#i should care less about smooth blending and more about making skin look alive

[mutantenfisch]

Working on getting my art mojo back by sketching Jaska and her fluffy baby. As you can see, i suck at drawing the Griffon school medallion xD

[illegal-spiegel]

Appearance Manipulation quirk used on Dabi

Pairing: Dabi x gn!reader Genre: fluff Warnings: none A/N: sorry is Dabi is ooc. I just wanted to make him seem like an actual human being lmao 

to be fair, when you met Dabi, you didn’t know he was a villain

you were new to the area and he had approached you as if he was just a regular civilian 

you had ended up going on a few dates with him and never thought that going to more secluded areas like the park, beach, mountains, and so on was odd 

it wasn’t until later on that you realized who he was but by then, you were already in too deep to deny your feelings for him 

so, you kind of join the league of villains??

you don’t fight or anything, you just kind of hangout with them when they aren’t doing any of their evil stuff 

one day, a new guy shows up and says he wants to help defeat all of the heroes

his quirk is appearance manipulation, meaning he can change whatever he wants on someone 

the league didn’t really care about others knowing who they are since they are normally in hiding anyway but it could be useful in the future to get past security or something

so eventually, Dabi was given a mission where he had to go undercover to gather intel 

the guy was informed to help Dabi blend in but Dabi didn’t want him to change his appearance too much 

when the man was finished Dabi’s scars were gone, his hair was turned crimson red, and his eyes went from blue to green 

his scars are something that makes him stand out in a crowd, so without them and his other features, he looked like just another face in the crowd

you didn’t really like it though. You liked Dabi for Dabi, flaws and strengths alike 

Dabi looked at himself in the mirror and just stared for a while 

after a minute or so, he looked away and looked indifferent to it all 

then again, he normally looks like that. Like he doesn’t care about anything 

you know that’s not true though 

to help him blend further, Shiggy assigned you to go with him 

you were going to deny but A. he’d probably skin you alive if you refused him and B. Dabi was instructed to do nothing but gather intel so it should be okay for you to go 

for some reason, they wanted you both to go on a tour at the department of support to find what kind of support tech they have 

you didn’t know the details of the mission but it didn’t really matter since you were just there to make Dabi look less suspicious 

it overall went really well

no one gave you two a second look and you got the information you needed 

instead of just heading straight back to base though, Dabi starts to walk down the sidewalk with you 

“Dabi? Where are we going? Shiggy is expecting us,” you speak up when you notice that you both are going the wrong way 

when he doesn’t instantly reply, you become concerned 

is he okay? Did he not actually get the information you needed to get? 

“We are going on a date,” he eventually says, his eyes trained forward

your eyes go wide at this, your feet slowing but your body being dragged onward as he continues to walk 

“What? Why? We can have a date after-”

“No, we can’t. This disguise will wear off in a couple of hours. I want to take you on a proper date, doll.” 

you pout a bit at his words despite liking the thought of going on a date with him now 

“But, baby, we have been on dates. Plenty of them, in fact!”

“Not real ones. I can’t take you to the movies, or the mall, or a nice restaurant, or anywhere that’s public. Doesn’t that bother you? I want to treat you right, doll. It’s what you deserve.” 

you pull him to a stop then, his eyes finally meeting yours

“Dabi, stop,” you start softly in case there are listening ears close by, “You do treat me right. Just because we can’t go to town and do things doesn’t mean I don’t have fun going to more private places with you. I actually prefer that because you can be you without having to worry about others interfering.” 

he stares at you for a long moment before looking down at your conjoined hands 

“Do you like me better like this?” he asks softly, eyes not moving back up to meet your again 

“What? You mean the version that isn’t actually you? Of course not, baby. I like you for who you are and I prefer the real you than this phony you,” you declare, bringing your hand to his smooth cheek to turn his head up to look at you 

his worry slowly fades and a smirk takes place of the frown that was once there

“Well, of course you do, doll. Why wouldn’t you?” he replies with full confidence before giving you a kiss 

you happily return it, your heart swelling with care and happiness 

as the kiss deepens, it was odd to feel his smooth, velvety bottom lip compared to what you’re used to kissing 

it made it feel like you were kissing someone else 

“Despite everything you just said though, I’m still taking you on a date. I want to experience those things with you, doll,” he decides once he pulls back and starts leading the way to somewhere unknown to you 

you just giggle and agree, letting him do as he pleases 

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MASTERLIST

More with MHA

Tag List: @nojammsss03​ ✦ if you would like to be added or removed, comment or send an ask. Also, remember to tell me if you ever change your username so I can continue to tag you :)

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[sweeethinny]

Hi, Sweet! Ooh, thank you so much for sending me a prompt, I'm working on it! If you could please write "Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again" for any ship, my only request is that it's in some kind of AU. I love your AUs!

Sorry for the delay Mah, hope you like this Jily Muggle AU <3

Ps: for those who don't know, Valentine's Day is celebrated on the 12th of June in Brazil, and in June we have what we call the 'June Party', where it's time to exalt Brazilian folklore, and - for those who are Catholics - is the month of June Saints, the saints who baptized Jesus.

This month, there are parties where people go dressed as hillbillies, there is a lot of food, depending on the party, drinks, a lot of dancing, and it is for many the best time of year.

Couples tend to go matching, always wearing plaid clothes, with lace, ruffles and patches, and usually women braid their hair, paint their cheeks pink and men - for those who don't - paint a fake beard on their faces. They also wear a straw hat, and everything is very colorful.

A typical outfit for you, you understand more or less how it is <3 - HERE and HERE

I hope you all like it, I always like to insert a little of my culture in the fanfics <3

read bellow the cut <3

"Just close your eyes. I will still be here when you open them again" He said, kneeling in front of her.

"Unfortunately," she said, but there was a smile on her face, a smile that James thought was adorable, and it matched her sun-rosy cheeks and the flaming strands of hair that fell over her face.

“I'll pretend to believe you.” He smiled, grimacing when she threw up again, what now felt like just water. "I'll never let you drink again."

"I never want to drink again," Lily laid her head on the toilet seat, her eyes almost closed and stared at James as if she was unable to focus her vision but was trying. The noise from the backyard party was still loud, but inside, the two of them on the bathroom floor, the silence was comforting.

"Famous last words." He shrugged, wanting to laugh but feeling sorry for her, who looked like she wanted to throw up some more. "Evans, you better pull yourself together, or I'll have to take you to the hospital, and I think it's the last place you want to go." James raised his eyebrows, wanting her to remember exactly where they were.

The idea at first was good; a weekend among friends at James' grandparents' farm, abusing every last drop of trust his parents had in him and Sirius. They promised they'd take care of the house, and it was going to be quiet, but now, when he looks out the window and sees Remus jumping off the roof into the pool, and Peter upside down trying to drink beer, he thinks things have lost a bit the control.

As long as nobody ended up in the hospital and nothing was broken, everything was perfect.

The nearest hospital was over two hours away, and none of them had the ability to drive for so long on a dirt road that it took a lot of concentration not to end up with a mired or overturned car.

"I'll be fine." She settled on the floor, leaning her back against the cool wall behind her and closing her eyes. It took James a lot of concentration to keep his eyes off her perfectly sculpted breasts, gorgeous in that black bikini. Her tanned skin made it difficult.

"Can you get up?" James asked, no longer able to stand being in such a small space with Lily so close to him, even though she had been vomiting less than a minute ago. She nodded and accepted his hand when he reached out.

James helped her wash her face and the back of her neck, trying not to think too much about how hot her skin was and how the scent of sunscreen and Lily blended together perfectly.

"Are you better, Evans?" Sirius appeared just as they walked out of the bathroom, cheeks rosy from the sun and alcohol, hair pulled back in a bun and bathing trunks falling over his hips. He had a smirk on his face, which James thought was the drinking's fault, but when Hestia walked out of the room Sirius had just left, her hair messier than before and her bikini smoothing, James understood what was happened. ‘Or do we need to call for help for you?'

"I'm great, Black." Lily tossed her hair back, as if she wanted to prove her point to him. “Dressing problems, Hess?” The girl was almost to the back door, ready to go unnoticed, but she stopped as soon as she heard her name.

Her cheeks caught fire, but her smile didn't waver.

"Yes, the knot was too tight." Hestia shrugged, pointing to the knot in her tanned back. "Sirius was helping me." James chuckled, noticing when Sirius nodded, trying to look as innocent as possible.

"I'm sure he helped." Lily looked at Sirius, then at Hestia, finally walking towards the door, her ass looking like the hottest thing in the world.

"Careful not to drool, Prongs." Sirius slapped the back of his head, looking like he wanted to wake him up from the perverted dream he was having, his drunken brain imagining everything he could do if Lily stopped looking at him just as a friend.

“You're imagining things, you idiot.” He defended himself, following the three of them outside.

The day was sunny, and even with a little wind, there was a mass of hot air that made them sweaty even when they were standing still. Everyone was sporting a tan/redness from their carelessness, and tomorrow probably wouldn't be so kind to them, but James knew that no one here was caring about tomorrow and the possible side effects of spending too much time in the sun.

It was Sirius who had come up with the idea, after looking tired of hearing complaints from Peter and Hestia about how hot it was and how they wanted to go swimming somewhere. James had blamed him for just organizing this because it was a reason for him to see Hestia in bikinis, because this wasn't the first summer Peter had complained about the heat, but it was the first that the girls had joined their group.

They had met in college, Lily was in the lab with Peter, and Marlene was in the same class as James, and when Remus asked Hestia to have lunch with them, somehow they had all become friends.

It was a unlikely group, James admitted that, but having Marlene, Lily and Hestia around always seemed to make their group much more alive and complete somehow, even though James had never thought they needed more members.

As he sat down on the lounge chair next to Lily, James wondered what she would do if he tried to flirt with her; would she repay or would she push him away and their group would break up? He'd seen how a little shocked she looked when he'd taken off his shirt, but maybe it was the tattoos that had caused it to her.

"I always thought you were too much of a mama's boy for that," she'd said, pointing to his chest, where a constellation was drawn.

Maybe that was just the shock, but James liked to think there was something else, and before she wanted to throw up her guts, he was thinking that Lily was returning the flirting start they were having, sitting by the pool while James gave her his seductive smile.

"Feeling better?" James looked over at her, lying on the lounger with her sunglasses on and her belly white with sunscreen.

"Yes now." Lily sighed. "Sorry I made you see me in that situation."

"Nothing." James shrugged. "I've gotten a lot worse, don't worry…" He took a deep breath, gathering his chest boldly and thanking that his mind was a little clouded by the beer. "Lily, are you going with anyone to Liz's party?"

Liz was a girl who studied with James, they were classmates in the Philosophy class, she was a Brazilian exchange student, and had said that she would have a party to celebrate Valentine's Day on the same date that was celebrated in Brazil, and that it was a party with the themed 'june party', which implied that they dressed in checkered clothes, or round and lace-filled dresses. She had also said that they should go as couples, but for singles, there would be something like a kissing chain or something, James hadn't quite understood.

From the photos she had shown, it looked interesting, and any opportunity to ask Lily out, James was taking it.

"I hadn't thought to go, until now." She turned her head toward him, and James cursed her sunglasses, preventing him from seeing those beautiful green eyes. ‘Are you asking me on a date?

"Could be if you want," He smiled, hoping it was seductive enough.

"Are you asking me on a date after you saw me throw up?" This time Lily lifted her glasses, and her green eyes glared at him, her eyebrow raised and an adorable little smile on her lips.

"I said I've been worse." James bit his cheek, a little anxiously. 'Then? Do you want to be my partner? I can wear a dress if you like, I look really cute in lace.” He winked, just to make her laugh—and she did.

"I want," Lily put her glasses back on, and lay back down. 'Just because I want to see you wearing lace and ruffles… I promise to be a good gentleman and court you.' It was he who laughed now, thinking it was alcohol that made him feel silly like that, laughing at anything she said and with all those butterflies in the stomach.

"Fine, can't wait." He grinned from ear to ear, he would probably have his face torn open if he continued like this, but he was too happy to care.

He was going on a date with Lily Evans.

[ramblingkat]

More Bleach fic. Whee!

Soulmates AU, and a Time Travel AU. What fun!

This was a spur of the moment fun thing. Hope you enjoy. I’m pretty sure there will be more of this. 

***

It was a lovely morning out. Far too early to be up, but Kisuke knew that Tessai-san would frown at him he slept too late. Not when they had the shop to open for the morning crowds. Especially when Tessai-san himself still had to come back from his overnight trip to get new merchandise. 

It may seem deserted most of the day, but since Kisuke tended to sell older styles of candies and treats as well as stuff absolutely nobody wanted, he got some of the elderly people who were out and about in the late morning to visit with each other. 

Unexpected, and while he had set this shop up so that nobody would bother him, even he didn’t have the heart to take away a place that these people seemed to love. 

Life was too short for humans to steal little pleasures from them. 

Kisuke was a monster, but he wasn’t as heartless as he liked to pretend to be. Life would be much easier if he was. 

Right now, though, it was that soft part of the morning, where the birds were still waking up and the air was sticky with the cool of the night. Kisuke rarely saw this time of day. Unless he did what he did last night and simply choose to not go to bed. 

In theory, he should be sweeping, and there were slow, lazy movements of the broom as he shuffled his way along the porch. Maybe he should look into getting some assistants to help with stuff like this. 

He was lost in the thoughts of how one might go around getting help for the shoten when there was a tiny tug at the hem of his haori. The man froze, startled that someone had managed to sneak up on him like that, and Kisuke turned his head, looking for the source of that tug. 

On the ground by the porch, was a tiny little boy. He was five, and looking up at Kisuke with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen. 

Kisuke knew for a fact the age of the boy, because he had seen the child right after birth, to make sure that the new member of the Kurosaki family was in good health. 

The baby had been a torrent of power then, but now he was…. Well, not invisible. There was still too much power coming off him for that, now that Kisuke was focused. But he blended into the world around him. 

That was a mystery, one he’d investigate later. 

Right now, he was more curious why Kurosaki Ichigo was now hugging his leg.

Masaki and Isshin were nowhere close. When he focused, he could feel their reiastu, even Isshin’s muted one, smooth in quiet waves of what felt like sleep. Oh ho, seemed as if someone had done a bit of an escape. 

Kisuke patted the bright orange hair, still uncertain why he was being hugged like he was. “Hello,” he said, not sure what else he was supposed to do here. “How did such a little boy ended up in front of my shop so early?”

Ichigo’s arms tightened more around Kisuke’s leg, and he rubbed his face against the man’s knee. Which surely couldn’t be comfortable. But Kisuke was distracted as he looked at the boy.

Something was...different. 

Then Ichigo tried to get up on the porch, offering his hands up so that Kisuke could help him. Seeing no reason not to, Kisuke did just that. 

The touch of skin to skin made a shiver of power spike up Kisuke’s arm, and he almost dropped the boy back to the ground. Something in him refused that, and he ended up scooping Ichigo up into his arms. 

Against his shoulderblade, something burned, and from the way Ichigo hissed, he felt it as well. 

Ah, this was how Kisuke was going to die. Something told him that Masaki was not going to be pleased to find matching marks on her five-year-old son and a man several centuries older than that. Isshin would grumble, but he didn’t have any room to talk. Kisuke remembered how old Masaki was when she and Isshin met. To souls of their age, a decade or so was not really all that different. 

Reluctantly, Kisuke set Ichigo down. The little boy whined and latched back onto Kiuske’s leg, refusing to let go. It took some time for Kisuke to get the boy to release him, and that was only accomplished by promising to be right back. 

Not that Kisuke planned on being gone long. He just stepped into his room at the back of the shop to sent a message to Masaki, as she was the more sensible of the pair. She could come collect her little escapee, and Kisuke could go have a minor meltdown in the training area. 

As he headed back to the porch, Kisuke heard a small scraping sound. When he peeked out, he saw Ichigo trying to hold the adult sized broom that Kisuke had been using. He looked up, rumbling with the broom a moment, then scowled at Kisuke.

It was absolutely adorable. 

“Gotta finish your chores,” the little boy said, trying to use the broom again. Kisuke had to cover his mouth, and used a stealthy bit of kido to save the image. He could transfer it to other material later. 

“Ah, forgive me, Kurosaki-san. Let me get something and I can do that.” 

For some reason, the brooms Tessai-san preferred came with smaller ones. Less full broom and more of a spot check broom, for getting in smaller spots. 

Perfect for tiny hands. 

Which was why, when a frantic Masaki arrived, she found Ichigo and Kiuske sweeping the porch together. Ichigo was talking all about his baby sisters, and Kisuke was nodding as if this was the most important information he had ever been told. 

Masaki was not certain she trusted Kisuke fully. She liked him well enough, and he had helped save her life, so that got him a certain amount of leeway. But something about him meant she kept one eye on the man when she was physically near him.

And definitely when he was near her son. 

But Ichigo, who finally spotted her, smiled when he saw her. “Momma! I found him! I found the man in my dream!”

As he spoke, Ichigo grabbed Kisuke’s hand and was pulling him over for Masaki to meet. She looked up at Kisuke, who seemed to be as honestly confused as she was. 

“You and I are going to talk about you leaving without permission,” Masaki told her son, who pouted at her, and refused to let go of Kisuke’s hand. Then Masaki looked at Kisuke. “What is he talking about?”

Kisuke got the shifty look that she was definitely wary of. “There may have been a small situation after Kurosaki-chan here decided to invite himself to my home today.”

“He’s mine,” Ichigo stated. “For always.”

“Maybe we should go inside and talk,” Kisuke offered. “If you think that Isshin-san is able to take care of your daughters without you.”

Masaki grimace. “Let’s make this quick.”

When Masaki and Ichigo left, much to the protest of the latter, Kisuke was still alive, had all of his limbs, and a promise of a future conversation. 

He also had a picture, which was carefully set aside. The image of a little figure with orange hair, and a green man with a stripy hat, each of them with something he thought was supposed to be brooms, smiled back at Kisuke from the paper.  It made something in him go all warm, and it was perfect blackmail material for later. 

After all, eventually, his soulmate would get older, and Kisuke would be able to whip out this picture then. He could just imagine the annoyed face he’d get. 

Something to look forward to. 

[anonil88]

A Green Night on the Town.

Is this a modern au? No. Ruby and Christina end up meeting the neighbors as William and Hillary. But Ruby wants to go to the bar and live a little, 👀.

Ruby Baptiste X Christina Braithwhite

Inspired by comments and posts by @dreaduquesne and @taylor144. I did do some research for this, the one song is from the 1960s but we are gonna pretend it's not. If you are going to be negative just for negativity sake please don’t. Wanted to post this before tonight’s episode where this ship may go down in flames. One more ep left after tonight *insert sad emojis*

Songs in order of appearance in story: Put on my Shoes by Mary Anne Fisher, I don't know by Ruth Brown, One Man's Poison by Liz Lands, It's Your Voodoo Working by Charles Sheffield.

MATURE RATING

LINK TO STORY ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN 

Ruby sat in the Bentley checking her image in the side mirror. The red lipstick she reapplied was new and came in a gold bullet with roses carved into it. It was the shade Ruby and she got it on one of her shopping adventures. As Hillary of course. The matte color clashed with Hillary's choice of clothing but perfectly matched her pink dress with red and blue flowers stitched onto it. She wasn't only checking her face but looking out for unfriendly neighbors.

