#but one day i'm going to pull the trigger on a piece of art that i can technically afford

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 77

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe: Military School

Words: 5K

Masterlist

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Saturday, April 2; 1:50 PM - Downtown.

Time is passing. Only one week remains before the holidays. I'm eager to get there. Lucy and I have agreed that I will give my all during these last weeks so that I can relax afterward. It's tough. I'm barely with my friends at school anymore, but I want to be ready for the big day. They know and understand that. Another thing that's hard is that Lucy doesn’t show me any affection at school. Ever since Wiegman found out, she's been very cautious. Sometimes she hugs me in the evening or gives me a kiss or two, but that's it. So, I'm glad it's the weekend. At least now, she doesn't hold back.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asks me.

"Of course," I chuckle. "It's not the first time I've been here."

Today is the second Saturday I'm going to work with Grace at the gallery. She wants to make sure we can work together and that we both enjoy it. Personally, I loved being here last week. It didn't feel like work. Grace has a much more modern style, thanks to street art. Mine is still very classical, so I understand why she said she could teach me a lot. We complement each other in a way. She asked me to come back today, and she'll give me her decision tonight. By the end of the day, I'll know if my future has a chance in this field. I sincerely hope so. It's the only concrete offer I have. I know that if I get my degree, I can find work in administration, but let's just say that’s not what I want.

"True," Lucy replies. "Will you text me when you're done?"

"Like last time, yes. Say hi to everyone for me."

Lucy is going to meet up with her friends at the venue. They need to clear out the last few things before next week. I think they still have a lot to do. I regret not being with them. I enjoy lending a hand, but I have other responsibilities today.

"I won't forget," she says with a smile.

"And tell Ale I'm supporting her with all my strength for tonight."

Lucy laughs, nodding. Leah party is tonight. I sulked about it for a long time. I felt a little guilty for not being there since I haven't been spending much time with them, but I can always count on Lucy to lift my spirits.

"I'll tell her. Now go. You’re going to be late again."

"How about a little kiss first?"

She smiles and leans over to kiss me.

"Have a good day, my love," I say before getting out of the car.

I close the door and walk toward the gallery. I know Lucy won't leave until I’m inside. And that's exactly what happens. I enter the gallery, triggering the little bell hanging on the door. I take the time to close it, and only then do I see my girlfriend's car pulling away. I smile at that but quickly refocus.

"Ah, hey Ona," Grace greets me.

"Hey," I reply.

The first thing she asked me to do last week was to speak informally with her. I must admit it’s a relief. She's young, probably around Lucy’s age. At least I’m sure I won’t mess up. It also makes me feel more comfortable.

"How are you?"

"Good, and you?"

I smile and approach her for a cheek kiss. The gallery she owns is nothing like Mr. Fields'. It's smaller. Much smaller, but I love it. It's very cozy. It's dark, with occasional light accents here and there. I recognize her style from Nyko's paintball artwork.

"You came at the perfect time. I was trying to hang a painting, but it’s up high, and I couldn’t manage alone. Can you help me?"

"Yeah, of course. I’ll just drop my stuff in the back."

"Oops, sorry, poor you," she laughs. "I'm already piling on the work. Go ahead, I’ll wait."

"Oh no, don’t worry," I giggle.

"Meet me in the back."

I nod while taking off my jacket. The gallery is shaped like an "L." It's on a corner, which is lucky. This way, each piece displayed is lit by the large windows. Grace had the entire place renovated, and I must admit it’s brilliant. Passersby can see inside without having to come in. I go behind the counter to reach a back room. There’s about 20 square meters of space here, which serves as a workshop, storage, and even a dressing room. I hang my bag and jacket on the coat rack before joining Grace at the back of the gallery. Now I understand why she needed my help. She’s waiting for me at the top of a stepladder, with a huge canvas on the floor.

"Wow, it's beautiful," I comment.

The painting is a street art piece of the city of Seattle in multicolored hues. I can totally recognize Grace’s style in it. It’s truly stunning.

"Did you make it?" I ask, just to be sure.

"Yeah," she smiles. "I want it to be the centerpiece, but as you can see, it’s quite big."

"Yeah, I can see that," I chuckle. "Hold on, I’ll lift it for you."

No sooner said than done. I lift the painting so she can grab it where she’s standing. I hold it until she manages to hang it from the suspended ceiling using hooks. Unlike the rest of the room, the ceiling is made of white oak beams. It contrasts nicely with the anthracite walls.

"Phew, thanks."

She climbs down the stepladder, and we step back to see how it looks.

"Not bad, huh?"

"It looks great," I reply. "I think the painting’s just a little crooked."

"Yeah, I just noticed that," she giggles. "Can you stay below in case it slips?"

I nod, and we adjust it until it's perfectly straight. Meanwhile, several people have entered the gallery. Most are just curious, but I think some of the paintings catch their eye. Grace told me that most people come back later for a painting that caught their attention. I guess business isn’t doing too bad.

"Have you sold more paintings?" I ask, noticing some empty spots.

"Yeah," she says with a smile. "Can you help me replace them? Then we can get back to the painting you started last week."

"Sounds good to me."

"Not like you have a choice," she teases.

I laugh and shake my head. We head to the storage room to get the new paintings. I’m supposed to stay until closing, but I can tell we’re not going to be idle. That’s fine with me. I prefer this to sitting around doing nothing.

Saturday, April 2; 5:20 PM - Gallery.

"Well, I think it’s time to stop," Grace tells me.

I check the time. It’s almost 5:30. I’m surprised. The time flew by.

"Oh yeah. I’ll text Lucy so she can pick me up."

"Don’t you have your own car?" she asks.

"Not yet, but I think it’s coming soon."

"That would be better, indeed," she smiles.

I text Lucy to let her know I'm done, then I start putting away the tools I used and wash my brushes in the sink. I haven’t finished my painting yet, but I’m sure I’ll have another chance to work on it. Grace’s advice has been really helpful. She has a completely different method than mine, but I appreciate her feedback. Once I’m done, I return to the front where Grace is behind the counter. She managed to sell four paintings this afternoon—and not just any paintings. I think she’s doing pretty well for someone who just started out on her own.

"All done."

"Great," she says. "I promised I’d give you my answer about next year, so here it is," she says, handing me a form.

I pick it up to see what it is. A small smile forms as I realize it’s an application for the Seattle School of Art.

- Does this mean…?

- These two half-days with you were cool. You’re nice, you know how to do good work, and you’ve got talent. That’s all I was asking for.

- Wow, I say, not knowing what else to say.

- I was able to enter one of your pieces into the school's last enrollment competition thanks to my contacts, and you’ve been selected, she tells me.

I’m having trouble understanding. She entered me into a competition without me knowing?

- You…

- Sorry for not asking your permission, but I didn’t have a choice, she giggles, seeing the look on my face.

- It’s no problem.

- You’ve still got a lot of work to improve, Ona, but you really impressed them, so… she shrugs. Welcome, I guess.

Unable to hold back, I hug her. It’s really the least I can do. She just saved my entire future.

- Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I’m so relieved. A huge weight has just been lifted off my shoulders. She giggles at my reaction, but she doesn’t realize what she’s giving me. I’m finally going to be able to live my dream. Just six months ago, I thought this was impossible. All my life, I’ve been told I couldn’t make a living from this, and yet here it is, happening. It feels like a dream. I release my new boss when I hear the doorbell chime. I smile when I see Lucy walk in.

- Well, it seems like there’s good news here.

- Oh yes! I exclaim, handing her the application form.

Lucy looks at it for a moment, then glances between us with a smile forming on her lips.

- Ah, yes, I see now. That’s really amazing. Thank you so much, Grace. Ona can finally relax a bit.

- Oh, it was my pleasure, Grace replies with a small laugh.

I go to Lucy and slip into her arms. She kisses the top of my head while still holding the form.

- Do we need to send this to the school? she asks.

- Uh, it’s better if you bring it back to me. I need to return it as soon as possible to my contact at the school.

- Alright. Well, do you have a little time? We can fill it out now.

- Oh, that would be great, yeah. I’ll get you a pen.

As soon as she leaves for the back, I let out a little squeal of joy. Lucy laughs, holding me tighter.

- Can you believe it!?

- Yes, yes, she giggles. This is really amazing, babe. I’m proud of you.

She kisses me softly. I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. I can’t believe all of this is happening so fast. Just a few weeks ago, I imagined myself sorting papers at a desk.

- You know what you have to do now, she whispers to me. You absolutely have to pass your exam.

- I’m working on it. I think I’m doing pretty well.

- Yes, that’s true, she smiles. Who would’ve thought you’d get serious one day…

I stick my tongue out at her teasing. Grace comes back with a pen, and Lucy helps me fill out my part. I realize I don’t even know her address, and it’s about to become mine soon. I can’t wait. I can’t wait to move in with her and call it my home too. I already feel at home there, but it’ll be more official. We’ll be there every day, together. Just thinking about it makes me feel strange. The form is easy to fill out. I double-check that I haven’t forgotten anything before copying the information onto the other two forms. I sign them and hand them to my new boss, who smiles mischievously.

- Well, you’ve just signed your death warrant. You’re under my command now, she jokes.

- Oh, there are worse things… I hope, I giggle.

- You’ll have time to form your opinion, Lucy comments. Well, shall we head out now?

- Great idea. I’m heading home as well. My boyfriend is taking me out to dinner tonight.

- Lucky you, I say with a smile. Well then…

I don’t finish my sentence. I’m not really sure what to say. Now that I’ve signed the papers, what’s next? Grace seems to understand my dilemma, as she says:

- I’ll contact you for the next steps. I’ll give you the details of when you start working here and when your classes start too. You’ll probably need to come back to sign a contract.

- No problem. I’m close by, after all.

- Great. Well, have a good evening then.

- Have a good evening too.

I head to the back to grab my things and return to Lucy. We say goodbye to my new boss one last time before heading out. I feel like a ball of energy. Everything is falling into place now that I’ve signed that form.

- What are we doing tonight?

- Well, I may have reserved a table too…

- Really?

I turn to her sharply. She smiles, amused by my reaction.

- Yep. I thought it would be nice to celebrate the good news.

- Oh yeah? And how did you know, huh? I just found out myself.

I smile as she presses me gently against the car when we reach it. Her hands rest softly on my hips. I relax as her lips tease mine.

- You should know I never doubt you…

- Why are you so perfect? I murmur, wrapping my arms around her neck.

- I’m not.

- Yes, you are, at least with me.

- Well, that’s because you make me that way. Because I love you.

I groan and lean in to kiss her, but she pulls back, keeping me just out of reach. I pout. I don’t like it when she denies me a kiss.

- Don’t make that face, she smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I wanted to apologize, because I’m not as perfect as you think. I’m denying you a night with your friends tonight.

I step back at those words. I can see a hint of sadness in her eyes. It’s partly my fault. I guess I made my disappointment a little too clear about it. I smile, caressing her cheek.

- The most important thing is that I’m spending the evening with you, my love.

- Really…? Because—

- You’re the most important person to me. I know you’re anxious about meeting them.

- What—

- Don’t take me for a fool, I interrupt her with an amused tone. I know you hide your fear behind the idea that we have to be discreet at school. But we both know you’re just scared of meeting them as my girlfriend.

