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gvbejvmes · 4 years ago

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Task: Adjective

Title: Artistic Rating: PG-13 Characters: Gabriel James-Michaels, Francis James, Nancy Conrad/James/Scott, Georgiana James Adams, Cesar “Flaco” Rodriguez, Bella James, Jonathan James-Michaels, Other family referenced Pairings: Implied Gabriel James/Nancy Conrad, Gabriel James-Michaels Warnings: The usual Francis James warnings for child abuse/endangerment and homophobia. Summary: 5 times someone saw the artistic side of Gabriel, and 1 time he saw himself as artistic.

Artistic [ahr-tis-tik], adj: 1) conforming to the standards of art; satisfying aesthetic requirements, 2) showing skill or excellence in execution, 3) exhibiting an involvement in or appreciation of art, especially the fine arts, 4) of art or artists, 5) of, like, or thought of as characteristic of an artist.

1980

This was the last place in the world Francis James wanted to be. Needing to close the store early to go to the elementary school was pretty low down on his list of priorities, but it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter. The school had insisted on this parent/teacher conference, and there was no way in hell Maria was going. She was pregnant and had a two year old to take care of; home was where she belonged. Besides, if he sent Maria to this meeting, she was likely to miss something important. His wife was an above average homemaker, but she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. This was something he needed to do, and if it was important, he’d tell Maria about it later.

“Gabriel is a very special boy.” The kindergarten teacher began. She’d told him her name at some point, but Francis couldn’t be bothered to remember it. Anyone who taught kindergarten wasn’t a real teacher anyway; they were a glorified babysitter. He didn’t like the way she talked about his son. Sure, his son was a bit on the special side, his bizarre relationship with his sister being a contributing factor, but who was this woman, this stranger to call his son special? He knew what that meant from the way she phrased it.

When it was clear she wasn’t able to figure out what to say next, Francis decided to take pity on her. “Are you trying to tell me that my boy’s r***rded?” That wasn’t something Francis would have guessed. He was a bit of a sissy, but that was his mother’s doing. She babied him and allowed him to get away with bullshit like playing with her make up. It was behavior that could be corrected with a good belt. He wouldn’t consider being a pansy the same as being a r***rd.

The teacher seemed flustered all of a sudden. “No! I didn’t mean special like that Mr. James.” She tried to soothe over, looking as out of place as Frances felt. “What I should have said was that Gabriel sees the world differently than the other students in my class.” The teacher continued on before pulling out a couple of what he assumed were his son’s drawings.

One of them was a coloring sheet with the outline of an apple. It was only half-filled, the color only filling the edges. The other drawing was black crayon with white circles pressed into it.

“Gabriel hasn’t been able to complete a single one of our art assignments. And when it’s time for art to finish, he refuses to stop. This piece-” She gestured to the apple. “Took the entirety of art. When I asked him why he didn’t finish coloring it in, he told me that apples are many colors and that he was trying to get the reds just right. And this one-” She gestured to the black drawing. “Was supposed to be a star. We were practicing our shapes, but he didn’t want to draw a ‘fake’ star. He only wanted to draw what they really looked like. Mr. James, have you thought perhaps about homeschooling Gabriel? There are plenty of art classes where his talents will be fostered.”

And there it was again. This art bullshit. It was the constant scribbling and coloring he insisted on doing. Boys weren’t supposed to be artistic. They were supposed to be strong and masculine. His son was supposed to be playing sports and playing in the mud. This shit was not what little boys were supposed to do.

“I’ll take care of Gabriel.” Francis promised. “Don’t worry about him.”

1990

“Is it just me or did Gabriel James get hot over the summer?” It was the first day of school and Nancy Conrad was taking inventory of how summer treated everyone. If she wanted to continue to give the senior girls a run for their money, she needed to know everything about everyone in the junior class. There were a couple of girls she needed to keep an eye out for. Girls who left sophomore year with no boobs and who were entering junior year with boobs. There was a chance they could try to compete with her, and she was not going to allow that to happen.

She leaned against the bank of lockers as Rachel Gilroy stuck pictures up. To their right, Tiffany Owens leaned against the lockers as she filed her nails. These were her girls. They made the cheerleading team together, and next year they would absolutely be the girls ruling that squad. There was no one Nancy trusted more in the world than Rachel and Tiffany. They’d been friends since they were kids and would continue to be friends; Nancy just knew it.

Tiffany made a dismissive sound. “I think you’re barking up the wrong tree there, Nanc. I don’t think you’re his type.” She continued shaping her nail for a moment, but Nancy was convinced that Tiffany was just leaving her to stew. “I sat next to him in English. He’s… artistic. He spent the whole time doodling.”

Rachel closed her locker and shot Tiffany a confused look. “What’s wrong with that? I doodle in my English notebook, too.” And it was more or less along the lines of what Nancy was thinking.

The sound of the nail file stopped, and Tiffany looked at both of them. She looked frustrated, like Nancy and Rachel weren’t getting what she was trying to say. “No, I mean he’s artistic. You know, like… artistic.” When it became very clear that Nancy and Rachel still didn’t understand, Tiffany rolled her eyes. “I think he’s a f*g.”

Nancy froze. She’d never met anyone who was gay before, but she’d seen movies. She knew what gay was supposed to look like, but Gabriel didn’t fit that stereotype. He was hot, and he played Varsity baseball. If Tiffany thought he was gay, well, then, maybe that wasn’t a friend she needed in her life after all.

“I bet you he’s not.” She smirked at her friend. “I can guarantee that by the time I’m through with him, there won’t be an artistic bone in his body left.”

2000

There was something about watching G paint that had always been mesmerizing to Georgie. It was like he went off to another place every time. The new No Doubt CD echoed throughout the garage as G knelt on the ground, pouring melted crayon onto a canvas. He worked quickly, moving the colors around before they set. When a color set too soon, he would stop, hold his lighter over the spot, and move the wax around until it did what he wanted. He was so focused when he worked, and it was like watching someone dance with the way his arms moved about the canvas.

CJ was hitched up on her hip, watching as her dad worked. The toddler was quiet, watching G with the same intensity as she watched Beauty and the Beast with her sister. They were supposed to be calling him in for lunch, but it was hard to interrupt him when he was in the zone like this. A part of Georgie couldn’t help but to wonder if this was how people felt when they watched Picasso or Michelangelo work. Her brother was going to be a big name one day. She just knew it. With his talent, he deserved so much more than the life he’d been given.

“Are you guys just going to hover or did you want to see what I’m working on?” And G always did seem to know where his kids were whenever they were in the same room. He always seemed to know where Georgie was, too, but she pushed that thought aside and instead brought her niece closer to where her brother was working.

She blinked as she finally was able to get a better look at what he was working on. It wasn’t a canvas like she had thought. It looked like he was using the easel DJ had broken last week as a canvas. He’d sanded it down and it was the easel that he was pouring the paint onto. She’d never seen anything like it before, and she swore one of the figures he was creating almost looked like -

“Aunt G, it’s you!” CJ screamed out in absolute delight. She touched the melted crayon, and G let her, using his daughter’s pudgy fingers to pat down the wax just right. “Daddy, you draw me, too?”

G laughed as he put his tools off to the side. “Not today, princess. Another time.” He promised before scooping CJ out of Georgie’s arms. “Is it time for lunch?”

CJ nodded. “YES! Grilled cheeses!” And she announced it like it was the best food ever.

As they retreated back into the house, Georgie continued to stare at the painting. Her fingers lightly traced the outline of her own face. She would never understand the language her brothers seemed to be able to speak - Eli with his machines and G with his ability to turn normal objects into, well, this. She didn’t understand how they could just look at something and know what it could be. It wasn’t a skill she had been gifted like them.

“You’re not supposed to touch art, you know.” G drawled from where he was leaning against the doorjamb, CJ no longer in sight. “Do you like it?” He asked softly as he wandered back over to the painting. Next to the figure of Georgie, another figure was in the early stages of being sketched out.

She nodded slowly, her fingers never leaving the canvas. “You see me differently than I see me.” Georgie’s voice was soft. “You see something feminine and I see something that’s not.”

G’s hand slipped into hers. “Georgie…” He started out, but she shook her head - stopping him.

“I know what you’re going to say. It’s the same damn thing the doctor said, and D said. Being infertile doesn’t make me any less of a woman. Yeah, yeah yeah.” She huffed out a harsh breath. “Men can procreate. Even Satan herself can have kids and I’m just… broken.”

It was quiet. G was either waiting for her to say something or he just didn’t know what to say. With him, it could be either. She couldn’t always read him.

“Who are you going to put here?” She slipped her hand out of her brother’s and instead stepped even closer to the drawing, trying to make out what his stray marks meant. The bodies looked like they were coming from the same crayon, from the same body. Like they were born the same. “Not D.”

G shrugged. “I haven’t really planned that far ahead. I’m just letting it happen.”

Georgie nodded. “That explains all the marks. You’ve always hated painting yourself. This is how you see me, right?” She took a step back. “Paint you like I see you.”

2010

“I don’t get it, man.” Of all the places Cesar had wanted to go while he was in New York, the MET had not been on his list of priority sites. He wanted to go to all the baseball stadiums near the city, and to Coney Island, and to Ellis Island, but a museum hadn’t been on his list of places he wanted to go. Hell, he wouldn’t have even known about the MET if Michaels hadn’t told him about it. It had taken a lot of pushing to get James to bring him to the MET, and when he did it was kind of scary. The staff acted almost like they were afraid of him, and they roped off the section of the museum Cesar had wanted to see .And it wasn’t like James was being a bitch. He was nice; they just knew who he was and wanted to be accommodating. It was insane.

There were other pieces in the room they were in, but not many. Cesar’s only focus was on the metal structure in the center of the room anyway. He walked around the cage, a replica of the cell they’d shared when they’d been incarcerated. “Why would you want to be reminded of that shit? The second I was out, I pretended like it never happened.” Sure, his wife brought it up from time to time when he was bugging her too much, but he didn’t give prison a second thought.

James pushed on a bar which gave way, allowing for Cesar to climb inside. “Lay down. If it makes you feel any better, I’ll get in there with you and we can pretend it’s old times.” He sounded sarcastic about it, but Cesar knew it was a real offer.

As soon as he laid down and looked up at the ceiling, he couldn’t help but to stare. He’d slept on the top bunk and had spent many nights counting the cracks in the cement. This was definitely an upgrade. The way James had painted it, he felt like he was outside. Not laying in a replica of a cell he’d once shared. “James… Hot damn.”

The other man laughed, and squatted down to his level. He didn’t crawl into the cell with him, but Cesar figured it would always be more difficult for James than it was for him. “It’s not about remembering where we were, Flaco. It’s about seeing the possibility - even in the worst places.”

He didn’t know if it was what he said or if it was how he said it. All he knew was that it had him laughing his ass off. “I thought you were gay in LA. Dude, New York has made you extra gay.” He managed out between laughs.

“Guess I’m not showing you where Dodgers stadium used to be then. No Ebbets Field for you.” James managed out, pulling a face.

Cesar scrambled out of the cage, still laughing. “Don’t you dare. It’s the Mecca man. Holy ground. I need to take some dirt back to Mama.” He said, before sobering up. “James… how come you didn’t want me to know that you made it? You’re a fixture at a world famous museum. Why aren’t you screaming it from the Empire State?”

His friend shrugged. “It just happened. It’s not a big deal.” But he could tell from his face that it was definitely a big deal.

“We are very different people.” Cesar said with a shake of his head. “Very different people.”

2020

Bella James mostly liked going to school. She liked the days she got to go to art school with GG best. Even if he was the teacher and she had to share him with the class. Regular school was okay, too. She guessed. They got to play a lot and sing. She liked to sing. It reminded her of Mommy. And it was the same as her cousins. And sometimes they did art too. She didn’t like that art as much. It wasn’t as fun as GG’s art. The teachers didn’t like when she said that though.

Today was a day they had art, and she was coloring and coloring. Daddy’s Day was coming up and they were supposed to draw a picture of their daddies for a present. She didn’t have a Daddy to draw anymore, but she had a GG. And his real name was Dad so he definitely counted as a Daddy.

The white piece of construction paper sitting in front of her was perfect for what she wanted to do. She picked up a blue crayon and started coloring. She tried to do big swooshy lines like one of GG’s pictures. After the blue, she added green swooshes before picking up a black crayon and drawing a box around her swooshes. Her tongue stuck out of her mouth as she evaluated her work.

Drawing GG was always the hard part. Sometimes he had hair; sometimes he cut it all off. Sometimes he had whiskers; sometimes his face had a big beard like Santa. Even still, sometimes his face felt like skin. That one was weird; she didn’t like that one. Right now he had hair and some whiskers, but not a Santa beard.

With a nod she started drawing his head first. Black hair. Then gray over top. Gold eyes. A nose. A mouth with his ciggy pop. Then she did a black shirt and drew jeans. No shoes. GG didn’t like shoes either. Then, his arms. His arms were hard to color. He had too many pictures on his arms.

Once she was done, she smiled. GG was going to like it. She just knew it. The teacher didn’t seem to like her drawing, but she knew GG would. It was him and one of his own pictures. If Billy could draw his Daddy riding a bike, then she could draw her GG making art. She couldn’t very well draw him making kissy faces with Grandpa Jay. That would be weird. And he only ever did two things.

When she gave the picture to him later he really liked it and even said the words Mommy said she wasn’t supposed to copy. He even hung it up in the room where he made art. He said art should be surrounded by art before tickling Bella’s face with whisker kisses. She liked when GG was happy. It made her happy, too.

Present Day

Currently there was a bridge in Gabe’s home studio. It wasn’t like it was permanent or anything. Just semi-permanent he supposed. It had wheels that locked in place when he needed them to. It was high enough where he could sit above large pieces for better coverage, but low enough that he was actually able to work from it. Usually he used it for pour pieces, or if he was building something and needed a little extra height. Today he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing.

He was laying on his stomach, hovering over his current project which had accidentally taken up most of his studio. It was so large that he was going to have to figure out how he was eventually going to get it out of his studio, but that was a problem for another day. A large piece of plywood was on the floor, pieces of wood lining the edges, like he was pouring concrete. On top of it was a six foot by six foot canvas (okay, a couple of smaller canvases carefully superglued together) lay in the middle of the room. On the bridge with him, he had a container with carefully layered acrylic paint, a container of an oil and additive mixture, a container of white paint, and a container of bleach.

The corners had been where he started. He saturated the canvas in bleach, wanting to see how it would affect the next step. Then he had poured the oil. He wasn’t sure how well the oil would do, even with the additives. The goal was for something solid, but translucent. After the oil, he poured the paint mixture. The colors had spread nicely, and he was sure that when he looked at the cameras mounted in the corners of the room, he would have some good shots for YouTube and TikTok.

Now, he was pouring white paint into the spots where paint hadn’t settled yet. Currently it was just a wet mess, but there was potential. If his drying experiment worked, it could turn out nice.

As he worked a white light began to flash by the door. It had been a compromise for having his home studio in the house. A light in the studio was rigged to flash one color when someone rang the house doorbell, and another color when someone hit the buzzer outside the studio door. It was the only way he wouldn’t be scared out of his fucking mind when someone was trying to get his attention. He’d destroyed more than a couple potential pieces due to getting so caught up in his work and not realizing someone was there. This system worked better than anything else they’d found. He’d always responded better to light than sounds anyway.

He probably looked insane. His hair was sticking in every direction. His glasses were in his hair somewhere. The parts of his face not covered by his respirator were dotted in paint. Hell, his respirator had more paint on it than was probably healthy, too. He was wearing pink dish washing gloves, but his arms were still covered in paint, as were his ancient jeans, and his bare feet. He probably should have put on his coveralls on, but he actually hadn’t realized how messy this project was really going to be.

“Wear a mask if you’re coming in. The paint fumes are pretty bad. The additives attached to the paint molecules and it’s pretty toxic up in here.” He warned. Due to the materials he worked with, the studio door was always locked when he was in here. If it was Bella at the door, she would have an adult with her, but she knew if the door was closed, she wasn’t supposed to bother him anyway.

A couple of minutes later, his husband walked into the room, snapping the baby gate in place behind him. Bella knew not to come into the room, but if the door was open, the dogs would try. The baby gate had definitely helped with that.

“You were not kidding about the smell. How are your eyes not watering?” Jay blinked a couple of times before coming over to the bridge to get a better look at what Gave was working on. “Is it bonding?” He slid his hands up the back of his thighs as he stared at the paint for a couple of minutes.

“No.” Gabe admitted, sounding too sullen for his own good. More often than not his art experiments didn’t work, but he had done a few smaller test pieces and thought this one would work. Maybe the canvas and plywood combination wasn’t strong enough for all the paint. “I have a combination of sealer and resin I’m going to pour, but I think it needs to set before I try that.”

There was a quick swat to his ass as his husband pulled away from him. “Good. The girls made dinner.” He must have pulled a face because Jay continued on. “It is, unfortunately, inedible. Juliet just got back with pizza.”

He wanted to be surprised that he lost six hours, but it happened when he got pulled into a project. “Oh thank fuck.” He sat up and pulled his gloves off, dropping them onto the bridge before shimmying onto the ground. “I’m starved.”

His husband didn’t respond. The other man was watching the colors shift under the soft light lamp in the room. It didn’t surprise Gabe at all. He could always tell if a piece was worth continuing by the look on Jay’s face. All the critics in the world could fuck off. The only reaction and feedback he ever needed was from Jay. He swore that he could live off his reactions to his art alone.

Setting his glasses down on one of his work stations, he picked up another piece of plywood. “Help me put this over the frame? Juliet’s asshole cat keeps figuring out how to get in here.” He’s pretty sure it wasn’t until he moved around that Jay noticed the state he was currently in.

“Yeah, you’re going to need to shower before you come anywhere near the dining room.”

Gabe laughed. “You gonna come in with me and make sure I get all the paint off?” He wagged his eyebrows at him.

“Briel, the girls are right outside.” His husband replied, but he could see the amusement on his features.

He huffed, but he probably would have been more surprised if he’d said yes. Grabbing his paint splattered phone, he started towards the door that led into the wet room, instead of the door Johnny had come in through. “Hey, Jay?” The second his husband looked in his direction, he snapped a quick photo. “For the reference folder.”

As he closed the door to the wet room, he heard two things. The first was his husband muttering something about him being incorrigible. The other was the sound of the wood being shifted. It was the last sound that put the smile on Gabe’s face.

Even if he couldn’t get the paint to set, this piece was a winner.

#drabble #CJ tasks #pairing: Gabe/Johnny #pairing: Gabe/Nancy

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ensoua · 5 years ago

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hii!!! im opening up commissions! dm me if interested

paypal, usd only

here is my tos

here is my deviantart

text prices + full tos below cut

tips are appreciated!

fully shaded:

bust: 10 usd

half body: 15 usd

full body: 20 usd

flat colors:

bust: 8 usd

half body: 10 usd

full body: 12 usd

lineart:

bust: 5 usd

half body: 6 usd

full body: 7 usd

sketch:

bust: 2 usd

half body: 4 usd

full body: 5 usd

transparent/simple bg: free

complex bg: +10 usd

add a character: +50%

FULL TOS: PLEASE READ BEFORE ORDERING

by commissioning me you agree to these following rules. breakage of these rules may result in a ban. usage of art: - must be credited in an easily visible place if reposted/used as an icon (ie uploading watermarked version/typing out credit -- preferably both) my social media is listed on my page - edits are acceptable as long as they do not distort any part of the art's proportions, and you only claim the edit as your own (ie - color palette edits are okay, but editing actual lines/anatomy is not) - you may only edit/use commissions paid for by you, unless the character featured is transferred to you, or if the commission was a gift to you. (commissioner must be clear who the gift is for) - i hold the right upload the commissions myself, unless you request not to. payment and pricing: - prices are subject to change at any point when there are not any pending commissions - please pay at least half after the sketch is completed, (unless requested commission is only a sketch, then all of the money must be paid upfront) and the rest of the money after the commission is completed - paypal, usd only - refunds are available up until the art is done. however, depending on how far i got into the art will determine how much you get refunded - refunds i give (not requested by you) will be 100% of what you paid will draw: - humanoids (most experienced in less muscular characters) - fanart (however, some media is banned. please say where a character is from when requesting a commission) - anthros + feral (at a discounted price) - ship art won't draw: - nsfw/fetish art - mecha/armor (not good at it) - hardcore gore (other than blood, if something is outside the body that should be inside, i will not draw it) - anything bigoted/that makes me uncomfortable (racism, pedophilia, lgbtphobia, etc) - anything related to fascist parties/the military/the cops - ship art of characters i don't know other tos: - any edits requested in the sketching process are free. minor edits (can be fixed in less than 10 minutes) past sketching are free, any other edits will be priced depending on how big the edit is. - no specific deadline. i will try to work as fast i can - please give a visual reference for both the character(s) and the pose -- even "bad" drawings will work, as long as i can make out what's going on - you may request as many updates as you want, but every wip sent will be heavily watermarked - please don't be rude. i am not needing the money that badly, and i will not feel bad for blocking you - i can turn down any commission request, and am not obligated to tell you why i refused

#commissions #my art #reblogs appreciated!#holly.txt

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yoon-kooks · 6 years ago

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Blossom🌸- pt.2

Pairing: Stripper!Jimin x Reader

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Stripper!AU, College!AU

Summary: You decide to give the strip club another chance when your stripper neighbor promises to give you a special treat afterwards.

Warnings: lap dances, stripping, dry humping, blindfolds, thigh riding

Word Count: 4.9k

⤐ Story 2 in the Blossom!Universe; Read Blossom-pt.1 on my masterlist!

A/N: i cant believe i actual wrote d** h****** but it be like that sometime 😔

You’re not one to believe in love so easily, but your latest art assignment calls for something with “pure love”, and what you’re witnessing comes pretty close. So you casually pull out your sketchbook and begin outlining a rough sketch of the scene in front of you.

Your subjects wrestle around, unaware of your gaze, drowning each other in kisses and affection. She sits on top of him as she nips at his skin. He chuckles as he blocks her little bites until he can no longer resist, succumbing to her demands for more attention.

The giggles only stop several minutes later when one of your subjects finally takes notice of you with your pencil in hand.

“Drawing me again, huh?” Jimin sits up on his bed and glances over at you while his white puppy continues to lick his chin. “What’s the assignment this time?”

“To draw something that symbolizes pure love,” you wave the boy over to come take a look at your sketchbook. Intrigued by the topic, Jimin hops off the bed.

“Oh? Am I what comes to mind when you think of pure lo-” He meant to tease you about your potential crush on him, but he can only laugh when he sees your idea of pure love. Him playing with his puppy.

“So pure, right?” You point out a couple of things you’re especially proud of, like the details on the puppy’s paw pads and the feathering of its wagging tail.

“Right…” His lips slowly fall into the shape of a pout as he examines your sketch further. “But why did you draw her so much better than you drew me?”

You know he’s just messing with you, but the dedicated artist in you takes Jimin’s criticism to heart. Looking back at your sketch, it’s true that his body came out looking a lot more underdeveloped like a stick person next to a very realistic puppy with individual strokes of fur. And as funny as it is to look at, it’s a technical issue with your art that you’ve been trying to fix.

“I already told you I have a lot more experience drawing animals than I do with humans,” you explain. It’s not that you’re necessarily terrible at drawing humans, but your lack of comfort with them really shows in comparison to animals. That’s why you’ve recruited your stripper neighbor as your muse to help you find that comfort.

“I guess you just need more experience with humans then,” Jimin cocks his head to the side, not-so-subtly taking your hand into his. He attempts to interlace his fingers with yours, but you can’t take a hint so he settles for a very friendzoned handshake. “Think about it: you started with drawing only animals, then you drew me a couple of times, and then you moved up to animal-to-human interactions. Shouldn’t the next step be human-to-human interactions?”

“You have a point,” you nod, rather enjoying the pleasant feeling of holding his hand. “But I only have one human model, aka you.”

The boy stares your hands still clasped together and laughs, “Are you not a human?”

“I can’t be my own model and draw at the same time…” You do a messy scribbling gesture with your free hand.

“You don't have to draw at the same time,” Jimin captures your free hand and pulls you down onto the bed with him. You’d think laying on a bed with a stripper would be overwhelming for someone as wholesome as yourself, but you do get a sense of ease with him. Maybe it’s his eyesmile, or the clumps of dog fur on his dark shirt that remind you he’s still your dorky boy next door. Either way, you feel comfortable because it’s him you’re with. “Just experience it with me.”

“Experience what?” You feel his warmth radiating towards your body. Another pleasant feeling. “Handholding? Hugs? Kisses? Cuddling? Sleeping together? Se-”

“A lot of things if you’d like,” Jimin shushes you with an alluring stare. “Do you want to do all those things?”

“That would be ideal, yes,” you nod eagerly. If it means your art will feel more authentic and sentimental, you’d gladly engage in these interactions with Jimin. “For science, of course.”

“Right… for science…” He gives you a thumbs-up, although the corners of his lips seem to curve downward.

The frown doesn’t sit well with you, so you wiggle your hands out of his grasp and simply mirror them against his palms. Slowly you interlace each of your fingers between his, one-by-one until there’s no finger left behind. You pay special attention to the boy’s expression when you do this, but it softens less than you had hoped.

“Actually…” Jimin say, breaking the handhold. He runs his fingers through his hair a couple of times before rolling off the bed. “I forgot about work.”

“Oh right…” It’s your turn to frown. You forgot about it too. Not just the fact that the boy has work in an hour, but also that his job requires him to satisfy the naughty needs of other people besides yourself. You’re not the only one who wants a taste of Park Jimin. “I should let you go then.”

Jimin watches as you gather your art supplies off his desk and crouch down to say farewell to the white puppy. He doesn’t say anything until your hand is on the doorknob. “You can tag along if you’d like, Y/N.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I really shouldn’t g-” Your eyes and mind drift away as the boy strips his shirt off with his back to you. You never knew back muscles could look like that—good to know for future reference. After he throws on a clean shirt free of dog fur, however, you push the boy’s toned body out of mind to finish your sentence. “I shouldn’t go since strip clubs aren’t really my thing, remember? Besides, I need to work on this art assignment some more. It’s due in a week.”

“A week is more than enough time,” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you and your sketchbook. “And do I need to remind you that the strip club is where you found art inspiration in me? So it couldn’t hurt to go again, right?”

You don’t answer him because you feel like it could hurt to go again. Not in regards to your art, but to something else.

“If you come, I’ll treat you to something really special afterwards. How about that?” He holds out his hand, giving you one last chance to change your mind. The special treat is tempting, especially if it’s your favorite sweet dessert. Besides, you’ve been working diligently with your art, so you know you’ve earned yourself a treat of some sort. And if Jimin is thoughtful enough to offer you that treat, who are you to refuse?

After a back and forth debate in your head, you finally take his hand and allow yourself to be pulled back to the place where you and the boy first met.

“What’s this special treat you’re talking about?”

“Oh you’ll see,” the boy snickers in a rather sinister tone.

Something about the strip club has changed since your first visit. There are still attractive strippers, there are still generous tippers, and there’s still your favorite spot in the secluded corner of the room. But it’s the whole vibe that’s changed. You don’t feel as intimidated by the sweaty bare bodies of the strippers or the thirsty screams of the audience. It could be because, unlike before, you know you’re not alone this time.

Jimin sits you down at your favorite spot and waits for you to get all situated with your sketchbook. “Can I buy you a drink before I have to go get ready for the show?”

“Just some water, please,” you say. The boy only laughs at your innocent response before disappearing into the crowd to fetch your requested beverage from the bar. After a short minute, your eye catches him striding back with a fancy glass of ice water in hand. He isn’t doing anything special, but he still manages to look stunning amongst everyone else. You even notice he’s turning quite a few heads, despite all the on-duty strippers vying for their attention. It’s as if the spotlight’s on him.

“Y/N, you’re already drooling and I haven’t even performed yet,” he teases as he hands you your water. You chug it down, hoping to relieve your thirst, but it’s not enough.

“Then go,” you give him a light shove with a hmph to send him off. “I’ll be waiting for my special treat afterwards.”

“Anticipate it, Kitten.” He has the audacity to not only call you Kitten, but also give you the cockiest smirk you have ever witnessed before heading backstage. You suppose that’s just his flirty stripper switch turning on.

Once you finally have some time to yourself, you sip on your water, casually people-watching from your quiet corner. The rest of the room is flooded with excitement, flashing with sparking lights, a mixure of moving color. If you had to pick a color palette for a strip club, what would it be? That depends on whether a certain boy is in the room or not.

You glance over to a familiar mint-haired stripper getting intimate with a gorgeous female in a nearby booth. She bites her ruby red lips, snaking her arms around his waist and pulling him closer to slip a generous handful of cash into his ass pocket. As thanks, the stripper hovers over her lap with swaying hips to the beat of the stereo as he lets her hands explore his bare upper half. Their eyes are locked, exchanging looks of… lust? Satisfaction? Greed? As a mere bystander, you’re unsure of the mood, so your color palette would be a rainbow muddled with a lot of grey area.

“Oh I remember you, Baby Picasso.” The mint stripper somehow made his way over to your corner while you were busy swatching your palette. The nearly blank page in your sketchbook catches his eye. “Here to draw our Jiminie again?” Yes.

“Not necessarily,” you say. “But he was the one who brought me back here.”

“Ah, customer loyalty at its finest,” he nods. “That kid attracts most of our regulars.”

“Is he really that popular?”

“I’m sure you’ve noticed the aura’s different when he’s on stage.” He leans over your table and points at your grey-toned swatches in the corner of the sketch page. “Doesn’t it feel like the club becomes more… vibrant when Jiminie’s around?”

