

“Morning,” he opens one arm for you to come and lean against him. You rest your head on his shoulder and he kisses the top of your head. “Sleep well?”

You lift one shoulder in a shrug and Andrei chuckles a bit. “Snored and drooled all over me,” he teases, “so it was a rhetorical question.”

“I did not!” You protest, a spark of energy flaring while you defend yourself. You push back from Andrei’s side and squint at him, a little pout on your lips.

“Did too,” Andrei grins and when he grabs your chin in his hand to draw you in for a kiss, you know he provoked you on purpose and is happy with the result.

You exhale a scoff through your nose when he pulls back, shit-eating grin still on his face. “Terrible man,” you murmur affectionately.

His grin turns smirky and his hand slides down to rest against the curve of your ass. He pats lightly, a little frisson of heat traveling through your body at the contact. You sigh and lean into him again, not looking forward to leaving the little bubble of your home.

At the coffee shop, you pick at the cinnamon scone Andrei had forced into your hands, crumbs littering the tabletop as you shred it with your fingers. Andrei studies you, chewing on the black plastic straw in his iced white chocolate mocha. You’re startled when he abruptly asks, “where do you want to go this summer?”

Crumbs skitter across the table when your fingers jolt and you blink at him, hands frozen in midair. “What?” You ask, shaking your head and processing. It clicks a second later and you continue, “I…I can’t think about the summer, Drei. I just need to get through today.”

He keeps chewing on the straw and you can’t help but watch his lips as they move. “Solnyshka, when this is over and you’re not going anywhere on vacation, you’ll tell me that we should have planned something,” he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. “So, where do you want to go this summer?”

Tears prickle at your eyes, again, overwhelmed by Andrei’s thoughtfulness. Pausing for time and to make sure your voice isn’t shaky when you do speak, you look down at the massacred scone and brush your fingers together to get rid of the crumbs on your fingers. “Um,” you clear your throat, “I don’t know, really. Nykki and Martin love Mauritius. Maybe there?”

“Whatever you want,” Andrei agrees easily, slurping at his drink. He pushes the napkin with a larger chunk of scone on it towards you. “Eat,” he demands, tone firm.

You take a small bite, just to appease him, but the pastry tastes like sawdust in your mouth.

Andrei holds your hand throughout the entire appointment and you’re grateful for his presence, because you can’t focus on anything your doctor says after ‘stage I papillary thyroid cancer’ and ‘surgery’ and ‘radioactive iodine treatment, just to be sure.’ He squeezes your fingers tighter and tighter as your doctor talks, pointing out something on the black and white images of your ultrasound and CT scan. The blurry blobs could be anything and you honestly have no idea what she’s pointing at.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, blood rushing like you’re underwater, as she explains the surgery you’ll be undergoing. A thyroidectomy to remove your entire thyroid and the cancerous lymph nodes. In and out in the hospital, a straight line cut across your lower throat. A scar unless you’re good with applying Vitamin E oil or Mederma. Possible damage to your vocal cords, but that’s very rare.

“What does your schedule look like in the next month?” She asks, briskly but not unkindly.

You blink at her and shake your head slightly. Andrei looks at you, waiting for an answer. “I, um,” you pause, trying to mentally access your calendar, “I’m open. I just…have to put in the leave time at work.”

“Good,” she says, looking down at the paper calendar on her desktop and running her finger over the boxes, “we’ll schedule your thyroidectomy for a week and a half from today, that’s a lighter day for me. All the pre-op information will be in your portal and we’ll go from there on scheduling the rest of your treatment. Any questions?”

A million.

“No,” you murmur, “um, not right now.”

“Can I stay with her?” Andrei leans forward to ask. “When she has surgery?”

“You can wait in the waiting room while she’s under,” your doctor replies. “And once she’s out of the anaesthesia and discharged, you’ll have to drive her home. She won’t be able to drive for a day or so while the anaesthesia really works out of her system.”

You’re shaking your head. “No, you have work. You have practice and games, someone else will drive me. I’ll ask Nykki…”

“No,” Andrei turns to you with wide brown eyes. “I’ll drive you. I’ll be there, solnyshka.”

You shake your head again, but keep quiet because you don’t want to have a fight with Andrei in front of the doctor. The rest of the appointment is routine scheduling and you leave with your head swimming and a surgery date burned into your brain.

You’re quiet the rest of the day and Andrei doesn’t push you to talk, instead trying to go about your routine as normally as possible. He’s missed practice - “personal reasons” Rod’s quoted as saying on Twitter, but “nothing that will prevent him from playing tomorrow.”

The next week and a half feels like a blur - you’re distracted and anxious with Andrei playing three games in seven days, two of them on the road, taking him away from you. He’s back the day before your surgery and doesn’t say anything when you greet him at the door with a tight hug and cling to him for the rest of the night, your stomach growling since you can’t eat, both from the anxiety and the pre-surgical requirements.

“Are you sure about missing the game tomorrow?” You ask later, when it’s dark and you’re buried under the blankets. “I feel -“

“Don’t feel bad,” Andrei rubs small circles over your back. “I made decision. Rod understands. You are more important than the game and the boys promised to win for you.”

A soft giggle escapes into the air and some of your guilt along with it. You hate that Andrei’s missing the game, hate that he’s missing it for you. You hate that everyone seems to know your personal business too, but you know Andrei had needed to talk about what you’re going through too.

His other hand moves up to your scalp and scratches gently, tension seeping from your shoulders. “Get some sleep,” he kisses your cheek. “Early day tomorrow.”