Lucy opens her mouth, then closes it. I love when I can leave her speechless. It’s so rare. She sighs, shaking her head, and tries to pull away, but I hold her close. Our chests are pressed together. I can feel her heart beating a little too fast. She doesn’t like being caught off guard, and I get it. I feel the same way when she surprises me.

- You’re right, she whispers. I’m sorry.

- Don’t be. I totally understand. It must not be easy to meet your students as my friends.

- No, not really. I tend to know what everyone thinks of me at school.

She’s not wrong. Even now, everyone asks me how I can spend so much time with Lucy. They can’t see her as the woman standing in front of me right now, and it’s such a shame. I slide my hand under her hair, gently stroking her neck. My touch seems to calm her down.

That’s true, I murmur. But they don’t know my girlfriend. I know it must be scary for you, but it’s important to me. I want people to meet my girlfriend. I want to show you off. To say that you’re mine, like you do.

- Like me, huh?

- Oh yes. Do I need to remind you of the number of hickeys you've given me? You love to claim that I belong to you.

- Yeah, that's true... There's still a bit of me missing on you, though.

I giggle as her lips brush against my neck.

- No, Lucia! I replied, gently pushing her away.

- What, you don't like my marks? she teased.

- Stop it. That'll be the first thing they tease you about.

- Really? I bet they'll mock my commander nickname instead.

- You want to play that game? Alright, let's make a bet then.

- A bet, huh? OK. If I'm right, I get to do whatever I want with you for a whole evening, and vice versa if you're right.

- Hmm... OK, I'm in.

- Good, she said, pecking my lips. Now let's go. We'll be late for my program otherwise.

- Your program, huh? What do you have planned for me this time?

- A romantic evening, she announced as she walked around the car. I had to make up for the event we're not attending tonight.

- You didn't have to, but I like it. I enjoy going out with you.

- Don’t expect anything crazy. We're just going to have dinner, and I thought we could go to the movies afterward, she said once seated behind the wheel.

- I particularly like that plan, I said while fastening my seatbelt.

- Perfect, then.

We exchanged a smile before she drove off. She took me to a restaurant I didn't know, one fancier than the places we usually go to.

- It's a French restaurant, she whispered as a waiter guided us to our table.

- Really? I asked with a small smile. What gave you the idea?

- Nowhere, I just enjoy coming here.

Lucy had everything planned. She really booked a table, and we were lucky enough to get one on the restaurant's veranda. I wondered how long ago she made the reservation.

- Thank you, she said to the waiter.

- You're welcome. Here are the menus. I'll be back to check on you later.

- Thanks, I added as he left.

I looked around. It was particularly beautiful here, and we were lucky that the sky was clear.

- It's beautiful, I whispered while staring at the starry sky.

- I booked last week... when Grace told me she'd be watching you.

I lowered my eyes, mouth slightly agape.

- Y-you knew?

- Well... yeah, she replied mischievously. She just wanted to keep you waiting a bit longer, so you'd keep giving your best today.

She laughed while I sulked. She knew before I did. But how could I hold it against her when I saw where we were now?

- You're lucky I enjoy surprises.

She laughed and intertwined our fingers. I brought them to my lips for a kiss. This moment of relaxation felt particularly good. I felt exhausted from giving so much, but now that I knew where I was headed next year, I was even more motivated to ace my final exam, which was fast approaching. I’d already had a preview with my recent tests, and I hadn’t done too badly. Next week, we have mock exams. I'm looking forward to them because at least I’ll know exactly where I stand before the real ones.

- What are you thinking about?

- A lot of things, I answered with a small smile. How will things go from here?

- Well, as planned. You’ll take your mock exams, then we’ll go on vacation.

- I can't wait, I giggled. I’m so done with all this.

- I bet, but it'll be fine, she reassured me.

- And after that?

- After that? she asked, tilting her head.

- Well, after... after school...

We were interrupted by the waiter who came to take our drink orders. I trusted Lucy and chose the same as her, a non-alcoholic cocktail. We waited for him to leave before I turned back to Lucy. She shrugged.

- After school... well, we’ll go to Barcelona, and then we'll come back here.

- To live at your place, I murmured.

The idea seemed so surreal. Yet, it was what was going to happen in just a few weeks. After all this time.

- Have you changed your mind?

I snapped out of my thoughts at her question. I could see a hint of concern in her eyes.

- What? No, no! I was just thinking... maybe we could make things more official...?

- What do you mean?

- It might be too soon but... I’d like, I don’t know... to co-own the apartment? We’re going to live together, so I want to contribute to the expenses.

Lucy nodded before sinking into her chair, crossing her arms.

- That’s indeed a big step, becoming a co-owner.

- I don’t want us to move. The apartment is great, but... I want to invest in it, you know?

- I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

I opened my mouth, but I closed it when Lucy raised her hand to stop me from arguing.

- I trust us, I know how you feel, but you never know what could happen. There could be complications between us, and I wouldn’t want the apartment to become another relationship issue to deal with.

- I’m not planning on leaving you, I said, pouting.

Lucy laughed and leaned toward me. She grabbed both my hands, pulling them under her chin.

- I know, love, but it’s too soon. Tomorrow, we’ll celebrate two months together. I know we both feel like we’ve been together longer, but it’s only been two months.

- That’s true, I muttered.

- How about we see how living together full-time goes? I don’t think there will be any problems, but it’ll be a big difference from just weekends.

I nodded, feeling a little sulky. I didn’t like how right she was. After all, we were just at the beginning of our relationship, but I craved more. I needed more, I think, but I didn’t dare say it.

- Hey, she murmured.

She lifted my chin, forcing our eyes to meet. I hated facing her gaze. It made me feel so vulnerable. There was a determination in her eyes that sometimes made me wonder how she got to where she was.

- Don’t make that face. We have all the time in the world now, okay? There’s no need to rush. That’s how we’ll crash into a wall.

- Yeah... I mumbled.

I hated that she was right. The last time I rushed, it ended badly. I wanted to do things right, but at the same time, I wanted to speed things up. The waiter returned to bring our drinks and take our order. Since I hadn’t really paid attention to the menu, I agreed to Lucy’s suggestion that we share a dish—cheese platter, actually. She sold me on the idea, saying it was really good, so I accepted. As the waiter left, I still felt uneasy, but Lucy remained unfazed.

- Honey, one day, I’m going to make you my wife. We’ll buy a big house together, and maybe even have kids. I want all of that just as much as you do. Don’t think otherwise.

- I know, Lucia...

I blushed slightly at her words. If she wanted them to affect me, well, it was working. Wife and kids were big words, perfectly expressing our future together.

- So be patient. First and foremost, we need to learn how to live together and build a stable future. It all starts with a good job. Neither of us knows what our work experience will lead to, and it’s good to focus on that before jumping into anything else. Don’t you agree?

I sighed but nodded.

- Yeah, fine, you win.

She chuckled softly.

- Come on, give me a kiss.

I leaned in to give her what she wanted. I could never deny her that.

- Can we enjoy the evening now?

- Yes.

Our cheese platter finally arrived, and I had to admit it was a good choice. Lucy really knew what was good, and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

- I wonder how things are going with Alexia, I mused as we started eating.

- No idea, my girlfriend giggled. But she wasn’t feeling well this afternoon. I had to comfort her.

- You, comforting her? Now I’ve seen everything.

- Well, yeah. I like her, surprisingly.

- That’s good news then, I teased. At least one of my friends you like.

- Oh, stop it, she rolled her eyes. I like Mapi too.

- That wasn’t the case in the beginning.

- We were both jealous, but I think she’s starting to understand where her place is with me.

- Yeah, I think you're right.

I sipped my drink, reflecting on the conversation we had a few weeks ago. Mapi had defended Lucy regarding what she didn’t yet know about Feli. I think she has indeed figured out her place with Lucy, even if she struggled to admit it. After all, she was my only close friend before I came here.

- Thinking about something in particular? Lucy asked, noticing I was lost in thought.

- No, I said, blushing. Just that you're right. She defended you not too long ago.

- Really? About what?

I shrugged. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up.

- Something unimportant...

I know I’m a terrible liar, but I didn’t want to ruin our night with negative thoughts. Lucy stayed silent for a moment but eventually nodded.

- Okay, she whispered. You know you can tell me anything, right?

- Of course, I said with a small smile. But it’s nothing important. I just wanted you to know that she defended you, and I was the first one surprised.

- Alright... well, I guess things are changing.

We shared a smile. I knew she realized I wasn’t telling her everything, but I appreciated that she didn’t push. The evening continued without any more unsettling topics.

[tafadhali]

Saw a piece of art today that I loved and it is POSSIBLE to get a print but the print is already more expensive than any of my other art, so kind of contemplating buying the far more expensive original just because

[otdiaftg]

The King's Men - Chapter Eight

Day: Friday, January 19th Time: 6:40 PM EST

Neil pushed the brothers from mind and followed the men into the changing room. He twisted his combination into the lock on his gear locker and pulled the door open. There was a split second of unexpected resistance, then a sharp pop of something breaking. And then—blood. It exploded in his locker, triggered by the door opening, and Neil recoiled as it cascaded over everything inside. The smell of it was so thick it clogged his throat and choked him. Neil's shock only lasted for a white-hot second before panic took over. He dove at his locker, grabbing for his uniform and gear. It was too late and he knew it, but he had to try. His jersey squelched in his hands like a swollen sponge, spurting blood all over his fingers. He dropped it and scrabbled for his helmet. His fingertips grazed hard plastic but couldn't latch on before Matt grabbed him. "No," Neil said, but Matt hauled him away from his locker. "Wait!" He dug his feet in, but the tread of his shoes were soaked and slid across the ground. The blood had hit the bottom of his locker and was now spilling onto the floor in a swiftly-spreading puddle. Hanging from the top of his locker was an empty plastic bag, rigged to tear open when the door pulled too wide. It looked big enough to hold at least two gallons; it was more than big enough to destroy every single piece of gear Neil owned. "Nicky," Andrew said, "get Coach." Nicky bolted. Neil elbowed Matt as hard as he could. Matt cursed as he lost his grip on Neil. Neil ran back to his locker, skidding a little as he got closer. He had to catch himself on the neighboring locker to keep from falling. As soon as he had his balance he frantically unloaded everything piece by piece. He couldn't tell his Home and Away jerseys apart anymore. Even the padding on his armor was wrecked. Neil picked his helmet up and turned it to watch blood slide off the hard plastic face guard. "Neil?" Matt asked. Neil dropped the helmet to the pile at his feet and punched the back of his locker. His fist hit plastic instead of metal, and Neil wrenched the broken bag off its hook. When he turned to throw it Andrew caught his wrist. Neil hadn't even heard Andrew cross the room toward him. Neil stared at him and through him, heart pounding in his temples. "It's ruined," Neil said, voice ragged with an awful rage. "It's all ruined." Wymack burst into the room with Nicky on his heels. The sight of so much blood stopped him short for a moment before he strode for Neil. "Is that yours?" "Coach, my gear," Neil said. "It's—" "It's not his." Andrew let go of Neil and went back to his own locker. "He's fine." "Peroxide," Neil said. "Does Abby have any in her office?" When Wymack just looked at him, Neil started for the door to find some himself. Wymack put an arm in his way to stop him. "I need to clean my clothes before the blood sets or I won't have anything to wear tonight." "And I need you to derail that one-track fucking mind of yours for two seconds and focus on the fact that you are covered in someone or something's blood. Are you okay?" "Andrew already said I'm fine," Neil bit out. "I'm not asking Andrew," Wymack said. "I'm asking you."