In the weeks she's been with Christina in the house, the looks she's gotten are usually not friendly. Kids and parents alike staring her up and down like she is trash. In her most unholy form of self they smiled "Fake ass white folks ," she thinks. They were lucky most white people did not want trouble knowing William lived with her openly. As openly as they could be, the city of Chicago has always cared less about couples like them but the people sure do care enough. Ruby glances at the door that sits far behind iron gates. 

After her day out, William introduced her to some of the neighbors on another street who had kids. Kids who looked innocent playing in the streets. A group of men talking on the street flagged the Pontiac down making Ruby tense but William's hand rested atop hers in the middle of the seat.  They spoke across her wondering where they could get themselves a car and a woman that. William chuckled and made small talk which Ruby side eyed her partner for. 

That led to them both getting out of the car introducing themselves to these men and their wives as Hillary and William Davenport. An invitation for dinner came from one wife who kept commenting on the bump in Hillary's hair too nicely. Ruby heard a little bit of Christina's snark in Williams no and tampened that response with, "Sorry we have plans tonight." Which thankfully was accepted and before then they had no plans but now Ruby wanted to spend the night dancing to music, maybe singing just a little. As herself, after an exhausting day of keeping up with the Joneses or Smiths or whatever white slave master name they probably shared with a poorer distant cousin on the Southside. Damn she kinda missed the Southside. Christina had been before but not like this.

She sees a teenage boy dragging a trash can down the driveway next door but listens to the sound of feet making their way down the walkway. Slowly she puts the lipstick in her purse that will get left in the back seat because tonight she wants nothing to hold her back. Ruby watches Christina open and lock the gate with her back turned. Hair perfectly swooped to the side even in moonlight.

The tall blonde was in a green dress fitted at the waist that was far too fancy for whatever jazz joint they were bound to end up in. It looked new but Ruby swore Christina had too big of a closet, almost big enough for two people. William had a vest in a similar color, he wore a few days ago...well she wore Ruby guesses. Christina looks nice as she saunters towards the silver drivers side and Ruby bit the inside of her lip. There was something about the way the woman was so sure and confident in her walk, how she sat, or how she inserted the silver key into the ignition. Even when she was out dressing her for a simple night on the town. Those long hands just so handling the key before slipping...

Ruby swallows her jealous admiration and rolls her eyes, "Seriously?"

"What, is this too much ?" Christina asks, smoothing her fingertips over the leather of the steering wheel. She leans over Ruby likely too close and slips a vial of William's blood in the glove box. Giving Ruby an amused stare that makes Ruby roll her eyes even harder. Christina thinks of this as a game, one they both play. There are days she has already taken her potion and is dressed in slacks eating breakfast. Ruby will saunter into the kitchen dressed in a number that makes Christina wonder if keeping Ruby hostage would be so bad. Probably, if Leticia found out there would be a makeshift army outside her front door.

"Ha," Ruby laughs out loud and Christina smiles, "You fucking think, it's a jazz joint not the Ritz. Who in the Sam Hill are you trying to impress tonight?"

Christina lowers her eyes to Ruby's lips. She thinks of just exactly who she was continually trying to impress as covertly as possible. Ruby looks away and back realizing Christina is still staring at her like....that. She does it in William's skin too, those eyes sizing her up. Two piercing blue eyes always staring at her so deeply Ruby thinks she could burst into flames. No matter the face she does find it hard to look away. 

"Don't look at me like that. I warned you about that, now drive." Ruby says crossing her arms in her lap listening to the engine come alive. Christina grins to herself but keeps her words to herself as she shifts the car into drive.

The night leads them to Vesey's where Ruby is plenty filled with free drinks. She already sang at the last spot with a band but her presence rouses the crowd that is already not slow at all tonight. The bar is more packed than normal and Ruby forgets to ask why. She did hear Sammy whisper across the bar to a man next to her something about a discreet open door to friends of Dorothy for once. As soon as her and her unlikely plus one arrived, Christina said she'd be fine on her own. 

Ruby took that for truth but tried to read her half truth anyway. Christina held her own well but not like this...this would be a first. That was something Christina would say often "a first" with practically anything it made Ruby wonder if her secret-sometimes lover had any childhood or life at all before her sister came barreling into that mansion.

The whiskey is neat on her tongue as she tosses it back quickly before blearily grinning at Sammy. Tonight felt good and light and fun. No white eyes staring at her making her feel undone in front of them. Ruby in her skin surrounded by her kin and music that was sewn into her spirit. No matter how sad the lyrics could get the beat was full of life.

"And we have our resident songstress in the crowd tonight," someone on the small stage called out. Whistles came from the bar and the crowd mid dance at the stage. Andre, the young barkeep, winking at her taking her lipstick stained glass back behind the bar.

"I guess that's my cue Dre," Ruby raised her brows at him. He nods back, touching her hand sitting on the bar lightly. He sure was cute, she thought before slowly getting up from the stool. She makes her way past the packed house and in front of the band playing. Shouts and hollers come from the crowd as she holds out her hands. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the Ruby Baptiste." The man pushes the mic in her hand and whispers good luck to her. She isn't a stranger to singing while drunk or singing well while drunk. Not even with a big audience but there is a feeling of nerves in her fingers as she grips the mic and slips it back in the stand.

"Hello Southside," Ruby says into the mic. Whistles get louder and someone bangs on the bar. This crowd definitely had some new faces in it but they were smiling or leaning against someone else like lustful animals. "Alrighty i guess y'all are entitled to a few songs."

Someone yells from a booth, "Yea, where you been Ruby left us on the south side for the north side."

Ruby laughs into the mic, " Y'all think I would leave this behind never!" She looks at the guitarist, "maybe you." Folks gossiping was always a trend her name sour on so many people's mouths.

Everyone laughs in response and she laughs quietly to herself. She whispers to the band "Put on my shoes".

Ruby sways with the band as they start before leaning into the mic.

"Should I feel a little hot, you almost drive me insane, All your good intentions. Seem to wash right down the drain, put yourself in my place. You'll see what I mean and you'll know how I feel. And you'll feel, you'll feel a pain in your heart."

Ruby scans the crowd with her eyes, landing on random spots of the crowd that look more enthused then others. Her voice still gravels out...

"Baby I've been let down more times than I can remember how you cheated on poor lil me from January to December. Put yourself in my place. You'll see what I mean and you'll know how I feel."

Her hand cradles the mic as she throws her words into it. She knows that pain even if it is not her current romance. Her heart had been split open once or twice before. Maybe that's why she held her heart back in  this thing with William, Christina, or as Montrose called them Chrilliam.

"And you'll feel you'll feel a pain in your heart. I've always been faithful and I've always been true but there's gotta be the death gotta be a change in you."

Fuck him, she thought throwing her anguish in het voice before leaning back up to scan the crowd.

"Put on my shoes for a day.

Put on my shoes for a week.

Put on my shoes for a month or two, know what I've been through."

If only she could make a spell or potion, so that Christina could understand. Understand why she gets so angry and frustrated with the woman in and outside of her own blackness. She finally finds the blonde blending in surprisingly well. Christina has a drink in hand leaning against the wall, watching her. Blue eyes sweeping across the stage as Ruby moves about the space. Instead of looking away Ruby croons out....

"Go on and have fun after all is said and done."

Someone bemoans out yes sing Ruby sing. Ruby watches Christina stare at her not breaking the tension between the two of them. If this was an empty house it would be much more obvious that Ruby had been stuck. Stuck on the way Christina clutched the glass in her hand to her lips. The way her eyes didn't waver or move from Ruby eyeing her up and down.

"Put on my shoes you'll get the blues the blues the blues if you put on my shoes."

The song starts to end and Ruby finally looks away. Her heart is beating so loudly it could probably take over for Gordy the drummer if they need be. If only Christina could know authentically how it felt to be in skin like hers. Not some misplaced gesture that could have gotten her dumb ass killed...if only. 

Christina half listens to the short woman sharing the table with her. She did not care at all what the woman was saying but she fully understood she had no power in this establishment. Magically yes, but physically she was the outsider here. If someone wanted to sit at the same table in this bar they could. This bar was thick with smoke, heat, and loud. Christina observed it all, everyone seemed at home in this small establishment. A home full of strangers that couldn't cross into Lincoln Park with that same joy and comfort. She didn't understand that feeling but she also never really had a "home" to connect to. A comfort as distant as her ability to empathize with these people.

A taller full figured woman stands next to the shorter darker one before sitting down eyeing Christina up and down. Which Christina doesn't change her one note expression for. The shorter woman is still yapping on about something and Christina flits her eyes between the two. At some point the taller one leans in and introduces herself as Celia. Christina leans in a bit to hear her and nods. Celia has a cool confidence she immediately picks up on instead of the jittery energy in between them.

"Isn't this wild Cil I've never seen a white woman walk in this place alone," the short one finally says in between winds of her story.

Celia smiles at Christina and says lowly, "Alone is right." Christina sees something in the taller woman's eye and grits her teeth a bit. She isn't alone, not really, with Ruby in the same building. But neither of them is kept and Ruby doesn't often kiss her without the pieces of William stuck to her skin. 

"What's he coming over here all fancy like for, she's just white. Not royalty." a man in the booth next to the table huffs out loud enough for Christina to hear. One purpose most likely she knows.

Christina turns and sees the owner of the bar walking over to the table with a tray holding a wine glass filled with red. A few bystanders jump out of his way or side eye him. This didn't seem like the place where people went to for a glass of wine. Sammy was his name, she remembers that from her own bits of research on her extended family. She has also heard whispers that he was or is linked to her cousin's father, in that way. He stops in front of her and places the glass on the table. 

"On the house Braithwhite." Sammy purses his lips a little at her and she crosses her eyes at him. "A request from..." the stage he mouths. She softens her look when he walks away and pulls the glass to her. Sipping it she almost laughs, it's an awful merlot that tastes like pennies. The copper taste sits on her tongue and her eyes go wide. Slipping her hand into the pockets on her dress she feels for the glass vial that should be there. After a moment of panic she feels the cold glass pulling it out a bit to ensure it's still full. It is. She sighs relief into the glass and sips it again.

The music from the band is still blaring as the crowd in front of the seating area sways and moves back and forth. No singing comes through the air and Christina leans her neck slightly to find Ruby on the stage or in the crowd. It takes a bit before a wheezy laugh proceeds and sees a man on stage with Ruby. He is swaying behind her as she holds the mic singing into the mic, 

"Could a heart so right be led so wrong if his love is weak would it last this long. I don't know but I hope and pray that he comes my way oh oh." 

Christina grips at her own thigh with the hand still sitting in her pocket.

The horn player toots out loudly and Ruby turns around lightly pushing away the tall built man behind her. It was all in good fun as the band kept playing and he sidled back up to her slipping his hands back to her waist teasingly. She hears the band transition into another song while she dances on stage. Left, right, left, right. She feels her hips sway away from the fingers resting above her dress. She recognizes this song and shakes her shoulders along to the music that's all around her. Looking back at the crowd she can see the stares that she is receiving from the men in the crowd. It is all temptation and fire from many directions but Ruby shrugs to herself. She did not come for a man, she had one of those already, which was obvious others heard about. Her core tightens thinking of that man, so adept with the way he took care of her. Where is he? She wonders looking back to the table she sent that bottom shelf wine to earlier. She sees Christina but Christina is holding a conversation with a glass half full. A conversation that Ruby blinks at, a woman, a very pretty light skinned girl is undressing Christina with her eyes. Ruby knows she can't hide the look on her face and bites her tongue. It earns her an, “Ooo gurl what's on your mind,” from the guitarist who she sees her face flare with jealousy. He’s following her gaze to the table and whistles loudly. He never thought Ruby went that way, but he didn’t know a lot about Ruby outside of rumors.

Braithwhite never looked out of place even in a place like this. She just fit in well without trying like a chameleon making herself comfortable in someone else's home. If Ruby did not know some of Christina’s truths this would concern her, but not so much now. At least even at her most sordid she was honest. The green of the dress did stand out but it felt see through to Ruby. She was pretty sure the woman on the other end could only wish for the type of knowledge she had. The alcohol and revitalized confidence in her gives her half the mind to throw her shoe from the stage. Maybe knocking Christina's eyes, that were probably not bulging as much as Ruby's liquored brain saw, back into her head. Ruby thinks better than that and sits the mic back in the stand and clears her throat into the mic.

Eyes including those blue ones find their way back to the stage. Ruby glares a bit in Christina's direction then directs her words back to the crowd. "Aight y'all this is my last song for tonight, it's something me and the boys have been cooking up."

Ruby hears the band whistle and mumble about someone having her in a mood tonight. The four count from the symbol goes off and Ruby clenches the mic letting her voice seep out,

"One man's poison is another man's meat, what's good for Johnny will kill poor Pete."

People in the cloud clap at the new sound. Folks lean up off the wall to move towards the dance area or to move with the crooning in their spot. Ruby smiles with her words as they continue. 

"I'm good at loving so make no mistake I was his gravy but I'm your steak. Kiss me baby hold me tight everything's gonna be alright."

Ruby sways her hips back and forth a bit. Christina feels her eyes getting heavy dragging up and down Ruby's frame. She catches Ruby glancing her way and licks her lips quickly before the woman turns away from her. 

"One man's evil is another man's pure, kiss me baby I want your sweet loving tonight." 

Ruby extends her leg on stage twisting it with the music as she dances with the fill of the band. Moving back to the mic she slides her hands around the tall skinny pole.

Christina empties the contents of her glass not moving her vision from Ruby. She's leaning out of her chair slightly, but tries to pull herself together. If the times allowed her to, she'd have Ruby right there on the stage and she guesses if the crowd wasn’t soaking in the way Ruby reeled them in. Ruby was full of magic and had an effect on people that Christina was sensitive to. Even the first time she heard her sing.

Ruby grins as the band keeps playing and nods to them. Which they respond with air kisses. The crowd jeers as Ruby makes her way off the stage. A man's arm outstretched guides her off the stage even though she didn't need any help. Ruby can feel fire on her skin likely from Christina at the attention from a few gentlemen as Ruby passes them on her way to the bar for a glass of water. When she makes her way towards the seating area she teasingly saunters past the table she knows the blonde is sitting at. Ruby feels the eyes outlining her from behind and hears someone excuse themselves from a table behind her. She keeps walking to the bathroom she knew was at the end of the hall. 

The sound of heels matching her stride as she opens and lets herself in the single person toilet.

Ruby swallows her moans while slowly tugging the long blonde hairs in between her fingers. Light tugs feeling soft rouged cheeks against her inner thighs. Lips kissing up against her thigh garters and stockings. Ruby exhales pulling Christina's head back up to hers.

"Is that what you wanted, sitting there pissed off because someone had your new toy."

Christina exhales feeling Ruby's nails scratch her scalp ever so. Her face is flushed, she can feel it, but she shakes out no lightly. "You aren't a toy," Christina pushes Ruby's hand away from her and leans over her. Less than inches away, "I guess I'm just a little jealous and it seems you are too." 

Ruby scoffs but doesn't deny it, instead she drinks in the way Christina looks at her. With a vigor and a hunger that makes her thighs clench against the hand there. Fingers that sting in her memories from the car stroke up and down and Ruby does something she rarely does. She leans in and pulls Christina's lips to hers.

Christina revels in the slow tongue inching along hers. Ruby's hand on the back of her head, pulls her closer, and she slaps a hand against the tile wall surrounding the mirror. She likes this Ruby whoever this Ruby is. Unattached. Christina whimpers, feeling her head shoulders pushed downward. This Ruby who kisses her even without her being William. She also feels good in Ruby who is bound and only kisses William.

"You said you'd kiss whatever I wanted Braithwhite," Ruby gathers the blonde’s hair in her hands. Sinking her red fingernails into the blonde scalp, she opens her legs wider putting more weight on the metal sink. Ruby feels her breath hitch watching Christina sink to her knees while biting her lip at Ruby's words. Christina is undoing the snap of her garter while pushing Ruby's dress further up her thighs. It's almost around her waist, but this was not the place to just strip of it completely. Ruby leans her head back in relief feeling Christina inch the lacey cotton fabric around her hips down until they are off completely. She hopes Christina tucks them in her pocket at least.

Christina sighs pushing the lacey fabric into the same pocket holding William. She lightly bites into Ruby's thigh before moving to taste her fully. There is a low shudder and the grip on her hair tightens as she dips her head forward closing her eyes to fully immerse herself in Ruby. Ruby feels the hot coils in her stomach snapping and crackling. Her free hand moves from clenching her mouth to gripping the sink. She doesn't want to ruin Christina's dress but the heel of her shoe is pressing into the blondes back. A gasp like moan escapes her mouth as a shiver runs across her collar bone.

"Oh shit," the door next to them squeaks open and shut quickly, making both Ruby and  Christina open their eyes. Christina turns her head upward to stare at Ruby. She can't say she feels any shame in her current position, but Ruby might. Ruby can only see the blue eyes peeking at her with concern and heat from the bottom of her dress. But, she feels like wetness on Christina's chin on her warm thighs. Ruby leans over to the lock on the door and twists it shut before leaning her head back on the wall. She regrips Christina's hair, "Kiss what I want."

Ruby moans out loud while music and a jazzy tune slips under the door.

“Your love is voodoo and I just can’t last. It's your voodoo working, voodoo working, voodoo working and I can't get a lick…..”

[panevanbuckley]

For flufftuber! Speirton+Ron is a actually great cooking master, that is why he could attract Lip at first even though he had a piercing.🤣❤️❤️

ahajsks can you read my mind?? I'm literally writing a separate fic for that au with speirs cooking omg 🤣 anyways, I know I said I originally had a nipple piercing in mind but I thought about it and a lip ring is much hotter 💜

also on ao3

“It's open!” Ron’s shout carried through the apartment and Carwood took that as is cue to walk in, carefully laying his shoes by the door and hanging his rain-soaked jacket on an empty hook.

He took the next minute to take in his surroundings; the apartment was small, by the looks of it, paint close to peeling off the walls and various trinkets or books discarded in semi-organised piles. The floorboards were old and scratched, covered by a plush red rug that looked out of place. The whole place had a warm feeling about it, though, something comforting and homely settling heavy in your heart from the moment you step inside.

In short, it was rather ragged but well-loved.

Even so, his mother would not approve.

“Hey,” Ron smiled, finally appearing from what must be the kitchen. Carwood's breath caught in his throat at the sight of him.

He was wearing an apron, the words “I cook as good as I look" printed along the front, his hair (and face, by the looks of it) was dusted with flour and Carwood swears his eyes twinkled under the light.

He wanted to compliment him, or at least say thank you for inviting him for dinner. Carwood never was a smooth talker, though. “You have a tattoo.” He said, dumbly, taking a step forward to trace the tree branch that curled around Ron's bicep with an almost childlike wonder.

Ron smirked, toying his tongue over his lip ring. Carwood made a point not to blush. “That I do.” He said, quirking a brow, “I have another, but I can't exactly take my top off right now.” That managed to draw a flush to Carwood's cheeks and he cleared his throat, dropping his hand back to his side. “Christ, Car, you're soaked!” Ron suddenly realised, and Carwood couldn't help but wonder if he was aware that he was stroking his thumb over his cheek. “My bedroom, second door on the right, help yourself to some dry clothes.”

“Are you sure?”

