#it happened a couple of days ago and sorta quickly sketched it up

[rudywatermelon]

Rough Day

Drew this as sketch for my own comfort. After finishing the sketch, say fuck it we ball and made this happen

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Background below ⬇️

[bubblegumholland]

If I could have one thing (Tom Holland X Sick! Reader) Everything, Everything AU

Sick Reader AU

Tom Holland X Sick! Reader

Y/n was diagnosed with severe combined immunodeficiency, which meant her immune system was incredibly underdeveloped. Because of this endeavor she grew up in her home, devoid of any human interactions or outside experiences. But of all of that changed, because of one boy. 

Y/N stared at her laptop, her only friend. Of course she had her nurse and mom was around occasionally, but she didn’t consider them “friends”. 

Her mother would buy her anything she desired but she couldn’t buy her a friend. One day the house next door was bought, she thought she might have her wish. The Hollands seemed like great people, from what Y/N could see from her window. There were four sons. Twin boys about fifteen, the youngest probably ten or so, and then the oldest. He was gorgeous, lean in the way all teenage boys were, brown curls atop his head, and least 5′7″, seventeen/eighteen. She had a crush as soon as she saw him. But once summer ended and school began she saw him less. Of course, he didn’t know she existed, but she noticed the lack of him outside, skateboarding or playing with his dog. Until one day mid-October that changed. Y/N was typing on her laptop when she heard a loud clang on her window. She walked over tentatively, glancing down to see what happened. And she saw them, the Holland boys. One of the twins was holding a baseball and the oldest had a bat clutched in his hands, along with a terrified expression. She laughed at his face and shyly waved. He seemed to be awakened from his dazed state as a lazy smile spread over his lips and he waved back. This was it, her first interaction with the cute neighbor boy, and it was perfect. But as all good things do, it came to an end. His mother poked her head outside and hollered for them to come in. The eldest was slow to respond but after his mother’s second shout he snapped out of his trance. His footsteps were hesitant but eventually led him inside. His smile was imprinted in her mind, one of the loveliest things she’d ever seen. Y/N went to bed that night with a certain grin on her mind and a certain boy in her dreams. 

That was two days ago. She figured he woke up the next morning and forgot all about her. Until that evening she heard another clang on her window. She groaned as she clambered out of bed to check. But what she saw was much more exciting than her serial killer documentary. There the oldest Holland boy was, standing by the open window of the next house over holding a whiteboard.

“Hi”

He had a nervous smile on his lips, seemingly unsure how she would react. She held up a single finger to show she needed a moment, then she browsed her room for something to write on. She settled on a mostly blank sketch pad.

“Hey,” she wrote back.

He erased his whiteboard and quickly scribbled something on it.

“I’m Tom,” it read in his obvious boyish penmanship. 

Tom. Perfect name.

She smiled and flipped her page to write her own name. He smiled as he read it.

“That’s beautiful.”

Y/N blushed, thinking it was nothing special. Tom scribbled something on his pad to hold up,

“How old are you?”

She proceeded to answer and ask questions with the cute boy. They spent hours getting to know each other. When he noticed the time he said his farewell and claimed he had to go to bed, cause school. She nodded sadly before she closed her blinds he held up his board,

“Tomorrow?”

She smiled and nodded happily this time. Maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be so bad. 

____

For the next few days, Tom and Y/N wrote, until she ran out of paper on her pad. She asked for his number, claiming that it would be easier. Tom was ecstatic at the exchange and gave her his number. After that, they spoke more often than before. Whenever he had a break between classes Y/N would open her phone to find memes, selfies, or just short messages. She smiled at every single one. One Friday night she dared to ask a certain question.

“Do you wanna call?”

He responded immediately, “Yes.”

Y/N took a deep breath before she hit the call button. It rang once before a boyish English voice answered.

“Hello?”

And with that he had her. 

“Hi,” she whispered shyly. 

“So that’s your beautiful voice.” He complimented.

She scoffed, “Oh please, you’re British! I had no clue.” She glanced out the bedroom window to see Tom standing in his.

“I never mentioned that?” He teased. She shook her head and laughed lightly.

“No, you didn’t,” 

He smiled, “I love your laugh,” 

She blushed at the kind words, laughing it off.

“Um, thanks. I love your accent, must make you popular with the girls!” 

Tom joked, “It does.” 