Art used with permission by Sam. Thank you @02511213942!

[thegnomelord]

A Little Bit Of Heaven

CW: NSFW, FTM subbot Gaz, domtop Male Reader, oral, scar kissing, soft fluffy sex, body worship, lingerie, fem language, reader is whipped for Gaz

PS: This is inspired by @ramvur 's art piece of Gaz, @el-chonkus you wanted to be tagged so here you go :D

The last few months have been Hell on both of you; mission after mission, drill after drill, chasing away exhaustion and sleep deprivation with copious amounts of caffeine in an attempt to put a dent in the stacks of paperwork you've been given. Despite spending most of your time together, be it training recruits or as battle buddies on missions, it feels like you and Kyle never have time for each other, the only time you two have to be intimate being when Kyle sleeps on your shoulder during the long plane rides.

So when Price tells you you two are cleared for a week of military leave, you jump at the chance to have a proper vacation. Once you get the tickets you put it in an envelope, going out to find Gaz.

You find him in your shared bunk room, peacefully snoring with a book splayed over his chest. Even in his sleep he's on edge, fingers twitching occasionally as if pulling the trigger of a gun. You're quiet as a mouse as you walk to his bed, kneeling to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

Kyle's eyelids flutter open, your familiar outline in his blurry vision calms him before military grade instincts can kick in, having to blink a few times to focus on you. "Mhm, what'ime isit?" He slurs as he sits up, the few minutes of sleep doing nothing to lessen the bags under his pretty brown eyes.

"Still early." You say, keeping your voice low. "I'm sorry for waking you,"

"Is fine," He waves away your apology, reaching out to wrap a loose arm around your neck, pulling you closer. "Did you need something?" Kyle's still groggy as he nuzzles your cheeks together, aiming for your lips but winding up kissing your nose.

"Yeah," You take a moment to relish the intimacy, not that Kyle minds, breathing in your scent with a happy sigh; God knows how long you'd spent in an intimacy deficit. "Guess what I did." You say with a humorous tone.

That sobers him up enough to lean back and give you a critical eye. "If you hid Price's cigars again I'm not hiding you." He warns, but there's obvious amusement in his voice.

"No, no," You snort, holding out the envelope for him. "It's something better."

"Do I even want to know?" Kyle raises an eyebrow but takes the envelope, opening it. Inside he finds two plane tickets to Greece, along with an invoice for a rented villa. "Are these. . .?" His voice dies down as he looks at you with wide eyes.

"You did say you wanted to go somewhere warm." You shrug a shoulder, trying not to show how much you hope he'll be pleased by this seeing as you two hadn't planned anything for your leave.

"Oh, mate," You can't describe the wide smile that graces his features, bright like the sun, one you'd happily let blind you. "Come here you-" He pulls you so close your foreheads bonk together, you can feel his grin as he kisses you. "-beautiful bastard." He sighs as your lips part but you don't, breathing in the same air.

"You're the beautiful one." Your comment has him giggling like a child; Kyle's laugh feels like silk on your ears, so infectious you find yourself giggling too. "Do you like them?"

"Do you even need to ask?" He teases, pulling you into another kiss.

. . .

Gaz is very smug on the day you're supposed to leave, cheeky as he gushes to Soap of all the things you two have got planned for your vacation, which of course has the Scot whining to Ghost about 'stepping up'. But it's all in good fun and you're sent off with a few demands to bring souvenirs.

Despite how tired you two are, the entire plane ride to Greece is spent learning about the local town near the villa you'd rented and all the tourist attractions there, learning a few sayings as well as how not to get scammed.

He's like a kid on Christmas when you finally get to the villa, exploring every room and the grounds around it; It's as pretty as it is old, spiderwebs of ivy and roses wrapping around the columns and sides of it, built on a cliff overlooking the ocean, but far bigger than what you two are used to, Kyle's animated assessment of every little detail in the frescos, evaporating the eeriness of the empty rooms.

And of course, the first thing you do when you get there is sleep a solid 24 hours, your exhaustion catching up to you two. You wake up the next day to Kyle still snoring next to you, much more relaxed and clutching you like a koala. He doesn't even stir when you get out of bed to make him and you a very late breakfast, receiving loving kisses on the cheek when Kyle finally stumbles out of dream land.

You spend your vacation doing all the typical couple things, thousands of photos filling Gaz's phone — you two dinning out or attempting to make some local dishes, several of you two donkey riding across the mountains (and one that he'd favored of a donkey trying to eat your clothes), silly photos of you two interacting with the statues in a nearby garde (you especially love the one of him imitating one), pictures of sunsets and sunrises and a dozen more of him coming out of the water, some selfies of Gaz with you haggling with a merchant in the background as well as your triumphant smirk as you hold a pearl necklace to Kyle's neck from behind.

Kyle likes to look at the photos when he wakes up before you, your body warm and pressed against his from behind while you sleep with your arms around him, his chest light as a feather from how intimate you two had been able to be, how lovely you'd been to him, a true gentleman and every bit the man he fell in love with.

And Kyle decides he wants to do something for you. And for him. A nice gift for the both of you.

He has to shove his pillow into your arms otherwise you wouldn't let go of him, a small giggle leaving his lips at how you nuzzle and hug the pillow like a koala. He tries to stay quiet as he goes to the dresser to pick up the small special suitcase he'd brought just for this vacation, picking out the clothes he'd wanted to wear just for you and him, but never got the time.

He watches himself in the mirror as he puts on the stockings, the material soft against his skin, the kitten heels fitting him perfectly. Kyle struggles with the bralette for a few minutes, but it's worth it when it frames his pecs in such a pleasing way, perking them up and hiding the top scars that run beneath them. Finally comes the long feathered robe, dragging behind him when he twirls in front of the mirror.

Kyle can feel giddy bubbling in his chest, heart beating just a bit faster. Back on base he would have felt ashamed at wearing something so frivolous and impractical, he was a soldier god damn it, but here, with you, he's just Kyle.

Gaz glances to your still sleeping form as he sits by the vanity to do his makeup, lipstick and mascara and a light blush, taking care of the small amount of facial he's managed to grow. He can't wait to see how you'll react when you see him like this. . .

A little mischievous smirk crosses his features and Gaz silently comes to your side of the bed, leaning down to kiss your face, leaving red lipstick marks all across your skin before leaving you to wake up to his surprise.

. . .

You wake from sunlight filtering through the curtains, the soft sound of Kyle humming rousing you from your dreams. You attempt to cuddle closer but soon enough figure out it's a pillow you're hugging. You grumble and sit up, your brain stuttering when you see yourself in the mirror. Bright lipstick marks dot a side of your face, from your forehead down all the way down to your jaw.

Kyle's work, no doubt, but you can't bring yourself to wipe his marks on you — a type of stigmata you'd happily wear. You don't bother with clothes, yawning as you follow the soft sound of his humming to the balcony.

You nearly swallow your tongue when you see him; wreathed in the soft morning light, his skin glowing like the golden bracelets on his arms, the pink roses blending in with his robe making him look like he's sitting on a cloud, soft feathers accentuating the robe like pearly sea foam he'd formed from. Your eyes roam from his red heels up the toned thighs, the sunlight softening the harsh scars decorating his stomach, the sheer material of the bralette both leaving nothing to the imagination and making you want to pull it off, his red lips like the red skin of an apple Eve had been tempted with.

If you were a Trojan prince, you wouldn't have looked at any goddess had Kyle been there, someone the sculptors of old times would have clamored to have as a muse.

If he told you he was a god, you'd take it as gospel, gift Kyle all your devotion just like the pearl necklace he's appraising.

"Holy hell." You mumble, scared to distract him, unwilling to pull him out of his own little world where his face isn't tense with unease and exhaustion, where his shoulders are relaxed and his instincts are blissfully sleeping, where he can just be.

But Kyle hears you, his warm brown eyes shifting to you, a bit of surprise flashing in his face before smiling. "I was wondering when you'd wake up." Kyle chuckled, a flush of heat spreading across his face at the way you look at him — eyes smoldering like coals with desire, a lovesick puppy just for him.

"You could have just woken me up if you were lonely." You hummed as you slowly approached him, brushing your fingers against his cheek. "You know I'd never say no to you."

"I know, I know." He huffs, pretty dark lashes fluttering as he pats your hand before pulling you into a kiss. You can taste wine on his lips, soft and plush against your own. He pulls back, holding up the pearls pearls. "Help me with these yeah?"

"Sure," You say, watching him shift so his back is facing you. You clip the pearl necklace around his neck easily, kissing the back of his neck just to feel him shiver. "There you go, handsome man."

"Trying to seduce me are you?" Gaz grins and quickly turns to you, pecking your forehead but pulling back when you attempt to kiss him.

"Can you blame me?" You nuzzle his neck, laying gentle kisses across his neck, your heart fluttering when he tilts his head back to give you more room. "You're absolutely gorgeous."

"Oh you," You can just about catch the way a blush darkens his face to a rich mahogany, his skin warming under your lips as you nibble on his collarbones. "charming bastard." He chuckles, holding the back of your neck as you go further down to trace the outline of his sternum with your lips.

"Just for you," Your hands rise up to cup his pecs over the bralette, lightly groping without attempting to take it off just yet. "Do you want to. . .?" You ask, rubbing your thumb over his pebbled nipple and god, if the soft silk pressing against his sensitive skin doesn't turn him on, nothing will.

"Fuck yes." Gaz whines so sweetly, holding your head close to his chest as you pull one nipple into your mouth, wetting the silk and making him shiver. You pull off to do the same to the other nipple, your hands roaming over his torse, tracing the harsh scars before going back up to push the bralette enough for you to be able to trace the top scars with your tongue. "Oh shit." He grunts as you kiss along the sensitive skin from one side of his chest to the other. "Love." He whines, embarrassed by his own eagerness, but if you don't touch him more he swears he's going to die.

You pull back and settle on your knees; Gods may be worshiped in blood and wine, but your devotion is all he needs. And you'll give it to him.

Your revenant fingers grope the muscle and fat of his thigh, slowly pulling down the pink stocking and following after it with your lips. Tracing the imprint the stocking had left at his mid thigh, pecking the bony part of his knee, kissing the small scars dotting his shin down to his ankle as you finally pull his heel and stocking off him.

Gaz swears he can feel his heart beating in his throat as he watches you repeat the process on his other leg, warmth lingering long after your lips have moved on. "Christ alive," He mumbles, the moment you peel off his remaining stocking he's spreading his legs for you, cheeks growing warm as your eyes settle on his cunt. A damp spot has grown on the feathered robe where his slick had trickled down, curly dark hair slick with his arousal, his dick starting to peek beneath it's hood. "Don't tease me now love." He whines out the last word, buzzing nerves threatening to force his thighs to close, but his need for you outweighs the embarrassment of exposing himself like this.

You're between his legs in a second, hiking his thighs on your shoulders and feeling the hard earned muscles tense around your ears. "Alright, alright." Is the last words you say before starting to really worship him, his hand brushing your hair as you press your face against his cunt.