Ron nodded, taking a step back. Carwood definitely didn't miss his warmth.

“Positive. We're about the same height, you should be able to find something.”

“O-Okay,” he relented, the uncomfortable rub of wet clothes on his skin enough to beat his worries of sharing a stranger's clothes. Well, Ron wasn't a stranger, but Carwood wasn't sure he could quite call them friends just yet. And whilst tonight very well could be a date, he still wasn't completely sure, that didn't make them official or anything.

Ron sent him another smile before disappearing into the kitchen again with a call that dinner would be ready in around ten minutes. Plenty of time for him to get changed.

He got to the bedroom easily but was surprised by what he found; he'd expected it to be like the rest of the apartment. Instead, the floor was practically spotless, only two books and a few DVDs left by the foot of the bed – which, surprisingly, was neatly made with a black, silk cover. He smiled to himself, helping himself to a couple of items from the wardrobe that looked alright.

Unsure what to do with his own clothes, he folded them carefully and placed them on the floor where they could ruin anything. That's when he caught sight of himself in the mirror, ripped jeans that looked painted on they were so damn tight and a pastel pink hoodie that was just slightly too long on him. It was nothing like his basic jeans and blue sweater.

Yeah, his mother definitely wouldn't approve if she were here right now. Luckily, she wasn't.

He headed back to the kitchen, the apartment now flooded with the mouth-watering smell of freshly baked pastry and steak. His stomach rumbled.

“Just in ti-” Ron paused as Carwood stepped into the room, plates hovering over the table which had been set up with fancy cutlery and a candle in the middle. Carwood couldn't help but smile. “Wow...”

“Wow?” he frowned at Ron, unsure what he was looking so in awe at.

Ron shook his head, and Carwood swore he could see the faint hint of a blush on his cheeks. He placed the food down before wiping his hands on his apron, glancing back over at him with that oddly intense stare that he had. “Nothing, it's just...you look good in my clothes.”

Carwood spluttered, hardly paying attention as Ron undid his apron and threw it over the counter to reveal a crisp black shirt underneath – the top few buttons undone just enough to tease at the smooth expanse of his chest. “They're your clothes,” he pointed out, not entirely sure what he was even saying at this point as he took the offered seat, “you ought to think they look good.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, sitting opposite him and pouring them both a glass of wine, “but they look especially good on you.”

He didn't really know what to say to that, so he just shook his head with a shy smile and took a mouthful of pie instead. He hadn't realised Ron was still watching him until after he let out a practically sinful sound at the blend of flavours in the food, shovelling another bite in before feeling that stare again.

Ron was smiling, pride evident on his face as he looked over the flickering candle at him. It should've been embarrassing, beyond so, swallowing down a mouthful of pie and fighting back another moan whilst his possible-date watched in light amusement. But Carwood suddenly found that he couldn't care less.

“You really do cook as good as you look.” He laughed, washing the food down with a sip of wine. “This is seriously amazing.”

Ron chuckled, the sound deep and velvety as it washed over him. “Thank you, Carwood.” If he wasn't smitten already, he certainly was now. Hearing his full name roll off of that tongue, the rough edge of his voice somehow gentler now. It was endearing.

“You surprise me,” he finds himself saying, swirling the tip of his finger around the rim of his glass. “I wouldn't have expected you to be such a natural cook.”

“Don't judge a book by it's cover.” Ron shrugged, mischievous glint in his eyes. Something about that look told Carwood that Ron enjoyed being underestimated.

“I suppose you're right,” he said, absently, as his mind wandered off to think of all the other things Ron might be capable of: sewing, painting, singing...the possibilities were endless.

“Of course I am.” Ron smirked, causing him to roll his eyes. That didn't stop the smile on his face, unfortunately.

It was as they cleared the table together, Ron insisting that he didn't need to help (not that he listened), that he took the crazy leap of faith they're always talking about in the movies. As soon as Ron's hands are free, he steps into his space and tilts his head that tiny inch to capture Ron’s lips in a kiss.

He only meant for it to be short and sweet since it's their first kiss and he isn't even convinced Ron actually likes him like that but within seconds Ron’s got him turned around and pushed against the counter, their tongues sliding deep and wet. Carwood feels alive with pleasure, body alert and tingling in a way he's never experienced before, electrifying shivers shooting down his spine when fingers slide under his - Ron's – hoodie to graze over bare skin.

He arches up into the touch, the grip on his waist now tightening and he's certain there'll be small finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. Even that thought is enough to fill him with excitement, anticipation and want.

Ron was making this half-groan, half-whimper as he all but claimed Carwood's mouth with his own, the cold shock of his lip ring hitting his lip and causing Carwood to gasp into Ron's mouth. It was suddenly like a thread snapped in him. Carwood couldn't help but cradle Ron's face in his hands and tilt his head to get a better angle as he deepened the kiss, moaning shamelessly into the mouth pressed against his. He kissed Ron like he needed him to breath, clinging to him like his only remaining lifeline. And Ron responded in likeness.

It was minutes, perhaps even hours, later when they eventually broke the kiss off, panting heavily into each other's space as Ron pushed his forehead into Carwood's. The hints of a smile danced over his swollen lips and Carwood felt a welcome heat in his chest.

“That was, quite possibly, the best kiss of my life.” Ron whispered, voice hoarse, bringing a hand up to drag his fingertip along the curve of his jaw. Carwood shivered under the touch.

He's not sure where his burst of confidence came from - he'll blame the wine – but Carwood found himself bumping his nose against Ron’s and saying, “What if you could have a kiss like that every day?”

“Then I would die a happy man.”

Carwood smiled, daring to brush their lips together once more and laughing softly when Ron leaned in instantly. “After that pie, it's the least I could do.”

Ron chuckled and, from the way he was currently pressing him into the counter, Carwood could feel the vibrations through his chest. “I'm not sure those match up.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Ron obliged, dipping down to draw him back into another passionate kiss, this time gentler as they took the care to explore one another. It was soft and sweet, the lingering taste of wine on Ron's tongue as he licked into his mouth and the press of metal a constant reminder of the piercing he had. He could feel the curve of Ron's smile and it warmed his heart.

It was perfect. Ron was perfect. He was everything Carwood had been searching for and more.

He was certainly not what his mother had in mind for him.

[docholligay]

The Bad Ending

Angstober, Day 22! Written for @keyofjetwolf but also HAPPY BIRTHDAY MINAKO. about 1500 words, basically if I had Haruka’s MaS arc end terribly. ‘m not totally satisfied with this, but I tried

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m here. You did good, it’s okay.” 

She shouldn’t have made it to the hospital. She’d been crushed, half-buried under the rubble left in the wake of their terrible victory, and the doctors had, as kindly as possible, told Mina that there was too much damage. They weren’t sure why she was still alive, even now. Her body was failing her, and it was only a matter of time. 

Usagi, Mina, and Pluto. They were the three left standing, without a scratch on them. Mako and Michiru were still deeply unconscious, Ami and Hotaru were dead, and Rei was currently cussing out at least two doctors and a nurse from her hospital bed. It was poetry, wasn’t it, that it was going to be groups of three? Three dead, three damaged, and three just absolutely, perfectly fine, to live their doubtless long lives. 

The fight had been long, and hard, and Mina felt the wave of exhaustion hit her, all their senshi power fallen away to leave them with all the sacrifices they’d made. To figure this world out on their own, and how to be a normal person in it. 

Mina wanted to be left alone, when she was sick, and she assumed when the time came for her to die that she’d more or less crawl under the porch like a cat and let it come to her on her own terms. But Haruka was not that way, at her most honest heart, and craved comfort when she was sick, or hurt. 

“You’re not alone, Ruka,” She squeezed her hand, “I won’t leave you, I promise.” 

She’d discovered this over the course of several months in their little apartment, where she had slowly moved from being a full-time angry asshole to a full and layered person in Mina’s eyes. How she’d softened with the application of warmth like a stick of butter, and how, over the years, she had come to trust enough in the world to extend out her hand, when she needed it. 

The sensation of that memory waved over her, the cheap couch they’d found by the side of the road, Haruka buried in blankets, hot with fever, eyes heavy with sleep. The few days of the flu had taken it out of her, and despite Mina’s forceful application of pedialyte, she was a bit woozy and dehydrated. 

Unfortunately, Haruka being Haruka, this had made her slightly clingy and hysterical, in a way that Mina could simultaneously be flattered by the level of trust it conferred, and annoyed by a woman trying to wash the damn kitchen dishes. 

“You’re okay bud,” The room was soft and warm, and Haruka nodded along with her, willing herself to listen, “You’re totally fine, you’re okay. It’s okay--

The memory split, and there was a grey sky and the pile of blankets were replaced by stones, and Haruka’s eyes grew wide as she began to shake, and all Mina could hear was her saying, over and over again, you’re okay you’re okay you’re okay. 

It was a prayer. It was a lie. 

She shook herself awake, the grey passing into the too-bright white of the hospital room, and she looked down at Haruka, panicked for a moment. She was still there. She was still breathing, however weak and ragged and inconsistent it was. Mina hadn’t left her alone. 

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmured, running a hand through Haruka’s hair, a touch of blood at the ends of it, “I’m sorry. You deserve better.” 

It was true. Haruka had fought hard for her world, for her princess, for her senshi family, and the only reward it seemed to bring her was death, a drawn out death in a bright, terrible hospital room, a death without her wife at her side, and all Mina could hope was that she was far gone enough it didn’t hurt much. 

Given Haruka’s general luck in life, it probably did. 

She looked off out the window, where night had fallen, a full night with no stars and no moon to guide, and even the city lights did not seem to penetrate in here, just the sheer black of night, staring at her, grinning, grinning as it began to slither through the windows, whispering. 

She’s ours now she’s ours because you weren’t there because --

“No,” Mina shook her head, “She--” 

The tendrils of night came in and caressed Haruka’s face, Mina swatting at them as they came closer, but they only split, heads of a hydra, and one curled around her ear, hissing quietly. 

You could have kept her at your side you could have run her through you could have done anything but all you did was make it as bad as it could possibly be and you will know this your whole very long life that you did nothing for her at the end--

“STOP!” 

The howl echoed off the sides of the room, and Mina realized she’d been sleeping again, scrambling as she held Haruka’s hand tighter. Still a heartbeat. Still there. 

She had to get coffee. She couldn’t leave the room. She couldn’t find a nurse, she couldn’t flag down anyone to help her. If she could give Haruka anything, at the last, it had to be this, it had to be the gift of having someone at her side at the end of her life. She had spent too much of it alone, too much of it without a kind word, and Mina was going to fix this small sliver of Haruka’s life, this one detail, and if she did that, she could know that she did something to improve this horrible, dark day. 

She should have asked Usagi to be with her. She should have asked Pluto. They could have taken turns, but no, Mina was selfish, and Mina wanted to watch one of her favorite people on this earth die without having to bear Usagi’s grief, or Pluto’s questions. She wanted to bear the quiet misery of watching Haruka fade by herself, and drag that millstone around her own neck whether or not it dragged her to hell, because Haruka would do that same thing for her. 

She pinched the skin of her inner thigh, tight, and almost made herself yelp with the pain of it. It couldn’t be enough. Haruka was struggling, now, and she could only keep going so much longer. Her breaths came in soft gasps, and Mina must have said a hundred things to her, but none of them felt like words, just like smooth stones, blended together at the bottom of the clear, stuttering rapids of Haruka’s breathing. 

Could Haruka even hear her? What could she possibly say that she hadn’t said, over and over again? 

“I promise to take care of Michiru. I promise not to be mad at Usagi. I promise to be okay.” 

It was a prayer. It was a lie. 

Mina wasn’t sure that the hospital windows could open, but she felt the chill of a wind come up behind her, envelop her, chill her to the bone, and she felt that pinch on her leg bruise, grow bigger and bigger until she feel it in her belly, until she could feel it snake up into her chest, the blood vessels bursting into a tie dye across her body. The wind blew the blanket off Haruka’s body, and Mina went to pull it back up, but the blood had hardened, and as much as she tried, she was stiff, laying back in the chair, unable to move as the wind howled and howled and--

“Honey?” a nurse touched her shoulder, shaking it gently. 

Her eyes opened, and she cursed herself again. “Can I have some coffee, right now, please?” 

“Of course,” she rubbed Mina’s shoulder, and all that blood compressed into a heavy ball, and dropped into her stomach, “you can have whatever you--” 

There was a doctor by Haruka’s side, writing something down in a chart, as another nurse unhooked a tube from the IV. 

“No.” Mina leaned forward. “No no no, fuck!” 

She shook Haruka’s hand in hers. Cold. Cold. Cold. 

 “No, I--fuck! Haruka!” She called after her, wherever she had gone, tears beating a path of imminent failure down her cheeks. 

The nurse gently pulled her back by the shoulders, saying something Mina could no longer hear, the silence where Haruka used to be roaring and churning inside of her so loud that the world had fallen away, and there was only that full night, no stars, turning its attention to her, filling her, taking up a residence it would never leave. 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

The only sound in return was the high metallic clink of a transformation ring, fallen to the floor.

[imaginesandideas]

Versace on the floor

this is my veeery overdue entry to @queens-n-roses 2k challenge! congrats dear 🖤 you truly deserve it!! 

before we’ll get to it, I wanted to apologise for my recent lack of new content. I’ve had a lot of trouble passing last semester and I think I’m still trying to figure out how to cope with the aftermaths of it all. hopefully it’ll change soon though.

ANYWAY - this one is inspired by Versace On The Floor by Bruno Mars (listening and/or checking out the lyrics is very recommended here). The dress that I had in mind as I was writing, is Atelier Versace, Fall 1995 (as pictured above). Could be read as both Roger and BoRhap Roger, it’s all up to you loves❣️though not gonna lie, that I had late 70′s Roger in mind 👀👀👀

word count: 3,154 (yeah.jpg)