“It does, doesn’t it,” you press a finger to your lips as the wheels start turning in your head.

“But don’t let yourself get too caught in The Jiminie Effect. Otherwise you might end up getting hurt.” The mint stripper shrugs at you before the arm of a bold customer swipes him away. “Let me know if you ever want a taste of The Suga Rush, Baby Picasso~”

You wanted to ask what he meant by “getting hurt” from Jimin, but you’re pretty sure you already know. Jimin is an incredibly charming boy with a way of captivating an entire room, and you’re happy he’s found success as a popular stripper. That being said, you can’t help but also feel a little disheartened that there are so many others who share the same feelings for him.

Regardless, you’re at the strip club to support Jimin and collect the special treat that he promised you. Surely your relationship with the boy holds a bit more weight than the others. So you decide to get out of your own head.

Scarlet red. That’s the color you see when Jimin comes out onto the main stage with a silky red blindfold covering his eyes. The first thing you think is: wow, how the fuck is this guy not tripping or falling off the stage when he can’t even see in front of him? The second thing you think is: tiddies.

His open blazer flashes his nipples (and the rest of his gorgeous chest) as he graces the stage. It honestly looks more like a sensual take on contemporary dance rather than stripping at first. Even his hip thrusts have a flare of elegance to them. After all, Jimin’s a contemporary dance student, but the way he incorporates such a graceful genre of dance into his stripping performance shows how much of an artist he truly is.

But once the blindfold comes off, so does everything else. Jimin’s killer gaze, in addition to his taunting tongue, earns him a shower of bills on the floor of the stage as his performance comes to a close. Unlike the other strippers at the club, he does not interact as closely with the audience or make his rounds through the room. Instead, he makes a proposal.

“Tonight, I’m doing something a little different.” He picks his blindfold up off the floor and strokes it as he speaks to the audience. “I’ll be giving one lucky person a private lap dance and-”

An eruption of screams fills the room along with a surge of money being waved around before Jimin can even finish his sentence. He waits for everyone to quiet down, but the aroused crowd does the opposite. The rowdiness persists because everyone’s trying to be louder than the person next to them in order to catch their favorite stripper’s attention. That must be The Jiminie Effect.

And although the boy never got to finish his explanation, you assume the private lap dance has something to do with the red blindfold in his hand and will most likely be given to the highest tipper. Lucky them, you suppose.

Rather than throw some of your nonexistent money at the boy, you instead take the opportunity to do some quick sketches of Jimin’s contemporary performance while it’s still fresh in your memory. You want to capture his fluid motions and his undying passion for performing. With all of this and the blindfold in mind, you decide on a color palette. Scarlet red, a color of burning passion and sensuality, is an obvious pick. However, there’s another color you wish to incorporate-

When you take a peek back up at the stage for that other color, you’re surprised to see Jimin staring right at you, despite a huge sum of money being waved right in front of him by an expensive-looking woman. He mouths something for you to interpret.

“You,” his lips read.

“Me?” You don’t exactly know how to feel about the situation, but it doesn’t sit well with you. “Not me.”

He nods at you, still wanting it to be you.

You shake your head to end the conversation, but when people start turning around in your direction to see who has Jimin’s attention, you get up from your seat. Not to take Jimin up on his offer, but to excuse yourself from the club. You dislike strip clubs after all.

Back at your dorm, you sit at your desk, fleshing out some of your sketches of the blindfolded Jimin. You sculpt out his toned body and shade in a vibrant red flare to emphasize his illuminating aura on stage. Even then, your sketch is missing something. You’re missing something.

Knock. You check the time on your clock. It’s just past midnight, right around the time you’d assume strip clubs close for the night.

“Hi-” Jimin tries to say, but you close the door as soon as you open it.

Knock. You don’t open the door this time, so the boy starts talking from the other side.

“Y/N, I know you’re mad at me, but I-”

“Of course I’m mad at you,” you make a tsk sound. “I can’t believe you were going to choose me over all that money in front of you. Didn’t you see that Gucci lady at the front waving the wad of cash with your name on it? You almost gave up all that money for me. Fool.”

There’s a pause of silence before Jimin tries another attempt at getting you to open the door. Knock.

You open the door this time. The boy has a puzzled expression on his face.

“Wait, you’re not mad that your special treat went to someone else?” He blinks at you.

“A lap dance was the special treat you were talking about earlier?” You give him a duck face because you’ve made a grave mistake. “I thought we were getting ice cream or something.”

“Uhh well… we could get ice cream if you really want to? But my intention was for you to take that lap dance. It was meant for you, you know,” he chuckles over his failed plan.

“I really didn’t realize it was meant for me… I guess I’m really that dense, aren’t I?” Now you feel bad for thinking you’d be getting ice cream over a lap dance. Jimin was only trying to show that you were special to him, and you rejected him like an oblivious idiot. “I’m sorry, Jimin. If I had known, I’d-”

“We can still do it if you’d like.” He pulls out a silky red cloth from his pocket. “Perks of having a stripper neighbor, right?” You nod.

Waiting on your bed, you watch as the boy tries to hype himself up with the blindfold in his fists.

“I can help you tie it behind your head if you want.” You hop up from the bed to help him, but you’re wrong again. He backs you up until the back of your knees hit your bedframe and your ass falls onto the mattress. Suddenly his thighs surround your lap and his abs are in your face. Thankfully he decided to keep his shirt on for this one.

“Can I put the blindfold on you?” He dangles the red cloth before your eyes. It was for you, not him. And as intimidating as it is to make yourself so vulnerable, you’re intrigued.

“Sure… but you don’t want me to watch you?” You take one last look at his seductive gaze and voluptuous lips before your eyes are covered by the soft yet very kinky fabric.

“It’s something new that I wanted to try,” Jimin speaks in his normal voice before switching over to a lower, more suggestive tone. “As an artist, you rely a lot on your sight, right? Well I’m curious to see which senses will come alive when we take away your sight.”

Right away, you sniff out an alluring aroma of warm spices with naughty undertones. The blindfold must be drenched in cologne, but why are you only noticing it now? Or perhaps it’s the boy’s own intoxicating scent that you’re being enticed by. Either way, you must really like the scent because your nose is twitching like a bunny to get a better whiff.

The aroma continues to grow stronger as you feel finger tips graze ever so slightly against the back of your hand. The chilling sensation tickles more than anything, but then the boy lifts your hands and places them right at his waist.

“Tug if you want me closer, Kitten,” he whispers into your ear to give you a taste of the closeness before leaning back. Naturally, your eager little fingers curl into the threads of his shirt and tug as suggested. There’s a smooth shift in the boy’s body hovering over you. The soft sounds of his clothes rustling give you an indication of how close he must be.

To put it in perspective, you decide it’s a good idea to paint a picture of the scene in your head. A gorgeous boy is performing a lap dance on top of you as you sit blindfolded on the bed. His hands are pressed into the mattress on either side of you, his hips roll in a fluid motion, and his body grinds against an invisible wall that separates his crotch from yours. The mere thought of being under him is making it difficult for you to sit still.

You tug again and recline your back for Jimin to follow. The seams of his jeans drag gently along your outer thighs. His hot breaths tickle the exposed skin down your neck. “Do you want to feel me like this?” No, you want more.

Your fingers stray away from the boy’s hips, following the paths defined by his toned abdominals. Even through his shirt, you can easily map out the structure of his muscles, so you flesh out the details of the visual in your mind. This is much more engaging and “hands-on” than an anatomy textbook, you nod to yourself. But there seems to be a missed opportunity if the shirt stays on.

“Can you take off your shirt? For scientific purposes only.” You surprise yourself with the bold request, but the blindfold has made you feel some type of way. Shameless.

“Are you sure all of this is purely for science? Because I see you’ve already spread your legs out for me.” You hear a shirt being tossed aside before the mattress suddenly dips with something solid between your thighs. You assume it’s his knee when he nudges it into your crotch. Whatever it is, it’s making your body squirm for more contact.

“Maybe it’s a little more than just, uh, science.” You attempt to maintain a sturdy voice, but it’s hard not to pant when you’re overwhelmed with a heat you’ve never felt before.

“A little?” He questions you as his knee digs further into that spot between your legs. Oddly enough, you’re quite satisfied with the hot sensation created by all that friction, and you hope it doesn’t stop. “I think you’re more than a little wet down there, Kitten.”

“Oh,” you try to say, but it comes out more like a weak moan.

And of course, as soon as you show any sort of evidence of pleasure, Jimin decides to stop moving without saying a word. He stands there silently, probably smirking at how turned on he’s made you. He has to be teasing you, and you have to admit it’s working.

With his knee still wedged at your crotch, you situate yourself more towards his thigh and squeezes your own thighs around him. Your hips start moving on their own by instinct to find any sort of stimulation. It’s starts off as modest rocking back and forth against his body. You try to be subtle about it, as if the boy isn’t aware of your intentions. Surely riding his thigh whilst rubbing your wet lewd scents all over him won’t give it away.

“Oh, that’s your kink?” He sounds rather impressed. Once you finally find a good method and pace fore stimulating yourself on him, however, he pulls his knee back. “Let’s switch places.”

Next thing you know, your ass is sitting on top of Jimin’s lap with your legs wrapped around his waist for support. Without even thinking, your body continues to pleasure itself against boy, grinding and yearning for the wonders of sex.

You’d paint yourself a visual of the scene at hand to make everything more vivid, but you don’t really want to know what you must look like in such a helpless state. In times like this, you’re thankful for the blindfold-

“I wish you could see yourself, blindly humping and panting like a horny little puppy.”

You freeze at Jimin’s vivid narration of scene, regretfully imagining it as told. “Can I take the blindfold off?”

Unsure of whether you want to continue or end the stripper shenanigans once the blindfold comes off, the boy swiftly removes the cloth from your eyes and blinks at you. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust to the bright lights of your room, but when they’re back to normal, you remain seated in his lap and blink back at the shirtless boy.

For as intimate and steamy as it was a moment ago, neither of you know what to do or say. It’s a comfortable silence, although you do feel a bit embarrassed for showing the horny little puppy side of yourself to your neighbor. Besides that, you’re content. Your body finally relaxes, loosening its hold around the boy’s waist.

When Jimin comes to the conclusion that the stripper shenanigans are over, he lets out a chuckle to break the silence.

“What?” you pout.

“Nothing!” He throws his shirt back on, but not before you catch one last look of his tiddies and blossom tattoo. “Didn’t you say you wanted to get ice cream?”

“What were you laughing about earlier?” is the first thing you ask after taking a lick of your ice cream.

“You’re not gonna let that go, huh,” Jimin sighs into his strawberry sundae. “I was just laughing at you. Is that a crime, Officer?”

“But why?” You’d think you were holding an interrogation at your local late-night ice cream parlor. The boy in question rolls his eyes.

“You know how chemistry students always have to wear goggles during labs?”

“Yeah and when they take them off, they have this funny red imprint around their eyes,” you recall your old days in chem class. “Wait, are you trying to say I had funny red marks around my eyes after taking the blindfold off?”

Jimin shrugs.

“And that was funny to you?” You want to be annoyed by his childish humor, but you’re more so relieved that he wasn’t laughing about anything that happened while the blindfold was still on.

“It reminded me of how you always say it’s all for science,” he says, carving out a spoonful of strawberry syrup off the top of his ice cream with such precision. You know what he’s talking about—it’s your infamous excuse for wanting to get closer to the boy.

“Is it a crime for me to indulge in my scientific research, Officer Park?” You lick the ice cream off your lips with a playful tongue.

“Only if you abuse it,” he points at you as if to evoke fear before softening his expression. “But in your case, no.”

“Good.” You swipe a scoop of the boy’s sundae right in front of his face. “I don’t want you to think I’m just using you for your body so I can pass my art class...”

“I know that’s not the case, Y/N. Otherwise you wouldn’t have bothered with the whole blindfolded lap dance thing.” Jimin points to your ice cream cone, so naturally, you let him have a taste of it. “Because what’s the point of a handsome stripper giving you a lap dance if you can’t see what’s going on?”

“To feel things that you wouldn’t otherwise notice if you were too distracted by a naked body dancing over you?” you start munching on the waffle cone. “And by ‘feel things’, I mean emotions, not sexual pleasure. Just FYI.”

“Right, because you totally didn’t feel any sort of sexual pleasure while riding my thigh,” he nods.

“Right,” you nod along with a pretty good poker face. He’s on to you, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing what effect he has on your body. “Thank you, though, for not one, but two special treats.”

“There could’ve been a third if we’d just kept going-”

“Anyway,” you say, pulling out your sketchbook to change the subject. “That lap dance did give me some new art inspo.”

“It was quite the experience for a human-to-human interaction, huh.” Jimin scrapes the last bit of strawberry ice cream, watching as you flip through your sketches of him until you reach the ones from earlier that evening. You have a new color to add to the palette.

“Mhm,” you say, shading in the same color of the boy’s ice cream, the same color that his blossom tattoo represents. “But what do you think about this human-to-human interaction?” You wiggle your index finger back and forth between you and him.

“You mean us chatting over ice cream?” he asks and pauses for a second to think. “I like it. It’s a lot less, uh, intense than some of the other things you and I have done. But I like that.”

“Same. I think regardless of whether you’re a half-naked stripper or just a college kid eating ice cream, the world becomes more vibrant with you in it.” You flip your sketchbook around for Jimin to see.

“You drew me as a Super Saiyan?” He’s referring to his wicked blonde hair and the reddish-pink flare that surrounds his buff body. “Super Saiyans do make the world a better place, huh?”

“My human anatomy could still use some work, but you get the gist.” You don’t know whether to laugh or be offended by his weeb reference. Either way, he has a smug look on his face, as if being drawn as a Dragon Ball character is something to take pride in.

“Somehow the abs look super realistic though…” He strokes his nonexistent beard. “I wonder how that happened.”

You have flashbacks to when your fingers outlined a whole ass map of each individual muscle hiding beneath his shirt. You suppose your mental map translated well onto paper. “Yeah, that’s weird.”

“Let me know if you’re ever in need of another anatomy lesson,” he hums. “For science, right?”

“For science.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts fanfic #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #bts imagines #jimin #bts #bangtan #blossom

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cupidmarwani-archive · 5 years ago

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Summary: Sarah didn’t know she was going to get married, but now she has a wife from a bitter country and a palace that no longer feels so friendly as her coronation approaches.

Warnings: Smut, Mild Violence, Implied Past Abuse

(1/13)

Sarah finds out about it exactly six days, three hours, nine minutes, and thirty seven seconds ahead of time. She’s just enjoying her breakfast and looking over an unusually busy schedule for the day when her father clears his throat across the table.

“I’m dying,” he tells her.

“I’m aware.”

“You need to get married before you ascend to the throne.”

That part she doesn’t even deign to respond to. They’ve argued about this since she was old enough to conceptualize marriage. Some arrogant, irritating man with a heart of greed and a mildly favorable position in another court will be chosen for her. They’ll marry. They’ll have kids whether she wants them or not, as she was so unkindly told when she bled for the first time and cried to one of the maids because she thought she was dying.

“Sarah.”

“Father.”

“I’ve arranged for your nuptials.”

“I’m not getting married.”

“You’ll be married on Sunday.”

“No.”

She stabs a bite of her omelette rather viciously with a fork, and after a long moment of consideration, doesn’t bother to eat it. The conversation has sent her stomach rattling with butterflies, and for all she’s worth, she can’t shake a mixture of nausea and terror at the mere thought of a wedding, let alone one orchestrated by her father. She knows what sort of man he is. What he did to his first wife. Her mother. His third wife. His string of mistresses, here and there. Who’s to say the husband he has chosen for her will not be the same?

The first thing on her schedule is a dress fitting. She assumed it would be another for her coronation dress, the royal colors stitched together in the finest silks from kingdoms abroad and perfectly tailored to her, held for now by safety pins on the back because eventually, she will be hand-stitched into it by Natalie’s careful and gifted fingers. Natalie’s mother before her made Sarah’s mother’s wedding dress and all her ceremonial gowns. The gift, the talent was passed from mother to child. Sarah doesn’t know much about her own mother outside what’s on the photos lining walls and newspaper clippings that spoke of a great and noble woman from the court.

But this will be a wedding dress, and when she walks into the fitting chamber, Natalie has a spread of fabrics draped across the tables pushed against each wall. Some are a crisper white, others tinted a pale snowing blue, others falling toward a tawny cream. Fabric choices for the dress. Natalie herself sits on a stool finishing up a sketch.

“This is all we’ll be working on this week, the coronation dress is going to have to be on hold,” Natalie says. She sounds a little panicked. “I’ve narrowed it down to three designs already, and then we’ll choose a fabric and I’ll make a quick muslin to make sure you like it.”

“Did you know?”

Her lips pull into a sympathetic frown. “I just found out an hour ago. I’m sorry, Sarah.”

“Just show me the designs.”

The three thumbnails are all on the same page. One is mermaid style, Sarah recognizes that much. The next has a straight, but not form-fitting or puffy skirt that seems to be more conservative and catered to what her father would want her to wear. And there’s one with long sleeves and a mildly flared skirt, drawn with a slit up the center that reveals what appear to be pants as opposed to the plainly exposed feeling that skirts often leave her with. And it reminds her of something her mother would wear when walking among the people in old reports.

“I like this one.”

“I thought you would.” Natalie turns to a new page and marks it with her pencil before standing up and reaching for the thin muslin to get a thought on shaping. Tighter on the bodice, flaring at the waist. The pants look in the sketch to be more like leggings, or tights, so that’s something that will probably be a separate piece from the rest. Sarah’s not certain, she doesn’t know much about clothes. “Arms out.”

The fabric wraps around her waist and cinches tight before being fit with pins to make sure it’s proper. Sarah can’t breathe, but it’ll be slightly better once she doesn’t have this gown in between. Another of Natalie’s creations. She’ll likely be stuffed into a corset, too, and that’ll come into play during fittings later on. An assistant comes in to start pinning long sleeves. Another starts on her skirt. There isn’t time to leave this to just Natalie, no matter her talent, because they’ve been given less than a week’s notice about what will become of her.

“Warm, cool, or neutral white?”

“What will the groom be wearing?”

“Something traditional from his country, probably.” Natalie loosens the fabric right beneath her shoulder blades. “Rumor has it he’s from Jenia, so we’re expecting red.”

“Fertility and passion.”

“Something like that.”

Sarah hums and decides she wants a cool toned white. Maybe even a pale blue or mint, a subtle expression of her displeasure at this whole affair. Marriage. She’d rather die, if she had any idea what would happen to the kingdom in her absence. Any other successor her father could think of naming would destroy them.

“I want something green. Dark, actually. Think forest.”

“The king-”

“Isn’t getting married,” Sarah says firmly. “If I have to do this, I’ll do it my way, and I’m not going to wear white. He should be happy I don’t dress for mourning.”

“I’ll send someone for fabric.”

Natalie comes around to her front and pins the muslin around her chest before taking her pen and marking out a seam allowance and a line to throw a gathering stitch to better accentuate her body. It’s just for this awful wedding.

“I’ll have the muslin and final sketch done by dinner, if you want to come by this evening to look over everything before I start the real thing. And I’ll have fabric by then, too.”

“Yeah.”

She spends the next half hour getting fitted before she’s off, leaving a kiss to Natalie’s cheek and a handful of bills in her palm to make up the difference between a meager seamstress’ salary and the expenses of a single mother trying to do right by her young son. There had been a time it was refused, but now, Natalie knows that Sarah won’t take no for an answer, and this is worth it. Owen is a happy kid in daycare, much more so than perpetually playing by himself in a pen or crib at the corner of the room. It’s good for both of them.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

Natalie smiles one last time as Sarah steps out and there’s a guard at her side to accompany her into town. Some fountain she’s dedicating in her last few weeks as a figurehead before someone else has to take her place. Freedom, fresh air, might help her with this stifled feeling rising in her chest and making her want to scream for any kind of release from this. At least it’s Ethan. He’s nice to her, makes her feel safe no matter what. And he’s polite to her, really, unlike some of the others. He doesn’t make comments about the way she looks, and he keeps a respectful touch when he must make contact. Gloved hand on her inner elbow to escort her, endlessly gentle when he pushes her behind him in a moment of danger. She trusts him.

“Apparently I’m getting married.”

“I’ve heard. Your father made the official announcement broadcast this morning. Apparently invitations were sent out a month ago.”

He waited so long to tell her. Sarah fucking hates her father and his underhanded manipulation to force her into what he wants. It’s too late to back out, however, and so she has to go along with it as much as possible. Once she’s queen, she’ll be able to find some way out of it.

“Your betrothed arrives on Friday night,” Ethan says, helping Sarah step up into the car. “I’m supposed to go to Jenia in the morning as part of the escort. A gesture of goodwill, I suppose.”

“You’ll be gone for all the planning? I can’t do this on my own, I-”

“You’ll be just fine, your highness.”

He shuts her door and comes around to the other side, slipping in just before the engine purrs to life and they’re off to the new fountain. Say some pre-prepared speech that someone else wrote for her about what it means for the country and the people. Cut a ribbon. Take a few photos. Kiss a baby. She hates the meaningless press jobs like this, but someone has to do them, and right now, that’s her. She’s been trained since birth to rule, but her control freak father won’t give her the slightest bit of influence. She’s just a pretty face for PR.

And as she winds up standing in bright sunlight, overheating in heavy fabric and reading off a fucking prompter for the cameras, she wishes that she could leave all this behind and be an actual ruler. Take care of her people instead of waste her time on all this petty shit.

By the time she gets home, she’s exhausted and her cheeks ache from false smiles, but she still has hours of responsibilities to fulfill.

@bipeteypie @one-chicago-hell @bookreader525 @sarahreeese @sextonsharpwinhalstead @isthiswhatshameis @jorgerules

#reesker #chicago med #sarah reese #ethan choi #mine #hlo!fic #fic

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zenithlux · 5 years ago

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Cadence Update - CH 10

In which Vergil learns a little bit more. But it’s all business. Of course.

Catch up on the story here!

Welcome back to Cadence ya’ll! I know I’m posting this a day early, but I have a project I have to finish up tonight and tomorrow, so I figured, why not let everyone enjoy this on a (possibly gloomy) Monday?

See you on Friday!

Another twist of the knife, turn of the screws It’s all in your mind and it’s fighting you Arm yourself a storm is coming. Well, kid, what are you gonna do now? It’s your reflection looking back to pull you down

Phoenix - Chrissy Costanza

---------------

The first thing Vergil did was drag five half-dead demons to Roxy’s doorstep.

He’d waited an hour, of course. Long enough to make sure she was actually asleep and not starting to freeze again. Not that he would have known what to do in that situation, but he figured it was the thought that counted. At some point, Aki’s head had popped up, his eyes had narrowed, and he chirped rather loudly. Vergil had translated that as “what are you waiting around here for? Go do something”. In Griffon’s voice, of course. The two sounded nothing alike, but he knew he would never quite escape his old familiars.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately given the amount of time he had), that process had taken much longer than Vergil cared to admit. He wasn’t used to leaving enemies alive, much less in a semi-functioning state. But, after a few extra fights, he finally figured out what parts of each demon’s bodies he could cut without them evaporating. He wasn’t certain if it was quite enough. But he also wasn’t too keen on letting Diadona take more blood than she already had. At the very least, Vergil assumed this was a better option than dragging Roxy out hunting in what he assumed would still be a weakened state, no matter how long she slept.

But, for the briefest of moments, Vergil was annoyed when he found her still asleep after the hour and a half he had spent outdoors. This information of hers seemed far too important to delay any longer. But then he remembered that she had waited two weeks for him to even call her- twice- and quickly let that train of thought go.

So, after securing the demons elsewhere to avoid any prying eyes, Vergil took stock of her groceries and was rather impressed at the state of her kitchen. There was plenty of food, both fresh and frozen, with meats split into Ziploc bags and multiple containers of frozen fruits marked as ‘for smoothies’ in faded black marker. Everything else was all well organized, as it only took opening a few cupboards to find every pot, pan, cooking device, and utensil she had. At first, he wondered why a woman living on her own had so many supplies. But then he’d also have to wonder why Dante had so few things considering how many people visited, and that was not a rabbit hole worth traveling down. Instead, Vergil found what he needed for dinner (along with the very convenient recipe book on the table opened to the exact page for “hearty chicken soup”) and left the chicken to defrost. No use rushing things, as he assumed she’d be out for at least another few hours. Worst case, he’d scouted the town out while searching for the demons (it wasn’t much more impressive than Haven, if a little bit on the wealthier side) and knew where to find food if needed.

Then, he wandered around her house. She had, after all, encouraged him to do so before falling asleep. And if he couldn’t find any answers on her current predicament, at least he might be able to deduce a few things about her.

Professionally. Of course.

Why would he be searching otherwise?

Foolishness.

The generous living room led to a hallway with a modest-sized bathroom (Dante would be jealous of that Jacuzzi tub… so Vergil decided he’d never get to see it) and a small closet. At the far end were two doors, one slightly ajar, and the other shut tight. He peered cautiously into the first to find what he assumed was her bedroom. The wood floors matched the living room, but the walls were a few shades brighter with more artwork. On one side was a queen-sized bed with a blue comforter with what looked like painted flowers of all colors. The wall to the right of it had a nice sized, curved window with a comfortable place to sit and a pair of books in the middle.

The other wall, however, was what caught Vergil’s attention; multiple, beautiful shelves filled to the brim with books of all shapes and sizes. Except she had clearly taken great care when organizing them, as similar sizes and colors were all paired together in one of the most aesthetically pleasing bookcases Vergil had ever seen. The only one out of place was a single shelf filled with textbooks, but even those were organized by size, including the ones piled on their side.

“Is the Son of Sparda snooping already?”

Vergil twitched, annoyed that he’d been surprised by the dragon’s voice at all. But when he turned to question how such a large dragon fit in such a tiny hallway, his eyes fell on something much, much smaller. Kuro was a shrunken version of himself, but still three times bigger than Aki. His scales were smoother. His horns were much shorter, and his tail flicked across the floor in what Vergil assumed was amusement. An adolescent form, maybe, but Vergil could still feel centuries of demonic power radiating from the dragon. Regardless, Vergil’s eyes narrowed. “Your mistress gave me permission, in case you weren’t aware.”

Kuro cackled with laughter; a low, rumbling sound that vibrated in the floorboards. “We are companions, though I understand if that is something beyond your mortal comprehension.”

“Is that why you’re freezing her to death?”

The dragon’s tail flicked to the side, but Vergil didn’t see any shift in his expression. “I am keeping her alive,” Kuro said. “This is an unfortunate consequence.”

“She is awake, then?”

Kuro snorted. “Not for another few hours.”

“Then how are you…?”

“My full power is limited by my summoner,” Kuro said. “But I am more than capable of sustaining such an inconsequential form.” His head tilted. “I am surprised you do not know more about familiars.”

Vergil’s eyes narrowed. A part of him wondered if Kuro knew about V, but he refused to ask. “What are you getting at?”

“I had assumed someone with such demonic power would be more interested in such things.”

Vergil released a slow breath, disguising it with a small grunt of annoyance. “I know of such things,” he said as dismissively as possible. “But have never met someone with such… capabilities.” That wasn’t technically a lie, as he did not consider his own experience as “meeting” anyone. Kuro looked moderately unimpressed, but Vergil couldn’t tell if he was disappointed or didn’t actually believe him. “I intend on speaking to her as soon as she awakens.”

“Indeed,” the dragon said. A moment of awkward silence followed as the two stared at each other; Vergil with a slight scowl, and Kuro with a constant flick of his tail and snake-like tongue. Finally, the dragon huffed and said, “If you wish to know more about her, I suggest you check the room behind you.”

Then, the dragon simply walked away, head held high, not even sparing Vergil a second glance. And for the briefest of moments, Vergil simply stood there, unused to such creatures - or anyone really - acting so blatantly disinterested. Sure, the demon probably thought that Vergil should show him more respect, but he didn’t say it. Vergil didn’t know what he would do if such a thing was demanded of him. ‘Laugh and walk away’ seemed like the most likely possibility, but showing deference to anyone else wasn’t something he’d ever do.

At least… not willingly.

Vergil shifted his attention elsewhere before his thoughts drifted too far in that direction.

The second door was unassuming, but his mind raced with the possibilities. ‘Know more about her’ would imply something like scrapbooks, pictures, or maybe some kind of memorabilia. But, even from what little he knew about her, Vergil didn’t think she was that kind of person. She didn’t like talking about her family except for her father, so Vergil assumed she wasn’t too keen on reliving whatever those memories were. He could just peruse her bookshelf, as an individual's taste in literature usually told him more than enough. But he couldn’t deny his curiosity. There was something there. He just wished he knew her well enough to…

Oh.

Instead of kicking himself at the obvious oversight, Vergil opened the door. And even with his expectations - whatever those were - he stopped in the doorway, stunned. The room was a lot bigger than he expected; a repurposed master bedroom, possibly combined with another, unknown room. One wall was nothing by a set of windows with two blue curtains pulled to the side. Next to that was a large desk with an advanced computer system of some sort, two screens, a tablet, and multiple sketchbooks. Under that was a single, empty canvas, and he assumed that’s where the rest of the ones he brought would eventually go. The wall above that was filled with various sketches and reference pictures of dozens of different things. There were few finished paintings propped up beside it - intricate flowers, a painting of a cottage and garden, and a sweeping, rainforest landscape. There was the start of another painting on an easel in the center of the room; a sketch of a ladybug on a leaf-covered in rain droplets.