Your tongue circling his hole and lapping up the slick dripping from it births a relieved and pleased sigh from Kyle's chest. The slow movement of your tongue exploring his pussy lips has his muscles relaxing, forcing him to recline on the bench, the railing of the balcony providing needed support as you slowly circle his hardening dick. You flatten your tongue to give his dick something to rub against, moving your tongue up and down as Kyle's hips twitch to meet your movements, lazily following after the pleasure.

You have no need to rush, listening to his pleased sighs and small little whimpers as you let him set the pace. Kyle can barely see you from how blurry his eyes are, soft sounds leaving his lips as you search out all his pleasure spots like you don't know where they are, like you're doing this for the first and last time; He has to bite his lip to give his thoughts something to latch on to lest his mind drown in the pleasure, embarrassment curling in the spaces of is belly not overtaken with heat at the thought of cumming so fast.

But you can feel how he comes closer and closer to an orgasm by the way his chest heaves, the way more slick continues to trickle from his cunt, staining your chin despite your best efforts to swallow his ichor down. His hand on the back of your hand keys you in to go faster, and without further ado you focus solely on his dick, swirling your tongue around it like it's a lollypop, dipping to lap beneath the hood.

His thighs tense like vices around your ears, threatening to crack your skull— what a wonderful death —is all your mind can think as oxygen slowly depletes, your sole objective to pleasure him. Distantly you can hear him chant your name, thighs shaking and hips twitching to grind his dick against your tongue.

Suddenly you wrap your lips around his length and suck.

His orgasm crashes over Kyle like a wave, pulling him down to drown in the depths of mind-numbing pleasure, sea foam popping in his belly as heat burns in his bones. You mouth opens to swallow all the slick gushing from his cunt and down your jaw, wet hair tickling your face as his shaking thighs clench around your head.

You don't pull away when Kyle's orgasm winds down and his thighs relax. "Sh-ah- shite!" Kyle moans when your tongue returns, feather light flicks against his pulsating walls collecting his slick like you've been in a desert for months. Your name falls from his lips, both a prayer and a curse, his thighs shaking as static dances across his nerves, his hand on his mouth trying to uselessly silence his moans as you lap up his arousal.

He finally manages to gather enough strength to pull your head back, both of you struck dumb by the other. You— by how ruined he looks, lines of mascara down his cheeks from where tears had laid a path, chest heaving and skin turned rich mahogany from ears to collarbones; Kyle — by how debauched you look, the lipstick marks he'd left earlier smudged all across your face, jaw and throat shining with his slick.

Fuck, he's aroused again.

He whimpers your name, tugging your head. "Need you." He whispers, eyes hooded.

In one smooth move you rise to your feet and pick him up, his legs and arms wrapping around you as he pulls you into a kiss, uncaring of his own taste on your tongue. You have just enough sense in your head to make your way to a laying couch close by, putting him down, your heart fluttering at how the feathered robe spreads out around him like a cloud.

"Hurry up," Kyle grumbles, a blush burning his cheeks even more as he splays his legs open for you, cunt clenching around nothing and dick hard as a rock, his arms still firmly wrapped around your neck to keep your mouths close.

You chuckle, the tip of your achingly hard cock kissing his cunt just as you do to his lips, "Breathe in and relax." You grip your dick in one hand to position yourself.

"'m not a bloody virgin." Kyle complains, his entire body so relaxed and pussy so slick that his cunt doesn't offer even a smidgeon of resistance as you push in, both of you groaning as your cock spreads his warm walls open.

"Let me treat you like one." You snort and distract any discomfort he might feel with a kiss, slowly sinking deeper and deeper until your balls rest against his ass, cock throbbing inside his clenching cunt. You stop, resting your forehead against his as you wait him to adjust.

Kyle breathes out a small grumble, "Only if you move." His leg wraps around your waist, heel digging into your back to force your hips to shift.

You grin and kiss him again, swallowing his moans when you pull back a bit and push your cock back in, his cunt greedily swallowing you back in and clenching around you like it doesn't want to let you go. But Kyle shifts his hips to meet your thrusts half way, his nails clawing scratches into your back when you start moving quicker.

"Oh, fuck- yes!- like that, just-" Kyle pants into your mouth, eyes hooded and unfocused, pleasure gnawing on his nerves as every deep thrust nails a pleasure spot inside him, the veins of your cock scrapping his sensitive walls, his slick wetting both of your pubes. He jumps the second you reach down to stroke his dick between two of your fingers, timing it to stroke down every time you bottom out inside him, the air around you filled with the scent of sex and Kyle's sweet moans and chants of your name.

"Fuck, I'm close." You warn as you increase your pace, your entire body buzzing with pleasure. "Do you want it inside?" You ask, biting your lips and trying to stave off your orgasm.

"Shite- yes, yes, yes-" Kyle throws his back as his orgasm sneaks up on him for the second time, slick warm walls clamping down on your flesh like vices as he cums. You follow suit soon after, bottoming out as you cum inside him.

You're both breathless and sweaty as you shift him around so you're not crushing him when you lay down, your head resting on his chest. Your eyes close as you listen to his breathing, and you swear you could fall asleep if his hands didn't brush your hair, scratching the back of your neck until you force your eyes open.

His smiling face greets you, soft and warm like the sun, "Thank you love." He grins, tugging you into a quick and soft kiss.

"Thank you." You hum, making him laugh a little. You lay there just enjoying the sound of the sea and the chirping birds for a bit. Then you feel him shift, grinding his hips back onto your soft cock still inside him. "Kyle?" You ask, your cock hardening slowly despite the pain of overstimulation.

"Think you can go again?" There's an impish smirk on his handsome face as he grinds his hips again, every bit a demanding god as he pulls you back into a hungry kiss, all tongue and teeth.

And you wouldn't dare refuse him. . .

[vanillaxoshi]

Hiyaaa I'm that anon that asked if I could write something based on the art piece of Solar you did. Here it is! Trigger warning tho for implied selfharm and pretty decidely implied psychological trauma. Sorry for any typos too I typed this at 2 am after a very hard day :') --

There's a cold chilling breeze on a now barren rock in space. Or well logistics in the matter he's on a planet of course. With some patches of life of course other than the crater he'd made. But well..

..He still can't see. Can he?

There's only the blurred mess of grayed browns, of smoke filling his nose and every other sense.

Solar really should get away from it but alas he was told to stay put. And the last time he disobeyed... Yeah he shouldn't move.

Doesn't solve how his legs itch to move. Doesn't stop the nearly numbing pain in head as his eyes slowly knit and reshape itself. Doesn't stop his hands bleeding what's broken on the inside out.

Solar is tired. Solar is broken or he should be. Should be more broken then just his hands. Part of him deeply wished to be.

He'd be lucky if it happened after the stun he pulled. His master says he should be thankful to whatever Higher being decided to still bless him with eyesight after trying to claw them out.

For risking something so precious was the exact wording he used.

And Solar finds himself reliving the memory.

.

.

.

When he had done it, Retak'ka had asked why. Surprisingly not in anger as Solar expected. Already having preparations of excuses or reasons to why he'd not only done something so reckless but also that would completely make them lose everything they've worked for.

Everything Solar was made for.

Yet it didn't come. Just a simple quiet, "Why did you do it".

And much to Solars own stupid dismay that he even now kicks himself for time and time again. There were no words on his tongue, it threw him off and out of the loop.

.. Why did he do it.. he couldn't just admit why he did it. But he couldn't leave it unanswered.

"I'm testing if conscious harm done by me will do worse damage," he says this with blood dripping from his shut eyes. Acting as if his nails aren't caked with his own blood. Like he wasn't going to force them open for another go if his Master didn't walk in.

The lie.. was an obvious one. Even if his voice didn't waver. Every point of his said the opposite, his already blackened hands pulsed with an old pain and his eyes only exploded with it from the beginning.

Retak'ka knew it was a lie. There's no way he didn't.

But he silently hoped. He just wished silently to just let him have this. Just let him lie this easily without any repercussions.

And he did. He let him lie. 

He let him lie knowing full well what he did, knowing Solar still wouldn't be relieved. Not even as he cleans his hands from the blood and sits on the floor with his eyes not actively bleeding anymore after he’d cleaned up. 

"You shouldn't have done that", Retak'ka says to Solar, handing the Light Elemental a wet rag. Solar takes it and presses it on his eyes.

"A test like that is much too risky, even with the.. curious idea behind it"

"Tests always have risks to take."

"Not if they risk something precious and personal"  he hears

Solar wanted to rebuke that about all the risks he's taken. By using Solar's power so.. so openly. After being kept hidden for stars, know how long. For all the risk Retak'ka is doing by basically kidnapping the other Spirits. It was ludicrous!

It was disgusting to even think about but.. but Solar kept his mouth shut. He didn't say anything but a quiet "hmmm"

It was easier that way. Easier to just... take it? No and yes. But it was also easier to just.. keep quiet. Be silent and follow orders. It'd only quite literally harm him more in the long run in more ways than one if he disobeyed.

He feels a hand on his head, and Solar has half the mind to recoil from the touch but doesn't.

"You are precious to me Cahaya"

That catches Solar more off guard. He.. hasn't used his real name in a long while. Nor has he openly ever shown affection like this. Not like Sir Tok Kasa or Gempa..

Solar tenses. And he doesn't know why, realistically he should be calmer. He isn't getting punished, he's not needing to explain himself on why he did other than what was said before.. So why is so.. fearful?

"So please don't do this again."  There were words left out of that sentence. But Solar only nodded. His vocal cords refused to do as they were intended and speak.

So he forces himself to at least stop being so fretful and calm down. It doesn't work but he tries.

..."yeah alright I won't do it again." His voice was quiet but any louder he felt would ruin something. What it is he has no clue, but it's something.

"Good" There was a ruffle of his hair before he heard footsteps leave the room.

.

.

.

Solar snaps out of the memory blinking. There's a familiar pounding behind his eyes as he instinctively reaches up to itch them but stops.

There are tears welling in his eyes. And he's realizing how crying. Yet the Light Spirit can only feel a numbing somber he's felt way too many times to count anymore.

His world used to be light itself both metaphoric and literal.

Solar used to be happier.

Cahaya used to be happier.

He's the light, supposedly having the power to create warmth for others. Something to be a beacon of hope for, dangerous but loving ultimately. He used to be those.. and still he can't help but mourn it. What he used to be.

Cahaya.

Solar was Cahaya but.. not anymore. He couldn't return to those times even if he wanted to.

Which he does. But he doesn't have a choice in the matter.

But still..

Cahaya cries tears of sorrowful golden rays. He's crying liquid glow of what he used to be. And he can't see anymore, the once blurred mess of browns, just filled with his tears.

This land he ruined.. helped ruined. It used to be green, part of him thinks Daun would've loved it... but now much like him. It's barren. Empty.

He hears footsteps and doesn't bother trying to wipe his face.

"Your crying," is the only thing he hears as his master stops by his side.

"Duri.. would've liked this place I think. I just miss a little"

Not a lie. It's not a lie he kept some things to himself. Was it?

"We'll be okay Cahaya"

No they wouldn't. No he wouldn't. Not after this, not after everything the Light Spirit had done and would keep doing. Not even after death.

"You are my precious tool, there's nothing to worry about. Just do as your told and I promise you'll get what you need"

Need.. what did Solar even need or want anymore.

Manipulation freaking manipulation

RETAKKKAAAAAASAAAAAAAAAAA

Sheesh, Retakka is so- menacing?? So- malicious?? So- just- i want to push him

Cahaya and trauma!!! He will never eescape it in this blog

This is such a wonderful beautiful fic

Would it be bad if i made this canon to this au??