WARNINGS: SMUT (fingering, edging, just the regular), and some swearing; do not read if you’re under 18 please!!!

~~~~~

Funny how the right dress can make one feel so bold, so unstoppable, so desired. And that’s the way you were feeling that night.

You were looking and feeling like absolute goddess.

How did Roger got it last minute for you remained a mystery, but you were in no way complaining.

How could you. It’s Versace after all.

“You ready?” you heard him yell from the hall as you examined yourself in the mirror.

The gown was utterly mesmerising.

 Essentially it was made from thousands strings of diamonds sewn on by hand one next to the other, thicker around the chest but more even as it went further down, leaving just a little to imagination. Tight around your torso, yet descending loosely at the length of your legs. Perfect in every detail. As if it was taken out of your dreams.

 As for the accessories, you opted for simple beige ankle strap stilettos - something that wouldn’t cause distraction from your breathtaking gown but would still look great. You were wearing your hair loose, in smooth waves to add a bit of old-age Hollywood chic. For makeup, you focused on giving special attention to your eyes with thick, cat winged eyeliner in addition to matte lipstick in a shade of deep mauve. And a dash of silvery highlighter on your cheekbones. 

Again - simple and sexy. Perfect for your well planned party outfit.

 Your gaze fell to the corner of your bed where your fur coat was laid out waiting to add final touch of glamour to the look. It was your most favourite one. Roger bought it somewhere during the tour as a gift for you, and you cherished it like your greatest treasure since. That is, until you’ve found the sparkly Versace dress hanging in the middle of your wardrobe 2 hours ago and immediately fell in love.

 You let yourself drown in the folds of your fur, before spraying some perfume on your neck.

Chilly feeling of the liquid running down your chest to the valley between your breasts sent a shiver down your spine. Tonight was about to be great and you could already feel it.

 Holding your favourite clutch bag close, you stepped out of the room, closing the door behind you. Turning on your heels, you head to the stairs before joining Roger in the hall where he was all dressed up and waiting. Upon hearing your steps he came to see you.

Of course he was impatient. When he first had seen the dress in the window display, he was convinced that he had to get it for his girl.

What he was seeing completely took his breath away.

 In the warm light from chandelier above, you looked like a piece of art, like a shining crystal. His adam’s apple bobbed uncontrollably which you did not miss as you looked down from the top of the stairs.

 You’ve never been overly insecure, only given a good reason to, one being surrounded by women of elite level of beauty. But that wasn’t happening tonight, because now you were feeling utterly divine. The only thing missing was a crown, but who needed that ridiculous emblem when you’re living with Roger goddamn Taylor of Queen.

“Fuck, doll.” you heard him mutter under his breath, raspiness of his voice making it sound more like a bold statement. “You look like-“

“A dream?”

“Fuck if only.”

 You were almost sliding off the stairs at this point, making your moves as feline and slow as possible, only prolonging his suffering. By the time you stepped on the last step, his leather trousers became painfully tight and his mouth pretty much watered. What a sight it was to watch him so out words to say. The sparkly outfit fitted you so well it nearly looked as if it blended into your skin. You truly were a walking jewel, gleaming with your every motion. The things you did to him by simply looking like that made you feel even more fierce, vain even.

 You felt his arms sneak expertly underneath your soft fur before tugging you closer to him, closing the distance between the two of you just enough to feel his hot breath on your neck. Your hips met his own in a sharp crash of bodies but he didn’t stop there. He glanced down again, admiring you all the way from your toes, through your ankles and up your legs, stopping just for a second to let out a dreamy sigh upon seeing nude, lace panties you were wearing underneath the semi see-through material of your dress. With a sharp and a bit exaggerated intake of air, his eyes continued to wander further up, feeding your growing vanity.

 The images of what he wanted to do to you, matched his desperate touches. His fingers were cold in comparison to your fur heated body as he dug them into your skin, making you gasp.

“You really are a dream. Wet one if you’d ask me.” You chuckled at his exclamation, placing a hand on his neck, your nails scratching lightly and leaving pinkish marks on his already flushed skin.

“Roger Taylor, do I look like your wet dream?” you teased tilting your head. Your neck looked so inviting, as if it was made for leaving bite marks. Skin gleaming with peachy like glow both from the light of chandelier above you, and the way it worked with diamonds of your dress.

“Like wet dream coming true, love. Twirl around for me.” And you did as you were told, making your hair fly up a little, mussing it ever so slightly. Roger’s hands didn’t leave your sides the entire time, only lowered to the level of your hips to slide smoothly over your bum while you were turning on your heels.

“Maybe we should just call it a day and stay at home instead, huh?”

“Roger!”

“What?” You sighed trying to get out of his grasp, but his grip tightened bringing you even closer, signalling you how hard he’s gotten.

“All this dressing up for nothing?”

“Not for nothing darling.” He whispered in your ear, his breath sending pleasant sensation down your neck and shoulders, as he began to slowly expose your front. Hand moving to the small of your back, the other sliding the fur coat off your shoulder. Peppering every newly exposed inch of skin with hot, open mouthed kisses, he hasn’t given you a slightest chance to shiver with coolness coming from the half-open balcony doors.

His clever fingers made their way up your spine to the top of the zipper while continuing to work on your neck and cleavage, earning a series of involuntary moans. Just as he began to pull it down, your hand shot up to his neck, yanking by his hair in a state of sugary-sweet oblivion. Groan escaped his lips and he nipped more harshly at the skin on your collarbone, leaving reddish marks to cover up later. The zip came to an end right above the curve of your ass, and he had to fight the urge to let his hands wander further down. He had better plans in mind.

Slowly, in so Roger-like torturous manner, he slid the coat off completely, your hand bag hitting the floor with a loud thud before disappearing underneath the folds of fur. Though you really couldn’t care less. You were gradually loosing yourself in his firm yet lingering touches, his tempting words of pure affection, his seductive voice and gaze that could easily burn you alive if you’d only allow him to. Yes, you were a queen, but he could never give away the sheer exhilaration of having you so melted under mere touch of his fingertips.

Being in control was his forte, and the chances that he’d let such opportunity slide were close to none.

“Rog...” you almost begged through breathy series of sighs. “S-stop teasing.”

 He only chuckled to place few more wet kisses along your jaw before locking your eyes with his own. The smug on his face was more than evident. Eyes hooded, he admired his work which consisted of your rosy cheeks, a bit smudged lipstick, parted lips, pleading gaze and deliquescent form. You were no longer a walking diamond. Now, you were melting, and one could say that you were the one persuading the other to stay in.

“God, I love that dress.” His grip on your waist loosened, fingers tracing up and down your sides. “But you won’t need it anymore.”

 You bit your lip in anticipation, your own fingers coming to rest on his chest. You all but touched the bare skin underneath it, sneaking your fingers between the buttons, but he grabbed your wrist. Inching closer to let his words affect you even more, he spoke again.

“Take it off princess. Take it off for me.”

You took a sharp breath, your gaze suddenly dropping to the ground as he leaned away ever so slightly to give you more space. The expression on your face didn’t go unnoticed to Roger. The shameless rouge of your cheeks turned into bright red blush against the fading shade of your face.

„Hey, hey! Eyes on me.” Roger brought his index finger underneath your jaw in an attempt to regain your attention. All of sudden your previous confidence was gone and replaced by slight feeling of insecurity, so unexpected in such circumstances. “You’re beautiful in it, not because of it, okay? I’ve seen all of you already, and everything’s perfect. Versace or no Versace.” he exclaimed rubbing your cheek with his thumb. His stare was unavoidable and slowly, the concern filled look on your face softened as you noticed his genuine smile. “That’s my girl.”

Finally relaxing with lips pursed together, you put your hands behind your own back. As you slid off one strap, Roger figured out a better backdrop for what was about to come and led you by the hand to the end of a sofa.

“Wait here.”

“Roger where are you going?”

“Wait!” he repeated dismissing you with a raise of his hand before backing to the other room. You overheard him swear a couple times as sounds of desperate rummaging in the cupboards grew louder, until you could make out a content “finally” and he was back with a few candles. Within a matter of seconds he lit up the candles, switched the light off and jumped back onto the piece of furniture in front of your amazed form, waiting eagerly for you to continue.

 “Don’t mind me.” he all but whispered as he propped on his elbows and leaned head on the back of the couch, legs spreading wide apart and grin plastered all over his features, accentuating wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. You rolled your eyes but smiled nevertheless. Biting your lip suggestively, you let your hands return to the business. While your fingers skimmed over your shoulders torturously, his eyes didn’t leave your figure. He didn’t stop watching even when he struggled to get out pack of cigarettes from the inside pocket of his jacket. Smoke filled your vision as eyed you from underneath his thick eyelashes. He was getting visibly charged, stare full of lust and longing. And it only motivated you to keep the game going.

 As the first strap was down, the other instantly following, you found yourself unhurriedly scooting the material off, careful not to ruin the dress. Your hips leisurely swaying as if to help your actions, but both of you knew that wasn’t the reason. You wanted him on the edge.

And he was, his hips shifting impatiently in the seat, drags of cigarette smoke more abrupt with every passing minute. So when you leaned forward, your nipples hardened from crisp of the night air, and licked your top lip, hands continuously sliding the dress further down your hips, he could barely contain himself before he’d throw the fag on the floor and pull you onto his lap. Fumbling with his belt buckle, he swallowed hard almost choking on remains of his cigarette. Now it was you watching him trying get out off his unfortunate choice of pants to stroke his already painfully hard cock. You let out a moan yourself at the sight of him groaning with eyes shut closed, fingers sliding up and down his length with ease thanks to fair amount of precum.

„Stop staring and c’mere.” you didn’t even realize how long you’ve been standing in your underwear only, since gown seemingly had slid off completely some time ago. Roger was peering at you from his semi-laying position opposite you, movements of his hand getting more sluggish. You could only obey as he put the cigarette on coffee table, and held out a hand for you to take it. Straddling him you let your hands rest atop of his chest before starting to unbutton the silky-like shirt. Meanwhile he continued trying to get himself ready, groans leaving his lips every now and then. You only unbuttoned the last button and he was already shrugging both the shirt and jacket off his shoulders to rapidly grab you by your hips, closing the space between your bodies with a heated kiss. You gasped into his mouth feeling his cock pressing to your clothed centre, thin fabric of your knickers now far too impermeable for your liking.

 Roger sensed your needs and moved stripe to the side to slide two fingers inside your aching core. It was nearly too much after being teased for so long, and your back arched in pleasure. You’ve felt your inner muscles tense when he added some pressure to your swollen clit with his thumb. Your mouth fell open to let out a breathless moan. Roger watched you in complete awe as you unraveled on his lap, while all he did was use his digits. He was absolutely fired up then, stroking his aching cock as you continued fucking yourself on his fingers. But that’s not how that would go, no. In a brisk, you felt empty again as he switched hands on his shaft to jerk himself off more. Coating his member with your hot juices, he let out a throaty moan.

„Tosser.” his closed eyes shot up at your exclamation. You had your arms crossed over your chest and pouted. “That’s not really fair, y’know.”

His toothy grin widened in the dark before he bit his bottom lip. He was truly enjoying himself.

„Ride me.”

„What was that?”

„Ride me like you mean it.” you examined his face for signs of hoaxing but found none. He was dead serious, his eyes flickering with lust in the dim light of candles. You licked your lips again, teeth grazing over your bottom lip and stood up to discard the damp piece of underwear you should’ve lost long ago. Stepping forward, you left your stilettos on the floor next to your panties and knelt, placing your hands on either side of his head on the back of the sofa. Nails scraped at the suede material in a shade of dark chocolate and Roger shivered before swallowing, his eyes wide like marbles, only darker, like sapphires.

Slowly, Roger impatiently guiding his member, you sunk down onto him, pleasant feeling of fullness sweeping over you. The skin on your neck streched so much one could count all the veins, as you threw your head back in ecstasy.

Roger tensed under your weight and let out a guttural moan. His hands shot up to your hips, forcing you to move.

“J-just like that. Doing so well.”

You set up a steady pace but with every passing second your moves were becoming more greedy, more eager. You closed your eyes, focusing on the bare pleasure. Roger’s grip on your sides loosened to eventually disappear, though you were too engrossed in your own actions to care. Hearing a familiar noise you looked down to find Roger lighting up another cigarette, like it was nothing. Upon seeing your frown he muttered a quick “Please continue.” before he took a deep drag. As if to motivate you, his thumb found its way back to your clit. A cloud of smoke was blown in your direction as your thighs shook with a shock of pleasure coming from between your legs. Now you really were riding him, your knuckles whitened from grasping at the sofa and breaths short while you jumped up and down his shaft, almost slipping off a few times in the process.

 Your movements were hectic, insatiable even. Roger’s thumb was continuously rubbing circles around your throbbing point, puffs of smoke making the whole image appear even more elated, in otherworldly kind of way. He was motivated to make you come, and it didn’t take you long until your walls were clenching, wettness dripping down onto his lap. He was close, the cigarette suddenly bothering him enough to throw it somewhere on the floorboards. You felt him shudder.

But you could no longer hold back a deep moan that left your mouth, stopping you mid movement. Pure bliss covered your vision and your hands moved down to Roger’s chest, leaving reddened trails in the process.

 Your eyelashes were like a curtain, falling quickly after the show, hiding your onyx-like, dark, dilated pupils. All you could hear was Roger’s breathless praises and the blood thumping loudly in your ears. He sat up and you could feel his hips snap up with such force to meet his approaching orgasm. Holding you close, his hands travelling down your bare back, small beads of sweat running down his hairline and forehead. He started kissing and nibbling down your chest fiercely. And then he came, biting on your nipple, greedy hands tangled in your hair, mouth opening as he spurted his hot cum on your senstive walls. His body trembled as he emptied himself completely, his seed mixed with your own cum pouring onto his trousers. Your muscles finally begun to relax, but you stayed in his arms nevertheless, both too tired and content to do so.

He kissed your shoulder tenderly, only now noticing the purple mess he’s made of your skin. Not that he was ashamed of course. He always enjoyed seeing you trying - and failing, to cover his lovemarks.

“Mine.” He breathed, fingers tracing lazy circles on your back as your head rested in the crook of his neck. You extended your arm to place your hand on his cheek lovingly. Roger’s blues returned to yours with a soft smirk and he placed a kiss to the inside of your palm, following by a series of pecks on each of your fingertips.

“Still regret staying in?” He teased earning a huff from you.

“So t’was all? I thought you’ve had more in you.”

His chest vibrated with a laugh.

“All snotty now, aye? Don’t worry, we just getting started love.”

~~~~~

oooof, hope it’s not as bad as I thought 

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[sserpente]

In a heartbeat (Chapter 4)

Find all chapters on my masterlist!

Thor fell from the sky like a poor little bird that had lost its wings. He rose from the dirty ground only a few feet away from Loki and you—his eyes darkened visibly, his fingertips crackling with what looked like surging blue electricity.

“Brother…” Loki started insecurely.

“This was your doing!” He roared. He was going to lunge at him, you could practically feel the tension between them when Thor took a threatening step forward. You didn’t exactly know what Loki had done to anger the God of Thunder this much but if they killed each other now, things—wherever they stood—would get even worse.

“Will you two stop fighting for just a minute?!” You shrieked, panting. “Where are we?!” With a start, your voice grew more anxious. “This doesn’t look like… like Earth.”

“It is not,” Loki confirmed. He was surprisingly calm for someone who just had just flown through an unknown part of space to land on foreign territory. It probably wasn’t the first time he ended up in an unpleasant situation like this.

“No, it’s not, we’re stranded and it’s your fault, you foul—“

“Thor, shut up! What happened?” Naturally, you had absolutely no reason to defend the God of Mischief, it was what you tried to convince yourself of when he frowned in surprise. The thought of Thor breaking his jaw, however, was oddly unbearable.

“What happened? He killed our father, that’s what happened! Hela on the loose, Asgard in danger and it is all your fault!” He yelled enraged, attracting the attention of a few cloaked and masked figures camping on a hill. You discovered them just then. Whoever they were, they did not seem friendly—and now, they were heading towards you curiously, their weapons, which looked like strangely shaped swords and guns, raised, ready for attack.

“Thor, I’m sure there’s an explanation for all of this but we should… run.” You said as peacefully as possible. Whether you failed, you could not tell but right there, Loki noticed the hostile inhabitants of this funny place too and clearly, he did not trust them either.

“I do not run, I will fight whoever dares to—“

Thor paused, remembering with a start when he stretched out his right hand to call for his hammer, that it was gone, destroyed by the Goddess of Death.

“Thor, we must go!” Loki urged him on energetically. At this point, you didn’t even care they called him the Trickster. You followed him like a blind and helpless puppy, almost reaching for his hand when you stumbled over a rusty piece of machinery.

Thor only reluctantly joined you when you disappeared behind one of the many massive hills of trash and debris, looking for a place to hide. Loki found it soon after. What resembled a cave and towered up into the sky like a vast mountain made of grey and brown rock, you took shelter inside what used to be some kind of spaceship. A few of the leather seats were still intact, other than that, however, everything had been utterly destroyed and torn apart. At least the furniture was clean—a little dusty maybe—but other than that, bearable. It would do until you found a way to leave this eerie place again.

“This is ridiculous, I am going to find us a way back now.” Thor growled impatiently, not even bothering to sit down and rest for a while. You, on the other hand, were in desperate need of a break. Travelling by what you assumed must have been the infamous Bifrost from Norse Mythology, had taken its toll on you, especially after falling right out of it to mercilessly be hurled through the universe.

The fact you had involuntarily accompanied them in the first place didn’t seem to affect the brothers at all. Now that you had shut your mouth and crawled into a corner, they even ceased to acknowledge your presence.

“Thor, listen to reason. If you go on a rampage now and demand a free ride back to Asgard, these people, whoever they are, will most likely execute you. This is not on Midgard.” Loki mooted, still careful about how to behave around the Thunderer. One wrong word, so you figured, and he would explode.

“You both stay here.” Loki ordered thoughtfully. “I am going to explore the place. Surely, someone here is responsible. I will get us out of here. Leave it to me.” He winked at you confidently when you looked up with a worried frown. Your heart skipped a beat upon the gesture, causing you to lean back against the metal wall of the cave-like shelter. His god-damn eyes…

“Loki, don’t you dare leaving n—“ The God of Mischief disappeared in a shimmer of green light before Thor even had a chance to fling a piece of debris at him. It flew right through him, making him scream out in hot anger that vibrated through the whole cave and made you shiver.

Thor’s rage was understandable but what choice did you have other than to pray that Loki was indeed going to find you help? You had read about his silver tongue. If Loki was as skilled with words as you believed he was… could you trust him enough to get you all back to Earth alive? Your breathing quickened.

Heaven, what had you gotten yourself into? Scratching the back of your hand so fiercely you drew blood, you thought about your spoiled job interview and the tense cab ride with Susan and Karen yesterday afternoon. Susan who was now dead. All of that… had it all really happened only less than twenty-four hours ago?! This was madness, it was insane! Moaning, you buried your face in your hands, your fingers shaking.

“(Y/N)!”

Then, everything went black.

“Why not? This place is not so bad after all.” His voice was so smooth, so alluring and… almost… yes… it was seductive. Blinking tiredly, you opened your eyes only to realise you must have fallen asleep. How on Earth was this possible? With all the excitement, the fear and the panic pumping through your very veins, how had your body been able to claim a few hours of peace? “Don’t worry, brother. I have this all worked out.”

“Loki, we need to get back to Asgard now, we need to stop Hela before it’s too late.”

“And then do what? Our sister…” Loki paused. “…destroyed your hammer like a piece of glass. She is stronger than both of us. How would you think for even one second that we could still save Asgard or its people? You’re not seriously thinking of going back, are you?”

“What are you saying, that we do nothing and stay here on Sakaar?!” Thor stood, the noise of leather rubbing against clothing items gave him away. You stretched, suppressing a yawn. You didn’t want to be caught eavesdropping but then again, whatever the two of them were discussing, if it involved getting back home, it was your business too.

Sakaar. Was this what this place was called?

“If we both want a chance to survive, then yes, that is what I’m saying.”

“Y-you want to stay? What about me?” You tossed in nervously, wrapping your arms around yourself to fight the cold. It had crept up your limbs when you woke up, tickling your skin and creating goose bumps all over it.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Thor said. “You passed out, I had to catch you before you collapsed to the ground.”

“I did what?” So you hadn’t slept after all. You had had another panic attack and simply fainted. Shit. How long had you been out? According to the eerie darkness outside when you shot a glance over to the entrance to the cave… for several hours.

“You wouldn’t wake up, so I lay you down and checked for your pulse every hour.”

“Thanks.” You muttered, massaging your temples. “So… Loki… c-could you… I mean, find out where exactly we are?”

“Indeed I could. The planet we are on is called Sakaar, it is some kind of collecting void for things that get lost in the vastness of space. I met the man who owns this place. He is… a lunatic but he will come in handy. It will take me a while to gain his trust.”

“So you can get us back?” Your eyes lit up, hope spreading in your chest. It almost loosened the right knot Susan’s death and the constant fear inside you had entangled there.

“Not exactly. Tomorrow, I have an appointment with the Grandmaster’s finest tailor.”

Scoffing, you narrowed your eyes. “Really? Getting new clothes, is that really a priority right now?!”

“We will need to blend in if my plan is supposed to work out, little minx. You would be well advised to do the same.”

Little minx.

“What plan? What plan of yours, Loki?” Thor roared.

Little minx. Why would he call you that? It was hard to tell if he was mocking you or simply using a tender nickname. You… doubted it would be the latter.

“In time, brother, the Grandmaster will, perhaps, befall an accident and then you and me…” He raised his thumbs, his lips pressed together to a thin line.

“Who is this Grandmaster?”

“He… kind of runs this place,”

“Loki, no. I will not play your games any longer.”

“Of course not, why would you? I guess I will just have to do it alone, you know. Like I’ve always done.”

A painful expression washed over your face, making you frown. Why was it so easy to feel compassion for this man when he said things like that? You didn’t even know him.

“Loki, I want to leave too.” You said gently, forcing your voice to sound strong.

Thor simply ignored you. “I can’t believe it, we have been here for a few hours and you already have thoughts about ruling this place yourself, do you even hear yourself, brother? You cannot be selfless just for once?”

“What did I do on Svartalfheim to protect your petty mortal girlfriend?!” Loki yelled. You flinched when he suddenly raised his voice, biting your lower lip.

What had happened on Svartalfheim? The Edda spoke of dark elves when it came to this realm, and you had heard of the incident in Greenwich. You didn’t know Loki had been there too.

“Then do what you did for Jane for our own people!” Thor demanded, clenching his fists.

“To what end?!” They were both screaming now, eliciting a scared whimper from you. If they continued like this, the scavengers—at least that’s what they looked like—would find you before the moon rose to its peak. If this planet had a moon in the first place, that was.

“M-m-maybe w-w-we should try to sleep a little, there isn’t much we can do right now, especially when it’s dark outside and you two fighting won’t get us anywhere either.” You managed to choke out, hoping your voice wasn’t shaking too much when you spoke.

All of your bones were aching and complaining anyway, the weakening state of unconsciousness not having helped you to recover at all.

“She is right. I would appreciate lying down for a while too.” Loki stated, pursing his lips in a superior manner.

“Fine. Go rest, (Y/N). I do the watch, it’s way too quiet out here.”

“Yes, about that…” Loki began when you lay down on two of the battered leather seats, using your jacket as a blanket.  “Mind those scavengers. They capture strays and sell them to the Grandmaster as gladiators or slaves.”

Your eyes widened. Slaves. You needed to get off this planet.

About an hour passed until you woke up again from your light slumber, panting heavily as you did. Your face was wet, your eyes were burning. Had you been crying in your sleep?

A sob escaped your lips, the ache in your chest clouding your mind. It took you a moment to orientate yourself but when you did, only a stone’s throw away, you found Loki, lying comfortably on a couple of old leather seats which he had converted to a provisory bed.

“Then I guess I will have to do it alone, you know. Like I always do.”

The déjà-vu of yesterday night flooded your brain.

“I can come with you tomorrow,” you suddenly heard yourself whispering, using the sleeves of your jacket to dry the last of your tears. Loki took a deep breath.

“You will get yourself killed, little minx.”

There it was again. Little minx. So he was awake too. Perhaps he had even heard you crying.

“It’s short of a miracle I’m alive now, if I were to die, it would have happened already.” You countered defiantly. “I’m done with being treated like a poor and defenceless child and I am certainly not going to root here in this broken plane until you decide it might be time to go home.”

If you were to fight Loki… no, you wouldn’t stand a chance, not in a million years and not even with your self-defence skills. The God of Mischief turned around to face you. His blue eyes met yours, freezing you in place.