Then his eyes drifted to the far wall where Kuro himself had been painted in exquisite detail. His scales actually shimmered, and Vergil couldn’t figure out how she’d accomplished that. There were small bits of glimmer… but nothing crazy.

“Interesting,” he muttered despite himself. Her attention to detail was impressive, and he wondered if there was more to it than a few reference photos. But why Kuro? Surely this big of a piece would draw plenty of attention. Visitors would ask questions… wouldn’t they?

Unless she doesn’t have many.

As silence descended over the apartment - and Vergil was certain Roxy was still fast asleep - he decided to ponder his thoughts over some books.

-------------

It was midnight when Roxy’s eyes finally opened, and 12:30 when she could actually speak to him. It had been oddly unsettling at first, as she’d stared past him, eyes glossed over, seemingly unaware of his existence. Once he’d gotten over that, he’d gone back to his book - the same one Roxy had been reading before their meeting - and waited for her. Kuro was dozing on the couch beside her, and Aki was still on her lap, so Vergil assumed everything was fine.

It was her gasp that caught him completely off guard. Even he was confused when he found himself by her side, hand almost-not-quite resting on her shoulder. Kuro’s head lifted, and Vergil swore he heard a quiet snort before the dragon rested it back on her lap. “Breathe,” Kuro said. “You are safe here.”

Vergil pulled himself away, settling back in his chair as if he hadn’t moved at all. And, considering how her eyes were now closed as she ran her fingers along Kuro’s scales, Vergil assumed she hadn’t noticed him. When Roxy finally met his gaze, she looked oddly sheepish. “I’m good now,” She said. Then, her nose wrinkled as her eyes flickered to the doorway. “Are there… demons here?”

“Yes.”

“...Why?”

Kuro scoffed. “Your makeshift caretaker brought them for you this morning.”

“I’m not…” Vergil trailed off, huffed, and changed the subject. “The soup is done as well, just as Diadona requested.”

Roxy stared at him, lips parted just slightly before she shook her head in what he interpreted as bewilderment. “You didn’t have to do all that,” She said, her cheeks flushing a very light pink. Vergil watched her, both curious and entirely uncertain why she was reacting that way. “But… thank you.”

With a curt nod, Vergil said, “Absorb what essence you can. Then we’ll talk.”

Roxy returned his blunt demand with a nod of her own. “Can you handle that, Kuro?” She said, glancing at the dragon. “Aki can go too. Let me know if we need more.” Aki chirped in excitement and glided to the doorway. But when Vergil expected the little creature to crash straight into it, he vanished. Perplexed, Vergil glanced back at Roxy just in time to see her cheeks flush a much darker red as Kuro said something in his demon tongue. “Shut up,” Roxy muttered. The dragon’s tongue flicked in amusement before he disappeared. “Dragons these days,” She muttered, implying that she knew more than one.

Vergil didn’t let himself fall down that rabbit hole either. “What happened?” Vergil asked. “And why?”

“Dia calls it stasis,” Roxy said. “It’s a side effect of my pact with Kuro.” Her eyes fell, and Vergil didn’t like the way his heart jolted at the immense sadness in them. “It wasn’t supposed to happen that fast though.”

“What do you mean?”

She sighed. “I”m usually paralyzed for a day at least. Usually more. I called you as soon as that kicked in, thinking I had more time.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now, I suppose.”

Vergil made a note to chastise her for it later. “Kuro?”

“He’s a blessing, really. But the human body can only handle so much, especially when a chunk of his energy is spent healing me.”

“Healing you?”

She nodded. “I’m technically a paraplegic” her hand drifted toward her back as she spoke, but she pulled it away with a surprising amount of force. “I was in an accident about a decade ago that severed the spinal cord in my lumbar. Dad said I was lucky, as I probably should have died. And it punctured low enough that my art career wasn’t ruined. But…” She trailed off, followed by a sigh. “I stayed with Dia for awhile, but it was hard for her to manage her other patients and me... “ She shook her head, took a deep breath, and met his eyes again. “That part isn’t important.”

Vergil had a feeling it was, but he was also painfully aware that he was the last person who should ever call out such a thing. “Then what?”

“Dia introduced me to Kuro, and he took an interest in me,” Roxy said. “I still don’t really know why. An arch-demon willing to pact with a paralyzed nobody? I really didn’t believe it until it happened. And, sometimes, I still can’t believe it. Even now.” She chuckled, but it was strained. “He tells me I’m overthinking it and he’s probably right.” She shrugged. “Long story short, he is able to use his magic to passively heal my spine, but the wound itself will never truly be fixed.”

“So if your pact was broken…”

“I would lose all control of my legs again,” She said. “And I wouldn’t freeze anymore, I suppose.” Her head tilted just slightly. “I don’t mind, though. What’s a few days of discomfort in exchange for a second chance?” She stared at her hand, fingers twitching. “It’s always a little scary though, no matter how many times it happens. Just that thought…” She trailed off.

“What thought?”

She was silent for a painfully long time. But Vergil was patient. He of all people understood how difficult it was to share such personal information. Except he, unlike Roxy, had yet to figure out just who to share that information with. A part of him felt honored, but the rest of him wondered if he deserved such trust from someone who didn’t know everything he’d done.

But…

“Sometimes,” Roxy said. “I wonder what would happen if I froze… and never woke up.”

Alarm swept through him. “You’re…” He didn’t want to say it, even though he knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Suicidal?” She said. “No.” She pulled her knees to her chest, but kept her eyes on him. “Afraid, yeah. But not that. Not anymore. Don’t worry about that.” Her small, nervous smile once again caught him off guard. The sadness had not yet left her eyes, but she still tried to encourage him. How? How much pain was she hiding behind such a brave facade?

Helping one person did not feel like much in the grand scheme of things. Really, it wasn’t. But all Vergil could think of were Dante’s words of encouragement. Words that Vergil believed wouldn’t matter with the overwhelming weight of his failures.

If you never take a step, then how do you expect to get anywhere?

“I’ll help you,” Vergil said before he had a chance to think about it. But even after he paused to let his mind catch up to his declaration, he knew it was the right thing to do. After all, how often did someone like him have a chance - and the ability - to fix something so… personal? He could never atone for all of his mistakes. His own son had made that quite clear. But he could do something… he could be there for her.

“Are you certain?” Roxy said softly. “Not that I…” She hesitated. “Not that I don’t appreciate the offer. But...”

“But?”

After another long moment, she sighed. “I was hoping we would get more time as friends before… all of this.” She rubbed her arm absentmindedly. Vergil saw a flicker of pain in her expression before she buried it away; a feeling he knew all too well.

“It was bound to happen eventually,” He said as he set his book aside and made his way to the kitchen. “Rest for now. Regain your strength, and we’ll discuss it more later.”

And for the first time in months, Vergil was certain this was what he was meant to do.

#zenni-writes #cadence #update #vergil #dante #nero #vergilxoc #vergilxroxy #kuro #aki #demon #summoner lore

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echonidae · 5 years ago

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edit nov. 23rd: alrighty, break is over !! the seven main slots are back c: for now commissions will be done in a slower pace while i sort out schoolwork (but i only have classes for two more weeks !!) so there's that c: ,,,,i ended up not having much time to revise the whole commission page ;o; but i'll also eventually make a separated page for the older completed slots, just so the page doesn't get progressively longer asdfghjfghj

——— COMMISSION STATUS - OPEN please read all the info + rules carefully before requesting a commission!! by placing an order, you're agreeing to all the rules!!

4000x4000px .png images (icons are 800x800px !) at 600-700ppi by default, digital medium only; one file watermarked for reposting purposes, another with a tiny signature off to the side; payment is done half upfront, half right before i send you the finished drawing (two invoices) after i accept your order, you must pay the first half in 72h to occupy a slot or your request will be considered null and void! waiting period for the finished drawing is 1 to 3 weeks (due to classes — i tend to work fast tho) — i'll keep you updated!

7 slots per batch — icons have dedicated slots!! once i get this batch done, i'll open more slots — for icons, i'll create a new batch and reopen slots as they get done instead :) max of 2 slots per person (icons don't count for Main slots so if you want two commissions + up to two icons, that's fine !!) , only one character per slot.

more info under the cut!! please read all the info + rules carefully before requesting a commission!! by placing an order, you're agreeing to all the rules!!

this price sheet is on dA too, in case the readmore link can’t be opened on mobile!

- first batch slot 1 - completed !! slot 2 - completed !! slot 3 - completed !! slot 4 - completed !! slot 5 - completed !! slot 6 - completed !! slot 7 - completed !!

- second batch slot 1 - completed !! slot 2 - completed !! slot 3 - completed !! slot 4 - completed !! slot 5 - completed !! slot 6 - completed !! slot 7 - completed !! -------------------- icon slot 1 - completed !! icon slot 2 - completed !! icon slot 3 - completed !! icon slot 4 - completed !! icon slot 5 - completed !! icon slot 6 - completed !!

- third batch // opened on nov. 23rd slot 1 - OPEN slot 2 - OPEN slot 3 - OPEN slot 4 - OPEN slot 5 - OPEN slot 6 - OPEN slot 7 - OPEN -------------------- icon slot 7 - OPEN icon slot 8 - OPEN icon slot 9 - OPEN icon slot 10 - OPEN icon slot 11 - OPEN

— USD (paypal invoice) only

> ICONS - 800x800px - digital painting style - full color + shading/lighting - colored lineart - optional white outline, chromatic aberration, etc. - simple backgrounds (mandalas, patterns, geometric, texture, transparent, etc.) — ICONS: $ 11 USD

> SHADED LINEART - cellshading in 1 to 2 colors - clean lineart in 1 to 2 colors - solid color bakcground with/without texture - chromatic aberration in the lineart is optional — BUST: $ 12 USD — KNEE-UP: $ 14 USD

> OVERLAYED GRAYSCALE (as in, the drawing is done in grayscale and then i overlay a ton of diffrent colors on top of it) - cellshaded - clean lineart - minimal lighting - simple background with/without texture or simple shapes - chromatic aberration in the lineart is optional — BUST: $ 15 USD — KNEE-UP: $ 18 USD

> BASE COLORS - cellshaded + lighting and lighting effects - base colors - clean, colored lineart - chromatic aberration in the lineart is optional - simple background with/without texture or simple shapes — BUST: $ 22 USD — KNEE-UP: $ 26 USD

> FULL COLOR - full color digital painting - full shading/lighting - colored lineart - simple background — BUST: $ 38 USD — KNEE-UP: $ 55 USD

— each major change (as in: something significantly big and/or detailed, or a portion that is more than 45% of the piece, must be redone partially or completely) to the order after the lineart is done increases the price by $2 to $5 USD!

- will draw furries/anthro animals plants humanoids monsters humans body horror some gore your ocs - will not draw fanart (sorry!) nsfw/fetish/sexualized nudity hyper realistic gore mecha/vehicles/intricate armor (this sort of armor is fine! in doubt, feel free to ask!) text-only references (please send images instead!) someone else's oc (unless you have written permission!) hate speech/racism/lgbtphobia character sheets custom oc design custom clothing design (please send references!!) drawn backgrounds (as in, actual full scenes — abstract or simple shapes like mandalas or the ones in the previous commissions are fine)

feel free to ask if you're not sure whether your order would be ok or not !!

here are the full example images: - icons 1 // icons 2 - shaded lineart - overlayed grayscale (a more colorful one in this style would be [this] one!!) - base colors - full color (this was an ab extra for an auction so i can only link the preview, sorry!! most of my art is in this fullcolor style tho so here are some substitutes [1] [2] [3] [4]) feel free to check out previous commissions here!!

——— RULES / MORE INFO

- i reserve the right to refuse a commission request without needing to provide a reason — please don't take it personally!! - once i've accepted your order, i'll send you an invoice asking for the first half of the payment, which you must pay in 72h. after i receive that, you’ll occupy a slot and i’ll start working on your piece! - i'll send you some rough colored sketches for you to choose which one you like better; please make sure to think carefully and say if you'd like to change something before greenlighting one of the sketches! we can stay at this stage for as long as it is needed, no rush c: but please keep in mind that once you greenlight it, i'm not going to start over! - i'll update you again once the lineart is done (wip screenshot including the previously agreed color scheme, if applicable) — at this point, only color palette and minor changes to the lineart (small changes in the expression, moving a hand a bit to the side, more or less texture detail on faces and hair, etc.) are allowed free of charge — each major change after the lineart is done will increase the price by $2 to 5$ USD! - * i'll send another update right before finishing the piece so as to work out last minute details and small changes. * once your commission is done, i'll send a second invoice asking for the rest of the payment — after i receive that, i'll send you the full-res images! i'll also post the commissioned drawing here, on tumblr and on ig — if you don't want to be linked to the drawing once it's posted, please do say so ahead of time! - i won't accept private commissions (as in, the drawing isn't posted anywhere). i also will not do any edits after the commission is done (as in, after the second invoice has been sent) — again please make sure to voice your thoughts in the sketch phase! - please understand that, although i'll follow references as closely as i can * (and you can feel free to tell me if i missed a detail any time) * , i'll make stylistic choices due to my artstyle and i will not try to replicate someone else's style. - i keep all the copyrights to use, post and showcase the commissioned drawing in any and all websites, portfolios, announcements, etc. i won't sell or make prints/etc. of the drawing, and i'll make sure to add info on who the commission was for. - the commissioned drawing is for personal and non-commercial use only; you may not claim my art as your own nor profit in any way from the drawing. the resolution should be good for printing and you may do so for personal use but please don't sell prints of the drawing. * the commissioned drawing is a digital file, and i won't send any physical items to you. * - you keep all the rights to your own ocs, designs, concepts, and stories. - do not trace, copy, or edit the drawing in any way. and please do not erase my signature in the unwatermarked image, it won't be obstructing anything. - i'll send you a watermarked and an unwatermarked version of the drawing — only the watermarked version may be reposted (with credit) to prevent misuse/theft! the icon's file i'll send you does not have a watermark — still, credit is appreciated! i'll post icons together in a single post, and those do have watermarks for the same reason as mentioned previously ;v; - please don't commission me with a deadline in mind — your piece may take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks to finish, though i'm aiming for the former. i'm currently in classes right now and they, of course, have a greater priority over commissions — if something comes up that results in a significant delay on your piece, i'll notify you of it! - i'll refund your payment if i wasn't able to finish or start your order. if you must cancel your order for any reason, please contact me asap so we can discuss it! if you give up on the commission mid-way or after it is done, i will not refund you and won't take commissions from/sell adopts to you in the future. - that being said, please do not commission me if you're unsure you can pay or unsure you actually want it!

by placing an order, you are agreeing to the terms and i assume you have read all the info i've written down! i'm not going to negotiate the terms! feel free to ask any questions!!!

——— IF YOU'RE INTERESTED

send me a note/PM with the following information:

subject: commission request paypal email: (so i can send you an invoice) type of commission: (icon, lineart, grayscale, base colors or full color?) type of composition: (knee-up or bust?) description/ideas: (please write a detailed description of what you want from this piece! what sort of mood/expression/pose/color palette/etc. do you have in mind? do send any ideas for composition and other elements even if they feel vague, we will work together on shaping your order c:) reference image links: (other than character sheets, these can be palettes, pictures of outfits, pose references, etc.! please keep in mind i won't do text-only descriptions/references, nor will i design characters/clothing/etc.!! also please make sure that the character sheet is colored or send a specific palette! if you have a quick sketch or doodle of what you have in mind [even if it's just stick figures!], it would be greatly appreciated if you linked it too!!!)

anyway yeah thank you for reading this far!! i realize this is very very long, still haven’t quite set up a dedicated page for commission info orz if you have any questions feel free to leave a comment or send a note, i'll get back to you asap!! c: ♥

#artists on tumblr #my art #commissions open #paypal commissions #artenidae #commissions #price sheet #artists on deviantart #illustration #digital art #portrait commissions #<3 here we go again !!

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luwha · 6 years ago

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Commissions are open! (Tumblr deleted my original one so i’m havign to repist all of that! So there we go:)

Detailed info under the read more!

COMMISSION INFO AND RULES.

WAIST UP: 30$ (SKETCHY) AND 45$ (COMPLETE)

FULLBODY: 50$ (SKETCHY) AND 65$ (COMPLETE)

Non specified: Doesn’t fit perfetcly waist up or full body? We negotiate!

-10$ to 20$ extra for extremely detailed requests.

Waist up with one chracter is 45, two is 85, three is 115! (On lineart + colors)

Waist up with one chracter is 31, two is 50, three is 70! (Sketch)

Fullbody with one chracter is 65, two is 115, three is 160! (on lineart + colors)

Fullbody with one chracter is 50, two is 70, three is 90! (Sketch)

Initial considertions:

I will invoice you when i’m ready to work on yours right ahead. (If i replied and/or sent an sketch and havent invoiced yet, i’m probably working on another commission! Be Patient!)

Send an email to [email protected] with “Commission” in the title! EXAMPLE: Commission Sketch waist up/ Commission Complete Fullbody

Sending the email is mandatory.

Visual reference/concept goals and pose suggestions, as well as mood, actions, etc. I may take liberty when it’s necessary.

Brief explanation of the character/scene you have in mind, Try to make it in LESS than 20 words.

The email i must Invoice you.

What i want you to send me:

Subject/header of the email: [your tumblr username/email] Type of commission (fullbody, waist up, sketch, line + color, etc)

In topics:

Your invoice email. Name/Nickname you want me to refer to you on the Queue

Character name, game/book/universe where they’re from.

Brief personality description (In less than ten words).

Mood/ideas for the scene, including poses and interactions, if applies.

Other information (example:)

Scar on X and W and Y

Detail on this part

Want this part to be like [small description]

Other details that must be adressed.

PS: Please make it in topics and not text blocks, i have ADD and this is an easier way so i wont miss any detail on your commission!

Payment:

Upfront.

Payment in USD ONLY.

PayPal Only. Wait until I send you my paypal/invoice.

Add on the end of the request the email i should invoice you.

When sending the payment on paypal, add the email you used to send the request on the notes, and only the email, nothing else.

Payment as SERVICE, only as service. No address needed. (Payments as ‘gift’ or ‘goods’ will be refunded and the work won’t be completed.)

Completion time:

From one to three weeks to finish the commission, after sending the initial sketch. This depends on the size of the queue, complexity or how many works I am doing at once.

You will be informed of any absences or extenuating circumstances that may delay my progress on their commission.

My inbox/email is ALWAYS open to answer any questions in regards your commission.

Cancellation and Refunds:

I reserve to myself the right to refuse to do a commission if i don’t want to proceed for any reason.

Refunds are offered if I cannot complete a commission for any reason.

Cancellations accepted only before work has begun, otherwise only half will be refunded if the work is started.

Refunds will not be offered once I have finished a commission by any means.

Alterations:

I reserve the right to refuse alterations that I feel compromise my style or the commission, or to charge an additional fee for missing/misrepresented elements due to unclear information.

After the first two sketches, minor alterations are acceptable, major alterations will be charged depending on their impact on the piece. The fee will be decided based on my hours of work to apply the change.

Reposting:

You are allowed to repost the commissioned work to personal galleries (furaffinity, deviantart, tumblr, etc.) with the appropriate credit and a link to one of my galleries.

Private commissions are allowed, make it clear on the initial request.

Rules:

- I won’t do:

Mecha (Mechanical body parts and small robots are ok)

Some N-SFW*

Underage characters in sexual scenarios (don’t even ask. i won’t and i will call the authorities if possible.)

Backgrounds or scenarios are open to discussion.

I"ll invoice you after we agreed on the concept sketch idea, for security reasons.

REMEMBER: It’s a service, not a good and won’t be delivered phisically.

Sketch: Skecthy lines, simple flat colours, little detailing! Complete: Full lineart, detailed, colours and some shadows/gradient.

All commissions are for personal use only unless otherwise stated.

You may not reproduce my work for profit or claim it as your own.

THANK YOU FOR COMMISSIONING ME!

Last edit 09/12/2018 (Added the variation of prices for more than one character)

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dam-those-words · 5 years ago

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15 Questions Tag Game!

I was (kinda) tagged by @georgiacambrielwritblr!

Rules: Pick a character (or two in my case) from your WIP and have them answer these 15 questions, then tag 15 people!

(Also, I already had this post done but when I tried to post it Tumblr went Thud appearently and deleted it instead, so I had to start over. Sorry for the long wait Georgia lol)

1. What is your full name?

" I'm Aniol Kaminski," The dirty-blonde male on the interviewer's right ruffles his red and gold wings. It takes most of the interviewer's willpower to not stare at them while shaking his hand; of course they've seen wings before, but never like these.

"Mattea Sarai," Says the platinum blonde on the interviewer's left. She completely disregards the interviewers outstretched hand and instead sits back in her wooden chair and crosses her arms.

2. What does it mean?

"Mine means something like, 'Stone Angel,' in Polish, so that's pretty cool." Aniol's voice is a growly-type deep, and paired with his thick accent, it takes the interviewer a second the realize what he said.

"You're so lucky. [Throwback to when his name was actually Lucky lmao] My name means some bullshit like, 'Princess,' or 'God's Gift,' or something. Makes me wanna barf just thinking about it." Mattea says, making a puking gesture.

"Woah there, young lady. Who taught you to cuss?" Aniol grins at her, but the way he flashes it makes it seem more like baring his teeth.

Mattea raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean, 'Who taught you to cuss?' Have you heard yourself?" She leans forward in her wooden chair, putting her elbows on her knees.

Aniol leans forward, copying Mattea. He whispers-- well more like growls-- something too quiet for the interviewer to hear, but makes the rage in Mattea's eyes simmer.

The tension in the room makes the interviewer realize that the wooden table in between them would do nothing if the got into a fight as bad as they'd been rumored to. The interviewer clears their throat and asks the next question.

3. Do you two have any nicknames or other names?

"I don't really have any, but this little devil does call me Bird Boy more often than she calls me Aniol," Aniol nodded towards the girl across the wooden table.

Mattea had snatched a peanut butter cookie from the gold-lined plate in the middle of the table, and now had a mouthful of cookie. She somehow still managed to say, "Are you forgetting about Jexi calling you Ann? Like, Ann of Green Gables?"

Aniol simply rolls his eyes, replying, "I'm not forgetting, I'm just ignoring the fact that you've appearently eavesdropped. And don't talk while eating,"

"Its not like I try to listen to everything that happens in your guys' rooms, especially at night when you guys--"

"Anyway, why don't you tell them what your nickname is?" His cheeks are a bright red as he talks.

Mattea smiles, relaxing a little and shrugging. "I don't really have any, either. Oh, well, Mayson calls me Matt sometimes. But other than that, none."

4. What's your gender?

"Male, obviously," Aniol says, the pink already fading.

"Female," Mattea answers.

"God, we're so boring. I wish we had Dani so they could spice it up," There's a tinge of sadness in his voice. He frowns down at his hands where he holds a small paperclip he had been figiting with, his short and jagged hair falling into his eyes.

Mattea's eyebrows scrunch for a split second before a mask of arrogance passes over he features, and she says, "Speak for yourself, amigo. I'm the most interesting out of the entire Assassin's."

Aniol's returning look is so full of an emotion that the interviewer can't place, but still makes them look away and clear their throat yet again.

5. What is your sexuality?

"I'm pansexual," Aniol says quickly, sitting back in his chair and grabbing a cookie.

The confusion must have shown on the interviewer's face, since Aniol adds on, in a matter-of-fact tone, "It means that I can like anyone, regardless of their gender."

The interviewer nods and turns towards Mattea for an answer.

She had become a completely different person than she was about five seconds ago: she had somehow scrunched in on herself, grabbing her arms as if she were cold. Her lips were pursed.

"I--uh, I don't... I think--" Mattea is interrupted again by Aniol, but this time her expression changes to relief instead of amusement.

"We've talked about it before, and Mattea would like to not answer that question. If we could move on, that'd be great." He says in the same matter-of-fact tone as earlier.

6. Where are you from?

"Poland, though you can probably tell," Aniol says, his accent somehow becoming thicker than before.

Mattea clears her throat, the tension slowly leaving her body. "I'm from here. Akida."

7. How old are you?

"I'm 25. I was born on October 2nd, 2005." Aniol says.

"I'm only two years younger than him, and yet he somehow thinks that he's sooo--" Mattea does jazz hands as she speaks. "--much smarter and wiser than me, even though I obviously am the smarter one."

Aniol rolls his eyes, throwing the last bit of his cookie at her. He hits her directly in the forehead. His eyes go wide.

There's a moment of silence before they both burst out laughing. It fills the small room, and the interviewer can't help but join them.

8. Any special talents?

"Not really. I mean, I'm pretty good at baseball, but my wings get in the way for any sport." Aniol ruffles his wings again in emphasis. The interviewer silently thanks themselves again for remembering to get a special chair to accommodate his wings.

"I'm good at using most weapons, besides those stupid miscellaneous ones. I'm also good at braiding my own hair, which is something even Jexi can't do." Mattea figits with her hair tie, throwing Aniol an arrogant grin.

"Hey, you should put all that on your future resumes. I'm great at weapons, also known as murder, I can tie my hair back like any normal human, and I can be incredibly stupid! I'm the whole package!" Aniol mocks, making his deep voice extremely high.

The interviewer tenses, but is pleasantly surprised when all Mattea does is laugh and look expectantly for the next question.

9. Any kids?

Mattea bark-laughs again, shaking her head vigorously.

Aniol only shrugs his shoulders and says, "In the future, if my partner wants them. But none right now,"

10. What's your aesthetic?

Mattea interrupts Aniol before he has a chance to open his mouth, ticking the subjects off on her fingers as she talks, "Water fountains, pale roses, lip balm, pastel colors, stationary--"

It's Aniol's turn to cut her off, asking what an aesthetic is.

"It's like... your vibes. Like, for you it would be something like... maybe lots of grey and orange things." Mattea explains.

"That sounds stupid, but whatever. I guess mine is cobblestone, rain... uh, bright orange feathers and pumpkins. I don't know what it means, don't laugh at me!" He adds when Mattea tries to cover her laugh up with a cough.

11. Who's your best friend?

"Jexi,"

"Are you sure it's only best friend? Nothing else?" Mattea prods at Aniol's answer.

"Oh shut up. What about you and Mayson, huh?" He snaps back. Her cheeks turn as red as Aniol's cheeks earlier.

"That's not important,"

"Mhm," Though their words suggest tension, their eyes are full of amusement.

12. Would you ever get piercings or tattoos?

"I already have a tattoo," Aniol says, pulling up his grey sleeve to show a black and white tattoo of an arrow on his bicep.

"Wait, when did you get that?" Mattea asks, leaning forward to see it better.

"Jexi gave it to me when we were nineteen,"

Mattea's eyebrows rise. "Jexi did? And you still refuse to acknowledge the fact that she's--"

"Did I not make myself clear, Matt?" Aniol snarls, letting his sleeve fall down.

Mattea snarls right back.

The interviewer hastily asks the next question, hoping to change their focus onto them.

13. When are you happiest?

Aniol throws Mattea one last death glare before ruffling his wings yet again. "When I'm flying,"

"With a certain someone," Mattea tries to whisper but the interviewer hears her anyway, smirking.

"Do you have a death wish or what, Matt?"

"Name a time when I didn't,"

Aniol starts to respond but is cut off by the interviewer, still desperately hoping to get through this interview without a fight. The interviewer asks Mattea the question again.

"If I'm honest, I really like sketching. And archery. And I do like to banter with this idiot," She smiles again, but it's (thankfully) filled with much less venom than before.

That quickly, the tension leaves the room. The interviewer was amazed at their ability to start and end an argument in less than a minute. No wonder these two were always in trouble.

14. What's your biggest secret?

"Oooh, that's a good one. Why don't you go first, Aniol?" Mattea claps her hands, threading them together and putting them on her now crossed legs.

"Oh, uh. I guess... I'm terrified of spiders. Like, I hate then with my whole being,"

Mattea seemingly can't help but laugh at that, trying again and failing at turning it into a cough.

"Hey, you're scared of them, too! Don't you remember when you made Noah switch sleeping bags with you because you thought there was a spider in yours?" Aniol hastily defends himself.

"Yeah, but," Mattea is laughing so hard she can barely talk.

It takes longer than the interviewer would have liked for Mattea to finally calm down, and to ask the question again.

"I think my biggest secret is how I got this necklace and why." Mattea answers, holding out a silver chain with a half-cresent moon dangling on it.

When she doesn't continue, the interviewer decides to move on and get this interview over with.

15. Last question: What's the first thing you notice about people?

"Hmm. I think I notice how they move firstly. That alone tells you a lot about them," Mattea answers, nodding at her own answer.

A grin creeps onto Aniol's face at her, but he only says, "I notice their eye or lips first. I don't really know why, and I honestly should notice their movement first, but," He shrugs.

Oh jeez, I'm sorry for the long post lmao!

And idk about 15 people, since tumblr might decide to not actually tag them, but I'll try as many as I can think of!

@supersockosis @toboldlywrite @quillwritten @quilloftheclouds @fruzsiwrites @reeseweston @writeness @bartlebyboys @pens-swords-stuff @msmeaghanrey

As always, you dont have to do this is you dont want to (or already did it), and if I didnt tag you feel free to do it anyway and say I tagged you!

#tag games #tag game #long post #sorryyyyy #i know im a hypocrite lmao #my ocs #mattea sarai #aniol kaminski #btw theyre pronounced exactly how they look #well #aniol is ann yule #but besides that #yeah

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feelingfredly · 6 years ago

Text

Burning Hearts and Burning Souls a.k.a Shiba Fever

For days his skin had felt like it didn’t fit right—too tight and too loose, sunburnt, and freezing all at the same time.