“I love you,” you whisper. “So much.”

Andrei has to practically manhandle you into the car in the morning, making sure you’re dressed comfortably and warm. Your head rests against the window as he drives. “I’ll pick up some groceries while you’re napping,” he says, brushing his thumb over your knee. “Anything you want specific?”

“Butterscotch pudding,” you ask hopefully, smiling a little. You try not to eat a ton of processed foods, but you figure post-surgery you’ll indulge.

“On it,” Andrei grins at you, dimple popping. He looks calm, which reassures you. Once he parks and you enter the hospital, everything speeds up and slows down. Andrei helps you fill out paperwork while you change into the hospital gown and grippy socks.

You fold up your clothes neatly and put them in the little duffle bag you brought along. Andrei catches sight of the pile and raises an eyebrow, “are you not wearing underwear?”

Your cheeks heat up with a flush and you hold the gown shut behind you. “No,” you hiss, “I’m not allowed to. Don’t even start with me.”

“I wasn’t going to,” his smile is a little too sneaky and you try to climb onto the bed in a way that doesn’t leave your entire ass exposed. You fail miserably, if the little wolf-whistle Andrei lets out is any indication.

“I hate you,” you mutter, pulling the sheet up around your legs. You’re both quiet while the nurse comes around to make sure all your paperwork is filled out and signed. Andrei immediately reaches for your hand when the nurse puts the IV line in your other hand - “for the anesthesia, later,” she explains - knowing that you hate needles more than anything.

And then there’s nothing to do but wait.

Andrei’s sitting on the edge of the bed, texting and reading out the messages that the guys are directing to you. “Jarvy,” he says, wincing at the screen, “wants to know if you get to keep your thyroid once it’s removed.”

“Uh, no,” you reply flatly, face screwing up in disgust at the thought of it. “I hate this.”

His hand lands on your knee and rubs it through the sheet. “It will be over before you know it,” he soothes you. “In meantime, Skjeisy says you can join me and him in the cool scar club.”

Your hand subconsciously lifts to your throat, fingers wrapping around it loosely, and you blow out a breath, puffing up your cheeks. “Not a club I really wanted to join,” you say wryly.

You scroll through Twitter absently, a pit of guilt settling low in your stomach when you see the Tweet from the Canes’ account that Andrei’s missing tonight’s game for personal reasons. Your thumb hovers over the tweet, ready to tap on it and read the replies, when Andrei plucks the device from your hands. “Hey!” You protest, reaching for your phone. Andrei pulls it out of your reach.

“No more social media,” he says, tucking your phone in the back pocket of his jeans for safe keeping. With his other hand, he digs a little envelope out of his front pocket. “I forgot, yesterday, to give this to you. But mom sent this and I was supposed to give it to you before surgery,” he settles the little envelope in your hands and you look at it curiously.

Opening the flap, you tilt the contents out onto the palm of your hand - a little gold medallion on a chain. You hold it up to your face and see the tiny icon embossed into the gold. “Who is this?” You ask, rubbing your thumb over the image.

“Saint Anastasia,” Andrei replies, “she was a healer, I think. Mama wanted to make sure you were protected.”

Elena’s gesture of love and concern hits you like a punch to the stomach and you startle both yourself and Andrei by bursting out into ugly, loud sobs. Your face crumples and fingers tighten around the chain.

Andrei lets out a noise of distress that you can barely hear over your crying and rush of blood in your ears. His arms wrap around your upper body and you bury your face in his chest, getting tears and snot everywhere. “It’s okay,” he whispers in your ear, stroking a hand over your hair. “Hey, stop crying, nurses are going to think something is wrong. Shh.”

“I just really love your mom,” you wail into his chest, muffled by his shirt.

Andrei keeps shushing you, alternating with trying to comfort you. You sniffle and pull back, wiping at your face with the back of your wrist. “Better?” Andrei asks, cupping your chin. His lips are drawn down in a concerned frown.

“A little, yeah,” you nod, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping one arm around them. You hold your other hand up, the little pendant dangling from its chain in between your faces. “Can you keep this safe for me?”

He nods and lets you clasp the chain around his neck. The little pendant falls into place against his chest, dwarfed next to his giant cross. You smooth your fingertips over the icon and his cross, lingering for a few heartbeats over the warm metals. Andrei’s hand comes up to cover yours and he squeezes your fingers. “You are going to be perfect, solnyshka,” he mumbles, lifting your hand to his mouth to kiss your fingertips.

“Okay, kids,” your nurse, a cheerful older woman named Monica, appears at the foot of your bed, drawing yours and Andrei’s attention, “one more kiss and then I’m whisking you off to the best sleep of your life.”

Andrei squeezes your fingers again and presses a soft kiss against your lips, mumbling, “see you soon.”

You press your fingers into his chest, digging your nails into the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling like you’re going to hold on and not let go. With a shaky sigh, you release him and manage a brave little smile, “don’t forget my butterscotch pudding.”

He nods, laughing under his breath, and then Monica’s helping you get settled back on the bed and Andrei steps off to the side while a whole little team appears to transport you to the operating room. You twist your fingers together anxiously, stomach turning, and turn on the bed so you can keep looking at Andrei until you’re completely out of the pre-op ward. He catches your eye and winks, waving a little and tapping his other hand over his chest, where your icon hangs next to his cross.

“He’s a real cutie,” Monica comments idly, drawing your attention once the swinging doors are shut behind your little parade and Andrei’s out of sight.

“Oh,” you hum faintly, “he really is. I don’t deserve him, honestly.”