“Look, I am not very keen on having landed here as well. I don’t know how to get away from here yet but for now, I believe it might be a good idea to simply stay. I have seen how the… upper class people live in this place and it does not repel me.” He hissed.

You swallowed thickly. “So Thor is right? All you ever care about is saving your own skin? To think that I was actually worried for you when you went to Norway through that spooky portal...”

Loki frowned. He seemed almost confused but as were you. Now that you had admitted it, it felt even more off. This wasn’t right, definitely not. Loki seemed to share your opinion.

“He’s your brother!” You continued quickly. “Maybe I’m not that important but your home—Asgard—it is. Hela killed one of my best friends and she was an innocent. What will she do to your home planet then?”

Talking to him calmed you down, it felt like yesterday night. He had an inexplicable talent for distracting you from the dull ache in your heart, even if he triggered your anger.

“Asgard is all but lost already. The sooner Thor realises that, the sooner he will listen to reason.” He simply said.

You paused, considering his words.

“What did he mean by… you killed your father?”

The God of Mischief sighed. He was very well aware by now that you were merely curious, attempting to understand him. It had been a while since anyone had tried to do that and it was a nice change for once, even if usually, he praised the fact he could not be riddled.

“I did not kill him. I banished him to Earth after erasing his memories with a spell but he managed to break free from it.”

“Why a-and… and how? They said you were locked away in Asgard, expiating in a prison cell for what you did in New York.”

A smirk crept up on his lips, quickening your breathing. His damn eyes were sparkling mischievously in the dim light, promising tricks and charming words. It was irksome how you reacted this intensely to him after learning he was indeed a very selfish god, admitting himself he would rather stay on Sakaar than help his own people.

“That I did.” He went on. “Until Thor freed me because he was in desperate need for my help.” He explained triumphantly. “After that, he remained on Earth, believing I had died in Svartalfheim and I was free to claim the throne.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, little minx, I am, as of now, the rightful king of Asgard.”

Swallowing again, you looked up at him.

“If you are, then tell me what kind of king leaves his own people behind? Aren’t you supposed to protect the nine realms?” You said it because it was the right thing to say. What Loki did was wrong, in a way but somehow…

“What am I supposed to do?” He spat through gritted teeth. “You have seen with your own eyes what Hela is capable of. By now, and until we find a way back, Asgard will be in ruins already.”

You replied nothing to that. You hated to admit it but Loki had a point. What would you do in his shoes? Surely, you wouldn’t dare to take on Hela alone, you would try and hide yourself, to survive by any means necessary. Yes, you concluded. You… you agreed with him.

“Alright,”

“What?”

“I said alright. But you can’t stop Thor from trying to defeat Hela.”

“I know.”

“Will you help me get back home?” It wasn’t a question, not really. You were sleepy already and glad for Loki’s presence this close to you. It lured you into believing you were safe, at least for this very moment. Shortly before your eyes fell shut and you drifted off, you imagined him saying Yes. I promise.

[alltheworldsinmyhead]

OUR FUTURE WILL BE A BRIGHT ONE: CHAPTER FIVE

                       eremika soulmates through time modern au

         ( chapter one/chapter two/ chapter three/chapter four/ ff.net/ ao3)

ONEGDAJ

OLD POLISH; A LONG TIME AGO, ONCE UPON A TIME

“Oh yes, we are time fliers

Scaling the walls of time, climber

Tired of playing hide and seek with time and always coming just short”

RADWIMPS, Nandemonaya ( English version)

( She’s sure that this is what hell must look like. Not like they taught her in church, not like in grandma’s warning stories; no flames, no smoke, no hideous demons laughing at her tormented screams – but exactly like this.  

It’s dark in the sewers, such a complete, unfathomable darkness that she thinks she could go blind without even noticing that; full night, no stars underground, if there are any left at all if they haven’t all fallen down burning on the streets already. And it stinks, god, it stinks so much;  there are hot tears running down her cheeks,  her skin crawls and turns inside out , disgust twisting in her stomach.

The only sounds are the piercing shrieks of rats and the wet, disgusting splashes as they move forward, in silence save for a few sobs here and there; not a group of people, but one terrified creature with many legs and sheer survival instinct pushing it forward.

I don’t want to die. She thinks desperately, trying to stop herself from vomiting, as she falls down on her knees when the ceiling of a tunnel dramatically drops. I don’t want to die here.

Here, in the summer of 1944, in Warsaw sewers, during an Uprising that, only a few weeks ago, seemed like an epic adventure, like an opportunity to show the world that they will not bend the knee, that they will fight till the end, that they would rather die than surrender.

And so they died, oh, so they did.

Went to their deaths valiantly, fearlessly, with heads held high and their smooth, young hands often empty, for there were not enough guns for everyone.  Living, breathing people turned into a story incarnate, but now she’s not sure if anyone will even be left alive to tell it.

She went too, of course, eager as always, left her family behind to smuggle messages from one district to another and patch up wounds from missing limbs, and ears, and eyes with whatever scraps and rags she could get her hands on, scoffing everytime someone told her that girls can’t be soldiers.

With sewers’ murky water pooling between her fingers and concrete scraping her knees raw, she thinks about her friends, about Krystyna with a halo of hair made out of gold and a smile made out of sunshine, about Janek pulling on her pigtails and laughing at his own poor-ass jokes, about Michał and his idealistic dreams, his castles in the sky made of bravery and sheer willpower. And Alina, always Alina.

Someone whispers at her to go faster and so she moves forward, pushes on, more tears falling now, but it doesn’t matter. Nobody can see them down here in the darkness anyway.

…

Some strangers pull her up, limp and breathless and for a moment her mind goes into overdrive, not sure if she’s still alive at all. They lay her down on the pavement and rush to help others, as she vomits despite having an empty stomach, eyelids shut tightly closed because daylight painfully pierces through her vulnerable eyes.

There’s shit in her hair, on her clothes, under her nails, smeared on her cheeks. Shit and dirt and gore and Alina’s dried-up blood, and she simply can’t find it in herself to care. She turns on her back, breathing in and out; how sweet the air tastes, how good it is to just lay still among all the chaos and screaming and the faint sound of bombs nearby, the creepiest symphony of life and death blended all together into one.  

She had a role to play in this madness, she’s sure of that. She was a soldier, a soldier with no gun but a lot of guts instead , but then Alina rested her pretty blonde head on her lap and fluttered her eyelashes; she looked confused, as if she didn’t know what was going on, why Nazis tore her dress off her and raped her, and shot  her and then almost lazily left her to bleed out under the clear blue sky, her insides spilling on the pavement.

Summer was in its bloom, the grass was so incredibly green and Alina was not a partisan, she was not in Army, she was not in Grey Ranks; she was just her childhood friend living in Wola District, with bluebell eyes and a fiancé who worked in a bakery.

Stop, stop, stop.

Don’t think about them.

So much dead though she thinks anyway, slowly sitting up and straightening her back. The entire army of dead marching through the Warsaw, the sound of their boots on the pavements so similar to gunshots.  

And there’s nothing she can do about it, no way to stop it all. Useless.

She had a role in all of this, she had a rank and a purpose- she still does, she’s sure of that. But as she stands up on shaking legs, leaning on the lamppost to for balance; as she hesitantly opens her eyes and takes a step forward, she leaves this role behind her.

…

It’s the violent coughing that catches her attention.

He lays in the narrow passage in between two half-ruined buildings, obscured from the view. At first, she rushes to help, but then the metal in his uniform catches the light and glistens and she stops half-step, biting her lip painfully, drawing blood.

The German soldier has gray eyes, gray as the sky above Warsaw, strangely serene in his bruised face. Dirty blond hair sticks to his sweaty forehead as he struggles for each breath; there are scarlet poppies blooming on his white shirt here and there with his slightest movement.

She knows she should turn around and go her way. Why does it matter to her -  this Nazi bleeding out on a dirty street, behind rubble that used to be the best butcher’s shop on this side of Vistula?

This man surely has blood on his hands. Maybe the one of her family, of her friends, of her fellow soldiers.

She should leave him here to rot or maybe even help him on his way to hell, make him pay with his life for all the pain he put her people through.  But those eyes, he has those incredible gray eyes and they look up to the sky, no fear of pain in them, only stillness.

He seems so calm. So – almost happy, in a way.

She tentatively takes a step closer, and maybe it’s the sound of her heels or maybe it’s the disgusting smell of sewers on her that alerts him of her arrival – he turns his head slightly to look at her.

Gray eyes widen, turning black as fast as the summer storms turn blue sky dark.

She feels so strange. Her head starts to spin and she trips on the piece of wood lying in her way; falls forward, landing on all fours and painfully skinning her elbows. Something in her screams, wails with the piercing shriek, pulling her towards this man, tearing her in half.

He stares at her, wordlessly. It seems that he had almost stopped breathing, but his blood flows anyway; there are little pools of it here and there, mixing up with the red drops dripping down her hands.

Suddenly, she feels very tired. Why was it so hard for those people to notice that they all bleed the same red?

Who had started it? Who will end it? Is it even possible to end it now?

Her friends dead, her family gone, her country enslaved and her beautiful, beautiful city turned into ruins.

She’s still fighting because that’s what she does best; she’s always been a fighter, all her life and even now, it’s less a will of survival and more of a wish to go down kicking that fuels her.  

But the sky above Warsaw is gray and the air is thick and it smells like gunpowder and blood; the Russians stand solemnly on the other side of Vistula and won’t even bat an eyelid at the sight of the city bleeding out.  There’s only death dancing cheerfully and waltzing on the streets, bringing a violent end to those that once dared and dreamed and hoped.  

And so, does it really matter what happens with her now? There’s no future for her, even if she survives this.

The eyes of the German soldier pierce through her, making her blood sing and her heart beat faster and she honestly wants to laugh and cry and laugh some more. Out of all the places, out of all the people.

She has heard whispered stories after dark, everyone has. Some people are blessed to have someone tailor-made for them, waiting somewhere in the world. A bond that transcends centuries.

Who are you? Who were you to me, once? When you were not the monster from our bloodiest nightmares  and when you did not come here to rape and burn and kill?

She wonders what he sees when he looks at her. Does he see her green eyes and ginger hair and fair skin covered in shit and mud, reeking of hatred and desperation?

“Der innere Reichtum der Leute ist wie Licht bunt, durch Farbglas hereinzuscheinen. Das angenehme tägliche Leben ist wie ein warmes Kerzenlicht-“

Is that – is that a song?

Why is he singing right now?

German is a brutal language, harsh and ugly, and she knows only the necessary phases, the ones that every Polish person knows now. But even her untrained ear knows a lullaby when it hears one.  

“Die sehr weite grüne Erde, das reiche schöne Wasser, die grandiose Natur sorgt immer noch für ihre Kinder.-“

His voice is quiet and raspy, but rich, and the words flow easily, so strangely soft. She is suddenly hit with a picture painted in her mind with unfamiliar hands; tall, blonde woman smiling at her, covering her with blankets and giving her a goodnight kiss on the forehead. She smells like jasmine, this woman, and she sings a lullaby to her to guard her against the nightmares.

She subconsciously moves closer, sits on folded legs in front of him. Her fingers itch to touch him, but she forces herself to stay still; hatred and longing curl in her stomach, burning her insides.

Fuck, why is it you?  

“Ist das der Engel, der vom dämmernden Himmel hinunterflog? Ist das der Teufel, der aus der Felsenspalte herauskroch?”

Tears drip down her face; somewhere in the distance, a woman screams with the scream of a cornered animal.

She looks right into the gray eyes of the soldier and asks him, clearly and loudly and without opening her mouth.

“Who are you?”

He simply shakes his head repeatedly and she somehow understands the gesture, interprets it with no prior knowledge of this man. Natural as breathing, easy as laughing at a funny joke.

“This time, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s right. It doesn’t matter who he is, or who she is; their names and stories are not important. This time, they are built to hate each other, not love. This time, his hands would rather wrap around her neck to choke her than around her waist to embrace her.  

And so she swallows her involuntary sorrow and nods, tearing her gaze away from him.

He is just a German soldier, singing a song from his childhood to make dying a little bit easier.

And she is just a Polish former school girl who simply wants to live and nothing more.

Every step she takes away from him echoes in her bones; it’s like fighting against tornado, her body itself rebelling against her. But she goes away anyway, pushes forward.

And the last thing that the wind carries her way, is his quiet voice, Polish word weird and wrong-sounding in his mouth, but recognizable nevertheless.

"Przeżyj."

( Survive. )

…

“She’s… she’s a blessing, mom, really. You’re gonna love her.” Eren’s warm, excited voice comes from behind bedroom doors and Mikasa has to press her hand to her mouth to stop the high-pitched giggle threatening to escape her. She honestly has no idea what to do with herself; her whole body tingles, head-to-toe as if low-current electricity was running through it.

“Yes. YES. I mean, sure. Tomorrow, okay- okay. See you. Sure, sure. Love ya.”  He ends the call with the small chuckle, and Mikasa jumps away from the door as his steps echo on the floor.

When he sees her standing in the corridor with her hands laced behind her back and a perfectly blank expression, he barks a laughter.

“Don’t pretend you weren’t listening.”

“I wasn’t,“ she rushes to protest, but she feels so light. So happy. It spills out of her in waves, washing over both of them. He shakes his head, not believing her for even a second; reaches out to take her hands in his.

“Well, everything I said is true,” he states quietly, brushing her knuckles with his thumbs. “She is going to love you, no doubt about it.”

Mikasa sighs heavily, leaning her forehead on his chest and closing her eyes. There’s some kind of weird half-excited, half-nervous feeling in her stomach when she thinks about meeting his mom and no sweet-talking can apparently completely erase that.

“It’s your mother. She’s not supposed to like me.”

He laughs –again, since everything she does today seems to put him in a good mood – his hand warm and gentle on the back of her skull, lips moving against the crown of her head.

“You have wrong info, Mikasa. My mum’s not like that, you’ll see for yourself.”

“For a woman that raised the kid that terrorized the entire neighborhood… I suppose you might be right.”

“Oh, that’s such a strong, unnecessary word. I’ve already told you, Armin was the wicked mind behind all of this.”

His arms lock around her waist; lightly at first, then tightening, as if he couldn’t help himself and just had to keep her as close as possible. She smirks against the material of his shirt, letting her muscles relax and willing the anxiousness away. She’s going to meet them all; his mum and his dad, and Armin. And talk with Annie and Levi and her parents. And it’s all going to go well, because how else could it go?

They’re soulmates. They’re – it’s just supposed to be perfect.

Eggs and toasts from breakfast are just a brief memory, they rummage through Mikasa’s fridge and then make pasta with spinach and a truly ridiculous amount of garlic.

(“Well, good thing you’re eating it too, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to kiss you.”

“My god Eren, this was as smooth  as  sandpaper.”)

They waltz around each other through the kitchen, an elaborate dance full of brief caresses and melting kisses. He stands behind her, hands on her hips and chin on her shoulder as she stirs the pasta in the pan. He hops on the countertop and she swats him away, punching him lightly on the arm. She kisses him breathlessly next to the open fridge, a bottle of wine forgotten in his hand.

They eat in soft silence, interrupted only by the songs playing on the radio and the cling of cutlery. Still watching each other with bright eyes, shared happiness bubbling under their skins like the champagne bubbles.

Kiss me. – they’re thinking, willing another one to move first. – Please, please kiss me once more.

And so they do.

..

The clock strikes eight p.m. and Mikasa turns on the tv to watch the evening news.

They’re wrapped around each other on her couch, Eren napping on her lap and snoring from time to time, Madeline curled in a little ball on his broad back.

Mikasa absent-mindedly cards her fingers through the soft hair on the nape of Eren’s neck, half-listening to the presenter, distracted by the irritating buzz at the back of her head. It’s been present ever since they had dinner and she can’t seem to get rid of it; this feeling that she has forgotten about something important, the sensation of a swarm of bees imprisoned in her skull.

Eren snorts particularly loudly, shifting position to bury his face in between her thighs and she huffs at that, the corners of her lips twitching up involuntarily.

Damn this boy.

And as she raises her hand up to play with his hair once more, there’s a … melody. A trumpet, a violin, a cello- and woman’s voice, soft as kitten’s fur.  

There comes piano and flute’s shrill, a powerful sound of a tube, euphonium somewhere in all of this. A wonderful symphony she knows by heart, even though she has never heard it before.

She blinks as the rich colors burn her eyes- the heavy, scarlet material of the curtains; the blazing gold of the ornaments and the chandelier shining like fire in dimmed lights-

It’s so real. So true. Everything she could touch and smell and hear, everything surrounding her just as realistic as the blood pumping in her veins and a heart beating in her chest.

Her corset, tightly laced and stealing her breath away, jeweled combs in her elaborate up-do hurting her scalp, wood of the stage creaking under her shoes as she enters it and opens her mouth to join the orchestra -

And then something catches her attention, forces her to turn her head to the left and her eyes find the woman sitting in the front row, flushed and round and pregnant, her husband by her side, holding her gloved hand. Feathers in her blonde hair and piercing green eyes wide open, gleaming softly, looking right at her-

Ah.

She stumbles, her voice gets stuck in her throat, notes unsung, lines forgotten.

Who is that woman, who pales when their eyes meet?

The smell of expensive perfume and fine wine, the whole audience painted in scarlets and golds and purples like a jewelry box open.

She takes a deep breath and starts to sing, but her heart gallops in her chest, her breath catches, lungs burn.

Who are you?

Green eyes, green eyes everywhere she looks.

“Mikasa? Hey, Mikasa, you okay?”

The presenter’s still babbling on tv, Madeline’s meowing on the floor, nervously circling the couch.

Eren’s face swims in front of her eyes until she blinks a couple of times; there he is, concern painted on his features, his hands holding her face a little too roughly, fingers digging in her cheeks.

“Oi.” She sighs painfully and he rushes to help her to sit down.

She’s on the carpet, she realizes, dumbstruck. Why am I on the carpet?

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck anxiously. “Did you have a bad dream? You must’ve fallen  asleep and we both fell off the couch-“

It was not a dream.

Silk and pearls and gold and his green eyes shining in the face of that woman in the front row.

“It was not a dream,” she repeats slowly, out loud this time, feeling Eren’s confusion clouding her mind. “It was- I think it was a memory.”

He gasps, taking both of her hands in his.

“Shit.” He seems equally breathless as her. “Really? Fuck, I mean…  what did you see? “

“It’s hard to describe.” – she stares down at their linked fingers, trying to find right words. “I think we met for the first time? It was- in a - let me think-  in an opera of some sort. Oh, and you were a woman!”

This should come as no surprise; the gender never stays the same, it would be impossible, not during so many lives. But he flushes anyway and then tries to hide it, and so she tries not to laugh but fails miserably.  He groans, leaning down to bury his face in her neck.

“Was I at least cute?” he murmurs against her skin and she laughs harder, patting him on the back.

“I can’t believe it’s the first thing you want to know.”

“It’s an important question.”

Well, she can’t argue with that.

“Yes, I guess. But I don’t think it matters. You were married to someone else.”

And as she says those words out loud, something cold and heavy sinks in her stomach. She imagines seeing Eren with another girl in his arms, him kissing another’s lips, promising love and devotion to somebody else, and she almost gags with disgust. It’s not right, it’s just not right.  He raises his head up to look at her, furrowed brows and the same kind of sadness painted on his face.