“I am sorry, Ichigo, but I cannot find anything wrong with your human body. Even your iron levels are good, and you know how we had to fight that with iron pills after you hit puberty and had that first growth spurt. You were constipated for months…”

Ichigo pulled his shirt closed as his father dropped his stethoscope.

“I thought we’d agreed never to discuss that again.” He growled the words out over Isshin’s embarrassing catalog of his childhood illnesses. “You’re sure I don’t have a fever?” He rubbed his hand over his forehead. It didn’t feel hot, but every other symptom just screamed fever.

“Ah my son, I know you have very little faith in my abilities as a physician…” the drama king was at it again, and Ichigo was tempted to add to the list of things about his father that he had little faith in, “but even I can take a temperature. Unless you’d prefer I try the rectal thermometer?”

Ichigo scooted back violently and held up his hands in defeat. “No, no that’s okay. I believe you. It’s not a fever. Not a fever.”

He slid off the exam table and finished putting his clothes back in order.

“Thanks for checking me out,” he said, sighing. “I just can’t figure out what’s wrong with me.”

Isshin hesitated a moment. “Well, I’ve taken several blood samples and sent them off for testing. We will keep watching, and hopefully we’ll figure out what’s causing this discomfort sooner rather than later.

Ichigo nodded and grabbed his bag. He’d promised Chad they’d meet up at the gym.

“I’ll let you know if anything changes. I’m going to be over at Chad’s this afternoon. We may get dinner. I’ll call and let Yuzu know if I’m not going to be back in time to eat with you all.”

With that and a wave, he spun on his heel and headed out the door, into the sunlight.

Isshin reached for his phone and dialed a number he hated. “Kisuke? I think Ichigo has a problem.”

***

Ichigo pushed open the door to the boxing club. The smell of leather and rubber and sweat was strangely pleasant, and it was nice to hear the healthy sound of fighting without the accompanying panic of having to win or die.

“Hey Ichigo,” Chad called from the ring in the center of the room, and then lashed out in a sharp one-two punch, knocking his opponent off-balance. “Be there in a minute.”

He watched the big man square off against a smaller but much quicker opponent, and a wave of dizziness threatened to bring him to his knees. His skin was on fire, and swirling gray encroached on his view of the black and red ring.

He’s fast. Damn he’s fast. STAND AND FIGHT LIKE A MAN! What’s he even doing here. He isn’t Shiba. Looks like one of….

“Ichigo.” A deep voice called him back from the edge of unconsciousness, and then there was a cracking sound and the terrible smell of ammonia. “You with me, man? Come on, shake it off. Take a deep breath. Yeah, that’s it.”

Ichigo grabbed his stomach trying to stop the bleeding, grab the black handled tachi that had sliced him in half, to keep his insides inside… but there was nothing there. No tachi. No blood. Just the ghost pain from the vision and the searing image of the face of the man who’d killed/not killed him.

Sweaty arms held him propped against a bare chest. Chad. Just Chad.

The bright lights hanging above him looked like multiple suns, each one surrounded by a halo of color that slowly faded as his vision came back to normal.

He sat up and the little trainer next to him pulled his eyelids back in a cursory examination. He grunted and nodded to Chad. “Should be good. But he isn’t fighting today. I won’t clear him for the ring.”

Ichigo could feel Chad’s agreeing head shake as an earthquake through his chest. “That’s cool, Hoda-sensei. I’ll get him up and feed him. He forgets to eat sometimes.”

The trainer looked at Ichigo and the redhead shrugged and pushed himself. “Been fighting off an inner ear thing. My balance is all screwed up. Sorry for the trouble, Hoda-sensei.”

It looked like the little man was going to say something else, but a head shake from Chad stopped him and he looked between the two men a moment before coming to some decision.

“Okay, Kurosaki-kun, if you say so. Have your dad look you over if it doesn’t get better, yeah?” He looked at Chad. “You need to get your rub down and your shower. You’re going to lock up if you sit here and let your muscles get cold. Kurosaki-kun, you can sit in the locker room while Yasutora-kun finishes up. Now get going.”

He pulled Ichigo to his feet and watched as Chad rose smoothly behind him. “Next time, don’t just cold-cock your sparring partner when your friend goes down, Yasutora-kun. It’s hard enough to find someone willing to let you beat up on them regularly.”

Chad just rumbled something agreeable and the trainer made a frustrated sound. “Fine, fine… locker room. Now.”

With that the little man wandered back to the ring-side and starting barking directions at another pair of fighters warming up.

“You good to walk, Ich?” Chad picked up his gloves from the floor where he’d apparently thrown them.

Ichigo rolled his head from side to side, but the swirling gray didn’t reappear. “Yeah, I think I’m good. The dizziness is gone at least.”

They made their way to the outside of the mats on the wrestling area floor and headed to the locker rooms in the back.

“What happened?” Chad asked.

Ichigo shook his head, still feeling a little discombobulated. “I don’t know. One minute I was watching you take on that little guy, and then the whole world got weird. The ring and the gym were gone, and I was outside with some little guy in black attacking me. He stabbed me in the stomach… it was… bad.”

“Bad, huh?” Chad didn’t say anything else. He didn’t have to. For Ichigo to say something was bad, it had to be really bad.

“Yeah.” Ichigo pulled a deep shuddery breath and pressed his hand again his abdomen. He could still feel his intestines, hot and slippery, as he tried and failed to hold them in. He could feel the blood dripping through his fingers. Hear the scream of someone else in the distance and see the satisfied face of his killer. “Bad.”

He pressed a hand to his own forehead, but even with the shocky feeling making his fingers cold, he didn’t feel any hotter than before. This was just crazy.

“You talk to your dad about the fever? You said you were going to.”

Chad had argued that he check in with Isshin for a while, ever since the sensitivity had started, but he’d refused until now.

“Yeah.” He sighed and followed Chad further into the locker room. “He can’t find anything wrong. No fever. Nothing obvious. He did take some blood samples and is going to send them to the lab. If he doesn’t find anything there, I don’t know what I’m going to do. This is getting crazy.”

Chad splashed around for a few minutes before coming back out, towel slung low on his hips, and hair dripping long down his back.

“You scared me, Ich. Your face lost all its color. You were looking at something, but I couldn’t tell what.” Chad didn’t push, but Ichigo knew he would wait until he got an explanation.

“It’s like I told you before,” he said. “Different person this time, though. And I saw who killed me.”

Chad grunted and put a hang on Ichigo’s shoulder. “You didn’t tell your dad about that part, did you?”

Ichigo flushed a little and looked away. “If it turned out to just be a fever from some human disease, there was no point. He wouldn’t need the details of my hallucinations to treat what’s causing them.”

Chad pulled his street clothes out and got dressed in silence. It comforted Ichigo to know that he would always be there, supportive and strong without feeling the need to manipulate. He didn’t put up with lies or shitty behavior, but he wasn’t a hypocrite about it, unlike most people Ichigo had worked with over the past few years.

“If the blood tests come back negative, you’re going to have to talk to him, you know.” Ichigo sighed and banged his head back against a metal locker, the sound a strangely appropriate punctuation to what he wanted to say to that. “I know.”

Chad pulled him into a loose embrace and patted his back. “You won’t have to face him alone, though. Promise.”

Ichigo pressed his forehead into the clean smelling corner of Chad’s neck and shoulder and breathed deeply. “Thanks.”

***

Kisuke flipped another page and frowned.

“And he hasn’t explained these to you?” Accusation laced his question and Isshin had the grace to look embarrassed.

“He doesn’t know I found them. You know I haven’t always been the most… attentive parent. I don’t think he ever expected me to notice. But the drawing started about the same time he started complaining about feeling dizzy. Then the fever symptoms started, and he was drawing more and more. Last week he made the trip into Tokyo to pick up better pencils and a couple of sketch books. He shoved these old notebooks into the drawer when he got those.”

Kisuke frowned. “You really shouldn’t have brought them to me without his permission. This is Personal Space Violation 101, Isshin-san. Plus, you don’t know for a fact that they’re connected to whatever this illness is. It could just be coincidental.”

Isshin reached out and snagged one of the spiral notebooks that Kisuke hadn’t gotten to yet.

“He’s getting better. The drawings look less like Rukia trying to make battle plans, and more like actual people.” He opened the slim book and flipped through a few pages before finding what he was looking for. He slid the open notebook back across the table.

Kisuke froze.

“Who told him about this?” he asked.

Isshin shook his head, “No one. It isn’t something that just comes up in dinner conversation, you know.”

Kisuke nodded faintly. It wouldn’t. The assassination of the children of a clan, dead before they could even begin to understand why they were targets, was something that couldn’t be forgotten, but couldn’t be treated lightly.

Ichigo had understood that.

The drawing was rough. Ichigo wasn’t trained, but that didn’t matter. He’d caught the scene in its entirety. Bodies scattered in the darkness, the only light the flames rising behind them, but the buildings were unmistakably the Shiba compound. And there, scattered like abandoned toys, were six children that would never fulfill their potential as scions of the Shiba clan. They’d been pulled from their homes and schools and brought to the Shiba compound as a protective measure when it became clear that for whatever reason the Shiba were becoming targets for both violence and gossip.

The compound had become their killing ground.

“There were six children.” Kisuke said and Isshin nodded, unable to look at the picture on the table. He had been on assignment for the Gotei 13 when the killing happened, and he’d never forgiven himself for not being able to stop it.

“Six.” Kisuke was staring at the drawing. One long finger traced the outlines on the page and Isshin huffed.

“Yes, you morbid bastard. Six of them. The oldest was eleven. He was supposed to start at the Academy that year.”

Kisuke hummed. His finger trailed across the cheap lined paper, careful not to smudge the pencil lines, until it landed on what looked like a hand reaching out from the space outside the picture. Reaching forever for the others lying across from it.

“There are five in this picture.” Kisuke tapped his finger on the outstretched hand. “And this is drawn from the perspective of the sixth. Like he watched it happen.”

Isshin looked at Kisuke and frowned. It made no sense.

“There’s no way for him to have seen it, Kisuke,” he said, “it happened almost fifty years ago.”

Kisuke slowly flipped more pages and shook his head. “Something is going on, Isshin-san, and if this is any indication, Kurosaki-san is right in the middle of it.”

Isshin sagged in his chair, the painful memories of his clan nothing compared to his worry for his son.

“Again.”

***

He’d fallen asleep between Chad and Orihime about halfway through the movie. Uryu turned the volume down a little so they could talk without waking him.

“He’s lost more weight.”

Orihime nodded. “I tried to heal him of whatever this is…” she waved an impatient hand, “but nothing changed. Again.”

She’d been trying to reject whatever was plaguing the redhead each week, but except for solving some of his exhaustion, it hadn’t changed anything.

Uryu shook his head. “His body isn’t the problem. His reishi levels are getting higher every time I see him. I don’t know how, but it has to be what’s causing his symptoms. His soul just isn’t designed to hold so much.”

Chad shifted and wrapped his arm around Ichigo’s shoulder. “Can you teach him to bleed some of it off? Can he focus it like you do with the arrows?”

Uryu shook his head. “No. The problem is that it isn’t just about the reiryoku around him, or the reishi in him. It’s become part of him and is exerting its own spiritual pressure. He was strong before, but this…” his voice faded. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Orihime glanced back and forth between the three. “Have you seen the new sketches?”

Chad shook his head, “No, but he collapsed at the gym earlier. He didn’t want to worry you, so that’s why he didn’t mention it. He has, apparently, talked to his dad about it finally. Shiba-san can’t find anything wrong. He drew blood for some tests, but I can tell Ichigo doesn’t think he’s going to find anything.”

Ichigo groaned sleepily and rolled away from Chad’s hold. “If you wanted to know, you could have just asked me. You didn’t have to wait until I was out for the count before discussing things.”

Orihime rested her hand on his knee. “You needed your rest, Ichigo-kun. We were just talking.”

Ichigo covered her hand with his own and gave it a squeeze. “Yeah, well, the time for denial has passed. Even Goat Face thinks so.”

Uryu’s lips twisted. “I could get you in to see Ryuuken. Maybe he could figure out what’s wrong.”

Ichigo snorted. “Yeah, that’s about a mile past my last resort, Uryu. But thanks for the offer. Really.”

They all settled deeper into Chad’s immense sofa and turned the movie back on as Ichigo sighed in resignation.

“Time for a visit to the Shōten.”

***

Ichigo thrashed in his bedding, fighting the blankets as if they were trying to kill him.

“Ichigo,” Uryu reached out and touched the redhead’s shoulder. “You’re okay. It’s just a dream. Try to calm down.”

It didn’t help. A well-placed elbow caught Uryu in the jaw with a crack, and he saw stars. He knew that if he didn’t calm Ichigo down, that was going to be the least of his injuries.

“Why are you doing this, Rin-chan?” The high-pitched cry pierced the dark room, far from Ichigo’s normal voice. “You said you wanted to speak to my father. You said you wanted me to…”

Ichigo screamed, and Uryu had never heard anything more terrifying. Ichigo didn’t scream. Nothing frightened him. Nothing.

“Ichigo,” he pushed across the cushions separating them on the makeshift futon where they’d crashed a few hours earlier and shook the redhead hard. The earlier elbow was accompanied by flailing legs and a sharp right hook that Uryu barely dodged. It would be easier if Ichigo knew what he was doing, but he couldn’t fight someone who was so helplessly caught in the maze of his own mind. “Wake up, baka.” He gave his friend a sharp slap, just enough to cut through whatever nightmare was running his body at the moment, and Ichigo sat bolt upright in his blankets.

“Otōsan! No!” The high-pitched voice faded as consciousness crept back into Ichigo’s eyes, the foggy amber brightening as he came back to himself.

“Shit,” he hopped to his feet and ran for the bathroom, retching into the sink, the afterimages burning themselves into his memory. Blood from a beautiful mouth, and an unfeeling face behind a deadly dagger thrust up through a white chin. The knowledge that a beloved father was next on the devil’s hit list and guilt that she was the one who opened the door for him.

He came back out of the bathroom to see Uryu waiting patiently, one of his new sketchbooks in hand, holding it and a pencil out.

“Get it out, Ichigo,” he said gently. “I’ll keep watch for a while.”

During the war they’d watched each other’s backs like that, and deep inside he knew that if Uryu was standing guard he didn’t have to. He nodded gratefully and flipped through until he found a blank page, the pencil and paper becoming the focus of his whole world.

There was no fire this time, just silent death, efficient in its betrayal of a woman’s trust and heart. So many hopes snuffed out with that life.

He sketched the woman’s kimono, the garden, the blood on her fingers as she touched her face in disbelief, but mostly he focused on the killer’s face. It was one he’d seen countless times. The same man wielding a black blade that held not only death but utter destruction for any soul it touched. A man intent on destroying the Shibas, not just in this generation, but forever.

Who he was Ichigo had no clue. At first, he’d hoped it was just an over-active imagination, a savior complex suffering with no one to save, but the face hadn’t faded. Instead, it had become so clear that he felt like he could smell mint tea on his breath, and the peppery scent of his hair oil.

It took an hour for him to wind down, another fifteen minutes for him to put a few more details on the image so he could be certain he wasn’t missing anything important. Uryu sat with his back to him, their feet barely touching, as Ichigo hunched over the kotatsu, the Quincy making certain that nothing would disturb his friend while he couldn’t defend himself.

“Finished?” He asked when he sensed Ichigo’s movements slowing.

“Yeah,” the redhead cleared his throat. “Never been female in one of these before.”

Uryu glanced over his shoulder and down at the sketch. Definitely a woman’s point of view.

“That’s the same guy you drew yesterday,” he said. Ichigo nodded.

“He’s been in a lot of these dreams. I don’t know who he is any more than any of the others, though.”

They put away the drawing supplies and straightened the blankets again, the warmth from the kotatsu a pleasant contrast to the rest of the cool apartment.

“All good?” Chad’s voice came from the door to the bedroom and they could see Orihime’s shadow in the hall to the tiny guest room waiting to hear the all clear. Ichigo couldn’t imagine going through this without them.

“Yeah, I think so. The worst is over. Just a little tired now.”

“Ichigo-kun?” Orihime asked quietly. “Would you like me to…”

He smiled at his friend but shook off her offer. “Thanks, but I think this time I’m just going to roll with the tiredness and see if I can’t fall asleep.”

Orihime pushed a strand of hair behind her ear and gave him a hard look. “Okay, but if you can’t get comfortable, or if you have another vision, wake me. I can at least take the physical pains away.”

They shared a smile and she headed back down the hall with a little wave to the others. He hated how he’d become a burden to his friends, but they’d made it clear that after all the time he’d spent saving everyone else, it was their turn to take care of him.

***

Kisuke didn’t think of himself as an artist, but after a few centuries of life before cameras one developed certain skills.

“This is what he drew?”

Yoruichi had one hand outstretched, and Kisuke could feel how much she didn’t want to touch the sketch pad but couldn’t keep her fingers from reaching for it.

“It’s a fair representation. It doesn’t have the power of the original, but the details are pretty much there.”

Kisuke didn’t say it didn’t feel like the artist was screaming, or that it was missing the sheer hopelessness behind that other outstretched hand, small and uncalloused by life. He couldn’t find the words.

“He isn’t going to appreciate you having this, even if it is just a copy of what he drew. This is Ichigo, Kisuke. You need to be careful you don’t push him too far.”

He knew. There was enough between him and Ichigo already. He was trapped again, though. He couldn’t do what he needed to do without doing things that he really, really shouldn’t be doing.

Again.

Yoruichi shivered, still looking at the sketch book. “I knew a couple of these kids. They were a lot younger than Kūkaku, but we looked out for them occasionally. Played with them sometimes. The littlest, Ai-chan, didn’t like being at the compound. She wanted to go home so badly, but her parents were certain she’d be safer there.”

Kisuke sagged in his chair. He’d done things he would never be able to reconcile with, but there was always a reason. There was no reason for this.

“What happened to them, Yoruichi? And why?”

Long dark limbs dropped into a chair across from him, and his friend sighed deeply.

“I don’t know, Kisuke. Kūkaku doesn’t talk about it much. She gets so angry and sad.” Her voice hardened. “I can’t imagine it happening to the Shihōin. I wouldn’t stop until I’d killed everyone responsible or died in the attempt.”

Kisuke nodded. He had no problem imagining that outcome, and if something like this happened again the Shiba Clan head would no doubt shove her Kakaku Hō up their collective asses and shoot off every firework in the Seireitei. But Kūkaku had been young when the Shiba had been targeted, and back then she wasn’t nearly as blood-thirsty as her Shihōin friend.

Isshin had been with the Gotei 13 already, although in retrospect he’d been sent on many missions that were better suited to others, and his absence meant that there was less force behind the Shiba outcry that they were being targeted. Kaien… well, Kaien had done what he could. He’d been constrained by the rules of the Gotei 13 as well, but as the head of the Shiba Clan he was forgiven for some of his outbursts.

“Kaien was convinced there had to be someone in the Central 46 targeting the Shiba. He couldn’t prove it, but he told Kūkaku not to trust anyone from the Gotei 13 or Central 46 until he could dig a little deeper. Unfortunately, he was killed before he came up with any proof of his suspicions.”

Unfortunate indeed.

Kisuke pulled the sketch pad across the table, once again focused on the faceless hand reaching out to his cousins.

“I think Ichigo is having visions of these killings.”

Yoruichi stilled, her little self-soothing movements stopped like a cat catching view of prey.

Long slender fingers picked up a pencil and sketched a small image on the corner of the pad.

“All of his drawings are from the victim's’ point of view. And this.” He pushed the pad towards Yoruichi. “It was on several pages of his sketchbooks, even as far back as his earliest drawings.”

The twisted emblem marked only a few items in Seireitei, and there was no reason for Ichigo to have ever recognized the significance of it, even if he had once seen it etched into the side of the Sōkyoku.

Ichigo had made sure that Twinned Punishment was destroyed, but there were other, smaller items that could destroy a soul without the burning power of Sōkyoku’s phoenix. It was only the most powerful souls that needed its sun-hot scourge.

“You don’t think someone…” Yoruichi started, but she didn’t finish the thought. “Tch. It would have to be, wouldn’t it?”

Kisuke nodded. There were only a few places a shinigami could find a soul-destroying weapon, and the Onmitsukido was by far the easiest.

“It looks like someone was using the Onmi, or at least the Onmi’s weapons, in their attack on the Shiba clan. It doesn’t get us any closer to why, but it might explain what’s going on with Ichigo.”

Yoruichi raised an eyebrow, invitation enough for Kisuke to launch into his favorite pastime.

“I have a theory…”

***

“Inoue-san.” Tessai didn’t blink but it was clear he was surprised to see the young woman standing in the Shōten.

“Tessai-san,” she said, bowing deeply. The two had developed a deep bond during the fighting for Karakura Town, and Orihime had great respect for the quiet man.

“Is Urahara-san in?” She was proud that her voice didn’t quaver. Even after a year without seeing the man, it was hard to say his name. “I would like to speak with him if it would be possible.”

Tessai stood a little straighter and Orihime could feel the weight of his silent questions bearing down on her, but as much as she would love to share her problems with him over a cup of wasabi-liquorice tea--it really was wonderful for headaches--as they had done during the dark days, today she had to be strong. For Ichigo.

“Please.”

It must have settled an unspoken concern in the man. He nodded once with a short bow of his own and silently moved towards the back of the store.

He was gone for a few minutes, no more, but to Orihime it felt like an hour. An hour for her to reconsider the wisdom of bearding the lion in his den, and start shaking in her mary janes.

“Inoue-san,” Tessai’s voice calmed her and she turned to face him. “Urahara-san is in the kitchen making tea. He asks that you join him.”

Orihime nodded. “That is very kind of him, Tessai-san. Thank you.”

She forced herself to put one foot in front of the other until she reached the beaded curtain that separated the shop from the living space, and then, with a deep breath, she pushed through.

It looked exactly the same. The shelves were still cluttered with everything from half open boxes of stock for the shop to exotic bottles of ingredients Urahara used in his experiments, and the kitchen smelled of curry powder, matcha, and incense.

“Inoue-san! Such a pleasure to see you.”

Orihime jumped and blushed. “Hello, Urahara-san.” She bowed. If it was a little less respectful than the bow she’d given Tessai, well, Urahara wouldn’t know. “It is very kind of you to allow me to visit without an invitation.”

Urahara tsked and waved his lotus fan. She hated that fan. “You are always welcome, Inoue-san. I had hoped you and the others would know my door was never closed to you.”

Orihime fumed at his careless tone, the total glossing over his betrayal of Ichigo threatening to bubble up and choke her, and she forced herself to focus on the matter at hand. It wouldn’t help anyone if she let her feelings get the better of her now.

“You are gracious as ever, Urahara-san.” She moved toward the burner where the kettle had begun to boil. “May I?”

Urahara waved his permission with that damned fan and she set to pouring the water over the tea leaves he’d already spooned into the blue porcelain pot. She breathed the steam in, the slightly astringent smell of green tea an instant relaxant for her overwrought nerves.

The green-robed man moved to his normal perch, a ratty old cushion on the floor next to the kotatsu, his bare feet tucked under the edge of the blanket there. His eyes were hidden under the edge of his hat, as usual, but somehow Orihime felt like she had more of his attention than she’d ever had before.

“Here we go.” She brought the tea tray to the table and started pouring. “The tea smells wonderful. Thank you for allowing me to share it with you.”

Urahara nodded, the fan disappeared in some deep pocket for the moment, his hands using the teacup as his camouflage instead.

It was ironic that the scars that lined his face were never the reason that he hid from the world. No. He’d hidden his true feelings the whole time she’d known him. The scars just gave him a new excuse.

“How are your studies, Inoue-san?” The blond always insisted on chit chat. For once, she didn’t mind. It gave her time to get her thoughts in order.

“I am happy to say that I will finish my degree next term.” She inclined her head briefly. “It is amazing how much focus one learns through surviving conflict. It made university… much less intimidating.”

She didn’t point out that she was two years ahead of schedule. That she’d doubled up courses whenever possible. That the extra work soothed her during the nights when she couldn’t sleep, or the days when every crowd supplied showed her faces of people that she knew were dead. “I am supposed to start my practical rotations at the hospital after that. Dr. Ishida has guaranteed me a place.”

Uryu’s father was a terrible parent, but he cared greatly about the hospital and its patients. Working with him would allow her to use her spirits when she could, without all the explanations that would be necessary when dealing with someone who was unaware of the spirit world.

Urahara nodded slowly, following the unsaid messages easily. He knew how Ryuuken worked better than most.

“I thought perhaps you would go to work for Isshin-san at the Kurosaki Clinic.”

Orihime held her face blank, the calm visage covering the fierce frown that wanted to make itself known.

“No.” She gently placed her cup on the table, the careful motion a necessary focus. “I decided that was not the best fit for me.”

It had been her dream. She’d imagined a life rolled into the rambunctious embrace of the Kurosakis. A life where she and Ichigo married and, if they were lucky, had children that were just as honorable and awkward and wonderful as Ichigo was. When it became clear that he didn’t return her feelings, she thought she’d shatter with her dreams, but she realized fairly quickly that she didn’t have to grieve the loss of Ichigo. He loved her, it just didn’t take the form of her childhood dreams. That said, the constant reminder of what might have been didn’t sound like the best way to put the past behind her, so when Ryuuken had approached her with his offer, she’d accepted with no regrets. Shiba-san had known how she felt, and when she informed the collected Kurosaki/Shiba/Yasutora/Ishida/Inoue family over one of their group dinners that she was going to accept Ishida-sama’s offer of a position, he’d met her gaze with a seriousness he rarely showed and told her he was happy for her, and that if things didn’t work out she should come back to him because she’d always have a place at the clinic if she wanted.

It was good to have family.

She looked up from her tea and caught Urahara’s eyes. Urahara didn’t understand that. Didn’t understand what he threw away. Baka.

The blond’s ever-present bucket hat was tilted back far enough to show dark circles under his eyes. He looked older, which made no sense. Not only was he shinigami, but he was in a gigai. Still, there was a bone-deep weariness about him.

Was it wrong that she was happy to see it?

“What about the others? I saw that Yasutora-kun won another of his matches. I told Tessai-san that I wouldn’t be surprised if he was chosen for the Japanese Olympic boxing team.”

Orihime wasn’t sure, but she thought Urahara was babbling. That couldn’t be right, though.

“I don’t think Chado-kun would feel comfortable with that. He says professionals are even paid for losing, so if he wins it isn’t as if they’re suffering unduly. He is very aware of his talents, and how some might feel he has an unfair advantage.”

She tapped a pale pink fingernail nervously on the tabletop, took a deep breath, and jumped in.

“I know you’re wondering why I came to see you today.”

One green shoulder rose a fraction. “Friends are always welcome at the Shoten, Inoue-san, but if there is something I can help you with, I do hope you won’t hesitate to ask.”

Her teeth were instantly on edge. That answer that wasn’t an answer thing he did was so frustrating. He was such a coward.

She was looking around the room trying to calm her thoughts again when her eyes fell on a sketchbook open on the shelf beside Urahara. It had several things stacked on top of it, but there was an edge visible. With a hand. A hand she’d seen before. A hand she cried over.

“How did you get that?”

All thought of politeness fled. He would tell her how he got that picture, if she had to use her spirits to take him apart and put him back together over and over again, his Crimson Princess be damned.

“Inoue-san,” he said placatingly, but she wasn’t going to let him run this time. Not this time.

“Tell me.”

Sparks haloed her head, her Shun Shun Rikka practically vibrating at her temples, and Urahara bowed his head and shifted to pull the sketchbook off the shelf.

“Should have made a more thorough effort to put this away, but as you can see,” he waved a hand in her direction, “I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

Orihime grabbed the book and pulled it closer. “Ichigo didn’t draw this.”

Urahara hummed in agreement. “No. I did.”

Brown eyes flew up to pin him in place, and her voice dropped dangerously. “Are you saying that you sent these visions to Ichigo?”

If possible Urahara looked even more tired.

“I know you and your friends have issues with me, Inoue-san, but in this let me reassure you. I do not know why Kurosaki-san is suffering through these visions.” His voice was as bland as rice porridge, but there was a glint in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “I didn’t even know they were happening until Isshin-san called upon me yesterday. That is when I saw the picture I copied.”

Orihime snorted. “Shiba-san was snooping through Ichigo-kun’s belongings I suppose. Not a huge surprise, and not his best choice of action, but at least he’s trying.”

“We are all trying, Inoue-san. Kurosaki-san has earned our efforts a hundred times over.” He shifted on his cushion and turned the sketchbook to where the symbol he’d drawn was foremost. “I believe this has something to do with what is happening. I noticed it on several of the drawings Isshin-san showed me.”

Orihime translated the kanji entwined in the little cartouche. Tamashī Mekuri. “Soul Stripping.”

Urahara made a disapproving sound and nodded. “One of the forbidden inventions of the Kidō Corps. Tessai-san outlawed its use when he was promoted.”

Orihime just happened to be looking down when it happened, or she’d never have noticed Urahara’s hand as it fisted along the inside of his thigh.

“What does it do?” She was almost afraid of the answer. If the Kidō Corps had forbidden it, it couldn’t be anything good.

“It does exactly what it sounds like. A soul is stripped from its consciousness and cast out. It dissolves into mindless reiryoku and has no chance at reincarnation. It is a final punishment for souls that are determined to be irredeemable. Polluted. Whose consciousness would poison the whole of the cycle if it were allowed to remain intact.”

Orihime considered this for a moment, horror beginning to dawn. “Like the Sōkyoku?”

“Not exactly.” The blond sat back on his cushion and gave another little half shrug. “It doesn’t have that kind of power behind it.”