“Now, I’m sure that’s not true,” she keeps chatting as you get situated on the operating table, climbing awkwardly from your bed, trying to keep the gown closed over your ass. “You’re just as cute, even more, I’d say.”

“Thanks,” you laugh a little, the compliment warming the icy block of nerves lodged in your chest. Once you’re laid out on the table, you run a hand over your sternum, breathing deeply.

The surgeon comes in and offers you a warm smile, “I promise, I’m really good at this.”

You’re thrown off a little by the statement and he nods, clearly pleased with himself. “I find that patients always want me to be a little cocky,” he continues, sitting down on a wheeling stool next to the table you’re on. “We’ll be done before you know it and you’ll wake up feeling extremely well-rested.”

“As long as you’ve got the skill to back up your words,” you say, surprisingly reassured a bit by his no-nonsense manner.

Monica pats your hand and grins, “he does. Now, count back from ten and you’ll be back with that sweetheart of yours in no time.”

Your lips curl up briefly and you angle your head away when you feel the little tug on the IV in your hand indicating that the anesthesia is getting attached and started. In your head, you start the count at ten, nine, eight —

“Oh, looks like she’s coming around,” a voice breaks through the dark haziness surrounding you and you try to blink, but your body feels too heavy.

There’s a warm pressure on your hand and you twitch your fingers against it. A little shiver works its way through your body, you’re freezing.

The warmth on your hand moves up your arm - a hand stroking against your skin. “Whenever you’re ready,” the familiar accent washes over you, “I can’t wait to see those eyes, solnyshka.”

A hum forms in the back of your throat and that’s a mistake because it hurts and you let yourself fall back asleep to avoid the pain.

The next time you wake up, the bright lights of the hospital almost force you to close your eyes again. You grumble wordlessly and the noise draws Andrei’s attention from where he’s sitting in a chair next to your bed, scrolling on his phone. He looks over at you and his face immediately breaks out into a wide, dimpled smile.

“Hey,” he greets you, scooting the chair closer and reaching for your hands. His are still warm against your cold ones and it’s nice when his thumb brushes over the backs of your knuckles. “How do you feel?”

Before answering, you take stock of your body and you’re surprised to find that you feel pretty good beyond the pain in your throat. That feels like you’re swallowing knives. “‘M okay,” you manage to mumble quietly, wincing at the stretch of your skin. “C’n I have water?”

“Da,” Andrei pours water into a little plastic cup and hands it to you, plunking a straw in the water. You take a sip and it feels so good going down, the cold water soothing the burning. You sigh happily and sink back into the pillows.

“How’d it go?” You ask, rolling your head so your cheek is resting on your shoulder and you can see Andrei better. Your voice scratches out of your throat, raspy and hoarse like you’d just smoked a pack of cigarettes.

“Surgeon says perfect,” Andrei grins, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “You did so good, solnyshka.”

His fingers never stop stroking yours and you melt at the contact, glad his the first face you saw when you woke up. “Wonder how bad the scar is,” you mutter, resisting the urge to touch your lower neck, where the skin feels tight and battered. “Can I see?”

Andrei’s hesitation and slight frown before he says, “maybe not best idea right now,” tells you all you need to know.

“Oh my god,” your eyes go wide, panic starting to claw at your chest. “He botched me! I’m botched, it’s a horrible scar, right?”

“No, no!” Andrei shakes his head frantically. “Not botched! It just, with the glue, there’s no stitches. But you can see all the blood. It looks worse than it is, the surgeon said.”

“But it looks really bad,” you confirm and before Andrei can say anything, Monica appears behind his shoulder.

“Look at you, awake and ready to go,” she smiles, effectively cutting off any discussion about your neck, and asking how you feel while filling out your chart. You answer as honestly as you can, voice growing more hoarse the longer you talk. “Well, everything looks really good. We’re going to keep you here for a few more hours and then, if everything keeps looking good, you’ll be back home before dinner time.”

You and Andrei chime a simultaneous ‘thank you’ as she leaves.

“Give me my phone,” you demand and Andrei shakes his head.

“No way,” he taps the back of your hand. “I’ll be your secretary. You’re just going to get upset if you look.”

“I won’t!” You counter petulantly, poking your lower lip out. “I just want to see.”

“When we get home,” he promises and you scowl at him. He effortlessly changes the subject, showing you a picture of Gigi that Martin had apparently sent earlier. You smile at your favorite puppy, swallowing often to try and ease the sharp pain. It doesn’t do much other than intensify the pain and you start to regret it, closing your eyes for another nap.

By the time you’re cleared for discharge, the pain meds have worn off completely and your neck hurts, a dark mood clouding your head. Andrei is patient with you, helping you change back into your sweats and zip-up. You protest the wheelchair an orderly brings around, but you’re told it’s hospital policy and you slump into the seat, crossing your arms over your chest. Andrei runs his hand over the crown of your head as he walks next to you, carrying your empty duffel bag.

Instead of driving his Lamborghini, your Toyota Rav is waiting at the curb and you smile. “Oh thank god,” you mutter and Andrei laughs.

“Didn’t think you’d want to get down low in my car,” he explains, holding out a hand to help you stand and then climb up into the passenger seat. He left a blanket in the car for you too and you take the opportunity to cover yourself up with it while he goes around the front of the car. You wave at the orderly through the window and Andrei starts the car.

“You thought right,” you yawn. It’s a fast drive home and you’re grateful for that, because all you want to do is rinse off and lay down. Considering you’d been under anesthesia for a couple of hours, you’re exhausted. You’re so tired, you forget to flip down the visor mirror to look at your incision.