[steampunkforever]

When people discuss the oppressive secret policing agencies, you'll often see organizations like the Stasi, Gestapo, NKVD, Political-Social Brigade, FSB, and Ministry of State Security listed as these orwellian entities ordained to crush political dissidents and act as muscle carrying out the bidding of Machiavellian regimes. Rarely do you see the FBI listed in there.

You can probably boil this down to the past 30 years of overt targeting of conservative groups (there was a congressional hearing about this last year) where ACAB-leaning demographics aren't necessarily going to complain about the people who want them dead getting jailed. More recent films like Imperium and Blackkklansman (though the latter isn't FBI) echo this, where members of a special taskforce go undercover to infiltrate and target white supremacist dissidents, and are overall painted as the good guys who uphold progressive values of truth justice and racial equity.

These are the G-Men coming to convict those that the corrupt cops won't, like the guys from Killers of the Flower Moon. It's like copaganda for the federal government specifically, made by people who seemingly forget the FBI's harassment and surveillance of the BLM movement. Judas and the Black Messiah crushes any illusion of the FBI as anything more than a secret police force bent on subduing the population squirming under its grasp.

Don't get me wrong, Mulder, Scully, and Dale Cooper are my friends. I don't think there's anything wrong with the FBI being the good guys in film and TV. The G-Men in Killers of the Flower Moon, for example, were the ones who stopped the murders committed and covered up by corrupt lawmen. But Judas and the Black Messiah is just as much of a true story as Flower Moon, and the FBI very much did assassinate Fred Hampton.

The FBI infiltrator narrative has always been a fun, pulpy one. It's like a spy novel, but domestic. Undercover agents flirt with danger, and face fun dilemmas like "I'm starting to feel nice toward the men I'm about to stab in the back." Except instead of mobsters or drug runners, our FBI undercover is betraying civil rights leader Fred Hampton and eventually sending him to his death at the hands of an FBI death squad.

MLK's death will always be shrouded in enough conspiracy to cast a shadow of uncertainty on whether or not the FBI pulled the trigger, but Hamptons is clear cut. Shaka King's direction on Judas and the Black Messiah takes advantage of this, providing us with an intimate picture of Hampton's life and the events leading up to his assassination in an elegant, sophisticated piece of art that absolutely deserves every accolade it got and more.

The film is only King's second feature, and he threads the needle of historic and present day commentary expertly, never seeming to soapbox while still crafting an elegant narrative around an injustice that many have heard of but few understand the gravity of.

Go watch it.

[shmowder]

RAGGGG i’m also so happy u like björk!! her music is fascinating really!!

I found a lot of comfort in her songs during a really difficult time I had, so i’m glad I get to share her music with you. “joga” carried me through therapy honestly. honestly clara coded now that I think about it “emotional landscapes, they puzzle me, confuse. can the riddle get solved? and you push me up to this state of emergency, how beautiful to be.” damn. look at me go.

ily so so much and i’m glad to see ur lovely little posts on my tl. have an amazing day!! -🥀

I literally can't thank you enough for recommending her music to me, my eyes (ears?) have been opened. Just when you become jaded to media and think you've see all that art has to offer, a whole new type of music unravels from under the rock and you get to experience childlike wonder and admiration again. I love you too <333 I'm glad for the lovely thoughts and ideas you share with me!

Pagan Poetry is currently my favourite of her works, It reminds me of Aspity in a way, too? It's genuinely amazing, especially the end:

"I love him. I love him, I love him." The raspy desperation, the exhaustion of a sore throat.

"She loves him. she loves him. she loves him. she loves him." The chorus whispering in disbelief, repeating the words in an attempt to resonate it within them that a demon made from dirt and rot is even capable of the highest forms of love.

Aspity's words ring in my ears, "Like a slave falls in love with their master; like a thing falls in love with its owner-it is dog's affection."

Simple devotion. She was a piece cut from the flesh of earth itself and moulded from clay, made to give him a mother, an unconditional loving figure, an apology for robbing Artemy of his mother during birth. Even Isidor clearly saw that in her as he allowed a Shabnak-adyr to remain around even after the plague had been subdued.

I just listend to the one you mentioned. The violin at the start—holy fuck it's like the bow is moving against the strings of my heart. And it keeps going the whole song???

I see your vision with Clara, it has a certian vibe to it. Especially the emergency thing. Unlike the confident and more mature P2 Clara, P1 Clara was a lost overwhelmed kid and she genuinely acted the part, at one point you're told she has spent all night crying, knowing there is no way for you to reach into the screen and comfort this child, merely guide her hand as she plunges the blade into another warm body, as she pulls the rifle trigger, as she uses her healing miracle to hurt and scar.

[spikebit]

thank you for tagging me @ungratefulbeyotchhotline !!!

i will tag uhh @sykoyo @buriedwithoutceremony @acidbathcat @menthe-venimeuse @pennysmell and anyone else who sees this :3

Do you make your bed? only at night before i get in!

What's your favorite number? 13... tomorrow is my day babie!!

What is your job? in theory i am an artist/creator and i work part-time retail for (unspecified major gaming company). in practice i'm a basically a NEET failwife lol

If you could go back to school, would you? probably yes!! depends on the schooling... i would really like to go to art school (soon). if i'm interested in it and there's no pressure i would love to

Can you parallel park? i cannot drive so. no. in my heart though i'm really good at it

A job you had that would surprise people? mannn idk i don't think any of my jobs were really surprising or out of character... people seem mildly shocked when i tell them i work for (unspecified major gaming company) but that's usually just because they didn't know they had retail-level employees

Do you think aliens are real? undoubtedly, there's no way life only exists on earth. sounds like a creationist myth

Can you drive a manual car? UMMM see above... trying to learn how to operate a clutch has been my biggest barrier to getting my license so far rip

What's your guilty pleasure? none, i refuse to feel guilty about things i enjoy. actually maybe i do feel guilty about picking at pimples (as i should)

Tattoos? none :( i thought i would have a bunch by now but i just haven't pulled the trigger yet

Favorite color? this specific oversaturated lime green/yellow is myyyy colour #c5ff00

Favorite type of music? i love weird house+techno and like emo music... also really enjoy prog metal and jazz and deep dubstep. anything i can just vibe to or musically complex but still enjoyable. a few artists/bands i really like are dance gavin dance, jafu, origami button, moderat, fm-84, jamiroquai, loathe, minor sine project

Do you like puzzles? depends, i like video game puzzles but i'm not really a big puzzle person. my family does a big jigsaw puzzle at xmas every year and i'm not very good at them bc i tend to focus on one piece instead of the whole puzzle. call me if u need to pack though that's my kind of puzzle

Any phobias? genuinely don't know. i don't really like crowds. also i get gross vertigo so i'm not great with high places but idk if i would call it a phobia

Favorite childhood sport? none lol i played soccer for a few years and haaaaated it. i am not a very physical person but i respect people who do sports.

Do you talk to yourself? sometimes. mostly i talk to my dog

What movies do you adore? a goofy movie is the best animated musical of all time and i will die on this hill

Coffee or Tea? coffee. kind of a hard choice cuz i love my yerba mate but nothing hits like coffee with milk in the morning

First thing you wanted to be when you grew up? idk lol probably a wolf

[asterhaze]

If you get this, answer w three random facts about yourself and send it to the last seven blogs in your notifs! Anon or not, doesn’t matter, let’s get to know the person behind the blog :)

Thank you for the ask! I have enjoyed talking about myself a little bit lately.

Serious: I also art! Though I haven't posted any of my newer stuff online because my tablet broke and some of my traditional work is stuff I want to eventually draw digitally and hopefully sell. I'm terrified of AI taking away my dream of being a super cool artist writer dream before I even have a chance. So yeah.

Silly Fact: I have a horrible phobia of mascots. It inspired a comic idea that I will probably end up writing about evil mascots that try to take over the world and cause the apocalypse. It's a pretty serious phobia that councilors and therapists have tried to help me with but nothing has worked because I've refused exposure therapy. There are some masks that trigger this phobia, but honestly it's mostly helmets!

Random: I only started writing seriously last October, and the amount of progress I have made this year shocks even myself. This is hard for me, but here is an example of my writing from last October versus something I wrote a few weeks ago.

October:

Glen stood beneath the willow tree in a small graveyard. He stated down at two small graves whose names had been worn away by time. But he knew them well and kept them close to his heart.

"Maria. My love. I miss you dearly, even still to this day." Glen began, going down on one knee to brush his hands across the grass. "I wish I was there with you. Wherever you are and whatever is beyind this life. I wish we could sit beneath our willow tree and I could tell you how much I love you again."

Last week - a longer piece that may or may not make it into a final draft-

“Now your suit really will be ruined. Your socks too.” But I have the money now to buy new clothes. Who cares, Maria, about suits and pants and socks and shoes? Who cares about arranged weddings? Who cares about any of that when you’re dead, dead, dead and I’m here, here, here? I’m still here, here, here… He reached out, brushing his fingertips along the front of the tombstone, weathered smooth by time. Faintly he could see the first letter of her first and last name but the rest was worn away. He traced the letters, very gently, before pulling his hand away and putting it back in his lap. Willow had cried and cried so many times sitting here before Maria’s grave. Mourning her, missing her, wishing desperately that she would come back to him and forgive him for everything and being left with only memories. The tears had dried decades ago, but the longing in his chest and the aching in his soul still remained. Now he just stared, his eyes glossed over, his lips moving without a voice as he spoke in his imaginary world where Maria was fussing at him for this, that, or the other. He knew he was crazy, or ill, or pretending, or at least that whatever he was doing was wrong but it made him feel better. Talking there, remembering things, it made him feel complete despite reminding him otherwise and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was that people left him alone at the graveyard, let him spend however long he wanted there, or maybe it was because he was close to her again. Eventually, when a headache was starting to form across his temple, he imagined Maria turning to him and smiling. Still wearing that horrible dress that flattered only her body, sickly yellow. Maria fluffed her skirt, slapping it when she was done, before turning to walk away. Won’t you take me with you this time? Can’t we go together? I’m tired of living without you, Maria. Maria looked over her shoulder, a sad look over her sunshine eyes, as she sighed and turned away. “You’re too good.” And with that, he imagined her walking away and fading from his vision in a great glowing light that blinded him until he closed his eyes so tightly shut he prayed he would never be able to open them again. Anything else he would see would just tarnish it. Tarnish his memory of her, but eventually he did open his eyes, and there was all that was left of her before him. Faded, worn, and nearly falling apart. Here Lies M….M…. Loved Forever.

Tagging: @mthollowell-writes @rainisawriter @doublegoblin @gummybugg @veetvoojagigthemagnificent

[not-poignant]

10, 12, 16!

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

Hmm.

Yes. A piece of writing has haunted me. Usually non-fiction books about the state of the environment re: climate change, they often stay with me for a long time.

Some fiction books infect me like a virus for a while, and I become really obsessed with them. They're not always the stories I write fanfiction for. I don't know if that's the same as being 'haunted' by something. To be haunted by something implies something that causes mental anguish or torment.

OH. Yes, actually, there was one m/m series that got published that was so much gratuitous torture porn and I kept hanging out for the comfort part of the increasingly insane levels of hurt, because hurt/comfort was one of its tags. It had like 20 installments (it's a published series) and it had no comfort, and a thrown together hasty ending that felt like slapping a bandaid on a person that had been exploded into pieces.