He didn’t come out and say It doesn’t summon an enormous phoenix to destroy everything in its path, but he didn’t need to. That kind of thing got noticed, and whatever Urahara was chasing was more subtle than that.

“For Kurosaki-san to be seeing it in his visions, it has to be connected. There are only a few still living in Seireitei that know this spell, and even fewer weapons that have been imbued with its power. It is, at least, a place to start.”

“Can you help him now? While you’re chasing whatever kidō casting phantom is out there?”

The tiredness was back, and Urahara shifted awkwardly until he was almost curled in upon himself.

“I do not believe Kurosaki-san is interested in whatever aid I might provide.” He flipped open his fan, but not before Orihime saw the frustration on his face. “I will do what I can through Isshin-san. Dragging him here against his will would only add to his burden when he is already so clearly suffering, and I refuse to be a party to that. He has enough bad memories of this place already.”

For a year Orihime had struggled with her feelings about the man across from her. She’d practically hated him at times, but now… she admitted she’d been denying something all this time, and it was time to stop.

“Ichigo-kun collapsed yesterday.” She dropped it into the middle of the conversation with an almost audible clang. “That’s why I’m here.”

All pretense of disinterested calm drained from the shopkeeper, and he leaned forward against the table’s edge, her words bringing him to total attention.

“Collapsed?” he asked.

“Yup,” she picked up her tea cup and sipped the cooled brew. “He was watching Chado-kun spar, and then *bang* out for the count.” She watched the blond intently. “It took almost ten minutes for them to bring him around, and then he was wiped out all evening. Uryu-kun says his reishi levels are rising at a dangerous rate, but he can’t figure out how to make it stop.”

The blond was always pale, but he got noticeably paler as she shared more details about Ichigo’s declining health. His fists clenched reflexively, and his breathing was a little faster. If she wasn’t mistaken, and after four years of training as an ER nurse she felt fairly confident in her skills, he was on the edge of a panic attack.

The mighty Urahara Kisuke, panicking over Ichigo. It was about time.

“He is okay now, I assume? No lingering effects of the collapse?” his questions were practical, but the tone in his voice was personal, and Orihime decided to be merciful.

“He was fine when he went to sleep last night. I’ve been using my Shun Shun Rikka to make sure that whatever is affecting his spiritual pressure levels doesn’t harm his body, but I can’t stop the images from affecting how he feels, or what he thinks.”

Silence fell between them for a moment.

“If he is somehow reliving these events, I can only imagine the toll it must take.”

It wouldn’t take too much imagination, Orihime thought. Urahara had his own demons, his own visions of death to deal with, but he had always been the killer not the victim, and so he made peace with his visions through guilt. It was a miserable peace, but it was more closure than Ichigo had, and Orihime figured he knew that, too.

“He’s coming here this afternoon.” She put the tea down and looked straight at the older man. “He needs your help Urahara-san. Will you turn him away again?”

Urahara stiffened. “I never turned him away, Inoue-san. Never.”

The sneer on her face was even more powerful because it was so rarely seen. “You can lie to yourself, Urahara-san,” she snapped, “but I saw what he was like when you sent him away the last time. I held him as he cried. Chado-kun had to be stopped from coming here and shoving that striped hat up your ass where your head was. You broke his heart, and then you told him to come back once he’d gotten over his adolescent hero-worship.”

She stood, too angry to remain any longer. Understanding that the feelings between Urahara and Ichigo weren’t as one-sided as she’d thought only made the hateful way the older man had pushed her friend away even harder to swallow.

“How could you?” she whispered. “He loved you. Loves you, still. And here you are, pretending it doesn’t matter, letting him suffer alone. Again.”

She wiped away a tear. “You’re both fools.”

“I have been called worse, my dear,” he said, “and truly. However, if Kurosaki-san wants to come and let me examine him, I would be happy for the chance to help him. Please tell him that.”

She started walking for the front of the shop and flipped her hair back over one shoulder as she sent him one last look. “Tell him yourself. If you want to help, get over your pride or your shame or whatever is causing you to be like this and help. He needs you, and you owe it to him.”

And with the clicking of the beaded curtain she was gone.

***

“Kurosaki Clinic, how can I help you?”

The bright voice cut through the line like sunshine, and Kisuke smiled. Nothing would ever change Yuzu.

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun,” he smiled into the phone, putting his best foot forward, “it has been a long time. This is Urahara Kisuke. I’m trying to reach your brother.”

The phone dropped its connection and he was left speaking into dead air.

He dialed again.

“Kurosaki Clinic, how can I help you?”

“Kurosaki-kun,” he started again, “I’m sorry, I had a problem with my connection. I am trying to get-”

“It was no problem at all,” she said, overriding him. “I hung up on you. And I’m going to do it again. Goodbye.”

And she did.

Kisuke didn’t dial the clinic again. He, instead, called Isshin directly. “Hello, Shiba Isshin.”

“Isshin-san,” he said, his tone a little less cheerful than it had been for Yuzu. “I do hope you don’t intend to hang up on me.”

Isshin grunted. “Why would I hang up on you?”

“I don’t know, but apparently your daughter had a reason.”

It didn’t matter. It really didn’t. He knew that when he refused Ichigo’s advances there would be sides taken. It was just… unexpected.

“Ah, Yuzu,” Isshin made understanding noises. “Yeah, she hates your guts. Pretty sure Karin does, too.”

Kisuke didn’t pretend to be surprised. Karin had always been the volatile one of the twins. If Yuzu had shut that door on him, Karin would have slammed his foot in it given the chance.

“Well, regardless of my standing with your daughters, I am actually calling about your other offspring. I need to get in touch with him, but it seems the phone number I have for him no longer works.”

There was another uncomfortable silence. “Yes, about that… I’ve been thinking. You were right when you said I shouldn’t have gone through Ichigo’s things, and I think that unless you’ve already got some idea of what is going on, we should put this whole thing on the back burner until I get the results from the blood tests back from the lab. We really ought to rule out any--”

Kisuke cut him off. “Inoue-san came to see me this morning.”

Apparently, that news was as surprising to Isshin as the event had been to Kisuke. The other man sputtered and coughed into the phone.

“She what? She swore she’d never…” Isshin realized what he was saying and tried to dial things back but it was hopeless. “I mean… oh hell, Kisuke, you know what I mean.”

He knew.

“Nevertheless, she came to see me. She told me Ichigo collapsed yesterday.”

“Collapsed!” The worried parent voice would never sound normal coming from Isshin, but it happened often enough now that Kisuke didn’t look for the lie in it. “He didn’t say anything to me. After promising to let me know!”

“Calm down, Isshin-san. I’m sure he will tell you, he just needs time to recover. However, if he is physically unable to deal with the strain of these visions… if he is collapsing from them… I don’t believe we have the luxury of waiting and seeing.”

He thought about the next words carefully. “Inoue-san indicated that he meant to visit the Shōten this afternoon.”

This time Isshin didn’t burst out with denials. “Things must be worse than he told me.”

The implication that only something extreme could drive Ichigo to the Shōten was a bitter truth, but Kisuke couldn’t deny it. He remembered the look of utter betrayal on Ichigo’s face from their last meeting. He lived with the memory of it every day.

“Indeed,” he agreed. “That is why I wanted to contact him first. If meeting him someplace like the clinic would make it easier for him… Well, Tessai-san and I can take readings anywhere.”

Kisuke swallowed the lump that was trying to block his throat. “You know I’d do whatever necessary to help him, Isshin-san.”

A rough voice sounded behind him. “It was never your help I wanted, Kisuke.” Ichigo laughed bitterly. “And I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you and Goat Face are conspiring behind my back, again.”

His arms were too thin. Muscles from years of sword work were still there, but there was nothing but a layer of skin covering them. His face was drawn, too, amber eyes dull and huge in his face, and Kisuke ached to see the pain in them.

“Kurosaki-san,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I was trying to contact you. I tried the clinic first, but Yuzu-kun refused to speak to me. So, I called your father.”

Ichigo crossed the small living room and placed a key on the table. He’d had it all this time but had never used it.

“Orihime told me she came to see you this morning.” He was looking around the room like he didn’t know what to do, and it hurt almost more than the lost look on his face. Once, he’d considered this almost more a home than his own, but Kisuke had taken that from him, too.

“She did.” The shopkeeper disconnected his call and laid the phone on the shelf beside him. “I spoke to your father yesterday, though. He was worried about what was happening to you and thought I might be able to help.”

Ichigo chose Tessai’s seat and lowered himself onto the pale pink patterned cushion, moving slowly and carefully like someone more than twice his age.

“Well, for once I’m glad people are doing all the talking for me. Makes this whole reunion thing a little less awkward don’t you think?” He smiled, but it was a stiff and unnatural thing. “See the thing is, I almost didn’t come today anyway. Probably would’ve chickened out if Uryu hadn’t threatened to jab me with his sewing needles if I didn’t.”

Kisuke understood. He’d been avoiding this moment too, but time for avoidance was past. Ichigo needed him, needed him in a way he could actually give him, and nothing was going to stop him now.

“Well, I will have to thank Ishida-san the next time I see him.” He moved closer to the redhead and sat on the floor in front of him and spoke softly. “I am very glad to see you, Kurosaki-san.”

He took Ichigo’s hand in his and just held it for a moment, letting his own skin warm it, and he felt the faint tremor that shook the fingers.

“Kisuke,” Ichigo’s voice cracked. “I know I shouldn’t be here, but…” he raised his eyes to the blond’s and swallowed thickly, “I think I’m going crazy. I’ve fought wanna-be gods, and killed monsters, but I can’t fight this. I don’t even know what it is. Please.”

Kisuke’s fingers were crushed in a painful grip but he didn’t try to pull them back. This little bit of pain was nothing compared to what he’d tolerate if it meant he was helping Ichigo.

“Stop that.” He said firmly. “You are not going crazy, and we will find a way to fix this.” He wrapped his free hand around the two clenched ones and squeezed encouragingly.

“Tessai-san!” He pitched his voice in the sing-song that cut all the way through to the shop, but he knew Tessai was just in the next room waiting. He knew his kidō skills were going to be an important part of fixing whatever was haunting Ichigo. “We have work to do.”

The large man appeared silently in the doorway and he bowed.

“Welcome back, Kurosaki-san.” There was a world of quiet emotion in those three words, and Ichigo nodded at the big man.

“Good to see you, too, Tessai-san.” He started to say something else, but the words garbled in his throat, and the little bit of color in his face drained away.

“Kisuke--” he whispered. Then he fell.

***

The little man in black swung his tachi with a vengeance, his face a rictus of hate. The weapon flashed in the low light and the young man fell, blood spurting across the frost covered ground, the redness fading to black as it melted into the grass. Miyake-sama. Master. He did nothing. Let me call for the healer, maybe he can… No. No! You can’t! Please! PLEASE!!! The shield he summoned wasn’t fast enough, and he felt the burning bite of the tachi shatter his focus and the spell unraveled around him.

The metallic smell of blood faded with the screams in his head, but Ichigo couldn’t move. His body was as frozen as the corpse he’d just been.

“Kurosaki-san,” Kisuke’s arms were wrapped around him but he could barely feel it. His skin was cold, so cold. “Kurosaki-san!” Kisuke was getting louder, his fingers checking his pulse and tapping his face sharply, but Ichigo was still too far away to respond.

“Ichigo!” Kisuke picked him up as if he weighed nothing and carried in through the mini-maze of the living space until he reached the sleeping quarters, and then Ichigo was lowered to a futon and covered, the soft gray blankets the same color as Kisuke’s eyes.

“Miyake-sama,” he forced the name through stiff lips, convinced it was important. “He killed me. Killed the others, too.”

“Shhhhh, Ichigo, I’ve got you,” Kisuke murmured the words of comfort as he started setting a pair of kidō seals at the head and foot of the futon. “Just another minute. Just stay with me. Please. Just another minute? You can manage one more minute, can’t you. Just one more.”

Then he was yelling for Tessai, the large man moving around in the hallway doing something Ichigo couldn’t see, but he could feel the wall of reishi that was being raised. It felt like the shield that Hachi placed around the Visored’s warehouse, but smaller. Tighter. A dome around this room, and him, and Kisuke.

Ichigo shivered as goose bumps raced across his skin, the feverish feeling was almost overwhelming, but he focused on Kisuke’s voice, that voice he’d dreamed of, calling his name, asking him to stay.

“Kisuke.” He fought the vision for control, and he could feel it receding a little. Then, just as Kisuke finished setting the second kidō seal, the hold it had on him disappeared in a flash.

He was himself again.

His throat was raw, and he realized he must’ve been screaming again, “I hope the neighbors didn’t call the cops when I started screaming.”

Kisuke shook his head at the redhead. “Don’t worry about that. If they haven’t called the police about Jinta and Ururu’s battles royale, a little screaming wouldn’t cause them to blink an eye.”

Ichigo was so tired. He tried to focus on Kisuke, but his eyes had other ideas. “Whatever you and Tessai did helped. I could feel it.”

Kisuke looked at Tessai still standing in the doorway and they exchanged some silent kidō master information and Ichigo sighed. He just wanted to sleep.

“Can I just rest here for a little bit?” He tried not to sound pathetic, but he was comfortable for the first time in months, and the feeling of something scratching at his reiatsu was gone. “I promise I won’t stay long. I don’t want to be a bother.”

And if he heard Kisuke whisper he could stay forever if he wanted to, well… apparently, some hallucinations were better than others.

***

“I think he’ll sleep for a while, Tessai-san,” Kisuke quietly joined his friend in the hallway. “It’s fairly clear that our theory of Ichigo being the center of a confluence of conscious reishi was right. Hopefully, that also means that the seals will keep him protected from it,” he sighed.

“Did you notice the barrier he was summoning?” Tessai’s voice was dark. “Kurosaki-kun doesn’t know that spell. That had to be something he was acting out from the vision.”

“Yes,” Kisuke said. “I’m lucky he didn’t manage to finish the spell. I was close enough it would have done quite a bit of damage.”

“Also, I heard what he said. Miyake-sama killed me.” Tessai looked down, a rare expression of anger on his face. “The Miyake family has deep roots within the Kidō Corps. I personally trained two of them before our escape to the living world. They didn’t have the focus to become great, but they had impressive natural talent. There was nothing to prevent them from reaching officer level if they’d wanted it.”

That made a sort of sense. “Have any of the Miyake ever been members of the Second?”

“Not as far as I know,” Tessai shook his head. “They had no connection to the Shihōin. The men I knew were very proud of their samurai ties. They claimed that their grandfather remembered his life before Seireitei, and that he was so deeply tied to his honor that the knowledge of that past couldn’t be erased by anything short of the Sōkyoku itself.”

The shopkeeper walked down the hall to the kitchen and lit the fire under the kettle.

“So, we have a kidō wielding family talking about honor and the Sōkyoku. Sounds like perhaps someone decided to use their skills to take their revenge against the Shiba, and somehow, through whatever misbegotten method they were using to try to destroy the connection between the Shiba and their soul particles, they’ve left them wandering loose in some sort of limbo, unable to re-enter the reincarnation stream, but still aware. Still Shiba.”

Fifty years of only being able to remember what was lost. To remember the betrayal of death. The fear.

Tessai agreed. “Kurosaki-kun must be acting like a beacon for them. Drawing them to him, as only an incredibly powerful Shiba force could.”

Kisuke laughed under his breath as he scooped matcha into the teapot. “Why am I not surprised? Ichigo has always been a neon sign in the darkness calling to the lost.”

He had called to Kisuke, pulled him from the shell he’d built around himself. Forced him back into the light. Back into life. Even Benihime sang his praises, and Kisuke wasn’t foolish enough to argue with her.

“It doesn’t explain how the particles are entering his personal reishi pool and affecting him physically?” Tessai frowned. “Nor does it explain why the Shiba’s were targeted in the first place. However, our first priority is to stabilize Kurosaki-kun and prevent any more damage.”

***

When Ichigo awoke, he wasn’t alone.

“Ichigo-kun!” Orihime excitedly moved to sit beside him on the futon when he shifted. “You look much better!”

“I feel better,” he said, and it was true. The echoes in his head were gone, and the raw feeling under his skin had faded almost completely. “A lot better, actually.”

He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, the last echoes of the vision of being killed much farther away than usual at this point. “I collapsed again, didn’t I?”

“Technically, no,” she said, pushing a piece of hair behind an ear, making one of her hairpins glint in the low light. “Urahara-san said that you were exhausted after the last vision, but that you didn’t lose consciousness due to the changes in your reiatsu.”

Uryu was sitting by the window. “The shinigami was able to stabilize your reiryoku. There are some interesting protections weaved into the walls of this room already, but I think the kidō seals they placed around you were the real key. They effectively stop any reishi from entering this space, so while your reiatsu isn’t affected, there’s nothing extra bombarding you.”

Ichigo remembered Tessai’s mad dash to raise the shield just as he was about to collapse again, buried under a reishi-slide too powerful for him to handle. It was a close call, and he didn’t want to think of how long it would have taken him to recover if he hadn’t managed it in time.

“So, you’re basically a boy in a bubble.”

He looked around at the room, littered with Kisuke’s personal things and sighed. A sandalwood incense, and Kisuke scented bubble. Why couldn’t the Universe just kill him already?

He must’ve made some sound because Uryu let out a little snort of laughter. “Yeah. Someone out there loves fucking with you, Kurosaki.”

Another laugh rumbled in the distance. Goat Face. Of course.

“Your dad got here just before we did.” Orihime grimaced. “Apparently he panicked when Urahara-san hung up on him. He told Yuzu-chan to close the clinic and shunpo’d over here. He’s already received one Jigokuchō since he arrived. I’m assuming it’s for breaking the shinigami laws of concealment, but I didn’t ask.”

His dad was many things, but restrained and logical in the face of trouble was nowhere on that list. He had to admit, though, that it was nice to finally feel important to his old man, even if it did mean he had a brand new helicopter parent in his life at twenty-three.

“At least he hasn’t run in here and tackled me.”

Orihime grinned. “He tried. Apparently Urahara-san put a little extra anti-Shiba kick in the shield. He can’t get in.”

“And the best part, is that because the problem you’re having is directly connected to Shiba energy, there’s nothing he can do about it.” Uryu said.

Ichigo burrowed back into the blankets, sucking up every ounce of comfort he could.

“Shiba, huh? So the visions?”

A dainty hand reached out and patted his arm, and he knew Orihime was trying to find a way to tell him what he needed to know gently.

“It’s okay, Orihime,” he said. “Just tell me. Can’t fight it if I don’t know what it is.”

Uryu saved her. “That’s just it. We’re not sure it’s something you can fight. When we got here we saw that you’d dropped your pack by the back door, so we pulled your sketchbooks out and let them look at them. All three of them recognized someone in those books, and every single vision was the murder of a Shiba.”

Ichigo had often wondered what had happened to his father’s clan, but it wasn’t something Goat Face was comfortable talking about. He carried as much guilt over it as Kisuke did over what he’d done for the Onmitsukidō, or during the wars against Aizen and Ywach.

“Did any of them recognize the killers?” he asked.

“Tessai-san.” Orihime looked solemn. “They were students of his at one point apparently. He was most… disturbed.”

“I can imagine.” Ichigo had only seen Tessai lose his cool twice during the war against Aizen, but he’d been a demon in the fight against the Quincy. The big man did not take kindly to betrayal, and he would destroy anyone who attacked an innocent. Many of the Shiba he’d seen killed were innocents.

His stomach growled and he realized he was hungry for the first time in weeks. “Am I really stuck in this room?” he asked. “I’m starving.”

Orihime beamed. “This is the safest place for you, but Tessai-san told me they set up a slightly less intense barrier around the building. You should be safe as long as you don’t leave, and I know for a fact that there’s a big pot of Yuzu’s curry out there keeping warm on the stove.”

Yuzu’s curry and Kisuke’s bedroom. Ichigo could think of worse ways to recuperate.

***

“So, as much as I hate to admit it, I am partially to blame for Kurosaki-san’s current state of disability.” Urahara said, voice heavy with guilt. “The sword used to return his powers to him during the conflict with Ginjo, was designed to allow many different types of power to be absorbed into his soul, recharging it. It had to open a pathway for the reishi to travel and the spells I worked into its surface acted almost like the drugs used in a human organ transplant surgery. I had to make sure the new energy wasn’t somehow rejected by his soul before it could be absorbed and accepted as Kurosaki-san’s own.”

Uryu caught on quickly. “And that pathway is still open?”

Kisuke nodded. “It seems likely, yes. Tessai-san is going to examine Kurosaki-san more closely now that he has rested and there is no foreign reishi clouding the readings, but that is my best guess.”

The room was crowded, and it felt almost like the old days. Everyone focused on solving a problem, brought together by conflict, but kept together by something stronger. That something had almost always been Ichigo. It didn’t seem wrong that he was again the reason that the ten of them were once again around his table. It felt even more normal to realize that his mistake was what caused part of the problem in the first place.

“Stop blaming yourself, Kisuke,” the redhead said. He was sitting slouched against Chad’s side, his burst of energy from earlier waning as the discussion progressed. He would need to be forced to rest soon, but from the look on Orihime’s face that wasn’t going to be a problem. “Even if you’d told me at the time that this was a possible side effect I would have grabbed that sword with both hands and stabbed myself if I had to.”

He probably meant it, but that didn’t mean it was the wise choice, or that he knew what he’d have chosen if he’d had the choice. Ichigo was too ready to just gloss over the details.

“Regardless of what caused the path, what is this energy that is attacking Ichigo-kun through that path. You keep saying it’s Shiba energy, but unless I’m mistaken souls that have that much awareness reenter the reincarnation cycle, and the ones that don’t just become reishi.”

Tessai spread his big hands. “The kidō corps has invented many spells over the ages that affect reishi and reiryoku. It allows shinigami to perform the konso that releases souls to come to Soul Society, and on the other end of the spectrum it is used to restrain a soul’s spiritual pressure, or even destroy it in cases of capital punishment.”

“The Sōkyoku.” Ichigo said it like it left a bad taste in his mouth, but Tessai nodded.

“Yes, the Sōkyoku had several different spells embedded in it, one of which was Tamashī Mekuri. The symbol of which is scattered throughout the drawings you’ve made over the past few months.”

“Soul Stripping.” Isshin ground the words out. “I thought that had been made illegal by Central 46.”

Tessai shrugged. “I am the one who declared it illegal to teach to the Kidō Corps, and Central 46 supported my decision, with a few noted exceptions. But, that doesn’t mean that the skill disappeared. There were many who already knew how to cast it, and several weapons that had it embedded in them.”

“Let me guess. One of which was a black tachi with a white tassel on the pommel and that symbol stamped in the side of the blade.” Ichigo’s voice was perfectly flat, but Kisuke could hear the pain in it. He’d seen what the weapon could do up close and personal, and there was nothing that would make that less horrific.

“Yes.” Tessai didn’t dance around with his answers. “Someone used it to not only kill the Shiba living in Seireitei, but attempted to destroy their spirits completely, preventing them from reincarnating, and thereby removing their power from the Shiba forever.”

Yoruichi pounced onto the important part of that sentence. “Attempted?”

“You’re saying they’re still conscious out there.” Isshin sounded appalled, and Kisuke couldn’t blame him.

“Yes. The killers didn’t have enough reiatsu to activate the full effect of the weapon. It takes a particular kind of person to be able to completely destroy a soul. There can be no question in their mind, or they won’t be able to completely strip the consciousness from the energy.’

“Instead of destroying the Shiba energy, they just sent it into limbo, and it has been there ever since. It has coalesced into a metaphysical stream of reishi that identifies as Shiba, and it is still picking up any stray bits of soul that survived the extermination.”

“Because Ichigo has so much Shiba energy of his own, he’s acting like a magnet. It wouldn’t matter except for the hole we punched through his souls protective outer layer. It started as just a trickle, so it wasn’t noticeable. Now that the stream has started moving, though, it is continuing to gain strength as it pours into him. That is why his reishi levels were rising so rapidly for no reason, and if we don’t close the pathway it will keep happening, until finally it overwhelms his own soul particles.”

“Which I would really like to skip, if possible.” Ichigo sat up, eyes glassy. “But if we close the pathway, what will happen to them?”

“Them who, Kurosaki-san?” Kisuke asked, but he knew the answer.

Ichigo yawned a jaw-cracking yawn and leaned forward on his elbows. “Don’t play dumb, Kisuke. The souls that are hitching a ride with me. What will happen to them?”

Kisuke sighed, he knew this was where Ichigo would get stuck. “Nothing. They will remain as they have been since they were killed.”

Isshin shifted uncomfortably, and Yoruichi hissed under her breath. No one liked the answer, but that didn’t change it.

“They’ll just stay… lost?” The young man looked like the bottom had fallen out of his world, and Kisuke wished he didn’t always have to be the voice of doom.

“Without an anchor, the energy will continue to move through the currents of reishi that flow around us.”

Ichigo pushed himself up, sleepiness gone and a determined look on his face. Kisuke couldn’t help but smile; it was exactly the reaction he’d predicted to Tessai that afternoon.

“Well, screw that.”

***

Kisuke rubbed his eyes and bent back over the table where he and Tessai had God knows what spread out. It looked like parts of a gigai, and a whole lot of I-have-no-idea-what-that-is.

“But if we open the pathway with the same set of spells….”

He let the actual words fade out. They’d been at it for a couple of hours, and Ichigo didn’t understand any more of it now than he had when they’d started. It was just nice to hear them in the background, that familiar sound that he hadn’t realized he depended on for peace of mind until he’d lost it.

Everyone but Yoruichi had gone home after the meeting, although getting Isshin to leave had been a struggle. He seemed to think that his presence would be soothing. Chad and Uryu had frog-marched him out the door with Orihime close behind to make sure he didn’t bolt. They were good friends.

He closed his eyes and drifted.

Shiba-san. Can you hear me now, Shiba-san?

The voice was small and melodic, tickling the back of his mind like a distant whisper.

Please, Shiba-san. Please try to listen.

Ichigo’s eyes were so heavy, but he couldn’t ignore the voice in his head. If I’m not dreaming, he thought, then I can hear you.

He could almost feel the relieved laughter that burst in the back of his head. I don’t believe you’re dreaming, but after all this time I feel like I must be.

Ichigo groaned. Now his imagination was talking to him instead of just showing him horror movies on the back of his eyeballs.

Not your imagination, Shiba-san, and I am very sorry that you’ve been subjected to so much unpleasantness recently.

Unpleasantness. Well, that was one word for it.

Who are you? Ichigo thought loudly, and the voice tittered a cultured little laugh. You do not have to shout. I can hear you perfectly well.

Fine, he thought again. Who are you?

And she told him.

***

“She says she is Shiba Shiori. She married into the Shiba clan about the time my dad was born. She was Yamamoto’s niece or something. I didn’t really follow that part.”

Kisuke sipped his tea. If this got any more convoluted, though, he was going to shift to sake.

“She said she found me first, and the others followed her.”

Tessai grunted. “A relative of Yamamoto-soutaichou would probably be quite powerful in her own right. It would make sense that she would have a greater chance of surviving the soul stripping process.”

“She said the reason I can hear her now is because there’s no more new reishi coming in, and she seems to be the most… coherent of the souls there.”

They might be able to use that. If Shiba Shiori was this successful with contacting both Ichigo’s conscious mind, and the soul fragments clinging to him, she could be a gathering force. That would solve the problem he and Tessai were having about how to separate Ichigo’s reishi from the foreign parts.

Yoruichi stretched out on the low couch next to them. “Her name rings a bell, but I’m sure Kūkaku would remember her.”

Ichigo laughed. “She remembers both of you. And all the trouble you caused.”

Yoruichi just grinned. “Youthful exuberance. Nothing more.”

That was it! How could he have missed it!

“We need to go to the Shiba compound. Send a Jigokuchō. We need Isshin-san, Kūkaku, and Ganju. Tessai-san? Gather up the gigai we were working on, and bring that, too. Oh, and we should probably send a message to the Soutaichou that there’s a pair of murderers in the Kidō Corps, but we can deal with that later.”

He stopped and looked around. Everyone was staring at him.

“What? Haven’t you ever seen genius in action before?” He snapped his fan open and shooed everyone into action.

Ichigo didn’t move. “You’re sure this is a good idea?” It was clear he was nervous about leaving the protection of the sealed Shoten.

Kisuke looked him square in the eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t lie to you again, Kurosaki-san. Do you really want an answer to that?”

Ichigo sighed. “This is really going to hurt isn’t it.”

“Probably.” The blond nodded, but reached out a hand and patted his shoulder lightly. “Hopefully, it will be the last time, though.”

Yoruichi stood up and stretched. “Famous last words, eh, Kisuke?” She wrapped her arm around Ichigo’s waist and herded him towards the senkaimon in the training area. “At least we’ll all be here to tell him I told you so, Ichigo-kun.”

Ichigo brightened a little, and the blond hid his smile behind his fan. It was good to see that he still had a sense of humor, even if it was at Kisuke’s expense.

Time to work.

***

“So, I want you three to focus your reiatsu into the Reishūkaku. Focus as much as you can, without blowing it up, of course.” With Kūkaku, that last part was sometimes necessary.

Isshin and Ganju stood on either side of the glowing orb, their faces works of concentration, and when Kūkaku added her reiatsu, there was a noticeable rise of temperature in the room.

Shiba’s really had more reiatsu than was good for them. Or anyone, as they were discovering.

It only took five minutes for the three to begin sweating and shaking from the effort of pouring more reiatsu into the Reishūkaku, but Kisuke waited until he could feel the surface of it start to vibrate before he called a halt.