Once you’re home, Andrei bundles you into the house, one hand solid against your lower back as he guides you up the front path. “I know you want to shower,” Andrei says, “but remember the doctor said not to get the glue wet for twenty four hours.”

You whine, cranky and desperate for a shower. “I want all the gross hospital feeling off of me, Drei,” you pout, toeing off your sneakers and crossing your arms.

He drops your tote next to your sneakers and raises an eyebrow. “I know, you can get in the bath and I’ll wash your hair. We’ll be careful with your neck, okay ?”

Your neck feels stiff and your throat is still sore, but you nod, just wanting to take your Tylenol and relax. When you shuffle further into the house, you spot bouquets of flowers on the kitchen island and gasp. “What are those?” You whisper hoarsely, tears prickling at your eyes.

“Oh, right,” Andrei laughs. “Special deliveries for my girl. The team sent and your office, Neci and Nykki. My parents, your parents, Geno.”

Tears slip down your cheeks and you feel overwhelmed with love. You wipe at your eyes with the heels of your palms and turn to Andrei for a hug. He embraces you easily and you shake your head. “I didn’t want everyone to know,” your throat hurts more when you cry.

“Only the important people,” he says. “Everyone loves you, solnyshka.”

The reminder of how many people are supporting you makes you think of Elena’s gift and you pull back from Andrei’s chest. “Can I have my necklace back now?” You ask in a shaky voice.

“Of course,” he unclasps the thin chain from his neck and hooks it around yours, pleased to see that the chain doesn’t touch your glued over incision. He taps the pendant with the tip of his finger and kisses your temple.

After an unsatisfying bath and a glance in the mirror that shows the dark rings under your eyes and the gruesome looking wound on your neck, you’re more or less clean and you build a nest of blankets and pillows on your bed, tucking yourself into the middle of it all. You have to sleep sitting up or partially reclined for the first night and it’s not your favorite way to sleep, so you prop a bunch of pillows around your head and hope that works. Andrei brings you a butterscotch pudding and climbs onto his side of the bed so you can watch the game.

“My neck looks awful,” you blurt, unable to stop thinking about it.

“It doesn’t,” Andrei replies. “Just for now with the blood and glue.”

“The scar is going to be so obvious in pictures,” you poke at the pudding with your spoon.

“You look badass,” Andrei rolls onto his side and grins at you. “Like a warrior.”

You scowl at him, feeling like he’s making fun of you even though you know he’s completely serious. You jab at the pudding again, suddenly nauseous. “I wish this was it,” you mutter, still raspy and hoarse and you’re really hoping it’s just temporary and that the surgeon didn’t actually fuck up your vocal cords. “But I still have the radiation and then who knows…”

“One day at a time,” Andrei knocks your foot with his. “That’s what you said to me, right? Every time I’ve been recovering, it’s one day at a time.”

He’s right, for each and every one of his injuries, you had been preaching taking recovery one day at a time. You suppose it’s time to practice what you preach now. Still, your anxiety ratchets up every time you think about the c-word, darkness and worst case scenarios dancing in your head. You twist your fingers around a piece of hair, fidgeting as you mind spins.

Andrei’s hand snakes over your thigh, rubbing gently at the soft fabric of your sweats. He rests his chin just above your knee and says, “hey, look at me.” It feels weird when he talks, chin bouncing on your leg, but you look down at him.

“Hm?” You chew at your lower lip.

“One day at a time,” he repeats firmly, refusing to break eye contact with you. When you nod and he’s satisfied, he presses a kiss to your knee and rolls back onto his back. “Who do you think scores first?” He gestures to the TV, trying to lighten the mood in the room.

You play along, wanting to avoid the pain and the scary future for now. Scooping out a bite of pudding and sticking the spoon in your mouth, you hum around the dessert before teasing, “oh, it’s definitely going to be Pyotr.”

Life goes pretty much back to normal over the next few days, you’re back at work and Andrei hits the road with the team. The glue over your incision flakes off and while the cut is a vivid, angry-looking red, it’s a clean, straight line only about three inches long. You’re obsessive about applying Mederma and Vitamin E oil to help the scar fade as quickly as possible. Your voice is still a little raspy, but it’s getting better slowly.

By the end of the week, you’re working up the courage to call your doctor to schedule your radiation therapy session. It’s a terrifying thought and your hands shake every time you think about it. But Andrei had sent a text this morning, reminding you to make the call. And you don’t want to let him down, not after how supportive he’s been. So, you stare down at the contact information for your doctor’s office, wishing you could, like, use the Force to make the call.

Startling you, the phone begins to vibrate on the table, the same contact information you had been looking at flashing on the screen.

“Holy shit,” you mutter to yourself, blinking stupidly at the phone and swiping at the last second to accept the call. “Hello?”

It’s your doctor, making a personal call, the smile evident in her voice. Within minutes, you’re sobbing with relief as she tells you they ran additional tests on the tissue taken from your neck and while the initial thought and course of action had been to have radiation therapy, the surgeon was confident he had gotten all the cancerous tissue out of your neck.

“You’re cancer-free,” she tells you cheerfully. “I love making these calls.”

“Really?” You manage to squeak out the word around your tears.

“Really. You’ll have to be on a synthetic thyroid pill for the rest of your life and see me every four to six months for blood tests and evaluations,” she explains, “but I am very confident that the malignancy is gone and you won’t need radiation therapy.”

The rest of the conversation passes in a blur and you’re pretty sure the only thing you manage to say is a repeated ‘thank you, thank you, thank you’ before the call ends.