She bit her lip, trying to not be jealous. 

“Why aren’t you enrolled in the school system?” He asked the question she’d been dreading. 

She didn’t want to lie to her best (only) friend.

“Um... I’m sick.” She admitted after a moment of silence. Y/N didn’t want to look up and see the look of pity that was bound to be there. But when she did, the silence being too much, she didn’t see pity. She saw sorrow and pondering.

“What kind of sick?”

She bit her lip again, holding eye contact with Tom. 

“The kind where if I go outside, I die.”

Tom stared for a second, “You’re serious?” His accent showed greatly with these words.

“Not something I’d joke about.”

Then the pity came.

“I’m sorry,” she shook her head.

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault! it's not your fault I’ll never see the ocean, climb a mountain, or freaking pet a dog!” She realized she sorta yelled at him. 

“I’m sorry, you barely know me. You don’t care about my problems.”

Tom was quiet, before he whispered, “I do care.”

Y/N wasn’t really sure how to respond, causing an awkward silence. She glanced behind her at the clock that read 2:03am.

“It’s late... I should let you go to sleep.”

Tom opened his window to sit on the ledge, legs dangling over. 

“It’s Friday, I don’t have to be up early. Besides, I’d rather stay up to talk to you.”

Her heart fluttered, “Fine.”

He grinned cutely, “You mentioned petting dogs, I wish you could meet Tessa, you’d love her.” 

“What breed is she?”

“Pitbull,” He took the phone away from his ear and a couple of seconds later hers pinged. An adorable picture of his dog smiling up at him.

“Cute.”

The rest of the conversation flowed naturally until Y/N fell asleep with the phone to her ear and a smile on her face.

____

A/N Part one in my Sick! Reader fanfic. Inspired by “Everything, Everything” (although it’s been a while since I’ve seen it.) Ask to be added to the tag list! And my requests are always open! I love you guys and thank you for 267 followers! 

[coneygoil]

The Home We Built Together, part 15

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

Writer’s note:  I didn't expect to have another chapter ready this quickly! It sorta just happened that way XD The pacing sometimes has to include filler chapters and this is another one, but it's full of fluff! The next chapter, things will start to get suspicious...

The Night Fury. He’d found the Night Fury! Hiccup couldn’t believe his eyes. There in the cove was the dragon he’d successfully shot down then unexpectedly released. He grabbed for his notebook to quickly sketch it. He didn’t think he’d get the opportunity to see the elusive dragon one more time. But after it’s erratic flying two days ago on top of Gobber’s comment about going in for the kill, he knew he had to find the dragon in hopes of getting answers to his many questions.

Hiccup wasn’t sure what he’d actually do if he encountered the Night Fury again. The dragon may not have mercy on him a second time, but that was a risk he was willing to take.

“Why don’t you just…fly away?”

Then it caught his eye. The missing tail fin.

Hiccup rubbed away the charcoal lines, leaving a smudged spot where the matching tail fin should have been. He watched as the Night Fury, frustrated and exhausted, tried to snap a meal from the crystal clear pond below, only to come up empty. It was hungry and trapped in a magnificent, lush prison.

The pencil slipped from his hand and tinkled down the edge of the cliff, drawing the dragon’s attention. Two sets of greens eyes made contact. The intense stare of the dragon softened just a tad as it tilted its head at Hiccup.

Hiccup’s racing heart slowed the longer he stared back at the dragon as if a silent curiosity stood between them. He couldn’t leave this dragon there to die of starvation, not after it spared his life.

He’d return.

***

As interesting as the Book of Dragons was, it was absolutely useless for any information regarding Night Furies. Hiccup slapped the book closed and tossed it on his desk with a dejected sigh. He fell back onto his pillow, arms folded over his eyes. Was he the first person to ever come in close contact with a Night Fury? Out of all the Vikings in their 300 years of residing, was he really the only one?

Footfalls echoed up the stairs and Astrid appeared in the doorway a moment later. “How was the book?”

Hiccup gave her a half-smile. “Interesting. I learned about species I’d only heard of in name.” Except for the Night Fury.

He’d wormed his way through half the book before suppertime then promptly stuck his nose back in the pages right after helping pick up the dishes for Astrid to clean. He hadn’t noticed the frown she’d worn as he disappeared into their bedroom. He’d missed their evening routine of hot drinks by the firepit.