“That should do it.” Kūkaku handed the cannonball back to him, and he frowned. This was the tricky part. Or one of them, at least.

“Tessai-san, if you’d do the honors?” he asked, stepping away from the gathered Shiba.

Tessai silently nodded and then set to work, raising two interlaced shields that would protect those in the area from both physical and spiritual damage.

“It’s ready, Urahara-san,” he said, and the blond bowed a little in thanks.

He hadn’t focused any of his personal energy into the reishūkaku because it was important that it contain nothing but Shiba vibrations. This part, however, was just a matter of wrestling it into shape. Kisuke didn’t have a huge amount of reishi to work with like Ichigo did, but he was very good at using what he had.

Reishūkaku typically were enlarged after being filled with reiatsu. This time, though, Kisuke was going to collapse it in on itself. He needed it small enough to fit inside the gigai he’d constructed.

“Be careful Kisuke,” Yoruichi was standing next to Kūkaku, not touching, but comforting. “You’d be hard to replace.”

Kisuke nodded once, but this wasn’t about him. It was about Ichigo, and he would be much harder to replace.

There, he thought finally. That should be small enough. Plus, nothing had exploded, which was always a good sign.

“Tessai-san,” he said, holding the now palm-sized orb up. “I think it’s safe to take the shields down now.”

***

Ichigo felt like he was going to throw up. The feverish feelings were back and worse than ever. His head was pounding like he’d drunk too much sake the night before, and the day before that, and the day before that. He wasn’t sure he was going to make it through this.

It had been bad in the living world, the constant scratching at his soul, but here in Soul Society it was hundreds of times worse. He supposed that made sense, though. There would be weaker soul fragments that were never able to leave the area where they were killed, and now that he was there, right next to them, they, too, wanted to join the party.

Isshin notice him swaying on his feet. “Hold on, Son,” he said, slipping a hand under Ichigo’s elbow to steady him. “Not much longer now.”

Ichigo laughed, a strangled sound. Not much longer now. That’s what Isshin said to women delivering babies, or when he was putting in stitches in an emergency when he didn’t have anesthetic nearby. But what choice did he have.

Kisuke glanced over at him, concern clear on his face, but he didn’t stop what he was doing. Tessai had placed the gigai in a chair, a gaping hole in the chest where the soul-chain of a real human would be. That was where they were going to put the reishūkaku.

“Tessai-san,” he said, holding the now palm-sized orb up. “I think it’s safe to take the shields down now.”

Ichigo let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He’d been scared that something would go wrong with this step and Kisuke would be hurt, but he didn’t have any other suggestion of what to do, so he’d just tamped the fear down into the box he kept all his Kisuke related feelings in.

Pretty soon he was going to need a bigger box.

“Okay, let’s see how this works.” Kisuke covered the distance to the gigai in a few steps and gently tucked the glowing ball of spirit into the opening. Ichigo had never watched the animation of a gigai before, but he knew the basics. This didn’t look like the basics.

The opening tightened on its own, pulling the not-skin together like a zipper over the reishūkaku, and the skin began to warm, but where a normal gigai would change to reflect the reiatsu powering it, this one didn’t take on any of the physical characteristics of the three Shibas that contributed to its activating force.

“Tabula Rasa.” Kisuke stood and watched the process for another long minute, before deciding it was safe to move to the next step.

Another wave of nausea and dizziness hit him, and Ichigo fell to his knees.

Why? How could you? You killed him! I love you, please don’t do this. Please, no... Betrayer! You’re a weakling! Stand and fight like a man! Nii-san! Help me… please help me… someone. Someone! Anyone!

The voices hammered at his mind, a hundred strong, every one trapped as they were calling out, pleading, dying.

“Hurry up, Kisuke,” he gritted out. He didn’t know how much longer he could take it. Gray was already encroaching on the edges of his vision.

The blond was busy finishing up whatever arcane crap he had to do, but he still managed to snark back at him.

“Youth. Always so impatient.” His voice was light and sing-song, but his face was transfixed on the gigai he was working on. “You must exercise restraint, Kurosaki-san. You can manage one more minute, can’t you. Just one more.”

Ichigo gritted his teeth against the disorienting feeling, and clung to the memory of Kisuke saying that to him before, holding him in his arms, carrying him to his bedroom, protecting him, the way he’d always protected him.

He loves you, you know. Shiba Shiori’s voice cut through the whispering roar. He thinks he’s protecting you. Keeping you separate because separate is safe. We did that with our family. With our children. We were wrong.

Ichigo rubbed his face. There were tears, squeezed out between tightly shut lids, and he could only suck in short panting breaths. He clenched his fists, trying to hold his body together against the strangling force of the Shiba power around his soul, and heard Kisuke’s voice.

“Focus your reiatsu, Kurosaki-san. Pull it tight into yourself. Focus.” Strong arms lifted him to his feet and supported him as they brought the gigai next to him, and he looked around for Kisuke.

He was there, standing behind him. His arms were the ones holding him up. He always did that. Maybe that’s why Ichigo wanted those arms around him all the time.

“Hey Kisuke.” It didn’t sound like his voice. “You know that hero worship thing you told me to get over?”

Kisuke’s grip tightened but he didn’t say anything.

“This isn’t the way to convince me I’m wrong.” He coughed, and felt something suspiciously like blood on his lips. “Shiori says you’re wrong by the way.”

Kisuke grimaced, and Ichigo laughed a little. Bastard was terrible with emotions. But that was okay. He loved him anyway.

“Is the gigai ready?” He gripped Kisuke’s hands so tightly he was surprised the blond wasn’t complaining. That wasn’t his way, though.

“Yes. Are you?” Gray eyes bored into his and he thought, now or never.

“Always. You know that.” He tried to smile, but his mouth wasn’t cooperating.

One of the hands holding him pulled back, and reappeared with a white handled tachi, a black tassel on the pommel and another symbol stamped on the side.

“I’m sorry, Ichigo,” Kisuke whispered, and then a white hot pain sliced through the world.

“You need to work on that.” Ichigo leaned in and pressed a kiss against his pale cheek, and let go. He would convince him he was wrong later.

Much later.

***

“Sorry for the invasion, Shunsui,” Ichigo tried to push himself up from the cot Hanatarō had procured for him, but between his dad and Kisuke that idea was squashed pretty quickly. “But I get the impression that if we didn’t deal with this sooner rather than later, there wouldn’t have been as positive an outcome.”

Remembering the swirling chaos that had overcome him at the end still set his teeth on edge, and it would have happened whether he’d stayed in the living world or not. It just would’ve taken longer for it to destroy him, and they might not have been able to help Shiori and the others.

“I have summoned the Miyake brothers as requested, but remember, the Kidō Corps is not actually under my jurisdiction.”

Yoruichi stepped forward. “Suì-Fēng has been informed of the charges being brought against them and will oversee this questioning. I am certain that after all the facts are laid in front of her the the Commander-in-chief of the Onmitsukido will know what to do.”

When the Captain of the Second appeared, she had two tired looking Kidō Corps members in tow.

“I have brought the men as requested, Yoruichi-sama, Kyōraku Soutaichou, but I must insist on an explanation. This is most irregular.”

Ichigo laughed and Isshin patted him on the shoulder.

“The assassination of a clan is quite… irregular, indeed.” His voice held none of its normal geniality, and Ichigo recognized the steel that was required for him to have achieved the rank of Captain of the Gotei 13.

“You’re saying that these two,” she pointed at the men who were now kneeling in front of Tessai, neither arguing or defending themselves, “killed the entire Shiba clan?”

“Well, their father started it, but yes.” Isshin stepped forward, his shihakushō, stark against the red in his neck and face. “Their father was proud to a fault. He was convinced their ties to the Miyake samurai made them special, more honorable. More valuable.”

Ichigo hadn’t seen his father this upset since Aizen had been unmasked as a traitor.

“The truth was, that just made them vulnerable to Aizen, back when the bastard was setting his chessboard for taking over Soul Society. Tell me,” he spoke to the two men, “what did your father tell you? That the Shiba had offended his honor in some way? What?”

The two men barely turned their heads, but the larger of the two spoke.

“He was betrayed. The woman he loved, who had promised herself to him, was convinced to marry a Shiba instead. She humiliated him, and it was all for a Shiba.”

The second man moaned and dropped his head into his hands. “Aizen…. Aizen told him that the Shiba were trying to destroy his honor. The honor of all of Soul Society. He said they’d infiltrated the Gotei 13 to prevent law enforcement from being able to stop them, and that they were forcing women to marry into their clan against their will. Every sin against the soul was laid at their feet, with examples and proofs and a constant stream of inflammatory discourse until my father snapped. He begged Aizen to let him help excise the cancer in Seireitei, to allow us to help, and Aizen was more than happy to agree.”

A hand reached out from one brother to the other, a clear attempt at comfort.

“It wasn’t until after,” the dark little man whose face had haunted so many of Ichigo’s nightmares looked like he was going to be sick, “after Aizen was defeated that the lies started to fade from our minds, and we became aware of what we had done as his puppets.”

They dropped their foreheads to the grass and prostrated themselves in front of the remaining Shiba.

“We have been living with the guilt of our actions since Aizen was defeated. Our father could not face himself after he realized that he had killed the very woman he’d loved, all because of his hurt pride and willingness to listen to Aizen’s lies.”

“Well, your family wasn’t alone in being fooled by Aizen,” Ichigo snorted. “The whole Central 46 paid for it, too.”

Kūkaku sucked on her pipe a little harder but didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. Anger radiated from every line of her body, and Ichigo knew it was taking every ounce of her control to prevent her from pounding the two little men into so much Kidō Corps Dust.

“It makes sense in a way,” Kisuke said, his tone as noncommittal as ever. “The Shiba were the keepers of the gate to the Soul King’s palace. If he could destroy the clan--or get someone else to do it for him--it would remove one more of the barriers to his end goal.”

Isshin’s fingers were so tight on Ichigo’s shoulder that he was certain he was going to have a bruise.

“How many did you kill.”

The brothers looked at each other and then back down at the ground.

Ganju asked again, the pain in his voice undeniable. “How many did you kill?”

“I’m sorry.” The Miyake looked at him, shame in every line of their bodies. “It’s just that we don’t know for certain. Our father was a madman. He killed every Shiba he could get alone. He slaughtered… children. My brother and I didn’t have his conviction. But from what he said, I would estimate twenty-four or five.”

A strange warbling voice piped up from behind them. “Thirty-one.”

Shunsui turned so quickly that his pink kimono flared. “Who’s there?”

A woman--or almost woman--stepped out from behind Tessai. Her hair was long and black, pulled back in the style of many ages past. Her face was smooth, but her eyes held the weight of age.

“Greetings, Kyōraku-Soutaichou,” she said, bowing deeply. “I am sorry to have interrupted, but the answer to the question Shiba Ganju-san asked is thirty-one.”

Shunsui took a few sliding steps towards the newcomer, and Ichigo could tell that he was trying to assess what or who the woman was.

“I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage,” he bowed low, a rakish smile offsetting the weighing glance. “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

Kisuke moved forward and held a hand out to the woman. “This is, Shiba Shiori, and others, but Shiba-san is the strongest soul present in the gigai, so she is who the body attuned itself to.”

“A gigai?” Shunsui looked surprised. “Why would one need a gigai here?”

It was a good question. Spirits had no limitations in Soul Society, but Shibas were always difficult like that.

“If I could ask Miyake-san one more question, it might make the explanation of the other factors of this situation a little clearer.”

The Soutaichou nodded his agreement, but Suì-Fēng frowned. “I don’t need any more information. These men have already admitted to mass murder, to the attempted destruction of a noble house.”

Kisuke hummed and the tiny woman vibrated with annoyance. Ichigo had a little sympathy for her. No one could annoy quite like Kisuke when he was in a mood.

“That is true, yes.” The blond had dragged his fan out from somewhere and was lazily waving it back and forth. “The devil is in the details, though. Miyake-san. Would you please tell the Soutaichou how you committed these killings?”

The older man sat back into his seiza, back straight, eyes forward as if he was braced for what came next.

“Aizen gave my father a tachi. I believe he stole it from the armory of the Onmitsukido. Nobody but the Punishment Corps has needs for that type of weapon.”

Shunsui stilled. “What type of weapon?”

“A Soul Stripping weapon.” The man seemed to collapse in on himself with the admission. “We didn’t just kill them. We destroyed them. Everything they were. Everything that was Shiba.”

Shiori laughed, a tinkling bell-like laugh that hid the edge of a knife. “Such ego. Your father had it, too. He couldn’t believe that I would choose someone other than him to share my life with. Couldn’t believe that his samurai legends wouldn’t be enough to lure a woman with twice his power into his bed. The fool.”

She held her hands out, and the long blue sleeves of her kimono spread like wings. “He tried to destroy us, but he made the mistake of the egotistical. He didn’t understand that he was dealing with a power greater than any of his samurai ancestors knew. He was dealing with Shiba. My husband was a good man. Our clan--my clan--has honor and power even after being targeted so shamefully.”

Tessai raised a hand. “Soul Stripping was one of the kidō that I outlawed in my time as Commander of the Kidō Corps. It was only to be used as the most extreme of punishments doled out by the Punishment Corps. Aizen took advantage of his access and liberated a few of the spelled weapons, including the one he gave to Miyake Rin.”

Shunsui and Suì-Fēng shared a look. “Where is this weapon now?”

“It is buried in the courtyard behind the main house of the Miyake compound. It has been buried there since my father killed himself with it.”

A low gasp was heard. He’d killed himself and destroyed his own chance of reincarnation because he couldn’t face what he had done, leaving his two sons to live with both his death and their own dishonor.

Shiori spat on the ground. “Ever the coward. Condemning his own children with his poison, and then taking the easy way out himself.”

Kūkaku walked over and stood shoulder to shoulder to the woman who wasn’t a woman. “You put it well. He was a coward, and if destruction was what he wanted, then that was what he deserved.”

The two women looked so much alike it was uncanny, even with Kūkaku’s wooden arm and Shiori’s unnaturally still face. Ichigo tried to imagine what it would have been like coming to a Soul Society full of Shibas. It would have been a much different place. He couldn’t imagine Rukia or the Visored being condemned to death. He couldn’t imagine them putting up with a lot of things. That was probably as much a reason why they’d been targeted as their role as gatekeepers.

“So, Aizen killed Kaien and Miyako, and then arranged the murders of all these other Shibas.” Ichigo watched the faces around him as he summed up what they were all thinking. “And since he’s back in Muken for another 20,000 years, that kind of puts a damper on the whole find the bad guy and punish him thing.”

The Miyake brothers were still kneeling in the center of the crowd, and Ichigo waved a hand in their direction.

“These guys weren’t even in their right minds when they were involved. I mean, Aizen managed to screw with everyone’s brains even after we knew he was a bastard. Two mid-range Kidō Corps members? They didn’t have a chance against him.”

Suì-Fēng looked outraged. “Are you out of your mind? They slaughtered a noble house!” She looked at the Soutaichou. “Surely you see they must be punished.”

Shunsui shifted his straw hat and looked at the surviving Shiba. “What do you all say? Is Ichigo right? Were they not responsible for their actions?”

For a moment Ichigo thought they were going to fight him, but in the end they didn’t disappoint.

“I once said that if the shinigami that killed my brother said one word of apology for their actions I would forgive them. She had much more control over her situation than you’ve had over yours.” Kūkaku chewed the end of her pipe and stared at the men on the ground at her feet. “I don’t like it, and I can’t say I like you, but I don’t blame you. Aizen is to blame, and perhaps your father for being an easy target to begin with, but not you.”

Ganju frowned at his sister and thrust both hands in his pockets. “Killing you won’t bring them back. Just don’t ask for more than that from me. I’m not as forgiving as she is.”

Isshin stood there. “I think I would like to hear what Shiba Shiori-san has to say.”

The gigai turned to him and bowed before answering.

“We Shiba fight. Face to face. With honor. Killing you would bring no honor. You are weak, but you are not our enemy. Aizen is our enemy. I look forward to the say that his soul is scattered to the ends of creation so that the Universe can make something better of the power he has wasted.”

“So,” the Soutaichou arranged his cherry blossom kimono carefully, “it seems to me that without the Shiba clan calling for blood, we really don’t have anything to pursue.”

Sui-Feng looked like she could bite through nails. Ichigo expected her to stomp her foot in anger. “As Soutaichou you have to…”

Shunsui cut her off. “As Soutaichou, I have to follow the laws handed down to me by Central 46, and do what I believe is right in situations where there is no clear law in place. And, as far as I am aware, you are not in a position to contradict me, Taichou.”

The Captain of the Second clenched her fists and inclined her head. “As you say, Soutaichou.”

Yoruichi sauntered over to the younger woman and put a long arm around her shoulders.

“Come along Little Bee,” she said, steering her protege away from the group with a smile. “Let us spar like we used to. I will let you exorcise some of your blood lust.”

She took two steps forward. “But you have to catch me first.”

Yoruichi disappeared in a flit of shunpo, and after a second of being clearly torn between staying and arguing with Kyōraku Soutaichou and chasing after her mentor, she gave into the inevitable and shunpo’d away as well.

The Miyake brothers stood shakily, and wiped tears from their faces.

“We can never undo the damage we have done to the Shiba. We know that. Your decision to allow us our continued freedom is worlds beyond anything we had a right to hope for.”

Kūkaku turned her pipe over and knocked the ash out against the heel of her sandal violently. “If you make a fuss about it, we might change our minds. It’s best if you just accept it and move on. I don’t want to stew in this sorry pot of misery any more than I already have, and I can’t believe any of the others do, either.”

Shunsui motioned the men to stand next to him. “I will escort these two back to their compound and retrieve the sword they described.” He tilted his head in a nod to Tessai. “I agree that such a thing should not be easily accessed. Or accessed at all. But that is a question for another day.”

He turned to Kisuke. “Will Shiba Shiori-san be staying with us? Or perhaps returning to the living world?”

Ichigo snorted. The man was a terrible manipulator. He quite admired that about the new Soutaichou. It made the maze of Seireitei much easier to navigate.

“Shiba Shiori-san has graciously agreed to allow me to konso her and the other souls with her. Tessai-san and I have altered the kidō necessary and we believe it will free them all to enter into the reincarnation cycle. They are Shiba, but some of them have been tied in a loop of suffering for fifty years now. They are tired and wish to find peace.”

The Soutaichou bowed deeply to the Shiba-spirit entity. “In that case, please allow me to say that it has been a pleasure knowing you. You have proven yourself to be as noble and as honorable as I know the Shiba to be.”

When he left, the gigai allowed itself to sag a little, and Kisuke led it to a low chair. “Is the reishi getting to you Shiba-san?”

The dark head nodded. “I am beginning to feel my grip slipping. I believe that if we are to make the konso successful, we need to do it now. I’m not sure I will be able to free the others if we wait any longer.”

Tessai stepped forward and handed Kisuke the white tachi, and with a minimum of fuss and a maximum of gentleness he touched the pommel to the gigai’s chest, right over where he had inserted the reishūkaku. And then, the gigai lost its features, sliding back into the blank slate it began as.

Shiba Shiori and the others were free.

Ichigo wasn’t ashamed to admit his eyes weren’t dry, but then no one else’s were either.

***

“Hey! Can someone come hold the door for a minute? My arms are full!”

Kisuke heard Ururu’s light steps as she ran for the back door. “Kurosaki-kun!” She sounded excited. She had missed Ichigo. “I didn’t know you were coming. Urahara-san didn’t mention it.”

Ichigo pushed in through the open door, a box in his arms, and toed off his shoes in the genkin. “I didn’t tell him. It was a surprise.”

A surprise? It most certainly was. After the trip back through the senkaimon Ichigo had collapsed, the exhaustion of it all finally catching up with him, but he’d headed home the next day and Kisuke had settled in to re-accustom himself to a quiet Shōten without Kurosakis and Shibas and even Shihōins for a while.

“Are you going to hold the door for your old man, Ichigo, or just leave me out here on the step like yesterday’s trash?”

Isshin’s voice boomed through the partially open door, and Kisuke’s eyes widened. What were they both doing here? Was something wrong with Ichigo again?

“Kurosaki-san,” he said lightly, coming around the corner to see the two men and Ururu wrestling with two bags and a large box. “Have you had a setback in your recovery? I have sent Tessai-san out for a few things, but he should be returning any time now and can run another diagnostic scan of the wound pathways. If we haven’t managed to seal them properly, we can try…”

“Oh yeah, Tessai knew I was coming. He said he’d pick up pork for two more, since Goat Face was helping me bring some things over and we’d be here for dinner.”

Tessai knew Ichigo was coming and was making extra dinner. That was… unexpected.

“And just what are these things you’ve brought?” he asked, trying to figure out what was happening.

“Oh books, clothes, my computer… you know, regular things.”

Ichigo carried his box down the hallway past Kisuke’s room until he reached a little store room at the end of the hall.

“I’m afraid I am still at a loss, Kurosaki-san.” He followed Ichigo into the small room only to realize that it had been cleaned out and a single futon folded in the corner. Apparently Tessai had kept more than just today’s extra dinner shopping from him.

“Don’t try to argue with him, Kisuke. You know what he’s like when he gets hold of something. You can’t change his mind no matter how hard you try.”

The blond looked at Isshin who had come up behind him and shook his head in confusion. “I am familiar with Kurosaki-san’s…”

“Ichigo’s.” The redhead interrupted.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, flustered.

“My name. Ichigo. You’ve used it before. No sense in stopping now.” He turned back to the room, stacking his few things on a low table against the wall. “I’m going to have to get a rod to hang my clothes on. I’m terrible with an iron. Easier if I just hang things out of the dryer.”

Isshin made a noncommittal noise. “I don’t know. A rod takes up a lot of room. It isn’t like you’re going to have to iron much. You only brought two pairs of trousers. The rest are jeans and t-shirts, and even Yuzu doesn’t iron those.”

Kisuke pinched himself. No. Not dreaming. Maybe he was having a stroke.

Ichigo caught a glimpse of the look on his face and took pity on him.

“Kisuke, it’s like this.” He moved to stand in front of the taller man. “Last year when I told you I had feelings for you, you made it very clear that I should get over my case of hero-worship before I came back. So, I have.”

Isshin had dropped the two bags he was carrying in the corner and slid past the others standing in the doorway. He patted Kisuke on the shoulder as he passed and gave him a look of commiseration.

“You have?” Kisuke latched on to the last thing Ichigo had said.

“Yup,” the young man nodded. “Totally over the hero-worship thing.”

Kisuke felt oddly disheartened by that. He’d wanted Ichigo to move on, he just didn’t realize how even just hearing the words would hurt.

“So, I am assuming you’re looking for a room to rent and Tessai has volunteered the Shōten?”

He hated feeling like he was missing something, but he definitely felt like he was missing something.

Ichigo moved closer and Kisuke imagined he could feel the warmth of him even at that distance.

“Not really,” he said, his voice a little softer. “It’s true that I’m over the hero-worship thing, but that’s only part of what I felt for you. A year hasn’t made that go away. Hasn’t faded it at all, actually. And, to top it off, this last catastrophe just reminded me how time can be stolen from us in the most bizarre ways. I don’t intend to let that happen to me. To us.”

Ururu appeared in the doorway with another small box, and Ichigo took it with thanks and put it on the table with the other things, before turning back to him. His expression was wide open, and Kisuke could see the intensity there, the sheer determination to make him understand, and he shivered a little at knowing he was that important to this amazing man.

“I know you.” Ichigo looked him in the eye until he had to look away. “Not Urahara Kisuke the hero. Not someone I’ve stuck up on a pedestal. Just you. Urahara Kisuke mad scientist, shinigami, and handsome candy store owner. And you know what? I love you. So, until you convince me that I’ve made a mistake, or I convince you that you’re wrong to not give us a chance, I’m moving in. I’ve arranged with Tessai to pay rent, and I am on the chore schedule for dinner twice a week and whatever random errands need to be run. I don’t intend to push you, and if it becomes clear I’m not wanted, I am reasonable enough to understand. I know that just because they labeled me savior of three worlds, doesn’t mean I appeal to everyone.”

Kisuke’s mind was spinning. He couldn’t mean this. Moving in? His father would kill them.

“Isshin, surely you…” he started but the older Kurosaki cut him off.

“I told you. You can’t reason with him when he gets this way. He could give stubborn lessons to a mule.”

Kisuke laughed in spite of himself. “Typical Shiba, hmm?”

Isshin shook his head. “Shiba? No way. This is Kurosaki through and through. Masaki could make a grown man weep with frustration when she got an idea in her head, and did, on more than one occasion.”

“So… you’re alright? With this?” He waved a hand at the room, and the boxes, unable to find the words.

“Kisuke,” the big man was serious for once. “I have watched you save Ichigo’s life. I think I can trust you with his heart.” Then he patted the blond enthusiastically on the back and grinned. “Plus, as an older more experienced lover you can teach him a few things in the bedroom I’m sure. I will have to buy a nice big bottle of that lovely almond oil Masaki used to…”

Ichigo moved between them and punched him. He laughed.

“My son! So strong in defense of his love! Your mother would be so proud.” He winked at Kisuke and then turned back to Ichigo in time to ward off another right hook. “I think that was everything you wanted to bring over. Send me a text if you’ve forgotten anything.” He tried to hug the redhead, but he just got a friendly cuff on the ear for his efforts.

“Thanks Goat Face,” Ichigo said, and he clearly meant it. “Tell the girls I’ll be back for dinner on Saturday, okay?”

Isshin agreed and let himself out, with a loud, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

And then it was quiet.

As soon as the door closed, Ichigo lost some of his bluster. “Look. I know this seems sudden, but after the whole thing with Shiori... I needed to take this chance. Do you remember when I first came back? It was crazy. I was so miserable, but walking through that door, listening to you talking to Tessai, hell, sleeping in blankets that smelled like you… I realized I hadn’t been that happy in a year. I don’t want to go another year denying what I feel. If that makes you uncomfortable, if you truly can’t see a future together, I’ll take my gear and go.” He laughed a little sheepishly. “That’s why I only brought one box of books.”

Kisuke looked at the little room, and then back to the man in front of him. It was time to stop hiding.

“I sent you away once. I told myself it was for your own good, but it was still the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” He leaned in and dropped the lightest of kisses on Ichigo’s lips, letting him feel how just that little act left him breathless and shaky. He stepped back and looked down into wide amber eyes. “I think we can make room for a few more boxes of books. Ichigo.”

Ichigo’s smile blazed at the sound of his name, and he slid his arms loosely around Kisuke’s waist. “That’s good. I have a lot of books. It may take some time to move them all in.”

Kisuke kissed him again and pressed their foreheads together, his heart more at peace than it had ever been. “That’s okay. We have time.”

#Bleach #UraIchi #happilyeverafter #ichigo kurosaki #Urahara Kisuke #ShibaLore

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vatrixsta · 6 years ago

Text

Pierced (2/?)

Siiiiigh all of your lovely comments on part 1 have forced me into this course I wanted to take anyway and I just hope you’re proud of yourself. Shout out to @csmarchmadness for the always handy gun to the head - all the ladies there are awesome and I enjoy stalking their conversations when I finally get online again at my obscene times of day and night. :D I’m going to try to update this with some regularity, so I hope you enjoy! And we’re off.

Also on AO3

Emma had to cancel this date that was absolutely not a date.

There was just no possible way it was a good idea, date or no date. Not only were his eyes too blue and his smile too bright and his hands too… perfect when they touched hers, but she wouldn’t even be able to ruin it quickly by sleeping with him too fast because of the fucking piercing she gave him.

She was feeding Henry an incredibly nutritious dinner of Spaghettios and carrot sticks (he was going through a phase where he hated basically everything and at least she was still getting carrot sticks past his rapidly shrinking palette) when she realized that she didn’t actually have Killian’s number and would have to figure something out tomorrow, maybe ask Ruby to run interference. Except Ruby wouldn’t, the whore, because she wanted Emma to make nice with the Sex God.

She was making sure Henry took a bath (six year old boys would pay almost any price to continue smelling like street urchins, she’d found) when it occurred to her that despite his flirtations, it was possible he didn’t intend for it to be a date. Maybe he really did just want her to design a tattoo for him and he was pleased with her professionalism and artwork. God that would be embarrassing, if she told him she couldn’t go out with him and he basically responded with, who asked you?

She was halfway through reading Henry his favorite book of fairy tales when she realized all the princes (and a few of the pirates) suddenly had blue eyes and British accents in her head and you know what, that’s enough for tonight, Henry, light’s out and I’ll see you in the morning, love bug.

She was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, when she remembered he’d had to fill out the consent form for the procedure and would have had to put his number on there. If she got to work early enough, she could go into the client files she wasn’t supposed to snoop in unless an actual emergency occurred and tell him she was dying or moving to Yemen or anything that would stop this train before it ran straight over her heart.

She was waking up with a groan and Henry’s knee connecting with her pelvis when she realized that the idea of canceling this date that was definitely, absolutely not a date actually bummed her out. It was lunch and he was nice. She could design a tattoo for him -- he’d tipped her extremely well for the piercing -- and maybe finally be able to afford that new video game console upgrade Henry had been not so subtly hinting at for Christmas, which meant there were only fifty-two more shopping days until Black Friday.

She was walking Henry to the school bus, teasing him about the crush he had on a little blonde girl his age that he swore was not a crush at all, that they were going to be best friends forever and she just wanted to kiss his his precious little cheek so she did, glad that he only scrunched his face a little in distaste, when she seriously considered that she might be losing her mind. It wasn’t normal to think about someone you’d just met this much, to obsess over a virtual stranger (if you could consider someone whose cock you’d pierced with a 12 gauge barbell a stranger) to this degree. She definitely, absolutely had to cancel.