You sit on the couch, shell-shocked, gripping the little icon hanging around your neck.

That’s where Andrei finds you when he gets back from morning skate, tears dripping down your cheeks. Before he can ask, you catch his eyes and beam, “cancer free.”

Andrei lets out an unintelligible, strangled noise of joy and rushes to the couch, swinging you up in his arms and holding you to his chest in a bruising hug. He murmurs in Russian in your ear and you can feel his shoulders shake a little. “I love you,” he murmurs, while you cling to him, “I love you so much, solnyshka. So much.”

His arms are tight around your back and you hook your legs around his waist, not wanting to let go any time soon. Your face is buried in his neck and you’re not sure if his skin is damp from his shower or your tears, but you can’t stop crying.

“Did you book Mauritius?” You laugh wetly into Andrei’s shoulder.

Andrei’s laugh startles out of his chest, echoing around the living room and vibrating through your whole body. It’s your favorite sound in the whole world and you can’t wait to keep hearing it for a long time.

[redbatchedcumbermayned]

It all started under a duvet held up by an oar

Not so long ago I emailed Chris Tester, the voice of Heinrix van Calox in Owlcat’s recently released CRPG Rogue Trader, and asked if he would like to sit for an interview with me. Having some experience in interviewing people I like, most famously Oscar winner and all-around sweetheart Eddie Redmayne, this was not a completely nerve-wracking endeavour. And within a day of sending my email, Chris said yes. And what a pleasure it was interviewing him: Chris was so generous with his time, that the agreed upon 30 minutes turned into 50 minutes as we brushed upon many topics from his start as a theatre actor to his first voice-over role in a video game to his recently discovered hobby of playing D&D. Of course, we also spoke about all things Warhammer 40k, his new found fame brought on by voicing Heinrix and the insights he could share about the character.

I will publish this interview in three parts over the next week in text form and with the accompanying audio file (the audio quality is not spectacular but tumblr limits uploads to 10MB). If you quote or reshare, please quote me as the original source.

Part 2 of the interview

Part 3 of the interview

Fran: Thank you very much for taking your time.

Chris Tester: That's no problem. No problem at all.

F: So then let's start. You graduated in 2008.

CT: I did. Yes.

F: You started out as a stage actor. Did you always want to become a stage actor or an actor in general? Tell us a bit about your career.

CT: I always wanted to be a stage actor. Yes, as soon as I knew that I wanted to be an actor, which probably wasn't until I was a teenager. But yeah, my first passion was always the stage, and that was kind of borne out in my career. I would have been open to TV and film of course, if it had come along, I'm a huge fan of TV and film as well, but I never got an audition for any TV or film work.

I think I literally did about three short films in my 10, 12 years of actually professionally acting, and it is one of those industries where the more you do of one thing, the more you seem to find yourself doing the same thing to a degree. So yes, watching Shakespeare from an early age was one of my first passions.

And that was what first planted the seed of wanting to do it myself. The whole aspect of live performance is still something that I'm very passionate about. Up until 2020, when the world changed, I was trying to do two or three theatre shows a year, but since 2020, I haven't been near a stage and I doubt right now, especially with the way that the UK theatre scene is going, that I'm going to be back on stage anytime soon. I am resigned to that, but at some point in my career, I know I will be on stage again, because I can't live without it, but only for the right thing, both financially, but more importantly, creatively.

F: Your production company is currently on hiatus?

CT: I was the producer of a theatre company, which was run and was the baby of the director of the company, a guy called Ross Armstrong, who's one of the most talented writers and directors that I've ever worked with. I was helping out with a lot of the administration stuff so that he could still put me in plays. Instead of creating my own work because I'm not a very good writer or the best writer in the world, I support those people who will write me good parts. So yes, it is currently on hiatus, but never say never, we would always be looking to get back. It's difficult right now. It's difficult for all of us, because arts council subsidy, that way of being able to fund stuff, is drying up. We were doing a national tour of the UK when we were doing that [with the support of a subsidy]. There's even less money, there's even more people. I won't bore you with anything more than that, but it's kind of tough. We'd like to come back, but in the right way, and that's tricky to negotiate.

F: It's always hard as a stage actor to earn a living.

CT: Well, I've been spoiled by voice-over as well, and whereas when I was in my 20s and 30s then you're all about your art. And of course, I'm still all about my art, but I'm also about my wife and my cat and the mortgage and the bills and wanting to have nicer things to a degree as well. I've come to terms with that and voice-over does facilitate that as well as it opens you up to different roles and working with different people. So, I can't complain.

F: It's quite similar with making a living as a writer, because with a steady income you get used to a certain standard of living and once you have obligations and bills to pay, I think the stress on your mental health being creative and having all the stresses of regular life thrust upon you brings with it a challenge.

CT: It's a cliche we can very easily fall into: if I'm suffering, then it means I'm an artist. And that's not necessarily very true. It very often means that the art that we create only reflects one aspect of our lives, and it's usually a very tortured one. I am also about having wider experiences and broadening myself out. Whereas I think when I was in my twenties, I was thinking a bit more like: Oh, I'll experience the world and life through my art and just purely through my art. Whereas now necessarily I need to have a life outside of it as well, and then I can justify like I have the life so that I can feed my art or not, whatever. You know, I'll be a better artist by having a bit of a life outside of it. Maybe.

F: But that's what your twenties are for.

CT: Yeah, indeed.

F: Doing the crazy stuff, doing the band stuff 

CT: Yeah, yeah, exactly. So, there was certainly an aspect of that in my twenties.