Hiccup turned his head to watch from his sprawled position on the bed as Astrid made her way to the trunk to retrieve her nightgown. Facing the wall, she removed her shoulder guards and skirt. Hiccup released a shuttering breath as Astrid pulled her shirt over her head and unwound her bindings, leaving the creamy skin of her back exposed.

A part of Hiccup throbbed at the sight. He witnessed the expanse of her bare back several times since his accidental viewing, but Hiccup knew he’d never not be affected by the sight of her bare skin.

To Hiccup’s chagrin, Astrid tugged the nightgown over her head and pulled off her tights from underneath the fabric. She discarded her kranson onto the nightstand and began to undo her braid. She grabbed the brush, slapping it on Hiccup’s stomach. He winced at the none-too-gentle smack.

“Brush my hair,” she ordered, dropping down beside him. She gave her hair a dramatic swoosh that tickled across Hiccup’s face.

Hiccup sat up with brush in hand and a warm pit in his stomach. He’d never brushed her hair, let alone touched it before. He’d longed to comb his fingers through the fringe of her bands and tuck a long lock behind her ear. This was far more than he’d imagined.

The brush hovered at the crown of her head as Hiccup pondered this new ground in their relationship. Astrid glanced back over her shoulder, questioningly. That one look stimulated his limbs to move.

He tentatively sank the bristles into her blonde locks, the stroke settling the waves created by the daytime braid. There were a few tangles to work out. Astrid suggested using his fingers on the tangles, and Hiccup hoped his hand wasn’t trembling as his fingers combed the strands.

After a couple minutes, the brush freely ran through her hair and Hiccup thought that was it. “Keep going…please,” Astrid said, hesitantly.

Hiccup didn’t need to be told twice. He continued the slow strokes through her hair. Astrid’s head tilted to the side just slightly as a tiny moan drifted from her throat. It was clear that this was something she enjoyed, and Hiccup to took note. He was rather enjoying this new form of intimacy between them. Her hair was softer than what he’d assumed. The tips of his fingers sometimes skimmed her back unintentionally. He could do this every night if she’d allow him.

“Your notebook fell out your vest pocket,” Astrid broke the comfy silence that had blanketed them, “it was open to a sketch of a dragon I didn’t recognize.”

Hiccup’s hand suddenly froze on her cascading blonde locks.

Astrid twisted to face him. “What species is it?”

Hiccup wracked his brain. Should he spill the beans that he’d found the Night Fury? He could full out lie that the dragon had gotten away while he was fighting it, but that’d probably be even less believable than the truth of him setting it free. Either way, both scenarios would be shameful. “It’s my theory of what a Night Fury looks like. I pieced together different ideas of what it could look like. It’s fast and dives at incredible speed, so it’s body must be sleek and streamlined with the various fins to maneuver it.”

Astrid nodded. “That’s an impressive theory.”

Hiccup blew out his cheeks before sighing in relief. She believed his theory, which was actually the truth. “Thanks.”

Astrid scooted around, tucking her knees under her. Golden locks poured over her right shoulder. Her eyes pierced his like blue lightning, electrifying his blood. Her cheeks were tinged pink and her lips were oh-so-inviting. Her question just moments ago was forgotten as Hiccup’s longing to kiss his wife sent his mind whirling.

He leaned into her space, catching Astrid’s eyelids closing as his shut naturally. Tentatively, their lips brushed together as they became more familiar and comfortable with the feeling. The warmth radiating from her was incredible and he could have stayed there the rest of the evening bathing in it.

His lips were slightly chapped and as they parted for a brief second in their explorations, he slicked his tongue across his bottom lip accidentally catching Astrid’s bottom lip as well.

Hiccup kicked himself as Astrid withdrew out of reach. “Sorry, I didn’t do that on purpose.”

“It’s okay,” she reassured. The pink of her cheeks darkened. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

The moment had passed. Hiccup’s tunic felt sweltering on him at the mistake. He didn’t know what to do. Should he try to initiate another kiss? Should he move on and start a chat? Or maybe go to bed and sleep off the embarrassment –

Thankfully, Astrid decided for him.

“Turn around.”

Hiccup’s brows drew together, questioningly. “Why?”  

“Just do it,” Astrid ordered, twirling her finger.