This was not a good one for us.

He kisses her slowly, so slowly; kisses her tenderly and letting his warmth melt their pain away, just as easily as the May sun melts the last spring snow.

But this one is, I promise you that.

***

It’s late at night when it happens; the numbers on her alarm clock are  piercing his eyes with burning red when he gazes at them ( 3.34 what the hell) and at first he’s not even sure why he’s woken up when it’s still dark and the bed is so warm and he is so damn comfortable.

But then he raises his head up and looks around and it’s just like that; moonlight painting the room in silver and black, cool, frosty air coming through the  window which was left ajar, crumpled white sheets and him. Alone.

The spot where she was supposed to lay is cold when he touches it and, momentarily, blood freezes in his veins, shivers running down his spine; but before panic overcomes him, he notices the quiet, metallic cling coming from behind bedroom’s closed doors.

He has a nasty taste in his mouth as he makes his way across the corridor, towards bathroom; unpleasant sensation of a good dream slowly turning bad when he gently knocks on the wood once, twice and it opens up at his touch, not being previously locked.

“Mikasa?”

The sharp, clinical light  leaves him blind for a moment, with yellow spots dancing at the edge his vision, but then he blinks and sees her; standing in front of the mirror with a pair of kitchen scissors  in her left hand, cling of metal ringing like a  gunfire in his ears when yet another strand  of her raven hair lands on the floor. They’re scattered everywhere around her, stark black against the white porcelain of the sink, against green tiles of the floor, against the skin of her bare feet.  

The mirror reflects her, her pale cheeks and eyes wide open, black irises consuming all the grey, the mechanical gesture of her hands as she reaches out for another strand. Most of her hair is already chin length, framing her face like a messy, inky halo.

“Mikasa,” he calls out, unsure if he should approach her or stay in the corridor. She seems so distant, so out of herself that doesn’t seem like she is here at all. It doesn’t seem like she is standing in front of him, when her eyes are so far away, straight out of a different dimension.  

“Mikasa!”

His voice is uncomfortably loud in the quiet apartment; she blinks and gasps and stumbles forward, her hands gripping the edge of the sink before she can collapse on the floor like the scissors that slip from between her fingers.

He jumps towards her, wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her.

“Oi, Mikasa. It’s okay, it’s okay now.” Words escape from his mouth with no control whatsoever when her terror washes over him, freezing him from inside out; she’s so cold, so afraid, trembling against him.

She presses her face to his bare shoulder, lips moving on his skin.

“What has happened where am I, Eren, what has - what have I done-“

A frantic litany laced with fear and confusion.

“Shhhh,” he hushes, gently carding his fingers through her now- short - hair. “Shhh, I’m here, I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

He looks up and catches their reflection in the mirror; Mikasa in his arms, the shaking pile of muscles and pale skin and black strands, soft in-between his fingers. His own face, pale with emotion and brows raised up; the way they both seem odd in the picture, older and younger at the same time.

And then he blinks and for a moment- just a moment – a rip in time, in space opens in front of his very eyes.

Mikasa’s holding him; red scarf wrapped around her neck, white shirt stained in mud and blood,  fingers digging in his shoulder blades, hot tears streaming from her cheek, the sheer relief and desperation of hers shaking the ground underneath him, billows of steam surrounding them like mist-

Just for a second, enough to imprint itself on the underside of his eyelids, before the picture fades away, quick as a lightning strike.

[shanastoryteller]

I know you've gotten a lot of Hades/Persephone asks, but I've spent the last three days listening to Hadestown by Anais Mitchell - I have a burning desire to know how your Hades and Persephone would handle the Orpheus and Eurydice mythos?

Thefirst time he hears of Orpheus is when Ares comes to him, in spring, when hiswife his gone. Ares only comes to him when his wife is gone.

“Apollohas a son,” he says, dark eyes darting around like there’s something chasing him.There is always something chasing the god of war, and many of them now residein Hades’s realm. No matter how many times he’s tried to reassure Ares thathe’s safe here, he doesn’t believe him.

“Apollohas many sons,” he returns, dry. He reaches out and places two fingers underAres’s chin, sees the bone-paleness of his skin against the rich red-copper ofthe younger god’s, and swallows. “You look tired.” Crescent purple bruises arecarved deep beneath his eyes.

Aresdoesn’t shrug off his touch, but neither does he lean into it. “I,” he finallymeets his gaze, and Hades smiles, warm. Ares’s lips twitch up like he wants toreturn it, but can’t. “I haven’t been sleeping. There’s a war in the East, andthey’ve been invoking me for weeks. I think I need to go there.”

Heknows. There’s been hundreds of new people in his realm every day. Thanatos andCharon haven’t slept in weeks. Neither has he, for that matter.

“Whatwill you disguise yourself as this time?” he murmurs, “Another general?”

Thatwas the wrong thing to say. Are’s eyes go impossibly distant, and his skin gainsa sickly grey hue. His hands aren’t shaking, so Hades has no reason to takethem in his own. He can’t decide if he’s disappointed by that or not. “No. I –no. Just a foot soldier. Less guilt that way. Less – less. Just, less, thatway.”

Lessnightmares, less fear, less blood on his hands. Less of the constant,inescapable battle-fury that keeps him alive, but also keeps him from sleep,even on his best days. When Zeus declared his son the god of war, this probablywasn’t what he had in mind.

Hadeshopes it isn’t, at least.

“Becareful,” he says, and Ares flinches.

Hegrabs Hades’s wrist before he leaves though, and squeezes it so tightly that itwould snap if Hades was a mortal man.

There’sthat, at least.

~

Persephonewears not the vibrant red that marks her as queen of the underworld, but thesoft green that names her the daughter of spring. She sits on a smooth rock inthe middle of the sea, her curly dark red hair brushing her bare shoulders.It’s the last day of summer. She goes home tomorrow.

Demeterdoes not strain to keep her daughter at her side anymore. Now she’s merelycontent to keep her away from Hades.

“Wereyou waiting long?” a voice like lapping waves asks in her ear, and Amphitritesits at her back. She presses a kiss to her shoulder, and her long green hairtumbles down Persephone’s front and blends into her dress.

Shetilts her head, allowing Amphitrite to trail salty kisses up her neck. “No.Have trouble sneaking away from your husband?”

Shesnorts. “I do not sneak.”

“Yousaid you had news from my husband,”Persephone reminds, does not allow herself to become distracted. Not yet.

“About,not from,” she uses a single claw to cut through the back of Persephone’sdress. It falls down to her hips. “They’ve been waging war for months. A bloodyhorrible thing. And rumor is Ares was in Hades’s realm. People are saying thatAres sends the dead to your husband as tribute.”

Peopleare idiots. Besides, she likes Ares. She does not mind that he visits herhusband; she only wishes he would visit her as well. “Is that all?”

Amphitriteshrugs then bites at Persephone’s ear, “Won’t you come to the sea with me? Mypalace has many places more comfortable than this rock.”

Sheleans back, pulling Amphitrite down with her, and does not answer.

Sheis not Poseidon. She does not forget that Amphitrite possesses, but is not tobe possessed, and she dares not follow this personification of the sea itselfinto her domain.

Amphitriteloves her. She may not give her back.

Persephoneis not Helen either. She will not be the cause of any wars.

~

Thanatos,the boy who Hades still calls Icarus, sits with his head in his hands. Hades reaches out and absently runs a hand up and down his spine, thinks notfor the first time that he must have been a sight to see with his golden wings,for that glorious moment before he fell. “Persephone should be crossing theshore soon. Why don’t you go and wait for her?”

“Iknow what you’re doing,” he says, voice muffled, “Styx can bring her. Or shecan walk herself, since there’s not a thing in this realm stupid enough toattack her.”

Hadesleans down and kisses the top of his spine, “She likes it when you’re there tohelp her off the boat. Please?”

Icarusturns and glares at him. Hades kisses him below his left eye, lets his lipslinger on the delicate skin there. “You’re cheating,” he accuses, a blush highon his cheeks, “this is cheating.”

“Stopworking for a couple hours and go get my wife,” he commands softly, “The armiesof traumatized dead will still be here when you return.”

Icaruslistens ­– finally – and slips away to the river.

Hadeslooks back over the map. The problem with the dead is they never go anywhere,so his realm only gets bigger. He’s going to need get Hecate so the two of themcan raise another city at this rate.

There’sa push in the air, and he startles. No one enters his realm without permission,but he recognizes the outline of the person trying to push through, and allowsit. Ares tumbles from the air, and into his arms. He’s covered in blood, hislong black hair is soaked through with it.

“Notyours, I assume?” he asks, gripping Ares’s forearms. He’s strung so tightlyhe’s nearly vibrating.

“Iwish it was mine,” he says, somewhere between a scream and a sob. Hadeswishes this was the first time Ares had come to him like this.

Areslocks his wrists around Hades neck and pulls him down, knocking them both tothe floor in his exuberance. His mouth connects to Hades’s, slick and tastinglike sulpher and metal. “I have to go back soon,” he gasps, dragging his lipsalong the edge of Hades’s jaw, “they’re invoking my name. Distract me untilthen.”

Hestill has hours until Persephone will return home, and besides she would notdeny him this. “Okay,” he whispers, and when he rolls them over they’re nolonger in his office, but his bed. Ares keens and strains his body up towardsHades, and he grabs the young god’s wrists and pins him to the bed. “Do not worry,”he says, and Ares’s whole body glistens red with blood that isn’t his own. “I’vegot you.”

Aresrelaxes, just the smallest amount, under his hands.

He’lltake what he can get.

~

Shecan tell Ares was there before even steps foot in her palace, and knows it forsure when she enters her bedroom to find her husband naked on their bed andcovered in blood.

“Howis he?” she asks, and he startles, having been so deep in thought he hadn’tnoticed her.

“Persephone,”he greets, his whole face going soft as he pushes himself up. He holds out ahand to her, and she doesn’t hesitate to drop her cloak and crawl over the bed tohim. She hikes up her dress and straddles him, arms crisscrossing behind hisneck. She kisses him slow, licks over the places where Ares had bitten hislips. “I’ve missed you.”

Sherolls her hips downward, and is gratified by the way his hands flex on her thighs,“As I have missed you, husband.”

Shekisses mortal blood off his skin, and tries not to worry too much about the manwho left it there.

He’ssurvived every war since his birth, and he’ll survive this one too.

~

Aphroditeenters his realm, her hair piled atop her head and held together with copperpins fashioned in the shape of delicate flowers. “Apollo has a son,” she says,biting at her bottom lip.

Heand Persephone share a glance before he says, “Apollo has many sons.” He feelsas if he’s had this conversation before.

Shequirks her lips in a half smile, “This one is different. He plays the lyre, heplays it better than his father even. He plays it so well that – that there arerumors that he can sooth any beast to sleep. And,” she adds, even quieter, “thatAres himself is soothed by his playing.”

“Whyare you telling us this?” Persephone asks coldly. Hades places his hand on topof hers. They like Aphrodite, afterall.

“BecauseI know Ares cares for Hades,” her eyes flicker over to him, “and I believeHades cares for him as well. I – I could not accept his proposal. My love wasnot the peace he thought it would be. But I wish him well.”

“Wecan neither kidnap nor kill a son of Apollo,” Persephone says. Hades feelscompelled to add that they shouldn’t wantto either, but he can already tell this is a situation which is quicklygoing to spiral out of his control, if it hasn’t already.

Aphroditeraises a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, then lowers it when she realizedher hair is already up. “He loves a mortal girl, Eurydice. If she were to die,he would be beside himself in grief. Enough to take his own life, even.”

“Really,”Persephone says flatly.

Aphroditecontinues, “Then he would be a subject of your realm. You could compel him tohelp Ares, could you not?”

“Ihave subjects, not slaves,” he says, “I can’t make him do anything.”

Persephoneputs her hand on his arm, eyes bright. “I have a better idea.”

~

Aphrodite’splan had merit, but this is better. Smarter. It gives Apollo less reason to beupset at them later, since his son comes to them now on his recommendation. Althoughhe’s far too attached to all his limbs to dare cross her regardless.

Orpheusbargaining with her husband now, and she’s given Hades strict instructions,that Orpheus must agree to play in their courtyard for eternity if he fails. Hewon’t cross her either, even if he wants to, even if he’s not totallycomfortable with this plan.

Sheknew when she married him that he was too soft hearted for his own good. It’shalf the reason she married him in the first place.

Fornow she circles the girl that the half-god had been so willing to riskeverything for. She’s attractive enough, but plain, and she has no particulartalents nor is she overtly clever. “What makes you so special?” she asks, whenshe sees nothing but an average young woman.

Eurydicesmiles then, and she’s much prettier that way. “He loves me,” she answers, cheeksflushing. She hesitates, but asks, “Will you really let him take him me back?”

“Aslong as he listens, as long as he leaves the underworld without looking back atyou, you are free to follow him and return to the world of the living,” sheagrees, but knows that will never come to pass.

Orpheusloves her too much to risk leaving without her, and his doubts will overcomehis hope. He will look back, and become trapped here forever.

~

Thewindow of one of the spare rooms is open, and the most beautiful playing comesthrough. Hades sits at the edge of the bed, and reaches to run the back of hisfinger across Ares’s cheek.

Thewar still rages. A war always rages. Yet Ares sleeps, the bruises under his eyesbecoming lighter by the day.

Heturns toward Hades, straining in sleep for his touch. Hades hesitates, but hisrealm is stable enough for now. He slips beneath the covers, and almost immediatelyAres curls into his side, tangling their legs together and pillowing his headon Hades’s chest so he can feel Ares’s damp exhales on his sternum.

Therewill always be another war, and Ares cannot stay. But for now he sleepspeacefully in Hades arms, and that will have to be enough.

~

Persephonesits in her garden in the courtyard, listening to the same beautiful song.

“Thisone is my favorite,” Eurydice says, seated besides her and beaming.

Sheglances over to Orpheus, who grins wide as he performs a love song for hisbeloved wife. Behind him is the cottage tucked in the corner of their courtyardwhere Eurydice and Orpheus live.

“Minetoo,” she says.

Hadeswas too soft hearted for his own good. She’d known that when she married him.

gods and monsters series, part xi

[its-love-u-asshole]

I’ll See You Soon [fic]

Pairing: Fushimi Saruhiko/Yata Misaki

Rating: T

Summary: Written as an epilogue for Shaking in My Skull. 

It's always said that good things never last, but for them, the statement couldn't be more untrue.

Note: 2nd day entry! I had the sudden inspiration for this verse again, so yay for random epilogues lmao. Thank you to @emeraldwaves for checking this over!

AO3

"This is a rather big favor you're doing for them you know. I'm surprised."

Are you truly?

Despite the words, the tone was calm and pleasant, much like the room around them as they waited. Waited for the next step of a journey, one which Munakata knew wouldn't end, and shouldn't. Maybe that was why he felt the corners of his mouth lift softly, his eyes fixating on the clear depths of water below as the overseer of change sat beside him. Yet Nagare's voice held no criticism, no objections, as Munakata had predicted.

All was as it should be.

Munakata chuckled, his bones and eyes finally feeling the weight of exhaustion brought upon by several centuries at his post. He would rest soon.

Somehow, he'd never dreamed of being okay with this, with retirement, but the knowledge his throne would be well cared for dulled his worry. Perhaps, he thought, a permanent vacation was just what he needed. He closed his misty eyes for a minute, letting the resolve settle slowly into his being, the yoke of hell's guardian falling off his shoulders as if it had fully served its purpose.

Munakata opened his eyes again, though the mistiness was still there, and couldn't help but thank Mikoto for dragging him along to the afterlife by his side. Munakata guessed things did work out how they were supposed to in the end.

Which brings me back to this...

"Favor you say?" He asked with fondness, knowing the truth deep down, just as much as he had that first day, when two determined youths had ventured out on the Return together. "That's where you're wrong."

Nagare said nothing, only pulled away from the pool with a nod of amusement. Yes, he already knew the answer as well, and Munakata gave a fuller laugh this time, letting it echo off the meeting room's walls to blend with Mikoto's heavy breathing behind him as the angel snoozed.

Exactly as thing should be...

After all, favors were kindnesses given beyond the usual.

No, what he was doing...this was precisely what he owed.

--

The sounds of his heart monitor beeping were becoming normal by now, fading into the rolling of stretchers and medicine carts, drowning into the chatter of nurses and doctors alike. For most people it would probably be annoying, maybe ominous or sinister. Not for Yata.

He smiled slowly, his eyes managing to blink without succumbing to tiredness. It was hard, but he wouldn't leave without--

"Misaki..." The voice came from the bed right beside his, weak and barely there, but to him it was as calming as ever, capturing his attention in an instant. Misaki smiled wider, turning his head, though his muscles protested. Whatever, it was worth it.

Despite all the years he'd spent looking and thinking about Saruhiko, seeing his face never got old, no matter how old they actually got.

Misaki chuckled at his own joke, eyes sweeping over the body in the other bed. Saruhiko's hands were still at his side, toil worn and wrinkled, curled in on themselves from a life full of paperwork and overtime. Yata knew if the other stood, his posture would be god awful too, after his countless hours hunched over his computer. Dumbass.

As if sensing his thoughts, Saruhiko squinted at him, the crows feet under his eyes being accentuated by the expression, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. Yata laughed, and while it quickly turned into a cough, it didn't make it any less pleasurable. Saruhiko's eyes flashed in amusement, the bright blue hues as vibrant as ever. Beautiful, analytical, piercing. So very Saruhiko.

Yeah, totally worth it.

"Yes?" Yata's voice was hoarse, struggling, and at that moment he figured he must look the same as Saruhiko. Saruhiko, with his rough, sagging skin and white hair, the perfect picture of old age. Funny, Yata never considered his appearance as he grew older, how far they'd come, until now, sitting right on his deathbed.

No doubt he had receding hair just the same, aching joints and bad posture to go with them. He laughed again, feeling unbelievably alive from the realization alone.

Ninety-two years, not bad huh, Saru?

Yata felt his eyes water, and he doubted it was from his body aches. Not bad at all.

Saruhiko licked his dry lips, shaking his head as he glanced up at the ceiling. "Do you think they planned this?"

It took a second for Yata to realize who he was referring to, but when he did, he couldn't help but feel a weird surge of gratefulness. "Probably, knowing them."

"How cheesy."

"Are you complaining?"

Yata felt his heart stutter when Saruhiko smiled at him, probably both from the emotions it elicited, and the fact his time was almost up. His eyelids felt heavy, his thoughts scattered, but when he finally passed, he wanted Saruhiko to be the last thing he saw.

The last face he saw before he died, the first when he opened his eyes.

He didn't doubt Munakata and Mikoto putting this together, not letting Yata spend even a day without Saruhiko. Not to mention the date...

Perfect.

Saruhiko reached a quivering hand across the small space which separated their beds, as if sensing the impending fate as well. Yata gripped it as tightly as he could, keeping it against his chest as his heart pounded and skull shook from the effort of keeping himself alive. Just a bit more...

Saruhiko finally answered him, his voice cracking and fading slowly. "No...I'm..n-not. Misaki..."

The tone was as scolding as it could be, and Yata could nearly hear the implied meaning there. "Idiot, you'll see me soon. Sleep."

Sleep huh...you too Saruhiko...you should sleep...