F: So, what brought you to voice acting or voice-over work initially?

CT: Money. Video game stuff is kind of sexy and cool, and I'm a gamer, so that's important. Before I was a video gamer, I was a board gamer and off the back of that, I was a voracious video gamer, partly because I wasn't very good at team sports at school. I was always the person who was picked last in the football team. So that becomes part of your identity for better or worse. But video games, I was pretty good at, not amazing, but I was pretty good at, and I enjoyed it. And it gave me a different form of escapism as well, and off the back of that I always had an interest in them. 

So, the very first voiceover job was a video game: Dark Souls, which is quite a big franchise. At that time, I was your very typically jobbing actor. My acting agent came in and said: I got something for you. And so, I went in with that. But it was only in 2016, 2017 that I realised it was something that you could actually do yourself. People had recording studios at home and they were contacting people directly, not just going through agents. Because I'd basically written to the same 20 voice agents in the UK, mainly in London for like eight years in a row and not received anything. So, you keep knocking on those doors hoping. 

Before I'd even graduated from drama school, I'd burnt a CD and made these cases with my headshot on it and sent them all off at what at the time felt like great personal expense and didn't get anything for eight years in a row.  So, I was a bit like, I'm obviously doing something wrong, but I don't really know what, because I'm doing these workshops and getting good feedback. Then I found out through a couple of online courses, that there were ways and means of doing it myself, and that was a bit of a game changer for me, and within six months of having started, I was earning more through voice work than the bar job and the box office job that I was doing combined. Within six months, I was kind of like: “I gotta quit because I'm actually holding myself back from things.” So that was quite a big shift.

F: Somewhere you said, you started out under a duvet and with an oar.

CT: Yeah. On my website, I do have an image of it. [Dear reader, I could not locate this elusive photo] I literally had to take the duvet off my bed and put it into the living room, which was the quietest space in my then shared flat. I also had to wait until after one flat mate had watched TV and another one had used the table that had their washing on it. One of my flat mates had stolen an oar from some night out and that was perfect in order to be able to erect it over my head and the duvet as a frame. 

I did probably the first four or five months of voice recording like that. Probably about 10, 15 voiceover jobs that I actually got paid for, I was using that because it worked well enough. Since then, I've gone through various different iterations of a setup in the bedroom, to a setup in the hallway, to my current setup. In 2020 we moved to our first house, and this is the spare bedroom which I've had converted into a studio, which means my cat can be here asleep on me or near me getting fur everywhere, but it's fine. I can thrash around and I've got natural light to work in at the same time, which I find quite important. [Pictured below Chris' current setup.]

F: Very pretty. That's good. Guide us through a typical day of yours, if you like.

CT: Oh, sure. I mean, there is no typical day. And yet, and yet, and yet. A typical day for me is, because I am spending the vast majority of the day sitting in this room or somewhere close to this room, because I may need to record at short notice, because the vast majority of jobs are quite short notice. My priority is exercise for mental health more than anything. I've got some weights at the bottom of the garden, and I will get up first thing, and I will go there and I will do that after breakfast. And that's my minimal routine of physical activity done. 

And then I'll come back, and this is so rock and roll. Now what I do is, I spend like an hour on LinkedIn. And that's what you dreamed of as a creative person. Isn't it as an actor? I spend time on LinkedIn regularly every day, because it's a really good networking place for a lot of my types of work, and first thing in the morning, I'm a bit mentally sharper. So that's when I come up with a quick post that may be inspired by a bit of content that I've made elsewhere. That probably takes about 20 minutes and then I spend another 45 minutes to an hour engaging with people and saying hi and introducing myself and asking questions, whether that's with video producers or game developers or documentary makers or pretty much anything and everything. There are a lot of people who are active at that time. And so I do it.

And then after that, if I already have some recording lined up, then I'll prioritise mid-morning, because I've warmed up physically a bit more then, and I'm focused. So, you're going through the scripts, annotating the scripts, recording the scripts, editing the scripts. But then there could be live sessions at any time within that as well. I try to keep hours from nine till six. But occasionally, like with Rogue Trader, that was recorded at various different times of the day because we had people in New York, we had people in mainland Europe, and we had people in the UK. So all different time zones, so that can happen at any time. 

And then I try to do other kinds of bits and pieces of marketing whenever I've got free time to. I do use really exciting productivity hacks, like time blocking. Again, not something that as a creative individual, I was like: Oh God, this gets me so excited, because it doesn't, but it works. It's finding a system that works for you, but still has a certain kind of flexibility and fluidity. I'm trying to make sure that I get outside of the house, and that kind of stuff. 

Recently, over the last year, I’ve started doing audiobooks as well. That long form type of thing is quite nice to be able to dip into because sometimes you don't record for two, three days. You don't get the work. Nothing’s coming in. So, you’re marketing, but it kind of connects you back to the performance side of things to go: I can do a few chapters and you know, that kind of thing. So that's probably it. I try to formalise it, but you know, every voice actor’s day is radically different. There are people, some of the biggest names, going into different studios every week or every day. I very rarely, despite being based in London, I very rarely go into external studios. Like I would say 99 percent of the work I just do from home.

F: So how do you find the right voice for the specific type of voiceover work you do, maybe start with how did you find Heinrix's voice?