The process of reading that and getting NO good ending really, causes me some anguish to think about to this day. In that sense, I would say yes, I'm haunted by it. I'm not going to name the series if anyone asks, it was such a clear case of 'I'm being triggered and should have pulled out much earlier.' Though I am really mad that anyone dared to call that a hurt/comfort story lmao.

My own writing doesn't haunt me, thank god.

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

Hmmm, three writing wishes. Hmmmmmm.

I wish for my writing to find more of the readers who will love it and enjoy it, and that some of those readers will continue to have the kind of income that allows them to support a writer once a month via Patreon, so that I can hopefully keep symbiotically giving them the kind of writing they want

2. I wish I could do editing just by blinking at a story.

3. I wish I had the energy / ability to help other people publish their own stories for niche audiences in ways that they enjoy. One of the things I actually find kind of frustrating is that this job forces me to live on the absolute edges of my energy levels and that I've always wanted to be able to help others out with writing and I'm very limited in how I could do that. If I wasn't, I would've 100% published like a Fae Tales short story anthology by now, and art books, with royalties going to the authors and artists, for example. And like, when I die - which will come probably sooner than I want it to with all my illnesses - this is something I'd really like for other folks to be able to do. Is that weird? I wish that would be easy, I wish I could somehow use that as a launchpad into helping more authors beyond the ways I do it now (which is mostly just writing advice sometimes).

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

...

Probably a used tissue. x.x

--

From the Weird Writing Asks meme!

[cboffshore]

Keep it in and we'll all get rich. This is "It Will Never Be Enough."

For his first wish: the mortifying ordeal of being known. I'm not even kidding.

Given that this series is just a front for an in-depth Nadakhan character study, there's really no other way to start than with the man himself. This design has been bouncing around my mind for a few years now, actually - it first came to mind before I had the skills to pull it off and has been tapping impatiently on my shoulder ever since. This past fall (yes, this has been in the works for months), that moment arrived. I felt confident enough in my artistic abilities to bring it to life, sparking this series and analysis.

So, back to the tagline: the mortifying ideal of being known and my bold claim that that's the first of Nadakhan's actual, character-defining wishes. It's a desire that becomes apparent early in his life, when he abandons his home to seek a life not defined by his royal heritage. And, somehow, he gets it: he spends decades, if not longer, practically ruling the Endless Sea. Nothing gold can stay, though, leading to his two-hundred-year stint imprisoned and a less-than-glamorous return to existence in Stiix. Shortly after that, though, there's a shocking development: he wants to go home. Generally, going home after a life of adventure is seen as a retreat of sorts, but it means something entirely different for Nadakhan. In episode 57, Flintlocke's the first to express surprise that Nadakhan wants to go back, leading into a telling exchange:

Flintlocke: But you said you'd never be welcomed back there. What about your father?

Nadakhan: Better to live in a world where you are hated than in a world where you are forgotten.

In short: Nadakhan refuses to exist where he won't be seen. No such thing as bad press, right? The sheer ridiculousness of framing teenagers for petty crime, the real possibility of being ostracized by his own home realm - it's all about attention. He's been alone for two hundred years, only to emerge in a world where he can't relive his glory days. Finding out his backup plan of being the resident black sheep in his home realm is off the table, well... that's just saltwater in the wound. That's also the start of his second secret wish, so that's where this chunk of the analysis stops and we get into:

The Outfit Breakdown

Because any Ninjago villain traditionally sets the tone for their season, I chose to go perhaps a little too hard on this design in order to have a pool of motifs to pull from later. It's also meant as a mirror to the quote this look is named after - truly, I could have added so much more to this look. I only stopped out of necessity when my art app started lagging. I still like the effect this gives off, especially in regard to Nadakhan's origin as a character. His existence draws from a dizzying number of tropes and sources, creating an unusual and unforgettable presence. We'll break this one down piece by piece.

Of course, we've got to start somewhere: this is heavily based on Nadakhan's (positively awful) human disguise from the season premiere. Oof, did someone get dressed in the dark or what? Pine jacket, red pants, a hairdo that literally prompts a total rando to call him a bozo - let's be nice and call it a difficult pairing. No drip. Anti-drip. Dry as the Sea of Sand. One of the first pieces of feedback I received on this design was "goth band prep goes to a holiday party," if that tells you anything. It never entirely got away from that, which I'm willing to embrace - it's a loud combination! This is the garb of an attention-seeker! Step into a holiday party in this and immediately trigger several record scratches. I just wanted to do it better, because the original iteration is not it.

Originally conceived as a stereotypical pirate jacket, the brocade silk-lined cape blazer came into its own after the friend who gave me the "goth band prep" feedback suggested amping up the drama. It was an inspired suggestion given that said friend knows nothing about Nadakhan - who was I trying to design a stereotypical pirate jacket to embody his character? A fool, that's who. This blazer features a few nods to his origins, both meta and in-universe: sharp lapels as a nod to the Dracula love story that fueled his arc and rich materials to suggest his royal heritage. The silver dangly sections on the clasp and shoulders are extra pointy to reference the silhouette of his iconic chestplate.

Beneath the jacket lies an emerald-and-silver corset intricately woven with a set of golden body chains. These were initially separate elements, but while I was drafting the choker and chains, I had a thought: what if it was all one piece? Thematically, this ended up making perfect sense - this is the world's most uncomfortable halter top, reflecting how his own rage and desires slowly choke out his relationships with his crew. Zoom in and you'll notice that these body chains permeate nearly every inch of the ensemble: as bracelets and arm chains, a pair of draped garter bracelets in the slits of the slacks, and even wrapped around the boots as anklets. These constitute a twist on the concept of the gilded cage, which I feel Nadakhan both experiences and weaponizes. They're intentionally subtle - as hard as he works to conceal his plans, his tragic greed is an integral part of his character, heightened by the dramatic irony of the audience getting to know him before the rest of his crew appears. That we know just what he wants, but the people closest to him (emotionally and physically) don't?? Beautiful. Give me more of that, please. In addition, silver filigree elements on the corset are meant to mirror Nadakhan's hook hand.

The collared shirt under the corset is purely functional (and designed to be reasonably easy to bring to life because FSM knows the rest of the design would be a nightmare to make) - the peach shade is both a nod at Nadakhan's coloring and a weak attempt to fend off Christmas outfit accusations. The original human outfit uses a white shirt, which doesn't blend in quite as well.

A silver glove on the mannequin's left hand calls to mind Nadakhan's hook hand and brings in a little bit of needed contrast. Despite his association with piracy, gold, and opulence, Nadakhan's canon metallic accents are all silver; this is deliberately overridden to heighten his strangling sense of greed. The glove, modeled after his hook, helps ground the outfit in canon.

Even though I don't think I'll ever bring these designs into the real world, I like to design them with a cosplay runway in mind. Simple as these velvet slacks are, they're meant as a stand-in for Nadakhan's.... lower body? Tail? (What are we calling that, y'all? It's been seven years and we haven't arrived at a consensus. I read a fic that called it his "lower area" once, and we definitely can't use that.) The smoky bit that's always moving? That part. The part that should be legs but isn't legs. Anyway, point is that it has some crimson shading and that it moves. So would these pants with a sassy enough runway walk. Beyond the rebellion implied by slashing massive slits into expensive pants, there's not a lot of symbolism here.

The leather boots are the first of two mirrors to Nadakhan's iconic heirloom weapon, the Sword of Souls (the name Djinn Blade, while entirely canonical, is simply not as cool): sparkling crystal wedge heels and thick leather, with the same hook filigree motif as the corset. After he acquires the Sword of Souls, much of Skybound's plot hinges on how Nadakhan chooses to use it; in the same way, the green crystal wedge heels physically support the entire look.

The second reference to the Sword of Souls is far more overt: a luxury handbag traced directly from the Sword's theatrical hilt. Made of pale leather and gleaming gold blades and chains, this handbag doesn't quite coordinate with the rest of the outfit. Instead, it's forced to work out of necessity in the same way that Nadakhan feels he has no choice but to wreak havoc with the blade. Asymmetrical blue crystal accents on both the handbag and the statement earrings are a twofold callback: both to the shattered Realm Crystal that reveals his realm's fate and to the mirror he manipulates in "The Last Resort".

Exhausted yet? I hope not - we're just getting started. As a reward for making it to the end, behold the duality of my art skills: this meme I made months ago, somewhere in the middle of designing this outfit, after a heated Ninjago-themed round of Skribblio where I was tasked with actually drawing Nadakhan. Safe to say, that's not where my skills lie:

[fantasyfantasygames]

Illustrated Primer

Illustrated Primer, Market Drift Games, 2005

If you're thinking of the title of The Diamond Age: Or, a Young Lady's Illustrated Primer, you are right on target. Illustrated Primer is a mid-future game, set between a Neuromancer near-future and a Star Trek far future.

The personal-level setup is a family of women being pulled into a story that's always bigger than they realize, until they can turn the tables on the big players and take control of their own story. This happens against a backdrop of a massive technological shift - AI, nanotech, bioengineering, neural interfaces, all happening at once and reinforcing one another.

Your character has a set of base stats, randomly determined "straight down the line". They have a randomly determined background that sets skills and resources. It's all pretty swingy - you might be a rich, young, highly skilled woman or a great-grandmother with nothing left but memories. It's up to you to stitch all those random backgrounds together into a unique family story of marriage, divorce, estrangement, love, and adoptions.

If you're not a fan of chargen that's random to that level, the good news is that they hardly matter. It's the tech trees that determine your real abilities. At the beginning of the game, only a few enhancements are open. As the game goes on, the GM opens up different parts of the tech tree based on in-game events. Your characters are likely to be involved in developing some of the tech. Other pieces will be opened up as individuals and corporations around the world release their discoveries.

Your character's motivations and personal limits are key, especially because this amazing, powerful, immature technology has side-effects and drawbacks. Some even let you choose - are you going to take the dexterity reduction from the bulk, the stealth penalty from the heat signature, or the charisma penalty from the nervous system hijack? The best part - what's the only part of character creation that isn't random? Your motivations and personal limits. What does the XP system let you change? Motivations and personal limits.

The game book is somewhat reminiscent of the book for the Die RPG but in black-and-white. The art is not quite as fantastic, but quite good. There are a few iconic characters who appear multiple times. The layout is fairly standard. I feel like it might benefit from an update with a more avant-garde approach.

The system uses a d6 dice pool fairly similar to Open D6. It tones down the all-out craziness of the Wild Die, requiring extra 6s or 1s before the critical hits/fails kick in. It uses the roll's total for success, and a target number system to trigger enhanced successes based on tech powers or charge up higher-powered abilities.

All in all I'm a big fan of the game. It tells a specific, wide-spanning but character-focused story, with enough flexibility that it doesn't feel railroaded or forced. The tech tree is expansive enough to make every character unique. Most of the tech is at least plausible. All in all, a definite win for Market Drift Games.

I have another game with this name waaaay down my review queue, so we might get to that some day. It's a much more pastel kind of game, but equal amounts of... calling it "girl power" feels dismissive, but that's because people dismiss girls and women. Anyway, it's fun, and I hope I get to review it eventually.