Hiccup obliged. He wasn’t sure what Astrid had planned, and nearly jumped when she touched his hair, a sensation he was not used to. She smoothed her palms along his scalp, her digits catching a bundle of hair and pulling it to separate from the rest of the strands. She was hard at work at her task.

“What’re you doing back there?” Hiccup asked, twisting his neck to glance at her.

Astrid forced him to look forward again. “Braiding.”

“I don’t really want a braid.” Hiccup gave a little yelp when Astrid yanked on the braid she was forming. “But I could get used to it.”

Hiccup caught the sly smirk running across Astrid’s lips as she leaned into his peripheral vision. She tied off the braid then smoothed her fingertips feather-light down his back, causing a pleasant wave through Hiccup’s body.

Hiccup frowned at the loss of her touch as she scooted off the bed to finish her nighttime routine. He reached back and slid fingers down the braid to the end. There were many things he could get used to be close to her.  

 @martabm90 @chiefhiccstrid @lauracalabresi

[hysterialevi]

When the Devil Cries pt. 25

Fanfic summary: (NO SPOILERS IN THIS STORY) After arriving in Saint Denis, Arthur ends up falling in love with a seemingly innocent pianist, only to find himself in a battle with one of the most notorious outlaws to ever emerge from America. Now, between working for Dutch and robbing money for the gang, Arthur has to also protect the man he loves as the two of them try to find their freedom.

Pairing: Arthur Morgan/Male OC

Previous chapter

This story is also on AO3

Author’s note: ***Small spoilers about Arthur’s past in this chapter!***

From Arthur’s POV

THE NEXT MORNING

Sliding the pencil across the paper, I drew a simple sketch of Eddie while he continued to sleep, his entire body submerged under the thick layers of blankets as he got some well-deserved rest. The boy looked perfectly content at the moment and didn’t have a single hint of worry clouding his expression. Instead, he simply drifted away in whatever dream was floatin’ around his head at the moment and held onto the pillow as if it was another person, squishin’ his face into the cushion.

I chuckled softly at the sight and added some details to his portrait, tryin’ to make it more than just a mess of scrawls and doodles like I normally did.

It had been a long time since I last sat down and drew something. With all the mayhem goin’ on recently, I almost forgot what it felt like to lose myself in my journal. But being back in Saint Denis, and preparing for this riverboat robbery -- it all got me itchin’ to sketch something again. And, I figured, who better to draw than the person I enjoyed being around the most?

Lightly scratching the pencil’s tip in a series of short strokes, I scribbled down Eddie’s ruffled hair and added some shadows around the sliver of sunlight runnin’ across his face, trying to make it as gentle as possible. He appeared to be in a complete state of solace right now, and I wanted to capture it as best I could. After all, I doubted it’d be a long while before he’d be this calm again, considerin’ what was coming up in the near-future...and I couldn’t deny that I was scared, too.

I mean, with the direction Dutch was headed in and the way our gang was slowly fallin’ apart, it made me question just how much longer this whole thing was actually gonna last. Civilization was storming through the country at a rate we couldn’t keep up with, and the more we ran from it, the more it seemed to close its walls around us.

We was only delaying the inevitable, s’far as I was concerned. Sooner or later, America was gonna throw us out like it did everything else, and we’d have to be ready for it. Whether we wanted to or not.

Catchin’ my attention with the soft sound of rustling, a gentle sniff reached my ears as I stopped drawing for a second and put down my journal, only to find Eddie sleepily looking back at me from the bed. His eyes were half-open just as I expected, and a lazy smile radiated on his face as he rose from slumber.

I smirked at him, placin’ the journal on my lap.

“There he is,” I teased. “Thought you was never gonna wake up.”

Eddie chuckled at that and glanced at my journal, causin’ him to raise a brow outta curiosity.

“...Are you drawing me?” He asked.

I nodded and carefully began to tear the sketch out, handing it to him.

“You mentioned Rodrick burned the other portrait. I, ah...figured I could make a replacement.”

The pianist sat up and took the sketch in his grasp, admiring it in a fond manner before beaming at me.

“Thank you, Arthur,” he said, his expression dimming with sadness. “I mean it. ...I truly thought I’d never see you again when I was stuck in that cellar with Rodrick. I know I wasn’t there for very long, but...he certainly made it feel like an eternity. I’m just glad you showed up before anything else could happen. If you hadn’t...I...I don’t even want to think about that.”