CT: Thankfully, Owlcat sent through quite a detailed casting breakdown. So, you get a picture, and that's pretty crucial, as well as a short bio, in terms of the background of the character, but not too much, because you have to sign an NDA, a non-disclosure agreement. But even if you do sign an NDA, I think developers are always slightly hesitant of giving you too much info about the game because things could still be changed. But I think I did get a picture of Heinrix, if not in the first audition, then certainly on the second one. From that you immediately think about the physicality and what might affect the voice, and there was also some direction in terms of what they were looking for. Anybody who has heard the character and me, they do not sound radically dissimilar. There's not a transformative process that I needed to go through, other than his sense of authority and the space that he takes up and the sureness that he has in that he has a kind of divine right from the emperor, so that level of confidence being brought through.

The other part of the audition was about the void ship [the Black Ship] that he'd been raised in and the horrors that he'd seen. And you as the actor have to do the detective work to go like this is showing another side, the more vulnerable side, the side that underpins all of his life choices up to this point. It's essentially playing the opposite to a degree. So it was kind of knowing when to let those elements bleed through a little bit. I think I had probably about a page worth of scripts, quite a lot of script actually to audition with. 

But I don't like to listen back to it a lot, because I think you get into your head. My biggest thing is stage work where it's ephemeral. You say it once and it could be different the next night. The whole point is that there's no one definitive way of doing things. Not quite the same with voice acting, where it's being recorded and you've got to get used to hearing it back. But I try not to overthink it. Just like record it two or three times with different impulses and then review and go like, those two seem pretty contrasting. I'll send those along and hope and then never hear anything back unless I do.

[ino-takumas-baggy-sweater]

A Moment in Time (Ino Takuma x Reader)

First time posting since I rebranded my tumblr to try and get into posting fics here, thought I'd start off with this to put myself out there cause I finished it just a couple of hours ago ) I hope y'all enjoy, Ino is just a little baby and deserves all the love

Small preface: This is set post-Shibuya, but just before Yuta reenters the picture so it does contain brief manga spoilers in the beginning in terms of character appearances. Reader's CT involves sound and emotions, it manifests as a colour-shifting blob that can be manipulated into different shapes and colours to distract, camouflage and other things. It is influenced by inner thoughts and emotions and sometimes takes the form of people she is thinking of or imitates her movements, almost like it has a mind of it's own. (However it's a very small part and only mentioned a couple of times) Also I have no idea if Shoko can actually do the things she is described to do here, so just roll with it

Warnings: blood, mention of a missing eye, shoko's healing, a lot of pain noises, lots of blood :( as happy of an ending as you can have while just coming out of shibuya, fluff

Word count: 1.7k

Shibuya was a mess. So were you, and so was Yuji who has just shown up in front of you for the first time since you departed Jujutsu Tech all those hours ago. “Where’s…” You trail off, your voice raw and defeated as you look pleadingly at him standing beside a man you don’t recognise, “Yuji,” You whisper, tears welling up in your eyes, “Where’s Ino?”

He shakes his head, scrunching his own face up, “Ino got hurt real bad, protecting Megumi and I,” He mumbles, angrily rubbing at his face, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, he’s hurt real bad,”

You quickly race over, your arms pulling him into a hug and letting him hide his face against your neck despite the blood, “Shhh, Yuji, it’s not your fault,” you murmur, “Even if you wanted to you couldn’t stop him from protecting you, he’s a selfish hard-headed piece of work,” Yuji’s body shakes but he makes no noise as he cries, you continue to reassure him softly, knowing what he needs right now is someone to let him know he’s alright. “If he dies-“ You cut him off before he says anything else, “Don’t make a promise like that, Yuji, Ino knew exactly what he was doing,” You bring a hand up to the back of his head and clutch his hair, letting your own tears fall, “You know he promised me he’d protect you, he promised me, not anyone else, me, as if I had a reason to believe he’d do anything different,”

“I hurt so many people,” He sobs, “Nanami is gone, Kugisaki might be too, it’s all my fault,” You push him away from his sanctuary in your arms, holding him so he’s forced to look at you, “Yuji, they’re sorcerers, they’re fucking crazy, they knew what they were doing, we all know what we’re here for and we all know the eventual price we must pay,” You move your hand from the back of his head to his cheek, “You’re worth it, Yuji, you’re so much more than just ‘Sukuna’s vessel’ to us,” The other man finally steps forwards, “She’s right,” His voice is soft, rumbling like a faraway storm, “You’re strong, brother, but that doesn’t mean you have to be strong alone,”

You nod to him in thanks as Yuji’s body stills, no longer wracked with sobs, “Since the first finger you’ve never been alone Yuji, it began with Megumi and Gojo and it will end with all of us, we may not know what it’s like, but we’re here and we care,” A few more tears slip down his face as he lets a small smile grace his lips, “Thank you Y/n,” He murmurs, “Will you stay by my side?” You nod, “I will do whatever I can for you, Yuji Itadori,” You brush your thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the tears that fall, “Now dry your tears, we still have work to do,” He nods, “This is Choso by the way,” He gestures to the man accompanying you and you finally focus on him for a few moments.

Black hair tied up in messy pigtails, a thick black line across his nose, his clothing loose and shoes that look straight from a goth’s wardrobe, “It’s good to meet you,” You smile as you wonder where he came from, “I’m Y/n,” He nods in return, not quite meeting your eyes but it’s not something that bothers you. You can feel your cursed technique welling up beneath your skin and it seeps out, taking up a crude imitative form of Ino beside you, “Have you seen Megumi since you split up?” you ask, ignoring it. “Last I saw he was with Shoko and Principal Yaga, Ino should be there too, Sukuna sort of saved Megumi, but I don’t know why yet,” Yuji scratches the back of his head while you think for a moment, “Alright, I’ll let you guys get back to the remaining curses, I’ll see if we’re going to move the badly wounded to a safe location,”

You pull him into another quick hug, “I’ll see you soon, okay?” He nods against your shoulder, “Thanks Y/n,” He murmurs as you pat his back. “If you need me, I’m only one call away, don’t be afraid to ask for help,” You say firmly as you grip his upper arms for a moment, before letting go and darting off to where you believe Shoko and Yaga will be based on the directions you were given beforehand.