“His paperwork? Oh, yeah, I threw it out. I was drinking coffee while I filed last night and, well. Oopsie.”

Fucking Ruby.

Sending her friend and boss a glare that clearly communicated I do not believe you, you lying whore and glaring harder when Ruby’s unrepentant grin widened, Emma left the back office area and stomped over to her station for the only therapeutic option left to her: sketching.

The small notebook she used was the ninth of its kind since she’d started working at Red, White and Tattoo. She kept them all, tucked behind her little book of cocks, as Killian had referred to it (OHMYGOD STOP THINKING ABOUT HIM!!!) and filled with some sketches that had turned into elaborate pieces that decorated backs and wrists and ankles and every other body part conceivable to little half finished works she’d never fully cracked. There were also incredibly personal drawings she’d asked Ruby to ink on her own skin -- Emma had done the buttercup herself, but it was a process she’d rather not repeat.

Killian had said he’d be by to collect her at 12:30. It was currently 10:00 and Emma was praying someone would take advantage of the early bird special so she’d have something else to focus on.

After straightening up her station (twice) and sketching an elaborate oceanscape (she refused to actually color it; she knew the waves would match his eyes as well as her supplies could manage she did not need this fuckery) Emma was ready to crawl out of her skin, pissed at herself and Killian for getting her into this state. This was why she had her rules! This was why the last date she’d gone on had been a hit it and quit it one night stand with the dorky guy who’d sold them the front desk display case. That had been... three years ago? Oh, Christ. No wonder she was insane now.

Killian was thoughtfully fifteen minutes early, as he if he could sense his date was crawling out of her skin. He entered the shop with that wide, easy smile on his face and Emma forced a smile of her own that she hoped didn’t look too forced, because she didn’t want him to take her jittery mood personally even though it was 100% his fault.

Ushering them quickly out the door (she didn’t want to risk another embarrassing moment with Ruby playing the world’s most obvious matchmaker) Emma asked where they were eating.

“There’s a place I like to go, down by the water,” he said, adorably rubbing at the back of his right ear. “It’s probably the last of the nice weather for the year so I thought we could walk?”

“Sure,” Emma said, stuffing her hands in her pockets so she wouldn’t be tempted to do something stupid like reach for his.

They fell into a slightly awkward silence that actually should have been a lot more awkward, given they didn’t know each other too well.

“Robin - my partner? - he was shocked speechless I actually went through with it,” Killian said after a few quiet minutes.

“Are you following the after care instructions?” Emma said, probably a lot more sternly than was necessary.

“Yes, Mistress,” Killian teased.

Emma rolled her eyes. “You’d be surprised how many people blow it off,” she muttered. “An infected piercing is never fun. An infected genital piercing?”

“Emma, you have my word that I shall heed your every instruction,” he said, both teasing and serious at the same time. How did he do that?

They arrived at a seafood place Emma had been dying to try but always found other uses for her paycheck - luxuries like new winter boots for Henry and electricity.

“Um, this place is a little fancy,” she said, looking down at her work outfit of dark wash denim jeans, white tank top and red leather jacket.

Killian indicated his own attire - black jeans that were a little less tight than the ones he’d worn yesterday (a good sign he was obeying her instructions), a dark blue t-shirt and a black leather jacket of his own that looked more suited to riding a motorcycle than catching criminals, but what did she know?

“Casual dress at lunch,” he assured her. “To die for lobster rolls.”

Emma mentally calculated how much a lobster roll would set back her food budget as Killian placed his hand on her lower back and urged her into the restaurant.

She was going to have to make a rule about him not being allowed to touch her because her brain short circuited and she suddenly couldn’t recall what a budget was or how one accommodated for it.

They were seated at a table by the water and the view really was spectacular, the horizon a calming sight Emma was desperately in need of. Killian had good table manners (because of course he did), filling her water glass from the bottle their server left on the table before he attended to his own, confirming with her that the lobster roll sounded good (it really, really, really did) before ordering for them both. He added a pitcher of fresh blueberry lemonade for them to split, promising her it was not to be missed. Emma’s eyes bugged at the prices but she decided to give herself this afternoon with an unfairly attractive man who genuinely seemed to like her and wanted her to eat lobster rolls with him. There was plenty of time for reality to come crashing down when she couldn’t smell the sea and watch the flickers of sunlight play in Killian’s eyes the exact same way it did on the waves.

She tried this once, the dating someone new thing. Neal had pretty much decimated the part of her brain (and her heart) capable of trusting, but she thought, maybe there was a guy out there who’d remind her they weren’t all like Neal. (Never mind that she still remembered what it had been like at the start, her and him against the world, the mischievous flicker in Henry’s eyes reminding her that she could never really hate him the way she wanted to, because the best parts of him were like a gift every time she looked at her little boy.)

Once she got settled into work at the tattoo shop, she’d gone on a few dates, Ruby and Mulan eagerly offering to babysit toddler Henry. There had been five - maybe six? - guys total and every single one of them had been visibly deflated by the news that the hot 20-year-old blonde had a kid at home. Though the one she disliked the most had been the guy who’d feigned interest in Henry so he could sleep with her.

Emma realized that she really wasn’t looking forward to watching that disappointment cross Killian’s face. No one expected the hot (now 24) year old blonde who worked at the tattoo shop to have a kid. She suspected Killian was a little older than her (she’d have put him around 30 given his job and the slight laugh lines around his eyes) but she knew a single mom wasn’t exactly a highly sought dating prospect. She just felt shitty not telling him about Henry, when he was the best thing that had ever happened to her, just so she could, what? Enjoy a hot guy eating a lobster roll?

Yeah, okay, so maybe a little bit that. Besides, it wasn’t going to go anywhere. He didn’t need to know about her life because this was a friendly meal and she was supposed to be asking him about his tattoo not picturing him naked (and she could. From the waist down, at least, all dark hair and lean muscle and definitely a shower, not a grower--STOP IT EMMA) and nervously peeling a bread roll.

“Luv?”

Emma blinked. “Sorry, what?”

Killian smiled, but it was a little forced. “I, uh, suppose you were woolgathering.”

Great and now she’d been so lost in her social anxiety that she’d completely missed him speaking to her. If this were a date, she’d have pretty much blown it.

“I don’t get much time out by the water,” she said a little lamely. “I don’t get much time out, period,” she added ruefully.

“Workaholic?” he asked.

“Sort of,” she hedged. She took a lot of shifts at work to earn enough money to keep her and Henry far from the poorhouse. Ruby’s grandmother lived in the same building and watched Henry after school most days. She also let him stay over when the shop stayed open late on the weekends. There was a little sleeping bag zone in back dubbed Henry’s corner that he’d filled with books and toys and the oldest of his handheld video games. “What about you?”

There, that was nice and sociable.

“I enjoy my work,” Killian said. “But I have other… priorities that keep me from the workaholic label. Which, I suppose, brings us nicely to the subject of this lunch.”

Right. Not a date. He wanted a tattoo and she’d broken Rule #2 for him.

She gave him a professional smile. “Tell me a little bit about what you’re looking for.”

His lips pursed in thought for a moment, then he shrugged. “I suppose that’s part of the problem. I know what I want it to convey and I know the meaning behind it, but I’m not sure I know what symbol will best represent it to permanently ink on my body.”

Her smile turned a little more personal, because she could relate. Her buttercup was easy - the other tattoos she’d had were a little less… on the nose and direct. It had taken her months to settle on them. “Why don’t we try this. Tell me why you want it and some of the ideas you’ve had and I’ll do my job to get you some sketches to narrow it down.”

He puffed his cheeks out like an adorable chipmunk with no idea how attractive it was. Damn it, she was so screwed.

“Brilliant.” He reached into a satchel and pulled out an old, battered copy of Peter Pan, then set it before her almost reverently.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Big fan?”

His smile widened. “My brother and I read the tale a great deal during our childhood - he’s older, so some of my earliest memories are the little crush he always had on Wendy Darling.”

Emma laughed. “And you?”

Killian shrugged. “I’ve always preferred the company of real women.”

“Yeah, that’s just about what I’d figure you’d say,” she muttered. Damn chipmunk knew exactly how attractive he was.

“Though I confess, the last few years, there’s really only been the one woman in my life,” he added.

That confession definitely gave Emma pause. If he had a girlfriend -- a steady one at that -- it meant this was definitely just a business thing and she was suddenly mortified at the idea that she’d tried to call off a date that wasn’t even a date. That was what mortification felt like, right? That vice like grip around her heart that felt like disappointment and the death of some possibility, some flutter of perhaps when you met someone new?

“And is that lucky lady the other inspiration for the tattoo?” Emma asked, swallowing down the disappointment - because that was exactly what it was. She should have been used to it by now.

His smile didn’t widen - it glowed. Emma kind of wanted to vomit, which was perfect timing, because the lobster rolls were delivered by their efficient but discreet waiter. The blueberry lemonade was spectacular, too, damn the charming chipmunk who was obviously not available.

He’d said he was though, hadn’t he? When they’d been talking about his after care for the piercing? She could have sworn he’d said he didn’t have to worry about any sexual partners! She wasn’t so delusional that she’d made that up.

She was about to open her mouth and say something stupid and accusatory like how dare you get a single mom’s hopes up even though I’m not really interested because I’m an emotional cripple, but seriously how dare you sir - when his phone went off.

“Damn it,” he muttered as he stared down at a text. “I’m so sorry, it’s an emergency at work - please, enjoy the food and feel free to wrap mine up and take it with you.” He was waving the waiter down and scrolling through his phone. “Are you busy tomorrow night? A mate of mine is playing at a pub and I promised I’d go, but we can discuss this a bit more then. I’ll be much less likely to be called in at night, as well.” He shot her a charming grin and she was so dazzled that she forgot all her questions and simply rattled off her phone number. He responded by sending her two emojis, one that was lifting its eyebrow and the other giving her a cheesy grin.

Seriously, who the hell did he think he was?

Then he was gone and a few seconds later she got another text with an address and the time of 7:30, tomorrow night.

She was going to have to ask Granny to watch Henry, because apparently she was a total idiot for this guy. He’d left the copy of Peter Pan so at the very least she’d need to return it to him, since it meant so much.

When the waiter returned to ask if she’d like anything else, Emma had another moment of panic - she was going to have to pay for both of their lobster rolls. But when she said she’d only like to go containers and a check, the waiter said Killian had taken care of the bill on his way out.

Sneaky, multitasking little profiler - Emma took a grudging bite of her lobster roll, then couldn’t quite muffle an involuntary moan. It was amazing and she wasn’t above gloating a little that she would get to have his for dinner. He may have a girlfriend that was getting a loving and thoughtful tattoo out of him (even though she could have sworn he said he didn’t have one) but Emma could re-prioritize. She could enjoy spending some time with a very attractive man who was apparently willing to buy her delicious food in exchange for said time while she got to design a beautiful piece of art for him.

That was the definition of win-win.

So why did she feel vaguely shitty about the whole thing?

She texted him back anyway, with a thumbs up emoji. Then she started flipping through Peter Pan while she carefully kept her lobster roll hand separate from her page turning one.

Another text dinged on her phone. Killian - yes, she’d added him to her contacts, so what, shut up.

Great! Really sorry I had to run out on you - I should warn you, this does tend to happen a fair bit. So please don’t take it personally - you are as lovely and charming as a bloke could hope for and I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.

Seriously, who texted like that? Who had a right to be so thoughtful and flirty but not over the line flirty and perfect and apparently have a girlfriend even though he definitely said he did not have one?!

Emma took an angry bite of her lobster roll.

And responded with another thumbs up text.

#cs fic #my stuff #my cs fic #pierced #csmarchmadness

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necrowriter · 7 years ago

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the seal and the swan

Another fairy tale. This one is about selkies and swan-maidens.

Just to be on the safe side I’m going to put a trigger warning on this for abusive relationships/domestic abuse.

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The selkie and the swan-woman met each other in the market one early spring day.

One was buying food for the household; the other was selling fine woven cloth. Their eyes met in passing and they knew, without exchanging a single word, what the other one was, and they knew that they shared the same sorrow.

The selkie was short and round-bodied, and her skin was warm brown and mottled like a seal's, and half-hidden under dark curling hair her eyes were like scrying pools, deep and dark and strange. The swan-woman was tall and broad-shouldered and pale, and had hair as fair as swan feathers and eyes that were gray-blue like the sky meeting the sea. The selkie paused, her hand outstretched over the cloth the swan-woman was selling, and they looked at each other.

“What's the matter with you?” the selkie's husband demanded in her ear. “You make me look foolish when you go dreaming like that in front of people.”

“Of course,” the selkie said, drawing her hand back. “Forgive me. I was only looking at the cloth.”

“We don't need any,” the husband said to the swan-woman. To his wife he said, “This is too expensive for us.”

He ushered her away, but she looked back, and eyes of the sea met eyes of the sky, and both understood.

The selkie's name was Ambulaia, and she was patient, very patient. She went home with her husband and said very little for the rest of that day. She was thinking.

The next day she went out with him as he fished, which was as he preferred; he thought she brought him luck. She went out the next day, too, and the next day, but the day after that she woke clutching at her stomach and moaning quietly.

“What's the matter?” her husband said when she refused to eat.

“I feel ill,” she told him.

At first he panicked, thinking that she had eaten something bad, or drunk foul water, as happened often enough in the small village by the sea, and then he worried that she had taken deadly ill. But at last, with careful hinting, she managed to convince him that it was a womanly pain. Then he went quiet, and his face colored.

“I fear I cannot go with you this morning,” she said. “I am far too sick to be on the boat.”

She was a selkie. She would never in her life have been too sick for the sea. But he did not know that. He tried to forget that she had ever lived in water, that she was anything other than his beloved wife.

“I do not want you to be ill,” he said, and it was true. In many of his ways he was not a cruel man. He treated her well enough, as a man treats a favored horse or dog, or as a little girl might care for a valuable doll.

“But you must go,” she said, and that was also true. They could not afford to lose even one day of fishing. But her husband desperately feared to leave her alone. He feared that she would be taken from him by another man, but more, he feared deep in his heart that she did not truly want to stay with him.

“Let me stay with Missus Briarly for the day,” Ambulaia suggested to him, and at last he agreed. Missus Briarly was their closest neighbor, an old and gentle woman. If Ambulaia could not be under her husband's eyes, then to stay with Missus Briarly was the next best thing; he could be sure she would get into no trouble there. Besides, he hoped that the old woman would know a cure for the womanly pain, one that he would not have to hear about.

So he escorted her down the road, and then left quickly, already late to begin the day's fishing. Missus Briarly took Ambulaia in kindly and gave her some medicinal tea with honey. The two women talked quietly for a while.

“It's my market day,” Missus Briarly said eventually.

“I think a walk down to the village might do me good,” said Ambulaia, who knew it was Missus Briarly's market day, and had planned accordingly.

The two of them walked down to the village, where Missus Briarly set about doing her shopping, with all the slowness of aching bones and rheumatism. Ambulaia sought out the cloth stand once again.

“Hello,” the swan-woman said.

“Hello,” the seal-woman said back to her.

For a moment they simply stared at each other in knowing sadness. Then the swan-woman began to cover up her stall.

“It's time for me to take a break for the morning,” she said (it was no such thing). “Would you like to join me for some tea?”

“I would like nothing better,” Ambulaia said.

This was not, strictly, true, but it was not nearly as untrue as it could have been.

The swan-woman's name was Lakishai. Her husband was a talented artist who liked to sketch the swans when they came to nest on the river. He drew beautiful, ethereal drawings of birds in flight, and Lakishai had liked to come and look at them. They spoke often; she told him of the places she had been and he would draw them from her descriptions until they looked like memories pinned in charcoal.

She had loved his art, and once upon a time, she had loved him. She had thought that he would come with her, for she was a swan, and she was bound to fly when winter came. She had dreams of traveling the world with him, of having someone who would always be there with her, to love the things she saw as she loved them.

But instead he grew bored. He drank a lot-he always had, but she had not known it-and spent most of his money on frivolous things, and then despaired of not having any coin. To him, her mystique faded when she left the water. He spent less time with her, and more with other women. Lakishai was heartbroken. She intended to leave, and never return to the river by the sea.

When she told him, he begged of her not to go, and when she insisted, he asked to draw her one more time. That was her mistake. For a mere moment, not suspecting deviousness from her once-gentle artist, she laid aside her swan-skin to pose for him. He snatched it up on the spot, and she was bound.

The artist liked having a wife, liked having someone to cook and clean for him, someone to pose for him whenever he asked, someone who could weave cloth and sell it to pay for his drinking money. Mostly, that was what she was: a convenience for him. For his dalliances he went elsewhere. He was never satisfied with any one woman for too long; he would wax poetic about them, compare them to the moon or the stars or the sea, but he always grew bored. After a while Lakishai began to realize that what he wanted was a woman who was like one of his works of art, untouchably perfect, instead of a real person who existed outside of his vision.

She told all of this to Ambulaia, who told her in turn about the fisherman who she had sung to when he went out early in his little boat, who had told her stories to make her laugh, who had shared his meager food and drink with her. She had not thought that he was in love with her. She had not thought of herself as being in love with him. She had thought that he was a good person to be with, and to talk with, to share her songs with, someone who knew the sea in a different way than she did and could tell her new stories about it. He was gentle and kind and had warm brown eyes. When he asked her to come onto land for him and take off her seal-skin so that he could see her properly, she was shy, but she did not suspect anything.

But she found that he, too, was different on land than at sea.

He told her, afterward, that it was for the best. Better that she live with him in a proper home than to live an uncertain life at the mercy of the terrible ocean. Better to wake in a warm bed with him than on cold rocks with wild beasts. Better that she was clean, and looked after, and living like a good and proper woman instead of an animal.

He was desperate that she should not leave him, should not want to leave him, and so he watched her every moment he could, kept her away from other men, dictated her life and her manner from moment to moment. His hands were still gentle, always, but his eyes were not warm any longer.

Both men had hidden away the skins of their wives. They had not done it so terribly well; in fact each wife knew well where their skins were. They could feel them, like another heartbeat, like the pulse of the sea and the turn of the wind. But they could not seek for them. As long as their skins were in the possession of another, they were bound, owned fur and feather, and they could not disobey. They could dream of escape, of wave and sky, but they could not seek it in their waking hours.

At least, not directly. But their husbands could not forbid them to be clever, or to make alliances.

Ambulaia and Lakishai spoke for a long time, and between them they made a plan. It was not a complicated plan. It didn't have to be.

Later, Missus Briarly walked Ambulaia back home. “Did you have a nice visit at the market, dear?” she asked Ambulaia, who had been quiet all the way home.

“Oh yes,” said Ambulaia, and patted the old woman's hand. “Very nice.”

Ambulaia's husband thought she brought him luck when she went out on the boat with him. She did not, or at least, she had not. Her mere presence on the boat did nothing to bring in the fish. But the morning after she went to the market, Ambulaia rose early, so early it was still dark and her husband still slumbered, and went out and sang to the sea.

The fish came in well that day, and the next day, and the day after that. The fisherman marveled at his success. He brought home more money than ever from the market, so much that there was still some to spare after all the food and necessities had been bought.

Slowly, carefully, Ambulaia began to convince him that he should spend some of that money on some finer clothes. “Yours are all in tatters, and I cannot mend them much more,” she said coaxingly. “It would make me so proud to see you dressed in a fine coat.”

The fisherman preened. Ambulaia had never before said that she might be proud of him. Perhaps, he thought, she was finally coming to appreciate being his wife. So he agreed.

After that it was very simple to convince him that there was a woman in the marketplace who made the finest clothes anywhere around, who could make him a coat like no other.

Lakishai, for her part, moved in subtler ways. She began to send away every woman her husband brought around to model for him. It was easy enough; she simply paid them a little more to leave than he had paid them to stay. Sometimes she talked to them, and told them about her husband, and what it was like being his wife. The artist did not keep track of the household money well enough to notice the loss, but he noticed that suddenly he had no one to pose for him, that more and more women around the village were turning up their noses at him.

“I need more models,” he grumbled to Lakishai. “I need any model. You fidget too much.”

Lakishai had indeed been making a concerted effort to fidget too much whenever she posed for him. “I may know someone who would be willing,” she told him.

It was Lakishai's turn first. She came to the little house by the sea and told Ambulaia's husband that she was there to fit him for his new coat. He let her in, cautiously.

She went through the motions of measuring him, speaking of cloth and of style and of good fits, until he was thoroughly bored and paying no attention, whereupon she felled him with a single blow to the jaw. As he lay groaning on the floor, she stepped over him and sought out the seal-skin where Ambulaia told her it was hidden, underneath the floor. Ambulaia was so overcome that she wept and wept, fingers stroking the fine fur, until Lakishai had to gently shepherd her away before the fisherman could come to his senses.

Ambulaia did not say good-bye to her husband. She did not say anything to him at all.

When they stepped outside, she looked with terrible longing at the sea, always so close but only now within her reach once more; but she did not go to it just yet. She had made a promise, and she intended to keep it.

The two of them went to Lakishai's house, where, overcoming a great fear, Ambulaia gave her sealskin to Lakishai for safe-keeping. Lakishai folded it in her arms and held it as if it were the most precious thing in the world, and then she went out of sight of the house.

Ambulaia knocked on the door.

“I hear tell you are looking for models,” she said when the artist answered, rubbing at his eyes, for he had only just awoken.

Ambulaia was not the sort of woman the artist usually drew, but he had grown desperate, so he nodded and beckoned her in. She posed for him shyly, and after a while, when he was deep in his work, she said, “Do you mind if I sing a little?”

The artist knew he could not afford to drive off another model, so he said, “As long as you don't move.”

So Ambulaia began to sing. This was a different song than the one she sang in the dark early hours to bring in the fish. This was a deep, calm, peaceful song, a lullaby of crashing waves. The artist rubbed at his eyes, and then he yawned, and yawned again. His eyes slid closed once, then twice, and the third time they stayed closed and his head slumped forward onto his sketchpad.

Ambulaia found the swan-skin where Lakishai had told her it was, and crept outside. Lakishai ran her fingers over the white, white feathers, but she did not cry, not yet.

The artist, like the fisherman, would wake some hours later to find his house empty and cold.

Standing in the surf on a gray beach, the two women exchanged skins, and both of them wept to finally be free after so long. They did not thank each other; they did not say anything. Each of them knew perfectly what the other was feeling, and knew it was beyond words.

After a time they waded into the water, hand in hand, and the waves took them, and they were gone. They were never seen in the village again, but sometimes, somewhere far away, a traveler might marvel to see a swan and a seal keeping each other's company.

#writing #short stories #one-off #fantasy writing #fairy tales #selkies #swan maidens #the seal and the swan

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kingdomofbretonxrpg · 4 years ago

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Congratulations, Steph! We are delighted to welcome Taney Hana to beautify (and sleep with) the citizens of the Kingdom of Breton. Please complete our after acceptance checklist. We are looking forward to seeing you develop her! Please send in her blog within 48 hours.

Out of Character

Alias: Steph (or Natty if you already have a Steph)

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 31

Timezone: EST (US)

Anything else? I’m a teacher so while I will likely be extremely active this month that will change Aug. - May. Though I anticipate I should still be able to meet activity requirements, if that changes I won’t ghost, I’ll communicate what’s going on.

Character

Name: Taney Hana - She does not use her last name, but if she needs one: Derrien (you can change that if you’d like)

Birthdate and Age: 17 April + 31 years old

Preferred Pronouns: She/Her

Faceclaim: Rooney Mara

House Affiliation: Anjou

Profession: Owner of a exclusive private tattoo parlor, Asmodeus, Artist + Tattooist

Claim: Unclaimed

Children: None

Designation: Dominant

Sexuality: Identifies as “sexual” but we can call it pansexual if we need a deeper label

What is their symbol?: Has a sword with roses tattooed on the back of her right arm, but she has a lot of tattoos, so she’ll usually also wear earrings, necklaces, and rings with swords. If she’s wearing any shield symbol it would still have swords paired with it.

Kinks: Everything.

Anti-kinks: Taney’s never tried anything she didn’t enjoy and is open to trying anything 3 times before giving up on it. However, I’m not willing to write any play with bodily fluids other than blood; pretending to be adult/parent-child/step-child, incest, stepcest, etc.; pretending anything involving being a minor or assaulted. If the mun writing opposite wants to post a canon that their character came over and they pretended they were in some professor-student ‘give me an A if I xyz,” then they have my permission to godmod.

Biography:

There comes a time in every person’s youth when they go from playing with toys and being carefree to learning about the real world and worrying about something or other. For Taney, that happened a bit earlier than it had for everyone else. Her father was less than discrete when it came to cheating on his claim. Those submissives weren’t all completely competent, either. When it came time to put him in line, the man was nowhere to be found. His claim was left home alone with Taney and her older sister, Whitney. The shame of it all seemed to be unrelenting, taking a major toll on the girls’ mother. As submissive after submissive from every city he ever took a ‘business trip’ to seemed to pop into their lives looking for Master Derrien - some of which had children, it was Whit who took on the responsibility of raising Taney. It was saying a lot. Taney had always been a handful and as she went into school it was of little surprise that she’d be in near-constant trouble those first few years. At first, she wouldn’t stand for anyone speaking ill of her father, then her mother, then her sister or herself. Eventually everyone got what she was putting down, but nevertheless, it forced her to grow up.

When she was fifteen, nine years later, her father turned up for an unannounced visit. With no words exchanged about her mother and the obvious arrival during that transition time between school and when she would get home from work, Taney would later look on that moment and think that she should have known things were going to go down hill. Taney had already changed a bit and become very independent as that was the only way to survive a friendless childhood where your family name was known all too well. She took to sketching, drawing on herself in class, rarely doing anything she was told. Bad behaviors only made worse when, in these secret visits, her father tried to convince her that she could go live with him in the City of Lights with a new mother that would love her very much. He went on about it and tried to explain arranged claims to her, it wasn’t the first time she’d thought about love and the dom/sub dynamic, but she had learned right from wrong. It also helped that Whitney didn’t seem to be buying into a word he said either. Pulling a knife and lighter, she kept on her person in case she ran away and needed it, Taney stabbed his hand and lit his sleeve on fire. The punishment for the attack was both literal and social. People either admired her or feared her and, with some unwilling therapy, she was lucky enough to face long term repercussions for the attack- mostly because it led to the delayed punishment of her father.

With money running low, Whit joined her mother and had taken up a job at Castlebrac while Taney bounced around from school to school. Simply put, it wasn’t enough to cover their father’s debts and mother’s habits. Once Taney was of age she made the decision, albeit one her mother and sister would deem to be ungrateful, and dropped out of school to complete a general education degree and get out of dodge. Taney had very little knowledge of the ‘real world’; she had practically no ambitions. Nevertheless, the desire to walk away from Breton and never look back seemed more appealing than anything else. So she waitressed, did an office admin gig, played guitar in a mediocre cover band for weddings, this and that, until she’d saved up a decent amount of money. Moving to California for a while she lived on the streets and sold her body for drugs and money. State by state and country to country, she said she’d try her luck in some place new and always did put in a decent effort- at least at first. Taney worked as a bartender, tattoo artist, mechanic, technician, and drug dealer as she made her way around the globe, a young woman consumed by wanderlust and living in hostels or cheap motels until the money ran out.

Taney arrived in New York at twenty-four and it would be the first place she managed to live a whole year. Something about putting down roots encouraged her to spend every bit of strength to stay sober and clean, smoking and drinking remaining her only vices. Noted as short tempered but sweet once you got to know her, Taney was the hostess at a bondage bar in the city called Paddles. Though her everyday look wasn’t as rough and tough as it used to be when she lived on the streets, she still had a very particular air about her- especially when she was at work, and sometimes when she’s not- particularly in the bedroom. Her ability to flirt (or taunt) people into curiosity led to two things, a career change back into sexwork and an unaddressed addiction to something more taboo. However, after an unsavory interaction with a famous client, the company offered an exorbitantly large settlement, giving her an opportunity she never thought she would have. The settlement meant more than an opportunity to travel or leave the job, it was her ticket home.

Feeling like the runaway gig was officially a bust, she tried to reach out to her family in Breton. Whit was the one that told her their mother was ‘gone’ and left it at that. The bitterness of being left behind never sat right with Whitney and the chasm between the sisters only grew when Taney offered her part of the settlement as a way for Whitney to find her own path. Whitney agreed to take what Taney was offering, claiming that it would help her settle some debts. Then, while Taney decided how she wanted to make her way back to Breton, she got a call from a member of House Anjou. Whitney was missing, debts certainly not paid and when she’d been told her mother was ‘gone’ it was a similar scenario. Taney settled into more traveling rather than going back. Maybe a part of her was looking for the family that abandoned her- or she’d abandoned. All the while she honed her craft as a tattooist, growing a clientele through social media and word of mouth. After half a decade of tying up the loose ends her family left behind, Taney bought a small shop with a two bedroom flare over it. Breton, despite all the bad memories she’d had there, was home.