[wind-becomes-lightning]

Obito and I

Ok this is so so silly and I've had the idea a while ago and just thought fuck it I'm going to do it for Obito week. yeah Uh, I don't know how to explain it.

Uchiha Obito and uh, me I guess

Rated G.

3178 words

Ao3 Link [x]

for @obito-week: always watching & free spot.

One afternoon Uchiha Obito appears in my room. [..] The man is all an Obito has to be, tall, broad, black haired, facial scars, weird eggplant coloured coat and all. He seems almost as shocked to see me as I am to see him. As if I’m also a figure that has just jumped out of a story book.

One afternoon Uchiha Obito appears in my room.

I just finished a philosophy session on the toilet, head full of ideas about where I could take my afternoon nap as I hear a little sound not unlike a big piece of plastic being sucked up into a vacuum cleaner. 

“The neighbours are at it again”, I curse to myself as I pull up the sweats I should have changed three days ago. There is still this white stain on it from where I dropped toothpaste and each time I see it I remind myself that I have to wash it, but I never do.

I feel grumpy as I walk back into the bedroom and almost drop my phone when there is Obito standing in front of me.

“Obito!” I almost yell.

The man is all an Obito has to be, tall, broad, black haired, facial scars, weird eggplant coloured coat and all. He seems almost as shocked to see me as I am to see him. As if I’m also a figure that has just jumped out of a story book.

With a shaking finger that has exceptionally perfectly applied violet nail polish on it that makes me wonder for a moment when the hell he has learned that and why the hell he can do it much better than me, he points at the pictures on my wall. His mouth opens and closes and then opens again.

 “Why?” It's the only thing that he seems to have the ability to say.

I follow his eyes to the art print he is pointing at, an especially great fanart that I once got during a request event. Obito is on it, hair dripping with water, tongue out and aimed at Kakashi in front of him, they are both half naked. An artwork I truly cherish, the first time I jumped up and down in my - this- room in the morning after some amazing artist fulfilled the art wishes that I could never fulfil myself.

Still, I must admit, that must be really weird to see for someone like Obito. I almost feel ashamed that he has to see something so private not only to myself but himself, as if I was a paparazzi taking pictures of him against his will. Half naked and with his best frenemy and all.

I shrug. “I like the ship.” I don’t know what else to tell him.

Maybe he thinks I’m mad. Probably he thinks I’m mad. Quite likely he thinks I’m mad. His eyes harden, the rinnegan in its incredibly unnatural colour peers into me. His mouth forms the word “ship”, but he lets his finger sink.

I wonder if this would be the right time to ask him. I step from one foot to another with insecurity. My hands feel sweaty. Well, it is not any day that a character from a book suddenly appears in front of you. This isn’t Inkheart. I didn’t read him into existence. Or did I? Who knows, maybe sitting on the toilet and thinking of naps triggered this sort of thing.

“Why are you in my bedroom?”. I finally find my courage. 

Obito stares as if it is an outrageous question. Then his face frowns and he waves frantically: “I just materialised here. I don’t even know where I am, who you are and why you have pictures of me hanging on your wall.”

I can’t help but be flattered. My own drawings of him are good enough to make him think they are pictures. Inside I'm giddy. I can’t wait to tell my tumblr friends about this.

“Are you stalking me?” He says, pointing again, another art with him and Kakashi, just that Yamato is with them too. A collaborative art I made with two of my tumblr friends that I am also personally very proud of. “That’s really creepy you know?!”

“Takes one to know one.” I have no mercy.

He clearly isn’t pleased. He steps away from my wall and inspects the computer in front of it. I assume he has never seen a computer before, especially not one with a double screen and light up keyboard and mouse setup  like any good Sims gamer should have. 

He rubs his chin.

“Electricity!” 

“It sure is,” I say and feel like I’m talking to one of my dead grandparents. 

“Electricity - good. Electricity - works - maybe.” He is thinking obviously, but apparently that has made his brain go back into caveman mode. 

Caveman mode. I chuckle to myself. 

“Bring me back!” he points at me again. “Whatever you did to get me here, make it go away.”

“I did not bring you here,” I shrug my shoulders again. “I don’t know where you were and how you got here, I just came here and you were there. Maybe you made a kamui mistake.”

I wonder if kamui was always connected to my bedroom and then my next thought is, if kamui was always connected to my bedroom, why didn’t Kakashi come through? I agree with myself that it would have been more fair if Kakashi had come through.

“How do you know about Kamui?!” He seems genuinely offended.

Well, there is nothing but forward, I think and let out a deep sigh. Having to have this conversation really wasn’t what I thought I would be doing when I got up in the morning. All I can do now is hope he takes the truth well enough not to jump at me. Even without his powers, Obito could probably crush me.

And while there were times in which I have declared on the internet that I want him to crush me, I would rather not right now. Especially not if there are pancakes for dinner.

“You are a fictional character, my man.” I say and pick up the Kakashi pillow on my bed and shake it a little. “From a book, you know? This is merchandise. I’m a fan.” I wave to the pictures and wiggle with the pillow again. 

A moment passes, then another. Both of Obito’s eyes are focused on my fluffy Kakashi pillow, a vein on his head pulsing dangerously. 

“Fictional?” he grumbles, his hand in a fist. 

I prepare myself to get crushed afterall. At least I would die with my head in his titties, which is, I decide, not so bad of a death. “Yes, fictional.”

He turns around and punches into my wooden desk so hard that the keyboard loses most of its keys and my graphic tablet tumbles down to the floor with a crash. 

Probably that means he isn’t taking it very well, I think to myself.

-

Obito can’t read books that are not written in Japanese I realise as I hand him the few light novels I have of the Naruto franchise. None have the manga pictures, but I have to assemble my keyboard again first before I can turn on my computer to show the manga to him.

Truly, I should have known that Obito can’t read English or German, why the hell would a character that was by all means made up by a Japanese man be able to read that? But then again I can communicate with him well enough without needing subtitles. This is all very strange.

“My name!” he yells and points at the page that he holds open. So he can read his own name. I feel like a proud mother.  “Am I in this story too?”

Lazily I take the book from him. “No, sorry to tell you that you are dead.”

His eyes go so wide that I fear another punch is coming so I say: “But in the heart of many of us fans you are always alive.” How cringe, but it is the truth.

“Are you stalking Kakashi even more than me?” Obito picks up the figure I have on my desk of Kakashi in his Anbu uniform and then also picks up my pillow from my bed weighing them both up and down. 

He seems surprisingly intrigued by the way Kakashi’s muscles are shown on the figure. 

“I like him the most,” I say. “He is my favourite character.”

Instinctively I hold my hand out to save my precious figure from slipping out of Obito’s hands. He already looks angry again, as if I have personally hurt him by having a character I would like more than him. 

Well, people with the best taste in ships, like me, have always known that Obito secretly is obsessed with Kakashi. After all that was the entire point of the story (I like having my own delusions.)

Finally I get my shit together and turn on the computer. My wallpaper is a rotation of many different wallpapers, but of course this moment that Obito sits right beside me the rotation choses a picture of him with Team Minato as a kid. I quickly open a browser window to hide it, but he has already seen it.

“I don’t remember we ever took a picture like this together,” he says with a frown. 

Right, he thinks the fanart are “pictures” of him. “It’s just art,” I say dismissively. “It’s not canon.”

His eyes narrow. 

“Ta-da!” I say and present him the coloured version of the Naruto manga.

Obito stares at the pages as I scroll around, not trusting him to know how the mouse works. I know that Konoha will eventually get computers too, but only after Obito’s death and even if they already had them, I wouldn’t trust his violent urges.

He stares as I scroll and scroll. Then finally, as if it took him 10 chapters to realise as much, he says: “Wait, I’m not the main character?”

-

The news that he is nothing more than a side character in his own life comes hard to Obito. I empathise with him, I too have severe main character syndrome while being an extra at best. Maybe that is why he finally stops looking so angry at me each time I say something. Trauma bonding over your insignificance.

“And you… like this story?” Obito says and he sounds as if it makes no sense to him that anyone would like a narrative in which he isn’t the main character.

I shrug, which I feel I have done a lot in the last few hours: “It has its moments.”

His eyes wander over the several pieces of memorabilia and fanart I have scattered around my bedroom and he nods his head. “You seem obsessed,” he notes.

“There are people worse than me,” I clarify, because I don’t want to accept the very real assessment that nonetheless makes me look bad. “At least I don’t use bots to vote in a popularity poll that literally doesn’t matter or send anon hate.

Obito blinks at me and the wheels behind his eyes are turning. I push his chair away from the desk so I can sit in front of my computer again and he just lets it happen. Surely the world he is from has chairs with wheels, I think to myself, or maybe Obito really had never seen anything but the inside of his cave.

He shakes his head in disbelief. “So there are more of you?”

“More of me?” I can’t shadow clone in this world, I think.

“People who enjoy these… drawings.” Obito snaps with his finger in the direction of the computer screen.

I laugh. I can’t help it. “God yes” I say and hold my stomach. “Millions. It is very popular actually, one could argue that it is one of if not the most famous shonen manga that has ever been popular. Not only Japan though, that is also in the west.”

His nose crinkles and I can feel another anger outburst incoming so I pick up my keyboard and hold it over the desk just so I don’t have to play puzzle all over again now that I have it put back together.

“And you all,” he waved with his finger, “are Kakashi stalkers?”

“Oh no, many are also your stalkers.” I reply and to prove it to him I open tumblr and push the screen into his face. 

“See? There are entire blogs that are dedicated to you. Personally, I think their hot takes can be a little weird, because in my head canon the reason for your personality shift is a deep rooted delusion with the world that is later fixed by giving you someone to believe in in Naruto and on top of that you are changed by the trust that Kakashi puts in you, a trust that you craved as a child but never got until the very end. Generally people hate the redemption through death type of storyline, but I feel like a self sacrifice fits you very well, at least from what you know before you lost yourself to the personality of Madara.”

His jaw swings open. I realise that I won’t ever convince him that I am not in fact obsessed if I keep talking like an obsessed person. 

I add: “Uh, that’s just literary analysis though, I don’t know you personally.” 

“Roll the tiny wheel,” Obito says and I assume he means to force me to scroll. 

Like always, tumblr does not disappoint and it takes me about 1.06 minutes to find a picture in which Obito is shirtless and posing. I blink looking at the thickness of his thighs and the large man titties showing on his chest. The artist was kind enough to put at least five fire emojis as a caption. I unashamedly press the like button.

“Who took that picture?” Obito says, outraged. “That is an invasion of privacy!”

I laugh. “Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t see that this is a drawing. You don’t look like this.” I gesture at his body form. 

Obito takes the mouse from me and I have to hold on to the cable so he doesn’t rip it out. He scrolls on. There are so many half naked pictures of him that have him posing or crying and I am very unhappy about my loss of mouse privileges because that means I can’t like them all to keep them for later.

“These people,” he gestures, “when they draw me like this. That means they like me?”

Now his eyes suddenly shine bright as if he is a kid again. It is very cute, though a little concerning that the prospect of someone really liking him makes him so very happy.

“Oh yes, they want to jump your bones.” I avoid mentioning that I am one of those people that generally wants to jump his bones. “They think you are hot shit.”

For the first time since he has literally appeared in my room Obito smiles with satisfaction. Then he moves the mouse and scrolls on to another fanart of him and Kakashi kissing. His eyes stay frozen on it, then he picks up the mouse and throws it against my screen.