Once you’ve made your way to the building under the cover of your cursed technique, it drips away into a puddle of red and black that follows you along the ground as you desperately search for Ino. “Y/n! He’s over here!” Shoko calls from a bit further down the rows of bodies, tucked in next to a pillar. Your heart races as you run to her, her hands gently working over his body to find the sources of his pain. You stumble to your knees beside him and cup his cheeks, not caring about the blood as he grits his teeth and groans.

“Shhshhshh,” You gently hush him, stroking the hair back from his forehead, your chest aching as you try to avoid looking into his empty right eye-socket, “Everything’s gonna be ok, you’re gonna be alright,” You murmur. “Hold him,” Shoko instructs softly and you nod, shifting closer and letting him nestle his head sideways against your chest, still facing Shoko. You feel the reverse cursed energy radiating from Shoko as she pushes it into him, frowning as she looks up at his face. An agonized cry falls from his lips and his hands grip you tightly, painfully, but you ignore it and press your lips to the top of his head, “It’s ok Takuma, I’m here, I love you, I’m not leaving,” You whisper.

He struggles and shakes but you hold him tightly, his breaths coming in short wailing gasps, “Is it supposed to hurt him this much?!” You blurt to Shoko, gripped with panic. She grimaces, “I’m growing him an entirely new eye, give me a second!” She seethes. His fingernails dig so sharply into your waist and back that you feel your skin breaking, but you ignore your own pain and just rock him gently. He finally falls limp, breathing heavily and still making small groaning noises every so often, “Stay with him,” She stands, “He needs you,” You nod firmly.

The thought of leaving his side hadn’t even crossed your mind and you work to comb the fingers of one hand through his hair, gently detangling and moving it away from the blood still on his face. You pick up on his breathing pattern and duck your head, breathing loudly and slowly in his ear until he starts copying you, “That’s it, that’s it,” You praise him softly, “There you go,” He digs his fingernails in again, though not nearly as hard as before, and slumps further against you, forcing you to sit back on your butt against the pillar. He buries his face against your chest and you hold him half in your lap, legs spread either side of his waist, “Oh Takuma,” You whisper, finally allowing yourself to feel a wash of relief, “I’m so happy you’re alive,”

He moans softly against your shirt, his hands creeping up your skin at the back and just holding you, “Takuma,” You breathe. “Y/n,” He finally murmurs as he turns his head to the side slightly, his voice rough and low, mouth barely exposed. You let out a soft cry, “Takuma,” you repeat, helping him as he insistently moves up and then flops onto his butt beside you, his eye good as new but his face still covered in blood, “Oh…” you kneel in front of him and look over your shoulder, “Can someone get me a bottle of water?” You call out, but his gentle hands pull your attention, and your body, back to him. “C’mere,” He grunts, his hands moving down your body the closer you get until he tugs you by the hips and you’re forced to straddle his upper thighs.

“What did you say before doll?” He mutters, his eyes swimming with emotion, almost not quite seeing you. “I’m so happy you’re alive,” You murmur, your hands trailing up to his face, “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you,” He shakes his head, coughing a couple of times, “No, before that,” Someone places a bottle next to your leg and you nod in thanks, looking away only briefly. “Takuma…” You murmur, leaning forward and resting your forehead to his, “I love you,”

He chuckles, his lips spreading into a smile beneath the blood, “I can’t live without you, I don’t want to live without you,” You whisper. “That’s what I needed to hear,” He lets his head rest back against the pillar and you grab the bottle, pouring a small amount of water into your palm and lifting it to his face, “Close your eyes,” You murmur, and once he’s closed them you let the water drip between your fingers onto his forehead and down over his eyelid. You use your fingertips to gently rub the blood off and then rinse his face, drying it with your coat as he opens his eyes again, “You are so pretty,” He murmurs, “And that’s not just the blood loss talking,”

His hands which haven’t deviated once from your hips pull you slightly closer, one trailing up to the back of your head as he leans closer, “Stunning,” He murmurs, his lips brushing over yours like feathers as you share breaths, “Crying for me like this,” He coos, “You’re just beautiful,” You hadn’t even realised you were crying until he mentioned it, his hands grabbing your wrists to stop you from wiping them away, “Takuma,” you whimper softly, struggling against his grip and desperate for validation, “Say it back or let me go,”

His breath fans your neck for a moment and he kisses your jaw, “I love you too,” He murmurs into your skin, “Always have, won’t let you go, I promise,” His mouth trails up to yours, satisfying the flame that roars beneath your skin as he initiates a tentative kiss, one full of love and care. You press further into him, desperately assuring yourself he’s still alive and allowing yourself to forget where you are for just a moment in time.

Thanks for giving me a chance if you got this far, I hope you enjoyed it! Most of my fics start out as self-indulgent writings but then if I'm proud I'll post them somewhere and see what people think, anyway please please feel free to request, send me prompts, anything that comes to mind!

Post dividers from @cafekitsune

[dk-thrive]

Sun's brush stroke on clouds. 77° F. 5:15 am. July 10, 2024. Cove Island Park, Stamford, CT. (@dkct25)