I let out a guilt-ridden sigh, starin’ at the numerous scars Rodrick had left on Eddie’s body.

“You and me both. I’m just sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

Eddie’s sorrowful mood was quickly replaced with a sense of vengeance and he firmly shook his head in response, starin’ outside the window.

“I swear, Arthur...before all this comes to an end, I’m killing everyone in that bloody gang. Atticus, Rodrick, and anyone else who laid a finger on you or my family. They all deserve to die. They need to be wiped out.”

I suddenly thought back to what Hosea had warned me about and finally decided to bring up the subject, scootin’ my chair closer to the boy as Hosea’s final words rang in my head like a distant bell.

“...Actually, Eddie,” I said lowly, shutting my journal closed, “I’ve been meanin’ to talk to you about that.”

Eddie perked his head up, softening his tone slightly. “About what?”

I hesitated for a second and leaned forward, tryin’ to get my thoughts straight as the pianist waited for an explanation.

“I know this might sound strange at first, but...if my years as an outlaw have taught me anything, it’s that revenge...ain’t worth the sacrifice.”

The pianist gave me a puzzled look. “...I-I don’t understand. How can wanting to kill Atticus be a bad thing? Don’t you think he deserves death?”

“Of course I think he deserves death,” I replied. “But we may not be the ones to deliver it, and we’d be fools to hunt him down. I mean...just look at Dutch. He’s obsessed with takin’ revenge. It’s the only thing he lives for now. Sadie, too. Their want for revenge has consumed the both of them, and it’s turned ‘em into killers.”

I paused for a second, lookin’ at Eddie with a caring expression. “...But you ain’t no killer, Eddie. And I don’t wanna see you become one. You’re still young. You still have the potential to live a normal life, once all this is over. Atticus has already stolen your past from you. Don’t throw away your future for that bastard, too.”

The boy fell silent at that and thought to himself, clearly experiencing some sorta inner conflict now that I was sayin’ these things. He seemed to see my point and I could tell he knew where I was coming from, but there was still a reluctance to agree.

Tryin’ to make my point more understandable for him, I decided to tell Eddie a story that I hadn’t told anyone else aside from Dutch and Hosea, and took a deep breath, hoping that this would be able to change his mind.

“...Lemme put it this way,” I began, gaining the pianist’s attention. “I was once in the same position as you, Eddie. I know how temptin’ revenge is...and I’ve seen what happens if you give in to it. I lost my family too. Many years ago. Just like you did.”

That piqued his interest. “...Really?”

A mournful breath escaped me. “Yeah. I...I used to have a son, actually. His name was Isaac. He was...such a good kid. And so was his mother, I guess. Just a nineteen-year-old girl named Eliza. They was the closest thing to a real family I ever had. I wasn’t able to stay with them all the time ‘cause of my work with Dutch, but every few months or so, I’d go back home and stay with ‘em for a couple of days. Try to give Isaac some sort of father figure. And for a while, it worked. But...just like everything else, it eventually failed.”

I brought my gaze to the floor, admittedly findin’ this a lot harder to talk about than I first anticipated.

“I came back home one day...and saw two crosses outside. I knew right away what happened. I just didn’t know how. It turned out -- they was robbed. And killed. All for ten bucks.”

I swallowed out of grief and bit my lip, thinking back to that god-awful day as Eddie listened intently.

“Their deaths...” I continued, trying keep it together, “they changed somethin’ inside me. I spent so long tracking down their killers. It was all I cared about for the next few months. I didn’t care about Dutch, or Hosea, or the gang...the only thing I wanted was to find the people who had killed them, and make them pay for it.”

I repainted the killers’ faces in my mind, gesturin’ to an invisible scene as I carried on with the story.

“...One night, I found their camp while I was searching along a river bank.  They were all there, huddled ‘round a campfire and sharin’ drinks. Having a good ol’ time. They almost reminded me of our gang...but that didn’t matter to me. Without saying a word, I stormed in there like an absolute madman and shot the whole lot of them. Set their stuff on fire. Did everything I could to make sure they was sufferin’ in their last moments. And I sure as shit did.”

I glanced down at my hands. “When it was over, though...I felt...strange. I remember I was sittin’ there in the middle of their camp, kneeling on the ground with bodies lying all around me and blood staining my hands. The peace I had been looking for was nowhere to be found. Instead...I just felt empty. Like I no longer had a reason to live now that my family’s killers were dead. I had sacrificed everything for these bastards, and forgotten the man I once was in the process.”