-

Legs pressed against his body Obito sits on the floor in front of the door to my balcony. My monitor is not damaged and neither is my mouse I realise with relief while he murmurs behind me. 

“People just like the ship,” I try to explain. “They are usually not that serious about it. It is all in good fun.” I weigh my head. “Well unless it is on twitter because that’s just a warzone.”

I sit down next to him and can’t believe the absurdity of the situation. There he is, Uchiha Obito, the pride of the Uchiha clan, or, well the pride of Uchiha Madara, or well more like… the victim of Uchiha Madara’s pride of the Uchiha clan, and is gloomy because people in a world he doesn’t inhabit think he and his best frenemy also sometimes kissed. Truly the weirdest of turns of events.

“Sometimes you say such weird things.” Obito says into his knees. “I don’t even know what you mean.” He looks up at me. “I wonder if your definition of ship is different from mine.”

Probably not, I think, but probably yes at the same time. “You see, when people like two fictional characters that they think have chemistry, they often want them to end up together in the safe harbour of love. So we call it shipping.” I make it up on the spot and feel very confident that my explanation is correct. “Giving characters a happy ending is just very fulfilling. Or giving them a sad ending. Or first we hurt them then we make them happy. Or just making them suffer for love… everything really.”

“But Kakashi?”

“You have chemistry.” Undeniably.

“All we do is fight!” He looks at me from the side.

“Like I said,” I repeat, “You have chemistry.”

Obito sits up straight against the window of my balcony door. He puffs out his chest. “No, we really don’t.” He says it as if it was a fact. “You and that.. that art person are just the weird ones. I’m sure those that really like me would never think something as outrageous.”

“Maybe,” I say and shrug, “but it is very popular.”

—

I feel like a teacher in the following hour as I explain to Obito what Ao3 is, how it works, how to search for something and how it clearly shows that one of the most popular ships have him and Kakashi paired up. Clearly, I am not the weirdo here in this world and I want him to accept that.

While he keeps scrolling on, now much more gentle with the mouse, I sit on my bed and turn pages in a book that I’m pretending to read while I watch him closely.

Sometimes he sighs. “That’s not true” or “I would not say that” or “That’s disgusting” and I have to hold myself back to stand behind him to see what things warrant such reactions.

“These people”, he gestures to the monitor, “all know so much about my life. More than I have ever told anyone.”

I sigh and turn a page in my book I’m not reading. “That is because we all know your story.”

“Because I am a fictional character.” Obito sounded exasperated.

“Because you are a fictional character,” I confirm.

“But thi-, this is like you are watching me at all times,” he whines and waves with his arms again. “Like every little of my interactions with others is analysed and turned into writing. I feel rather violated.”

I would apologise for the fandom, but it is not like we were aware that Obito would be a sentient being that could appear out of the story at the blink of an eye as if inkheart was real. I can’t help but feel sorry for him though, this day was a lot to take in. “I guess we should eventually find out how to get you back where you belong.” But for that I first need to find out how he got to me of all people.

-

bonus doodles that a friend made while I was reading the story to them:

[captainderyn]

🖊 🖊 Handing you some pens for your Nine & Five 👀 It is always IA time in my brain

*falls to knees before you* pls take my eternal love for asking about my AGENTS. HNNG.

This is going under a readmore whoops.

Quick and dirty tl;dr for those who haven't been here for the full Deryn Lore: Cipher Five (Valetyn Slovoko) and Cipher Nine (Erabelle Torven) were two OCs of mine up until about ~2/3 years ago now when I took an extended break from SWTOR. I'm not constantly on the cusp of bringing them back, without their previous ties.

OKAY with that out of the way:

Era/Nine:

Era is my canon Cipher Nine, she goes through the whole story line and all that fun stuff.

She "met" Five when she was a college student at the Intelligence Academy (side note: kind of view that like the US military colleges, someone in The Olde SWTOR Days had worldbuilding with that, cannot remember who ugh) and came across mission reports and stories of Cipher Five in his glory days of field work. He was The Example used when talking about what an effective cipher agent was. He became her idol and her idea of the standard she was working towards.

She finally met him personally when he was the temporary instructor in one of her training classes for a semester and it turned out he was...rough. Aloof, seemingly arrogant, and downright not what she'd built him up to be. She was devastated, but little did she know that her determination to prove herself to her idol in the face of that aloofness was what honed her existing skills.

Turns out, he's actually just Very Tired and Worn and is really a great man who cares for those in his circle. She leans on him intensely as a mentor and eventually as family.

Era struggles intensely in the IA storyline. The whole trigger word bit almost drives her over the edge. She becomes severely mentally unwell, ruins a lot of her relationships around her on a self-destructive path as she struggles to cope with what feels like losing herself to a puppet. She comes out of it on the other side severely traumatized (who wouldn't be) and it takes her a long time to recover.

She ends up destroying the Codex, refusing to be, what she sees as, a pawn to either side. It has been ~4 years since I've played the IA storyline but I do remember that.

A fun fact about her is that she is a painter, she adores it, and she has a series of pieces that she paints throughout the storyline that get progressively darker. Five finds them in her apartment and that's how he learns that something is deeply wrong, as he was not privy to the knowledge of the mind control Intelligence & Co put on her. It's then that he buckles down to try and get her pulled from the mission, but by then they're in too deep.

Post storyline I still like to think she opens an art gallery on Dromund Kaas and her favorite thing is when she's commissioned to paint murals in people's homes or offices. It brings her peace.

Valetyn/Five:

Val, aka Cipher Five, is my precious grumpy agent man. He's in his ~late 40s when Era begins the Imperial Agent storyline and has been her mentor ever since she joined Imperial Intelligence. He's had a hand in basically every step of her training.

He tends to go by Five rather than Valetyn. He's been an agent so long he feels disconnected from his birth name.

In my canon he's the most senior of the cipher field agents in Imperial Intelligence at the time. By this point the higher ups have most relegated him to doing things behind the scenes on Dromund Kaas while the other agents physically go out into the field, especially as things start to heat up and the higher ups are putting out more and more fires.

As such, he doesn't spend much time in the field, and actually spends most of his time training new agent cadets and bringing along the new cipher agents. He loves this aspect of Imperial Intelligence and he cares deeply for his agents. He does what he can to keep them safe. They all see him as their grumpy Office Dad.

Era unintentionally becomes his prodigy when she comes into training as a cadet. He sees her potential and decides to hone that talent, which then turns into recommending her for a cipher position, which then turns into taking her under his wing and...oh no he sees her as a daughter now, goddamnit, not another Grumpy Man Unintentionally Adopts A Daughter.

He's wracked with guilt over what happens to Era throughout the IA story, personally blaming himself for his hand in training her. He tried to put himself up for the IA mission string, but was told he was too valuable of a resource at home base to risk putting him in the field.

He's a cat person, he has a cat he found in a dumpster that he jokingly calls Agent until the name sticks and he can't change it anymore. This cat is basically a space!Maine Coon.

If he wasn't in Imperial Intelligence he should've been a librarian. He already basically has a library of his own in his home office, with walls of bookshelves and books stacked where he's run out of space. He has one of those book stampers.

He has a younger sister, named Vitaliya (aka V), who is a high ranking enlisted personnel in the Imperial Army. They fell apart for awhile during his years as a cipher agent, where he basically fell off the face of the Earth to his family, but begin to reconnect after Imperial Intelligence is disbanded. She teases him all the time that he's married to his work, he isn't amused.

[isa-ah]

i'm just super nervous about asking about it because i know very little about it. but like idk it seems like a possibility i should explore, but I don't even know if the info i do have is true and i'm scared of barging into a space i don't belong

tbh its really hard to self identify a system by design. you have to consider what it is and why you have it- a dire means your brain takes to break off pieces of yourself to contain childhood trauma within so that you can still function baseline. its by definition something thats really hard to confront or grasp bc its all about repression and divvying up things that would make it difficult to impossible for you to function. this is called a covert system, and some systems Stay that way. theyre functional, either without defined alters, or with alters that stealth and keep things smoothed over.

that said, there are flags you can look for. when youre triggered, how do you process it? do you feel depersonalized? not like yourself, or even not able to reflect on what happened even if you felt cognizant AS it happened? some people black out entirely when an alter fronts, leaving black hole memory gaps, but for me its more of a grey out; like im aware as things happen but in retrospect my memory of it is VERY fuzzy or nonexistent. i know where the time went, but i cant remember anything specific about it. i also feel a bit like im being puppeted around, esp bc none of my alters communicate the same way i do. (ie bentley is pretty harsh w a thick twang, shy is nonverbal, arthur is deep voice king autism, etc).

in my experience, my system didnt become more overt until several years out from living with any of my family, and with only relatively shitty things going on in my life. i felt safe in my environment and so my brain settled in and began unpacking things that i had previously been too busy in a survival mentality to be able to handle. bentley kinda shambled forward after a few days of feeling really out of it and our relationship went from there. lo says he thinks my role in the system is as a protector (which makes sense ig) so it was really difficult for me to talk about it for a good couple months bc i felt like i needed to keep it hush hush to myself & safe. its VERY hard to reach a point of confidently proclaiming you have a system by virtue of it WANTING to be covert. having a support system of friends really made the difference for me, i think.

as far as getting in touch with yourself, there are a few things you can try; art has been a big way for my alters to express themselves through something i enjoy doing, so finding something to bond over could be good. journaling often, leaving up little notes for yourself, or maybe pulling threads you feel compelled to follow (clothes you wouldnt normally wear, a strikingly specific character design, a comfort xyz that you dont necessarily vibe with, specific music that makes your brain buzz) have also all been pretty noteworthy i think.

idk at the end of the day i think if you feel like you have some kind of disturbance like that, you probably do. it might not necessarily be alters, or a system, but trauma can have a really wide range of effects on your brain and theres a spectrum of ways it can manifest. if this one is compelling you to dig into it, then you should i think! its not like youre taking resources out of other peoples mouths, it really doesnt work like that.

anyway ive been typing for so long i dont remember if i had a good conclusive wrap up so! if you have any questions just lmk :->

[bohdiemakesmusic]

Dropping out, and other miscellaneous thoughts.

It sure has been a while, hm? Truth be told I haven't been working on anything at all. I've been violently depressed, and without getting too much into it, I'll say I'm glad to still be here, and have the people by side that I do. Anyway! I'm making a post because I need to just talk at no-one I feel. I've decided to pull the plug on my Batchelors degree in Music and Sound Production, and it's been a big mix of emotions. One part of me feels mad at myself for quote unquote "giving up", another part of me feels proud that I've finally pulled the trigger, another part of me feels exhausted and burnt out from all the music I've had to do for a grade, and another part of me feels excited for what the future holds. I decided to take up drawing this year, after being endlessly jealous of my wonderful partner's ability to produce lines that build such gorgeous pieces of art, I decided that it's time I learn. It's not been going too badly, all things considered.

This is one of my Pathfinder characters, Ume Shiveren, a half-orc Bloodrager with a dead parent, a bankrupt blacksmith, a disgraced name, and conflicting morals out to hunt and kill a man by the name of Gaedrin Lamm.

and this is an unfinished practice piece that I got mad at and decided I didn't really want to finish. It's no-one in particular. That's basically all I have to say/show at the moment! I'm getting better day by day, working things out as I go along, so bare with me whilst I get back on my feet.