Asmodeus didn’t open as soon as she’d bought the place. Taney had a lot of work to do fixing it up and used this as an excuse to ‘come back quietly’. For the most part she assumed people didn’t remember her, the little sister of the ruined family. Everyone except her had some sort of track record. That wait was spent coding her website, posting promos, and perfecting her watercolor technique and improving her skills in the other styles she had learned in her travels that clients may want. There were some circumstances in between that truly changed her life, a gaslighting non-committal relationship where she saw the person she thought she could open up to show their true colors, casting doubt on her trust in the concept of love and commitment once more. Taney truthfully knew she wasn’t the typical person to catch feelings for. She was promiscuous and happy about it, volatile and reckless, and eccentrically honest. There were just two people outside of her family that could claim to have ever known her beyond the surface and she’d wholly burnt those bridges upon her departure from their respective cities. In her stubbornness refusing to become shackled by societal norms and labels. Though she’s very obviously happier than she’s ever been, she still struggles with her health, including sex addiction, and trusting people- let alone letting anyone in. Many have tried, no one has succeeded or come out unscathed. Be careful what you wish for, if you’re curious to get to know her, she’s likely to pounce- as she’s equal parts sarcasm, quick wit, and horny as hell… a place which she’s inarguably the Queen.

#bretonaccepted #taney hana #rooney mara #accepted

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tobeyouthful · 8 years ago

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Two Sinners and Tiny Demons | Oneshot.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader words: 6799 words warning: Mention of miscarriage and cheating. genre: angsty, fluffy, with a dash of smut a/n: This took two full days and im proud since its my longest fic yet. Shoutout to my sister for editing it for me, crying over it, and helping me pick who it should be he was your sun and your moon and everything in between and now he was nothing but a ghostly memory and a few pictures on your phone.

me. 10:48 PM. I’ve been thinking of you lately. Deleted. You shut your phone down and turned to lay on your side as it laid on the pillow behind you. You had heard the rumors, the soft words exchanged in dimly lit rooms before you enter them. The lingering, half said sentences that make you falter in your step before you plaster a toothy smile onto your face. The snow fell quietly outside and in any normal situation, you’d find yourself lulled to sleep while watching it but now your mind is occupied with him. His beautiful dark brown eyes and the tiny smile he would wear when you first woke up in the morning. But all of the things you loved (still love) were being shown to someone else now and you didn’t have a right to ruin that. Especially since you had someone too. He treated you right, gave you everything you wanted from the other, but your smile didn’t last that long and his touches didn’t electrify something underneath your skin like before. You were stubborn and you couldn’t, wouldn’t, escape from this. You rolled over and for a moment you were expecting him to be there. His dark fringe covering his eyes but the smile still there, lighting up his whole face regardless with how small it was. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you reached out to grasp your phone, sitting up quickly as your fingers tapped eagerly against the screen. me. 10:53 PM. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, how have you been? Draft saved. The snow continued to fall well into the next day but you weren’t one to complain since the snow was your favorite. You worked as a receptionist for a private doctor’s office that was open six days a week with late hours. You got good pay for being the only receptionist. Your gaze moved to look out the glass door, watching the falling snowflakes. You met him out there, it was your first month working there and he ran into you, his phone and iPad falling onto the pavement. The first thing to come to your mind was that you were so glad it was his devices and not coffee. But wasn’t this how all love stories started? You weren’t sucked into his eyes but the stark color of his hair. The blond fit him, much to your amusement. And that smile. It was huge and boxy and it made your heart fill to the brim with curiosity and helped the butterflies in your stomach take flight. His large hands steadied you, almost like he had completely forgotten about his fallen items. “Are you hurt anywhere?” His voice deep and smooth, like melted chocolate. This foreign man had you hooked in only a few heartbeats. You were dragged out of your memories when the shrill ringing of the phone caught your attention. You answered and went on with your duties, the snow still falling steadily outside of your cozy room. Kim Taehyung successfully leaving each of your senses and giving you a moment of peace. him. 8:15 PM. I miss you so much. Deleted. His hand gripped his newly bought phone tightly. Calm down, you can’t break another one. He threw his phone onto his neatly made hotel bed then collapsed into the office chair and ran his hands through his stiff, gel covered hair. You were on his mind lately. Even as he laid in bed next to her, you were there. The hushed voice of Jimin speaking to a mutual friend was forced to the front of his brain and he could hear the woman speaking about you and your new boyfriend and how cute you two were together. That was the first time he had broken his phone, shattering it easily by throwing it against the wall opposite of him. He refused to think that you could have moved on from him even if he had been able to move on to some random girl. The woman he woke up next to in the morning wasn’t you, she wasn’t as beautiful as you, and her smile didn’t spark a fire in his chest like you did. Her dyed blonde hair wasn’t as beautiful as your natural black hair. He didn’t think he got lucky with her, he thought of her as nothing but a replacement for what he lost before. He felt the familiar arms wrap around his neck from behind and it took a lot of control to keep himself from flinching. “Are you okay baby?” He could barely stand her voice anymore. “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I be? I just spent nearly fourteen hours on a flight only to be stuck in a hotel because you caught my kitchen on fire,” his voice was dripping with venom that he knew she wouldn’t be able to catch on to. She wasn’t you. She tightened her arms around his neck and laughed as she leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. “Our kitchen, Tae baby. And it wasn’t bad, it was minor and we’ll be home in two days.” He closed his eyes as she began to move her hands down his chest, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his toned abdomen. Her acrylic nails attempted to create marks in his skin as she kissed and sucked on his neck. Taehyung’s mind wandered to before, when you had done this to him. Your beautifully manicured nails dug painfully into his stomach as you trailed a line of kisses down to his shoulder before meeting his impatient ones. He turned the chair to meet you and his hands pulled at your hips, settling you down in his lap. Taehyung loved the small gasp you made when his fingers slipped past the waistband of your panties. The small whimpers leaving your mouth made his mouth water and his ego swell. He could be the only one to make those… He looked down at your hand that was gripping his arm and the small diamond that gleamed back at him caused a boxy smile to come onto his face. You were soon to be his forever. He was ripped from his memories when he felt her sit his lap, still wearing her dress and heels. He looked up at her and disappointment shot through him and shook his head. “I’m not feeling it.” “You’re never feeling it,” came the hard response. “Why can’t we have sex anymore? It used to be great, now it’s like the minute I get into it you’re against it. Are you impotent or something?” Her words didn’t affect him the way he thought they should have. No, he thought, you’re just not her. When she went to bed that night he grabbed his phone and went out to his balcony to look over his photos. him. 1:18 AM. We need to talk. Deleted. Taehyung wondered what he was doing here. The woman in the other room was madly in love with him, expecting him to propose every single day of the year while he was stuck in love with another woman who never wanted to speak to him again. You occupied his mind so often that he wasn’t sure what was real and what was just a memory. He felt the ghostly touch of your fingers on his bicep and when he turned he half expected to see your beaming smile and soft eyes beckoning him to come back to sleep. him. 1:21 AM. Can I see you? Sent. On your days off you spent much of it inside, cleaning and catching up with the chores you had forgotten about for the majority of the week. When your hand reached over to grab your phone you hadn’t expected to see a notification and when you did, you regretted waking up right away. Can I see you? What a simple question, but one that caused painful flashbacks. You knew he could see that you had read it but he probably sent it in a drunken stupor after a fight with the beautiful model girl he was dating. She was stunning and you were plain, you could see why he had left you for her. Did he touch her with a gentleness that caused her insides to liquefy or did he touch her like she was forbidden and only show her an excitement that felt unreal? Did he love her like he said he loved you? You buried your face into your pillow as a wave of nostalgia wash over you. The last night you two spent together was filled with hate and fury and you were sure that you two were going to end up killing each other before the clock hit midnight. Pain, that’s all you felt the last night. Taehyung admitting to buying a house back in his home town without letting you know, only expecting you to uproot yourself from Seoul to move to Daegu in less than a week. Then he admitted to meeting with another woman and your whole body stopped working. Your brain shut down momentarily. Taehyung watched you with desperate eyes and you could barely keep yourself together. “What?” Your weak voice betraying you immediately. “A woman?” He seemed to understand what you were insinuating and he tried to stop you from thinking anything but you backed away from him, hands coming between you two. “I thought… I knew you had a past, but you promised me Taehyung,” you whispered, your words catching in your throat as a sob threatened to come up. “No, please, I didn’t mean it like that. I was meeting with her to discuss wedding plans, remember that girl? That model Jimin was friends with? She was offering to help me get you a custom-made dress! I even was giving her your sketches!” He tried hard to grab you in a hug but you kept running away from him. You backed away from him even more and shoved hard at his chest. “No, stop it, don’t push me away! She tried to come onto me, but baby I have you. I don’t need anyone else! I couldn’t possibly want anyone else but you! I want to marry you and settle down with you and I want to have a family,” he whispered the final words, knowing they’d hit you like ton of bricks. You were so weak to him, to his words but this time… “Jungkook told me how he saw you with another woman, kissing her, buying her coffee, driving her in the direction of our home,” you whispered and suddenly the tension and disappointment was palpable. “You cheated on me, didn’t you?” Taehyung’s chest caved in. “I’m sorry,” your worst fear was real. In your mind, he would never touch another woman like he touched you, never bring her to the places you both deemed as yours, never bring another woman to your home… The home you experienced so much love and pain together. “After the mis—“Your head shot up and you weren’t sure if what you were hearing was real. He had betrayed you after something that broke you in more ways than one. He was using it as an excuse to hurt you. Kim Taehyung, the man you fell in love with in college took another woman in his arms because you miscarried your first child together. “I hate you. I hate you so much,” you whispered. “I didn’t want that to happen… I didn’t want to lose her. I’m 23 years old, I wanted to start a family with you! You decided to sleep with another woman because of something I didn’t want to happen!” Your voice raised and your hand landed a sharp slap to his cheek. “I always thought so highly of you… You were my dream man, I never thought about your past while we were together because I could see how you had changed,” your hands ran through your disheveled, slightly greasy hair. “I wanted a family. I wanted a life with you. You brought a woman here, slept in our bed together, all because I miscarried!” Right away there was regret in Taehyung’s eyes. You spotted it but no matter what there was no going back from this. “You can take this back and you can bring Jimin’s model friend here and fuck her, date her, love her, then break her heart,” you said as you (barely) walked over to him and handed him the beautiful diamond ring he had picked for you. Taehyung reached out for you but you pulled back. “You don’t have a right to touch me anymore.” You arrived at a restaurant of his choice and sat down at the designated table, ordering a glass of wine for yourself as you began playing with a ring on your index finger. You had dressed to the nines for this little meeting. A tight black pencil skirt and a beautiful maroon sweater tucked neatly into your skirt with your hair in loose curls and sky high heels that always made you feel powerful. You wondered if you should just disappear before the man you once thought of marrying sat down opposite of you with a sullen look on his face and a shattered phone in his hand. “I thought you wouldn’t come,” he uttered after ordering a glass of wine as well. He was dressed beautifully as well. A black suit with a matching maroon button up, his hair natural and fluffy. If anyone looked over they’d only see a power couple, something you both used to be. You saw the purple splotches on his neck and laughed bitterly, his attention shooting over to you immediately. You could see the realization in his eyes before a hand moved to pull his collar up slightly. “They mean nothing to me,” he whispered before turning to fully face you. He felt sick as he sat there because he didn’t have any right to be there, not after his mistakes. “I know they don’t. Nothing ever means anything to you does it?” You spat, your question was like acid and he could feel his face paling from the roughness. You two were apart for twenty-four months but you were still angry and you had every right to be angry. “I never… I never cheated on you,” the sentence was stupidly simple and it made you soften for a moment because for the first time in all these months you actually believed him. If he told you a year ago that he hadn’t cheated, you might not have believed him. “I said I was sorry because I had been with a woman but it was just my sister, I kissed her cheek, I took her out to coffee, and then we went back to our place and she drew up plans for the wedding… I showed her your sketches and she had designed this beautiful wedding for us,” he said in this miserable voice, “I just wanted to keep a fucking secret so I could surprise you with everything…” Once again, a laugh was ripped from your throat and it startled both of you because it was so inappropriate. “Then why would you bring that up? Don’t you realize how stressed and sad and fucking miserable I was? I had just gone through that, only four months before and you…” “I was trying to say that after it happened I wanted you to see that I wanted you regardless of it. I wanted to continue to go on with it all regardless of us losing our first daughter,” his eyes held yours as he spoke and you felt yourself falling back into those deep, chocolate pools. “We had barely done anything after and I heard you talking with you sister about how you were scared I was going to leave you and I didn’t want that in your mind. I wanted you to see that you didn’t need to worry about anything because I’d always be there to help and take care of you.” For once, you hated how easy it was for Taehyung to take your breath away. “So, I’ve been believing you cheated on me for two years and it was a lie? And you didn’t try to convince me otherwise?” What a fool. “Why? Why would you do that? I was so madly in love with you and the idea of being yours forever. I’m with another man, Taehyung. You’re with that model… Why now?” You were half angry at him and half upset with yourself. “Because this whole month has been nothing but you. Everywhere I go I see a spot we went to, I see your face, I feel your hands on me, and I see that insatiable smile that I can’t get enough of. That woman? Nothing to me. That man? Nothing to you. And you can’t lie because we both know there is far too much between us to keep it buried forever.” He was so cocky but he was true. You knew right away that if you left this restaurant without dipping your toes into the sinful deed you hated, you’d be alone forever. The lack of true happiness would swallow you up whole. The hotel was like the one you two shared when you journeyed to Jeju with the rest of the boys after they graduated from university. His hands felt like fire everywhere he touched you and it was too familiar for you to resist. He picked you up effortlessly and rested your back against the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist to keep a secure hold on him. “Taehyung,” you breathed as his lips ghosted down your neck, pressing open mouthed kisses right below your ear. “No marks.” A deep growl ripped from his chest and a shudder ran up your body at the feral sound. His possessiveness was showing and it made the small fire light up in your chest. His hands tightened on your hips for a moment as his lips made their way back up to yours. You gave in even more as one hand pushed passed your skirt and teased you over your panties. “Are you always this soaking wet? Fuck,” he murmured into your ear and you shook your head. The soft ‘no’ that left your lips made him moan out before he delved past your lace panties to feel just how excited you were. Another moan left his throat as he easily pushed a finger inside of you. You gasped out his name and tightened a hand in his hair. “How long has it been since you were properly fucked, Y/N?” he asked as his thumb moved up to rub at your clit haphazardly, barely able to keep himself from shaking in anticipation of the upcoming activity. “Twenty-four months,” you answered and he stopped himself for a second and it had you whimpering with need. You were about to speak (or whine) when you felt a hand at your face, grasping it tightly. Your eyes opened and stared at him, his pupils completely blown out with lust and you could see the hints of adoration and love floating around. “You’re mine. And I’ll mark you up if I goddamn well please. And I’ll make you scream my fucking name and your thighs will shake as you come when I bury my fucking head between them,” his lips pressed against yours as he pushed two of his digits inside of you, causing you to eagerly push your hips down onto them. “Yes.. god, yes, Taehyung, please,” you begged and he pulled away from the door to throw you onto the cushy hotel bed, allowing you to fully look over your former lover. “I love you,” the words came out easily and naturally and seeing his big, boxy smile only added into your excitement. “I love you too.” You woke up naked but surprisingly clean, your mind reminded you quickly that you had taken a shower after your little sexcapade. You squeezed your eyes shut because at any moment you could look over and realize that it was just a small little fantasy moment that meant nothing. You were happily not disappointed at the sight to your left. The moments you got to see Taehyung sleeping were one in a million and you always took a picture of it to commemorate what you had seen. But his eyes opened before you could lean over to grab your discarded phone (one that you knew had messages and missed calls wondering where you were). “I thought you were going to leave me here alone,” he whispered, his voice laced with sleep. “I was so scared.” You chuckled a little and shook your head as you leaned over to press a kiss against his familiar lips. “I can’t leave you now,” you whispered. As you laid there, wrapped up in his arms, you could feel the small, invisible demons crawling all over your skin. They were whispering against each and every mark Taehyung had made, reminding you about the man that was still calling, still texting, still worrying. They wanted you to feel guilty while you felt good, right, laying there in Taehyung’s arms while he whispered about a future you two could share together. him. 4:21 PM. Did I ever tell you about how hard it was to fall in love with you? me. 4:21 PM. And why was that? him. 4:25 PM. Because you did so many things that made it easy for others to fall for but I could tell they weren’t really you. Your little flirty touches and your skin-tight outfits… I knew they weren’t you. I couldn’t love someone that was so easy to love, not when I couldn’t see who you really were. When I first slept over and I saw you with that loose bun and the beaten-up sweatpants and the eager way you could shove a whole fucking waffle in your mouth without hesitation for $20… I fell in love there. You didn’t make it easy but the more I got to see the girl underneath the clothes and hair I could see the girl I wanted to make a family with. me. 4:30 PM. I never knew I made it so hard for you, but I would have to say the same about you. him. 4:31 PM. How is that? me. 4:34 PM. You were a fool who forgot that you weren’t the only one looking past barriers. Mr. My-Tiny-Smirk-Made-Panties-Wet-And-Hearts-Drop. The routine was set from that moment six months before but rather than it feeling exhilarating, the both of you were feeling wrong. You’d undress each other and spend those precious moments basking in each other’s glory but now you could see that it wasn’t as fun as the first time. It was much more obvious when both of you met the others at a party for Namjoon and his wife and the start of their joint company. You had a permanent frown on your face the whole time, not wanting to be there with this man as he schmoozed his way into every conversation, handing out his name card like it was something to be proud of. him. 8:34 PM. You look stunning. Spin for me. Your attention was stolen by the text before your head shot up to look for the familiar deep brown eyes that made your butterflies flutter. You caught his eye and did a small spin, the form fitting, knee length black dress not moving an inch. You wore a pair of red high heels that Taehyung had bought you four years before. He seemed to like the look based on the slight raise of his glass of champagne. me. 8:37 PM. Stop looking, pervert. Your eyes flickered over to the woman that was attached to his side before looking at him. The butterflies ceased their movements. Taehyung’s eyes held yours as if he was urging you to try and look away from him but you held your ground, the pain evident in your eyes. You didn’t like this set up. You should be standing next to each other and you shouldn’t be exchanging texts to relay messages to each other. That’s just not how this should be. You felt your arm being tugged on and you looked up at the man that you rarely shared a bed with. He uttered a soft, that’s Kim Taehyung, I heard he’s a great business man, let’s go introduce ourselves. Your stomach twisted up into knots are you walked over to the two, the woman recognizing you right away and grimacing. “Kim Taehyung! It’s so nice to meet you finally! I’m Park Jinyoung and this is my girlfriend, Y/N Y/L/N.” The woman began laughing bitterly and the look Taehyung shot her was deadly, forcing her to shut up just as soon as she started. “We know who she is, Mr. Park. My Tae baby and your girlfriend dated several years ago,” she said, her chest practically puffing out as if her ego had swelled just from the mention of it. The emphasis on ‘my’ had your mind reeling. “We don’t wish to have any contact with-“ “Don’t mind her, she has no idea what business is like,” Taehyung extended his hand out to your boyfriend and you smiled sweetly at the model. “She’s a popular model but her business ethic is extremely off, unlike some women I’ve met.” He was mentioning you without being obvious and you were thankful. Taehyung and your boyfriend exchanged cards before you all broke away from the awkward confrontation. Your boyfriend shot you a few angry glances as you both went to grab another glass of champagne. He didn’t bother asking because he knew you wouldn’t answer anyway. When you finally got away from him and went to the bathroom you were graced with the presence of Taehyung and the familiar warm arms. “It’s too obvious if both of us disappear,” you whispered but still turned your head to lay it against his shoulder. You loved him far too much but this was not something either of you particularly liked doing. “Taehyung, let me go, I have to go to the bathroom,” you said as you tried to leave his arms but they tightened around you even more and he shook his head. He was acting like a child, the way he used to act whenever you had to leave bed in the morning to go to school. “I need to get back and congratulate Namjoon,” you muttered but you were weakening and you wanted to stay like that for hours. “You look stunning, my love, purely stunning. Wearing my favorite shoes… You did that just to tease me didn’t you?” his words were light and in no way insinuating either of you disappear into the bathroom together. “I fucking love you,” he said softly against the shell of your ear. Your body tensed up and you knew that this was wrong, you knew that this wasn’t going to end up well for either of you. “I love you too, Taehyung,” you answered and he let out a relieved sigh, almost like he was scared you weren’t in love with him anymore. That’s impossible, you thought, I’ve never loved someone else this strongly. After nearly a year of expensive hotel rooms, vacations, and late night text messages and phone calls, your happy little fantasy was crashing to an end. All with a simple little test you could buy at the drug store. Two small lines that could destroy everything.

him. 3:12 AM. Where are you? I’m scared. him. 8:56 AM. Two days now… Where are you? Call me. Missed call. him, 7:45 PM. Missed call. him, 8:00 PM. Missed Call. him, 9:07 PM. him. 9:09 PM. It’s been a week, fucking call me. Now. NOW. him. 5:39 AM. I miss you so fucking much, please don’t ignore me, message me back. I can’t get sleep like this. I need to know you’re not dead in a fucking ditch. Missed call. him, 6:30 AM. Missed call. him, 9:01 AM. Missed call. him, 4:15 PM. You avoided Taehyung for nearly two weeks before he ended up outside of your apartment with your six other friends. You knew right away that they knew what was happening and the looks on their faces spoke nothing but support and worry over what could possibly be wrong. Jimin was the first to speak. “You are idiots.” Then Seokjin. “Why didn’t either of you contact us?” Namjoon made you laugh a little. “Is sneaking around as much fun as the movies make it seem?” Jungkook stayed quiet and it made you feel awful because you knew he was disappointed. Hoseok shook his head. “Taehyung should have been smarter.” The last was Yoongi and he was always so calculating. Harsh when he needed to be and cool when he needed to lessen the blow he landed. “You’re making a mistake. Both of you have lives, have others you’re supposed to be in love with and starting families with, instead you’re running around like you’re part of a teenage summer fling. Don’t you realize how ridiculous this is? How much money have both of you wasted on each other this past year? For a whole fucking year, you’ve been running around hurting the people that are focused only on you two, while you are abusing that,” he was telling the truth, but you didn’t need to hear it again. You shook your head as you laughed softly, your hands rubbing at your face slowly. You knew very well that you had to end this. “Well then you all must be excited to hear that Jinyoung proposed to me and I accepted,” the lie just came out so easily that you even shocked yourself. You closed your eyes as soon as you felt Taehyung’s hands grabbing at your shoulders. He was begging you quietly to tell him it was a lie, that there was no way you could leave him forever. “He’s getting the ring re-sized so I don’t have it… And we’re expecting.” The words left without much hesitation and Taehyung’s grip loosened. “I haven’t told him yet so please, don’t spread the word, guys,” you tried so hard to sound happy but your throat was closing and you were trying so hard to keep the sob from coming up. Taehyung backed away and then there was chaos. “No. No, you’re fucking lying. I’m the only man who has touched you! Don’t you fucking dare take away this dream from us! He didn’t propose and you’re not pregnant! Ignore what they have to say, fuck what they say. It’s just me and you now baby, now stop lying and tell me you love me and things can go back to normal,” he was needy and his hands slid up and down your sides in such a desperation that had you breaking down easier. “We can move to Daegu, we can raise our child together, and we can be together again, marry each other and live happily ever after.” You shook your head and finally looked into Taehyung’s eyes because this was it. This child would be raised alone and you would be exiled from every social circle because of your sins. You would raise this tiny bundle of joy all alone and you’d urge Taehyung to propose to his girlfriend, treat her the way she wanted to be treated, have him fall out of love with you because that was the best for everyone at this point. He couldn’t afford to lose clients and connections because you two were enveloped in your own passionate needs. Jungkook finally stood and spoke. “If you’re lying and the baby is Tae-hyung’s I think you’re making a mistake. We all know that if you’re pregnant with his child then there is no way you’ll stay with Jinyoung. Noona, think about this. Three years ago, you were ready to settle down with hyung and create a family and even if you weren’t exactly doing the right thing here… That baby is his and it’s yours and you both need to stop your unnecessary shenanigans and raise it together.” “I’m sorry Kookie, it’s my choice on what I plan on doing with Jinyoung and I’s baby and at this current moment, I just want to go and tell him because this is so fantastic! I finally get a baby… I finally get to live the life I wanted so long ago. I’m twenty-six. I’m getting too old to be fooling around and acting like a child, being able to settle with a man who loves me… and whom I love, it’ll be perfect,” you could feel a tiny piece of your dignity and soul leave your body in that moment and out of the corner of your eyes you could see them float away. Taehyung slammed his fist into your wall and he shook his head, adamant on not giving up this battle. “No. Taehyung, this is not your baby and I do love him. We’ve had sex while we were going behind his back, I’m not going to just give up on him like you wanted me to.” Those beautiful dark orbs were hazy and filled to the brim with a fury that scared even you. “I had a lot of-“ “If you say fun I won’t hesitate to take every single bit of money and all of your possessions. I will take everything away from you because that’s what you’re leaving me with right now,” his voice wavered and you could see the specks of anxiety and sadness mixing together as he spoke. His threats were useless because he knew you’d do whatever the hell you wanted to do. “How about you all just leave me alone? I’ve already lost one child, I can’t lose this one,” you said softly and the men all dropped their heads in respect. Each one gave you a hug before leaving, Yoongi’s lasting a few more seconds, his lips grazing against your ear to speak before letting go and disappearing past your front door. Taehyung’s presence was looming over you as you shut the door behind everyone. He wasn’t going to leave you here, you knew that. You’d have to tell him the truth… “How far along are you?” “The doctor’s said I’m two months along,” you said softly as you sat down at the kitchen island and laid your head down on your arms. “They say if I remain stress free then I’ll be low risk for another miscarriage,” you explained before turning to look at him. Your eyes widened at the sight in front of you. His hair was disheveled and he had tears running down his face as he looked at you, a giant, boxy smile gracing his face. “You’re having a baby, that’s… That’s so fantastic,” you could tell immediately that he had accepted the fate of losing you forever and that you were no longer his girl. “Jinyoung… he’s so naïve but he’s going to make a great dad. Yeah, a fantastic dad. I’m rooting for him. What will you name the baby? Do you still want her name to be Eunha? I thought that was the prettiest name when we picked it out, god… I was so excited. R-Remember when we made up her room? All pretty and pink? I even bought her that ridiculously expensive transforming crib so we could keep it for when she grew bigger? I still,” he let out a sob but attempted to disguise it as a cough then chuckled softly, raising his hand in apology, “I still have it… the crib I mean.” Taehyung shook his head as he laughed, the pain radiating throughout each of his appendages in an uncomfortable fashion that made him forget that you were standing in front of him. “E-Eunha. God, she’s going to be a loved baby, isn’t she? A mother that has never…” You pushed off the chair and ran over to him, burying your face into his chest as you gripped at the back of his navy-blue sweatshirt. “A mother who has never done a bad thing in her whole life… so fucking pure and loved so dearly. Y/N, do you think… if I hadn’t screwed up, we would have already had a family together?” “Taehyung, please, stop,” you begged as your own tears threatened to spill over. “He’s not the father, fuck, I’m so so sorry, Taehyung please,” you knew you’d break down on him but not this quickly, you never thought you could actually get away with this in the first place. You both collapsed to the floor, a big mess of apologies and regrets and devastation. Thousands of words pass between you two, things you hadn’t been able to say to each other before and things you hadn’t bothered to say until now. You ended up with your forehead’s pressed against each other, tiny smiles exchanging between you. He was a handful, but he was your handful… He always had been. From the time you met until now, he was all yours and nothing was ever going to be able to change that. You stood at your balcony door, your hand settling on top of the slight curve of your belly. The snow was falling for the first time this winter and you were happy it was, just in time for his birthday party. You felt the strong, warm arms wrap around your waist and you leaned back against his chest. “Are you ready for the party? Jungkook just came so that’s the last of them… We still haven’t told them yet, y’know,” he whispered. “Do you think they’ll have a shit fit?” “Oh god yeah.” You turned in his arms and leaned up to press a gentle kiss to Taehyung’s lips. “Do you think they’ll think differently of me?” Yoongi’s words still poked at your heart, unsure if they’d still think negatively after two months of no contact. You and Taehyung had taken a reprieve, escaping from reality to enjoy the feel of each other’s skin without any hints of guilt. You had gone to Japan for a couple weeks before going to Hawaii for a month then coming back home to enjoy the move into your beautiful Daegu home. Eloping was also one of your finer moments while being back home. Taehyung dipped you back slightly to press a loving kiss to your lips before pulling away. “They’ve been bugging me to see you for two months, babe. I’m pretty sure they’d always love you regardless of what happened.” Someone burst through the door and you pulled away from Taehyung quickly. “Are we eating soon? Is it Y/N’s famous chicken marsala?” Hoseok’s voice was light and airy like normal and it put you at ease. Taehyung confirmed it was before waiting for the older male to shut the door. “They won’t see the bump until you show them, the dress is just loose enough not to notice.” His words put you even more at ease but the anxiety was still there as you left the room to greet your friends. Yoongi was the first to notice but of course he was kind enough not to say anything, only uttering soft, soothing words into your ear. Each boy made you feel like a damn princess as they showered you with love and affection. And everything made you feel so elated because you weren’t being pushed away, you were once again accepted into the group of boys that you had loved since day one. Like Taehyung, they were your everything and without their support… You didn’t have much to look forward to. They went a little wild when they found out you two wed at a courthouse and forced you both to agree to a proper wedding after the baby was born. Though you’ll never forget what Yoongi said before. Once saddened by the words, now enjoying the sentiment that came along with them. You’re just two sinners in love with access to cell phones. You couldn’t care much about your acts from before because now you were with the love of your life, living a care free life in a home you loved, and pregnant with your first child. As Taehyung wrapped his arms around you from behind he showed you his phone, a simple draft saved in his phone. him. 7:04 PM. You’re glowing even though you’ve committed another sin. Didn’t you know getting pregnant before marriage was a sin? Even now, you don’t regret complying with the tiny demons that had once crawled all over your skin.

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