I turned back to Eddie, resting a hand on top of his.

“You’re the only person I’ve found ever since then who’s...who’s made me care again. Who’s made me feel like this ain’t a waste of time. So please, Eddie. Don’t do what I did. Don’t become the man I am. You’ll never find peace otherwise, and there ain’t no goin’ back. Can you promise me you won’t?”

The boy was quiet for a while, evidently taken aback by the story I just told him and surprised about my past while he considered everything I said. There was still a fire in his eyes that told me his desire to kill Atticus hadn’t gone anywhere -- and that it probably wouldn’t anytime soon -- but against all better judgement, Eddie eventually gave in and sighed out of defeat, agreeing to promise this one thing.

“...Okay,” he whispered vehemently. “It’s...going to take me some time to understand all this completely, but if you think this is what’s best for me...then I’ll do it. I promise.”

I nodded in approval. “Thank you, Eddie.”

Having had enough of this melancholic mood, I cleared my throat and stood up from the chair, gettin’ ready to head outside the saloon as I brought my mind back to the robbery at hand.

“Anyways,” I said, “I’ll let you get dressed. Meet me outside when you’re finished cleanin’ up, and then we’ll head back to camp and...let Dutch know what’s what.”

“Alright,” the pianist replied. “You sure we can rob this riverboat?”

I shrugged, makin’ my way out the door.

“I ain’t sure of nothin’ just yet. All I know is there’s money on that boat, and Dutch wants it. So long as he’s got his eyes on that cash, we ain’t going nowhere. The best we can do is be prepared, and keep our eyes peeled. Other than that...” I opened the door, scoffing in an amused tone, “we’ll just pray, I guess. But at this point, pfft...I doubt even God would bother savin’ us.”

[sockablock]

• (start) (prev) (next) •

Chapter 9: Tinsel on the Awnings

“No, no,” said Caleb, reaching for his pencil. “You have to account for Reichden’s Law of Opposing Forces. Otherwise you will just make the lightning even worse. Here, the glyph should look like this.”

Fjord, on his stool across the library counter, sighed. “I knew there was something wrong. I guess I just couldn’t put my finger on it.”

Caleb hummed his agreement as he worked. “No offense meant, but I am surprised you would make this mistake. It is...Spellcasting 101, you might say. Did your teachers never show this to you before?”

“Er, no,” Fjord admitted. “But I’ve also never exactly taken a magic class before, so I guess it makes sense that I’d fuck up like this.”

“You’ve…” Caleb’s hand paused over the page. “You’ve never been taught this in a formal setting?”

Fjord shrugged. “Is that hard to believe? I mean, you know how shitty I am at this. You’ve watched me fuck up for two weeks, now.”

“Yes," Caleb blinked, "but…to be perfectly honest, I thought you would at least know the basics. After all, Fjord, I saw you do magic that night at the Moondrop. You have arcane capabilities, you cast spells that I could not even name.”

Something flickered behind Fjord's eyes, but he tamped it down quickly. “Well…yeah,” he said slowly. “But that’s, um…”

He sighed and leaned in, lowering his voice. “Caleb, I’ve never really talked about this before, not even with Jes. So, you’ve gotta promise me that you’ll be discrete, alright?”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, but nodded. “Ja, okay. Sure.”

Fjord took a deep breath. “I, um…I’ve never actually learned magic before. And those spells you saw…I don’t think they were the wizardly kind—”

“—they certainly did not appear to be—”

“—right. So, what I’m saying is, I think my powers are...I didn't get 'em out of books. I just sorta…wish really hard for something to happen, and then it does. Is that, is that weird? Is that normal?”

Caleb suddenly burst into laughter, catching Fjord completely by surprise. “I just spilled my guts out there a bit,” he said with mild reproach. “Was there something funny about it?”

Caleb wiped at the corner of his eyes and shook his head. “Nein, no, well…maybe a little bit funny. Oh, you should have told me that in the first place! Now I understand.”

He met Fjord’s bewildered gaze and smiled faintly. “You are just a sorcerer, Fjord. There is nothing wrong with that. Your abilities are inborn, and natural to you.” Then he waved his hand dismissively over their notes, and the rough sketches of arcane symbols and circles across the pages. “You do not need any of this, my friend. You just need to practice your own skills. Mein gott, I cannot believe I was trying to teach magic to a sorcerer.”