Yata felt his grip on the other's hand slacken, and he fought against the urge to drop it, using the last of his energy to keep it close to him. As if he'd let Saruhiko pass through a door alone ever again.

Sleep...and I'll be here when you wake up. 

Yata smiled, feeling his vision spin out of use, his lungs giving up as the two monitors in the room went haywire, and the last thing he could make out was Saruhiko's eyes closing, the grip on his hand tightening.

And then there was nothing.

There was silence.

A complete absence of noise.

Still and steady...

.

.

.

Yata Misaki. Age ninety-two, born on July 20th, died on the night of August 14th.

Fushimi Saruhiko. Age ninety-one, born on November 7th, died on the night of August 14th.

.

.

.

Saruhiko opened his eyes, seeing nothing but the blurred edges of walls around him, shining white. Blinding white, giving off the illusion of a never ending hallway. Same as always, he thought.

He was lying on the floor, his limbs frozen like in ice, and he slowly began twitching each finger, working to his arms and legs with practiced ease. The room remained hazy, and without faltering, he reached up, removing his glasses until the room bloomed into clarity. His skin felt smooth, his muscles strong, his body able, as if he hadn't aged a day since he was twenty years old.

The thought made something nostalgic inside him stir, and he wondered why he was surprised in the slightest. He gave an amused smile at the ceiling, reaching up to thread his fingers through his long dark hair, feeling the lack of a receding hairline, basking in the mobility of his joints.

He wondered if this was a gift too, being given back his youth, though he didn't care to question it. He had more important things on his mind, and he turned his head to the side calmly, ignoring the distant paranoia beating in his heart, telling him he'd woken up here alone.

No, he knew better these days.

Misaki's eyes were bright and glowing, as they'd always been. That had never changed, even with age. The amber color warmed Saruhiko to his toes, the love and fierceness he associated with those eyes threatening to melt him on the spot.

Misaki...

The other was staring at him in wonder too, his face youthful, his hair back to the same fiery color as before he hit sixty, and Saruhiko reached forward to run his hands over it, down Misaki's cheeks and lips, like he held the universe in his hands. Well, he sort of did. Misaki was his universe, had helped him build and strengthen his world until it was big enough for them to share.

Saruhiko's fingers settled on the redhead's lips, feeling them lift up into a huge smile, and it was probably that which made Saruhiko lose his control. He surged forward, catching Misaki's lips with his own, the kiss firm and all he'd ever wanted. Somehow, he'd never gotten tired of it.

Misaki pulled away with a snort, but his watery eyes gave his real emotions away. Saruhiko, for once, didn't feel the need to comment, probably because his eyes stung too. "I look that good huh, Saru? No more wrinkles..."

Please...

Their foreheads bumped together as Saruhiko shook his head, reveling in the silence around them, something which had once unsettled him to no end. Now it was a reminder, telling him his time with Misaki would never truly end. "No. You always looked good to me."

Misaki's eyes widened for a brief second, the tears in both their eyes building, before the redhead pushed back on Saruhiko's head with his own. It was all they could think of to deal with the emotions raging between them, and eventually, Saruhiko's tears spilled first. Both of them laughed regardless, no unhappiness or discontent to be found, and they clung onto each other a moment after.

The force of the hug had them falling to the floor again from where they'd sat up, but they didn't mind. Nothing would ruin this.

"I missed you Saruhiko."

"We were apart for a few minutes, tops."

"Doesn't matter," Misaki sniffled. "You idiot."

Saruhiko couldn't feel pain anymore, but he swore he felt his skin sting from how hard Misaki gripped him, and he wouldn't give it up for anything.

I missed you too. I love you.

How silly it was, given how long he'd been apart from Misaki in the past, for months, maybe even years as he faced the unthinkable. Saruhiko shook his head, smiling to himself. Guess it doesn't matter now.

For that point on, they'd get through everything somehow, like they'd always had.

Together.

"Hey Saru," Misaki said, pulling away with a laugh. The redhead reached up to wipe his tears away, a small smirk settling on his face. Saruhiko hummed in response, returning it. "I think we're late."

The statement actually managed to catch Saruhiko off guard for a second, but soon he was rolling his eyes, taking in the plain white room once more. Once late arrivals, always late arrivals, that much was true.

Saruhiko leaned forward, capturing Misaki's lips again in a quick kiss before he heard a door open behind him as if beckoned, and he heard the familiar sound of a cane clicking on the floor.

Saruhiko smiled at Misaki as the redhead offered him his hand, and Saruhiko took it gratefully, ready to face fate's next endeavor.

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

[rikrakyarnncrafts]

Introducing Muse – Hand Painted and Tonal Yarns

We are SO excited to introduce our newest hand painted yarn, Muse! Worsted weight, hand painted, Merino wool, and machine washable; it checks a lot of boxes, both for our resident yarn nerds and from our most common customer requests. Between the multicolor masterpieces of Hand Painted and sophisticated solids-plus of Tonal, there are lots of ways to enjoy this brilliant and incredibly satisfying yarn.

Our most dedicated customers will remember a smattering of Special Reserve yarns that we introduced at the end of last year that came from Japan. Although those were the first Japanese yarns that we carried, Muse is actually the realization of our newest fiber partnership and our first exclusive collaboration with a Japanese mill, made to our specifications and designs. We’ve been eagerly anticipating showing off these lovely handcrafted works of art!

The big thing about Muse is, of course, the colors. While we do have a number of other lovely hand dyed yarns (hello, Hawthorne), our newest polychromatic presentation is particularly spectacular. Part of that is just the fact that most of our hand dyed yarns are sock yarns in fingering weight and it’s been some time since we’ve done a variegated yarn in a heavier weight. Or at least a heavier hand painted yarn. We did introduce Felici Worsted not too long ago (which I’m sure we’ll see again) and brought back Dishie Multi, but Muse is something else altogether. The master dyers at the Japanese mill were eager to work with us, and our color champions threw a whole host of persnickety palettes at them. We honestly weren’t sure what to expect, and they nailed it. We couldn’t get the yarn fast enough after that.

It wasn’t until later that we found out exactly why it looks so good.

When we say this is hand painted yarn, that isn’t a style or an idle superlative or a marketing buzzword. Every single one of these hyperchromatic hanks is literally painted. By a person. With their hands. Although we probably should call it artisan painted. No more than 3 dye colors are used for any colorway. Even the crazy rainbow colors like Euphoria, with a plenum of tones in hues from all around the color wheel. Mixed and blended by hand, painted and dyed by hand. This is not a science, in the best possible way.

To be completely honest, I personally am not the most overwhelmingly enthusiastic aficionado for hand painted yarn. As a recovering monochromist, I have come around to enjoying colors rich and deep, but still am most comfortable with restrained palettes in a fairly narrow range. It’s a surprise to no one that I immediately gravitated to Opulent as my Muse colorway of choice. But even I am surprised at how much I like some of the more . . . ebullient colorways, largely because of how surprisingly even they knit up. I am picky about my colors and my color distribution, so the way some hand painted yarns can stripe and pool almost at random sometimes just . . . bugs me. But Muse is so precisely dyed with such care and such intention. In some ways it’s a contradiction. You see how bright and vibrant and wildly alive the colors are in the hank, but it’s not until it knits up that you see how balanced and even and controlled those colors are, in a way that paradoxically enhances the enthusiastic abandon of the color selection.

Elation Hand Painted in the hank

Elation Hand Painted swatched

Infatuation Hand Painted in the hank

Infatuation Hand Painted swatched

It also wasn’t until we actually knit with the samples that we really got to experience the full effect of Muse, the meat of the matter. Or rather, the fiber. Much has already been made of the price of Muse, particularly at the yardage. And more specifically, the yarn weight and yardage. 115 yards at 100 grams is usually much more bulky territory, but Muse is spun so densely that it genuinely averages out to about 8 wraps per inch, perhaps a smidge more. And the proof is in the pudding, or rather, in the knitting. It definitely knits closer to a Heavy Worsted or Aran weight than Bulky.

I’m working on the Shasta Vest in Muse Hand Painted Opulent right now. The pattern was written for Swish Worsted, with gauge at 18 stitches to 4”, calling for a US 7 needle. I wanted a particularly firm fabric and swatched on gauge using 6s, which already indicated that it’s significantly heavier than our regular worsted weight yarns. As I got further into the vest, I realized that the needles were just too small for the yarn. Although my gauge was on, I was coming up with a fabric that was stiff, rather than just firm. Sizing up to 7s got a much more satisfying drape, still nice and dense like I wanted, but not unnecessarily rigid as before. (The size change wrecked my gauge and I had to do quite a bit of refiguring and reknitting, but so it goes.)

The sweet spot for me is really a US size 8 needle or even a 9. It’s not really until then that the fiber gets some breathing room, acquires a nicely flattering drape, and the Merino can bloom a little. And I can assure you that it definitely feels like Merino. At a tighter gauge, the single ply stays tight and it feels more nicely smooth than fleecy soft, like you’ll find with our other single ply Merino yarn, Preciosa. The difference comes partly from the firm spinning and partly because Muse is Superwash. At a larger, looser gauge, the twist relaxes, the fiber does open up, and you get more of the softness you expect from the softest wool. Regardless of your gauge, it’s a much tighter, smoother, altogether more serious yarn than fluffy and insouciant Preciosa. They may both be single ply Merino, but Muse not only has the astounding hand painted colorways, but is altogether firmer, with a satisfying heft and profundity.

Because it is Superwash, you can throw Muse in your washing machine. Of course, it is a yarn definitely meant to be cherished and cared for, so you’ll want to be sure to take an appropriate amount of vigilance, i.e. gentle cycles, cold water, a garment bag if you have one, consider drying flat to skip the dryer. It’ll be better to work at a tighter gauge if you plan to machine wash, since it will be more resilient and you’ll get less pilling; another reason I wanted a tight gauge on my vest. If you do want a drapier, more open gauge to get as much loft as possible, you might want to consider hand washing, even if machine washing is an option.

Conifer Cap in Rooted Tonal

El Train Cowl in Euphoria Hand Painted

We’re excited to see what everyone does with Muse. We’ve already prepared a few free patterns for simple accessories that only require a single hank. These hat, cowl, and slippers give you an idea of how Muse looks and what to do with it. The Merino makes it good for next-to-skin accessories that really pop, thanks to the hand painted colors, and the dense wool means that they’ll be extra warm and cozy. A few of us in the office have garments in progress; my previously mentioned vest in neutral extravaganza, Opulent, and a rainbow smorgasbord multicolor sweater using at least 9 colors from both Hand Painted and Tonal lines! Keep an eye out on our Instagram account for pictures of the finished projects.

Complete Muse Hand Painted Yarn Value Pack

Complete Muse Tonal Yarn Value Pack

These free patterns are an easy way to find a use for just a single hank of your favorite color. If you want splurge and see a bunch of the fantastic colors in person, you can get 20% off any of the Yarn Value Packs with the full Hand Painted and Tonal lines. OR you can check out color curated selections from both lines with warm Sunrise and cool Mystic value packs.

Sunrise – Muse Yarn Value Pack

Mystic – Muse Yarn Value Pack

The post Introducing Muse – Hand Painted and Tonal Yarns appeared first on KnitPicks Staff Knitting Blog.

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[easynaturalhairstyle]

19 Chic short hair with highlights for your colorist

Short hair with highlights is any haircut that is chubby or shorter, with hair painted in lighter shades on a darker base. This is certainly the easiest and funniest way to spice up dull hair!

Short hair highlights tips

With fashion icons like Vanessa Hudgens, Katy Perry and Miley Cyrus, cropped hair with strategically placed highlights is guaranteed to leave a fabulous impression.

What should be on your mind when you plan to own this hairstyle is your face shape and skin color. Short curls can be difficult to perfect as they depend on a number of things – your facial features, your hair density, and your hair type. Also the coordination of the highlights on your complexion should be considered.

There are also different techniques to make highlights. If you want a natural-looking dimension and a longer time between salon visits, balayage is the way to go. You can also adjust the intensity of your highlights, depending on how much contrast and brightness you want!

What more do you want from this super versatile style ?! Below you will find the various latest versions of shorthair with highlights!

Red hair with blond highlights

How would you describe this look?

This look is fun, but still pretty and soft. It's a modern multi-layered bob, but I've focused on the color placement to accentuate the layers and the frame around the face. The combination of warmth of the copper-colored base color and the coolness of the blond highlights really gives it a look that "pops".

Any advice for someone considering it?

This customer is actually 70 years old! To prove that age is just a number and you can always have fun with your hair. Because it is considerably gray, however, the rooting improvement requires to be done every 4-6 weeks, so I would not say this is a low maintenance paint. You would also need to use the right color shampoo and conditioner to maintain the color and prevent fading.

Dark hair with highlights

How would you describe this look?

This look is a great way to make fine hair look fuller. The stepped back creates volume and density, making it easy to reach a fullness in all the right areas. The color was chosen to accentuate the shape of the cut. The dark underside makes it look dense, while the highlights everywhere keep it bright and airy.

Any advice for someone considering it?

This cut is rather maintenance intensive. I recommend that every 4-5 weeks, a reshaping to keep the shape sharp and polished. This is a great cut for the fine hair client who wants a simple cut that's easy to style everyday.

Peekaboo highlights

How would you describe this look?

How I would describe this look is creative and functional. My favorite thing about this look is the juxtaposition of sounds. Copper (orange) and navy are two contrasting colors that complement each other so well. The Navy is a neutral ladder that pairs with everything like a great pair of jeans!

Any advice for someone considering it?

This look is really great for anyone, especially for those who just want a touch of nervousness in their lives. Panels or peek-a-boats are a great way to add a splash of unnatural hair color without being over the top. I do not think there are any rules on who can wear what. I know that this particular haircut works well for someone with short, fine hair.

Be prepared for moderate maintenance to continue to look that way. If you are thinking about keeping the length and color the way it is for a while, you will need regular haircuts (anywhere between 4-8 weeks). Also in this timeframe, the copper must be refreshed. Dry shampoo is your best friend. The less you shampoo, the longer the color stays alive.

Brown hair with caramel highlights

How would you describe this look?

I love to make warm caramel highlights to my customers whose goal is to be fair-haired. It brightens, but with little damage. These tones are perfect for people with medium to dark eyebrows and a brown complexion. I finished this look with a one-piece embellishment and a lace cut at the ends to create a long bob look without all the layers!

Any advice for someone considering it?

This look is perfect for anyone trying to lighten their facial features with a few warm caramel highlights on brown hair and frame a rounded face!

Rose gold highlights

How would you describe this look?

This look is great for so many reasons. The color gives such a bold statement with a lot of contrast. The placement and technique gives a softer, less noticeable regrowth line as it grows out, resulting in a longer time between appointments. This short textured cut is a breeze for the style. You really can not mess it up! A mouse with a small volume and a hair dryer, which is finished with a slightly shiny pomade, and you have a perfectly disheveled look.

Any advice for someone considering it?

If you are looking for a bold statement with low maintenance, shorthair highlights are the way to go. The highlights will grow out seamlessly, resulting in a few trips to the salon and more money in your pocket. I would recommend going home with a special paint remover to get the blush of the highlights. This customer is an artist / mother of two, so this look is great for them to show their unique personality, but it does not require fuss, which means more time taking care of the little ones.

Caramel Balayage

How would you describe this look?

This look is a dimensional caramel balancing cut into a nice short praise. The abbreviation helps to emphasize the customer's face, and I love how the color gives texture to the various caramel tones within the style.

Any advice for someone considering it?

Short hair with highlights can complement so many customers! The praise can be customized for each customer by lengthening or texturing it.

The color is more for the warmer skin tones, as warm hair colors complement the warm tones in the skin.

Products that I would recommend for this style are a heat protector and a product with a little hold so that the wave lasts longer in the hair. Then apply a light serum or light cream (depending on brand) to add shine and refine the look.

Ask your stylist how this look can work for you!

Short bob with low light conditions

How would you describe this look?

For me, this look has some elements that make it both trendy and easy to care for. I do not think so much of "finding a cut for your face shape" as of a cut that makes you self-confident! Depending on the hair texture, shorter cuts with fewer layers are usually easier to wash and leave.

More levels require more styling. Texturing can raise a haircut to a new level by letting the hair jump and flow with each prop! Since the hair of this beautiful lady is naturally smooth, we prepared and dried with a voluminous mousse, concentrating on adding volume to the crown and to the top. We ended with a shallow iron wave, which I consider a very easy way to curl or wave shorter hair.

Any advice for someone considering it?

My client is of course a darker blonde, which makes her a good candidate for lighter, cooler blonde tones. We made a partial highlight and pulled ourselves through a bad light to adjust their natural color and increase the dimension. Customers who want to restore that look should consider their hair history! Brighter blondes often result in several processes if you have dark or previously dyed hair. Short Bobs can be very easy-care and stylish, especially for students or anyone who can not spend more than 10-15 minutes styling their hair.

Ash Blonde Highlights

How would you describe this look?

It's a graduated bob – classic and timeless, but the ice-blond highlights make it more modern. My customer Katie likes to be straight-lined / smooth with lots of volume styling at the roots, but this cut would look fantastic even with a few beach waves.

Any advice for someone considering it?

A piece of advice about short hair with highlights would be to get a good round brush, your favorite product (mine is "Blow it up" by Short Sexy Hair) and a little hairspray at the end. This cut is great for most hair types and can be worn the right length of all Fave shapes.

Short hair with highlights look great with or without pony. The ice-blond highlights are ideal for anyone who has to do with gray. I always recommend a good purple shampoo to get the tone. My favorite is Redken Color Extend Blondage – letting it in your hair once a week for a few minutes will help preserve the icy tone between salon visits.

Layered hair with red highlights

How would you describe this look?

I love the color of this look because of the many dimensions it gives the haircut. After consulting with my client, we decided to balance their highlights rather than using a traditional foil technique because they liked the idea of ​​having red panels without being too streaky at the root, and making them look more attractive, when she grows out. The natural hair color of my client gave me a beautiful, dark canvas that I could work with, and it really shows the liveliness of the red highlights.

Any advice for someone considering it?

The first and most important thing is to consider the integrity of your hair and make sure that you are healthy enough to highlight it. After each highlighting service, I suggest using a moisturizing conditioner or mask to avoid breakage. I recommend a care of about 4 weeks to glaze the red to avoid fading. Between the salon visits, home care is very important. I always recommend the use of sulfate-free shampoo. I like the R + Co gemstone shampoo and conditioner as it captures the color. The use of a color-giving shampoo about once a week and the constant rinsing of the hair with cold water should also keep the color longer and make it look as lively and rich as when leaving the salon!

Wavy hair with light brown highlights

How would you describe this look?

This is a classic dimensional color – a very natural brunette with mixed highlights. The blending of the highlights is less than with the traditional highlights. It's a look for the girls who do not want to be in the salon so much.

This haircut is a classic bob. Any age group can wear this look. I used a 1 "curling iron and Bumble and Bumble texture spray to keep this style.

Any advice for someone considering it?

Some people think that short hair with highlights is easier to handle. Maybe that's the case with some people, but short hair requires more styling. The natural dimensional highlight looks like a very easy-care hair color, but I would still recommend every 8 to 12 weeks to improve the highlights.

I believe that any age group could wear this look. Also to get your color, I would recommend a high-quality salon shampoo. My favorite shampoo and conditioner is the Bumble and Bumble Quenching Shampoo and conditioner – very light but very moisturizing for all hair types.

Very short brown hair

Add more body by giving it a more dimensional look. The highlights make this task for you.

Brown hair with blond highlights

This brown hair with blond highlights that we're used to is never getting old, is it? Perfection is really timeless.

Curly hair with highlights

This paint job can be cumbersome and would require blocking your entire day off to reach them. Still, the results are fantastic and would make the wait worthwhile.

Chunky Blonde Highlights

After making an A-line cut, grab thick strands of hair to highlight them for that offbeat look.

Dark brown hair with purple highlights

Mulberry highlights in brown hair can be the underdog color combination you need.

Black Hair with Ash Gray Highlights

You can still do so much with your pine-long hair. Turn it on with some smoky highlights and big curls for a tasteful appearance with short hair.

Pink highlights

Deviate from your usual accentuation standards by putting bold, pastel accents on a ghostly color.

Pixie with highlights

An exciting haircut with a pronounced colourfulness! Here a shaggy do intensifies the cut and the color completely.

Blue highlights

A highlight job that is so fine that your hair looks like a solid ultramarine color. Well done, colorist jasmine!

19 Chic short hair with highlights for your colorist

[qualitytacolover]

These 16 plum hair color ideas are totally in fashion right now

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These 16 plum hair color ideas are totally in fashion right now

A plum hair color is a brilliant purple hue with light brown tones inspired by the color of plum fruit. Dyeing Your Strands This color is definitely a smart way to get out of your comfort zone and delight everyone with this popping hue. Be inspired by Katy Perry, Lupita Nyong'o and Jesse J's trendy plum manes!

Contrast is what you want when you decide which color you want to wear. From pastel colors to electrifying tones – for every complexion and every eye color there will surely be the right shade. Light to medium skins look stunning, with cooler shades of plum, and warm tones go perfectly with darker skin tones.

Plum makes your strands shine fabulous under any light, as long as you keep them healthy and well-groomed. To do this, invest in the best hair care products, avoid harmful hairstyling methods, and follow your colorist's recommendations, which will help you a lot. There are a few home hair dyes that give this plum hair color, but it might not turn out as good as a colorist because of its unique hue.

You should begin to get acquainted with all the attention and compliments you will get once you have tried one of these popular plum hair color ideas! Scroll down to get started!

Deep plum

How would you describe this look?

My favorite thing about this plum hair color and cut is that just about anyone can rock that look, and it still gives them room to wear a straight textured flat iron look or spice it up with a few loose curls for a beach wave look! A subtle way to have fun in a professional world.

Any advice for someone considering it?

This structured praise is a bold and sophisticated look that I recommend to customers who want to have some fun, but are afraid to get too wild or do not believe that their work allows them to have loud colors.

This color is a stepping stone to go with a bolder look and a bolder color.

Burgundy plum

How would you describe this look?

This look is for someone who wants a subtle but different look. Very chic and sexy! She previously had a light brown balayage and wanted that plum shade that I loved because it's something different and so beautiful in color. I also gave her a nice cut with long layers. I love that this is all her natural hair. We used 1 1/4 "curling iron to curl her hair so that these beach curls come alive with the right products to bring the plum hair color to life.

Any advice for someone considering it?

You would need to know that the hair must either be completely natural and never colored or have any highlights to show that dark plum color. It is very pretty, but also knows that these can be very caring, because red, violets quickly fade and have to be reworked every 4-6 weeks. Also keep in mind that it needs good quality shampoos and hair products to keep your hair looking its best! Talk to your stylist about the different hair products he recommends to make this color look fresh. This color appeals to anyone who wants to have a little fun in their life, can also be very sexy and modern.

eggplant Color

How would you describe this look?

This look is a rooted color melt! I love color theory – using these basics gives you the power to create rich, pure sounds!

Kylie had earlier layers of Level 3 oxidative hair dye when I picked up that color and exposed her underlying pigment. I worked with these tones to create exactly what she was looking for, a blend of plum and jam tones with a deeper brown root!

It's hard to choose, but the dimension and mix in this project is my favorite part that I can admire in the look. This customer naturally has curly hair and she has been beautifully smoothed.

Any advice for someone considering it?

For colors, I always open a conversation about the care and color maintenance with the home care before the color service. If you want this look, you will take care of some caring work! The treatment I have recommended for this client is as follows:

Wash with Wella Elements (1-2x per week) with cold water! (As cool as possible, the warmer the water, the faster the color is washed out). Dry shampoo will be your best friend! I suggest using Kenra's dry shampoo between washes. Wella FusionPlex Deep Conditioner (As you only wash once or twice a week, you will need a double dose of nutrients for hair care!) You will be replacing your normal conditioner with this mask.

For blowing out, prepare your hair with Kenra Hair Drying Spray, Wella Flowing Form and Sebastian Dark Oil. Use high voltage with a medium sized round brush that points the nozzle down and goes with the cuticle to create shine! Finish with Wella Glam Spray!

Consider 6-week care appointments that include a root canal treatment and creative color glaze, with each other nursing appointment adding a haircut with their styling to get healthy hair!

This cut is multi-layered and angled under the jawline, which is perfect for anyone interested in making their face appear wide / wide. Purple like this one is great for a bit of an advantage, which in most cases is still acceptable in the workplace!

Plum Red

How would you describe this look?

This is a plum red because it has cool rather than warm tones, almost as if it had a purple hue. My favorite is that it is fun and powerful without entering the lively category. Personally, I prefer cooler shades of red to warm coppery reds and glowing reds.

Any advice for someone considering it?

First, investing in a professional colorfast shampoo and conditioner is a huge business, especially for house hair dyes that fade faster. Even the lowest possible shampooing and the use of cold water is an important factor for longevity. Red fades slightly – it will stay red, but if you do not care, it will not stay the same beautiful plum red that you left the salon.

First, investing in a professional colorfast shampoo and conditioner is a huge business, especially for house hair dyes that fade faster. Even the lowest possible shampooing and the use of cold water is an important factor for longevity. Red fades slightly – it will stay red, but if you do not care, it will not stay the same beautiful plum red that you left the salon.

This particular color works best with cooler skin tones, especially those with pink undertones. However, the wording can be personalized. Either darker / lighter or cooler tones / warmer tones may still be in the plum area, but match a different skin tone. A great thing about this type of red is that it's still professional. It's not natural, but it's not in your face either. It is not distracting but still powerful, i. It still fits in the workplace and is fun.

I do not personally believe that you need to have a certain personality to rock a hair color, but you should probably consider that this will attract a little more attention than your basic brown. Be ready for all the "I love your hair" comments.

Plum and black balayage

How would you describe this look?

This is a look I call Plum Balayage. It is made up of rich violet tones that are gently incorporated into a dark brown base to give a beautiful depth and a striking statement. I gave this customer a long haircut with a side pop to soften her face and some texturing to create a figure-hugging look when she was lured. My favorite part of this look is when the light hits, there are illusions of different violets. A single hair dye does not create this color perception.

Any advice for someone considering it?

Balayage is ideal for natural growth. The technique "Balayage" is soft and artistically painted on the hair. Often, the balay technique must first be performed as a whitening service to obtain the color that you see in the picture.

In order to keep the color of your plum alive, it requires a regular refreshment of 4 to 6 weeks on average. This color is recommended for someone who does not spend much time in the sun or in the chlorine. If you spend time in the sun, I recommend using shampoo with UV protection and color protection. Due to the brightening of the balayage base of this service, a leave-in conditioner (strength and anti-breakage) is very helpful in helping to treat and treat chemically treated hair. I always prepare my style with a heat-protecting agent to preserve and prevent the premature fading of our beautiful plum. The protection from the high heat of our styling tools is also synonymous with healthier hair, which equates to richer, glossier colors. I finish the look with a textured hairspray to get this beach curly curly hairstyle.

Subtle dark to light plum mouthpiece

How would you describe this look?

This plum hair color is pretty subtle and still fun! The best thing about this color is that anyone can rock it – young and old. The funny part is that there are two levels of violets. You have your deep plum in the lighter red-violet. The cut was a simple style with a length without layers.

Any advice for someone considering it?

Everyone can have this plum hair color. Basically, you could go from the salon to the office. As for care with any color service, you need to use a color-gentle shampoo to ensure longevity and vibrancy. Wash less often. Use protective serum when using hot tools.

Glowing plum hair highlights

Mix deep cherry red with your natural, dark roots for a radiant hairstyle.

Dark purple plum on a medium-length bob

Absolutely alive for this lively violet! Stylist Elissa blended purple balayages in these plum colors for this subtle dimension.

Dark plum hair

Mulberry hair on waves are stunning! The Colorist Jordan helps you get through bad times with this unbeatable combination of styles.

Violet color on short hair

The Burgundian splendor shines through you, sister! Hopping, pine-long hair with this dye is an eye-catcher.

Plum purple on curly locks

Stylist Summer made this masterpiece as natural as possible. Plum perfect curls can be achieved for a radiant appearance.

Plum Brown

I never thought that this plum and the brown would be one thing, right? Get those purple undertones and bring a new twist to your brunette curls.

Dark red and plum balayage

That's why lilac dreams are made! Enjoy countless compliments on your magenta hair.

Balayage for chocolate and plums

Great transformation by the colorist Audree, in the brown and burgundy were perfectly mixed. If you like balayage, definitely try it with plum hair color for a unique flair.

Dark brown hair with plum highlights

Show-stopping long curly hair, blinded with deep lilac. A real eye-catcher!

Bright plum hair color

Use a straightener to achieve this modest look. The purple color should convey this impression of adventure.

[colorspilling-blog]

Evolution

The world is factually beautiful. Colors. Rainbows. Lights. You’ll know in a bit. We are so similar to everything around us because we’re around them, but we are so unique and special zoomed in. Yes, we have to try and uniformly be a color in the whole gradient of the world, where Cultures are colors. We’re so similar to those around us, but also too different when you zoom in@@@ It’s a bout relativity when you think about it. Like, Scotland, Ireland, and England are all so different and culturally diverse, as we know in how much pride we get in that, but at the end of the day, they’re pretty fucking similar from someone looking at it from even America, though I suppose other countries must think. Though we were dips hits and because we invaded everywhere and force fed our bullcrap down their throats while not thinking they had their own color. ANYWAYS. IN AN IDEAL WORLD where europeans haven’t been dickwads, we’re the color of skin crayon still on the crayon. That unsettling non-alive-but-dinstinctly-flesh look. But like, to us it looks like skin because we can see the differentiation because we grew up knowing to look for that. We need to think of other places as their own vibrant, interesting, deep colors. Like, let’s help others, but only if they want it. They being the people, the majority. Not the gross crayon color that is projected. You can’t fix a mistake you drew with an orange crayon with a green crayon. If you truly want it fixed, you have to use the orange crayon. And these colors blend into other places nearby. So while we just see the “green” or “blue” area, the particles in that area are aqua and turquoise and teal and navy and Kelly and forest and etc. etc. etc. So how zoomed in do we get? At what point are WE the wrong color? And how much variation is good?

And then it’s a problem because you get into morals. Like, at what point does “They’re cannibals” become okay? If they’re all on board with it, if they only eat someone who volunteers truly and absolutely, is that okay? And what rules have to be enforced then to make sure everyone is absolutely okay with everything happening? And then doesn’t that take away the weird primal urge to do it? When you’re overthinking it, that just goes away because WHY. I guess if that’s who you truly are, and are a good person, good on you?? Like, what if someone donated their muscle mass, what we don’t use for scientific stuff, and gave it to cannibals to eat, like an organ donor? This then gets into the fact that eating human flesh does actually make your brain go wonky and terrible, but there’s no way to draw the line at an exact point. One thing isn’t THAT much worse than the other but eventually you’re justifying something that is fucking absurd and horrendous. And why do I know that? Because most people who do that aren’t getting the consent of everyone involved! Anyways.  Colors. That’s a thing.

So how do these lights and organization play into it? Let me tell you. I was listening to Les Mis and loving on it, and then looking at my rainbow lights. And my bf lovingly put it up in the wrong order thinking he was doing it correct, but it isn’t a gradient now. And like, clearly each ball of color is a different color. One next to the other is totally different. But put it on a gradient and you can see how they start to smooth together. But can he just not see the gradient that I can do it? And how many people can see differentiations way beyond what I can? That’s what people get so touchy with color names! If we have words for them, if we have to distinguish on a smaller scale, we can see the difference. But if you don’t have the words for it? If it doesn’t fit your brain grooves, if it hasn’t made a river in your BRAIN (wow this is getting weird guys, like a personality trait is like a river on your brain and like, evolution man. At some point “walking on land” became a groove river and just now IS like the Grand Canyon, aint no one taking that away from us, that’s a sulci. But some are just like, maybe suggestions that have worn into our brain. (I know this isn’t real, I studied neuropsych I know how brains work this is just metaphorical) Anyways now personality traits are rivers and like, the ones you branch off from are clearly helping you and feeding into how strong you get #layers) colors. Back to colors. If we zoom out like, we’re all just fucking one same thing right? We’re all humans. But like, we’re also all animals, but some of us are different. Like, it’s cool as hell we’re all different. Be fucking different. Appreciate that difference. That’s neat as shit. Now the world is blending into a more personality based culture than a location based culture. It’s so important to remember and preserve the location based ones, cuz those are HISTORY and interesting as hell and can be taken forward (and here’s a branch of people who love history have to develop!!!) and then those factions within those factions of knowledge and just everything is impossible to do! So you gotta chose one and just trust that everyone else is doing their part. Until you have to grow again. It’s just the same thing in different format. We used to grow in oral traditions, and print made that stiffer to translate, so people became stiffer, then out of that we grew this beautiful dada bloom of online bullfuckery to push that HUMANITY back, back like Ancient Greece. But now we’re expanding into this virtual world where everyone can know everyone, but we haven’t set down rules and regulations here, so people are just LETTING GO. Which is NOT good. It’s getting better, but it’s not about just the voice of what you read, we’ve stopped attaching actual PEOPLE to this. Everyone you lash out at has so much difference in their knowledge and color (see where I’m tying this in?) that we’re trying to police this totally different way of life and just fucking letting asshats in our own color (now my white ass culture is red cuz aggression, It’s like a jolly rancher glowing. It’s bullshit because other flavors are good too! Anyways this is getting into flavor. What I’m saying is that we’re too focused on trying to make people like US, we’re letting the people who are like us that are bad go free.

Anyways, this started out positive. Just thinking that positivity is what you see out of the world? In a hurricane, there’s this disaster and people are suffering. a. Can you do something about it? Once you have b. What else can you do? At that point whatever happens only affects YOU now. So take care of that so you have the strength and emotional fortitude to help whoever needs help next. In that rest time, think of the good things that happened in a situation. Hurricanes show bravery, and people being kind. Those reaching out to help. We need to value this MORE. We need to show people that THAT is how you aid someone, less of “xyz did something minutely terrible and has since made up for it” Let’s value KINDNESS. Dramatic and trying things can have a good ending. Let’s mourn the bad ones and then move forward. How do we prevent that from happening again? How do we make sure everyone is taken care of? And at what point does our worrying become more toxic than it is helpful? And this is just my neurosis kicking in and no one actually cares to the point I should just let it the fuck go? And then I debated of the word neurosis. Was that the correct word? Was that going to a. Be made fun of if I ever saw it. And b. Wouldn’t looking up a word’s exact definition be counter productive of the ride of me becoming high and writing things down? Just letting it flow? And what would have happened to me back in the day when we couldn’t look up what it meant? That’s why grammar used to not matter because it wasn’t accessible to everyone. So it developed. That’s why different slangs become different languages. That’s how things develop. That’s how languages and prejudices develop. Who gives a shit about what someone talks like? That’s just a different language in a way. But at the same time, when you see people talking the same way and they’re becoming a group that likes each other, and they start rebelling against the bigger group, THEY get hated one because they’re not conforming. They’re making a new unique color that allows us to see a smaller faction. And then at what point is there just not enough space on this planet to hold enough factions of personalities? Each and every individual has to have some variance, right? So we have to start to try and balance out. We have to rely on others with similarities. We have to conform to others for love and support. But we still want to be unique and interesting.W e have to be red, but we can be ruby or Scarlett or whatever. And maybe if you’re born in the wrong color, fucking move. leave. Find your color. If you’re different you shouldn’t suffer because you’re different, you should go to somewhere that loves you because you’re that way. But then those color congregate together and eventually look the SAME so someone has to “branch out” and rebel and these little things are getting so smaller and smaller and each group is less people until it finally just tears one human apart having so many conflicting distinct bits. So we have to be boring and BE something. One individual thing. But one thing that has to be with other things. And how much of their color do you adapt to be comfortable? And how much of your color do you give to comfortable? And do they want it? is that what a relationship is? Sharing colors. Two people either make a pattern, or a blend. You have a marble of two complimentary colors, and maybe they’re Kelly green and forest green. They’re this beautiful detail work of each individual’s personality but when they’re zoomed out, it’s just green. They look the same. They’re similar. You’re always going to be so different to someone, and if you want to get on with hem, you have to find a pattern. Others you can blend with, one part of you blending into the other. Different kind of relationships define where the boundaries are. Ombre vs. pattern. They’re both beautiful in different ways, and evoke a totally different emotion, but they’re both amazing. I can like one more than the other, but that doesn’t give the other thing a lesser value. Just my preference. Enough people have to agree, and that’s supply and demand. But then someone is going to like the lesser preferred thing and bring it back. It’s just going with the waves. What part of the color pattern are you in in your time? Are you ahead? Are you behind? All of them are fine and help out in a way. And then expanding into the value of preserving and eventually things fail and that’s OKAY. Things go away. You have to move on. But don’t shove those things away, let it go gently.

Ow my brain hurts.

If I can’t find my own color, I will either drown or I will become someone else. I need to know who I am to know how to work with people. How hard do you dive into yourself before you’re selfish? How can I catch up when I’m already so behind? I’m so young when it comes to emotions and figuring out what my own color is. I don’t want to be swallowed up by the vast (pastel pea green btw) nothingness I’m trying to fill. I want to appreciate others but how do I know I’m not giving them more than I should? And then how will I know when to stop? When I’m as mature as I should be and I shouldn’t shut down and try and be older than I am. That’s why the internet sucks. We don’t see people’s developmental age. We are so angry with others because we assume that they see what we see. That they know what we know. They don’t! They’re not your neighbor down the block most of the time. They have a VASTLY different experience and background. And some of it is bad!!!! Just like yours!!! And you grew and let’s STOP holding thirteen year olds on the internet accountable for the emotional maturity of 30 year olds! But HOW do we know what to expect on the internet? I can’t look at someone and be like “Oh, okay, this person is 10 and probably won’t have learned this yet” or “You’re fucking 50 and you still don’t know this about others that’s ridiculous”  but then we have this differential of base knowledge too!! Like someone growing up in Thailand is going to have a very different core base of knowledge than others. So like, legends of this beast, but what if they’re just stories of Pangea? Like, if crocs had this mythology around them but they’re fucking REAL yikes! But they’ve developed in this oral story tradition and now they’re the Loch Ness monster or w/e and people are holding assumptions because of this myth, and it grew because telling stories always changes them!!! That’s super cool and that’s how people become legends, but know that the farther you are from someone in the way you’re talking to them, the less likely it’s going to be accurate. And then things evolve.