Fjord found himself grinning as well, despite his confusion. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, uh…I didn’t realize there was somethin’ different about…uh…wait, are you sayin’ that your magic isn’t coming from you?”

“Oh, of course not,” Caleb chuckled. “I channel the raw arcana that exists in this world around us, in every living thing, in every thought and idea and emotion and et cetera. That is what all this chicken-scratch is,” he added, pointing at the notes. “But you get your magic from yourself. Whether it be because your ancestors were cursed, or blessed, or maybe one of them was a dragon, I don’t know, were your parents dragons, by any chance?”

Fjord’s smile faded slightly. “Uh…probably not,” he said. “I never, uh, knew them.”

Caleb’s jovial air immediately vanished. “Scheiss,” he said, “I am sorry. That was tasteless—”

Fjord shook his head. “No, no, don’t worry about it. But, uh…just checking, are those the only kinds of people who do magic? There aren’t, I dunno, there aren’t any individuals who just kind of picked it up along the way, or maybe they found something that granted them powers, or anything? It’s, it’s great to know I’m a sorcerer, that’s so cool, but you know, since we’re on the subject, is there anything…else?”

“Oh, ja, there are all sorts out there in the world. Warlocks, most of them, who tie themselves to unspeakable evils in exchange for a bit of power, sure.”

“Oh,” Fjord squeaked. “Uh…unspeakable evils, huh?”

Caleb shrugged. “Well, not always evil. Sometimes they’re gods, or they’re wandering spirits with nothing better to do. But I was always taught that more often than not, otherworldly patrons have otherworldly agendas that usually spell disaster. Then again, I was taught many things that today, I do not necessarily agree with.”

Caleb picked up his pencil again, and nodded to Fjord. “Now that we have established my uselessness as a magical tutor, then, perhaps we should spend the next hour on something else.”

“What?” Fjord asked, jolting out of his daze.

“What else do you need assistance with?” Caleb repeated. “Jester stopped by a few days ago asking about the Ratio Test, and your study guide says it will be on the final exam soon. Would you like to go over that?”

Fjord blinked, and then nodded quickly and reached for his math binder. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” he said. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

"How do you feel, so far? Do you understand it?"

Fjord rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Uh...actually, I kind of don't. Sorry, I really haven't had time to study lately, what with all the craziness at work, and everythin' that goes into moving apartments."

“No worries, I am here to help. That is what you are, under my protest, paying me for, yes?”

“Gods, Caleb, I’m not gonna extort free labor from you. Not even if you insist.”

“I told you, it was more than enough for you advertise my services to your classmates. I am fully booked for this week, Fjord! That is…truly, that is an incredible gift you have given me.”

Fjord grinned. “Don't thank me, thank reading week," he said. "But, I mean...yeah. Of course. That’s what friends are for, right?”

Caleb chuckled softly. “You know, Jester has been sneaking envelopes of cash into my bags before she leaves from her lessons as well, now. Do you…do you have anything to do with that?”

“I dunno,” Fjord said, though it sounded like he did. “It doesn’t ring a bell.”

Caleb snorted. “I still haven’t figured out what rate she is paying me,” he said. “Sometimes it looks like ten cents an hour, sometimes thirty dollars. Does she understand how much money is worth?”

Fjord sighed, and flipped open to his notes. “I’ve seen the size of her trust fund,” he said. “She hasn’t got a clue.”

“Well,” Caleb said, reaching for his own papers, “let us hope she never has to learn.”

•

At this time of year, the Pentamarket Square was in full holiday swing. Storefronts burst with gold and silver lights, tinsel glittered along the awnings, and colorful wreaths adorned their doors. The usual wide tents of the street vendors had been replaced with wooden booths, their four walls covered in more sparkling lights, and their space heaters spilling warmth over the open counters and into the brisk winter air. Children wrapped in parkas and woolen hats ran through the cobbled plaza, and young couples window-shopped hand-in-hand. Cheery music played from a number of outdoor speakers, and the smell of hot baked goods, wisps of cinnamon, sugar, and chocolate syrup, drifted up and over the crowd.

This was the Winter Market, and it would last up until the week after New Dawn.

Nott the Brave, skipping cheerfully through the crowd at knee-height, was here to take advantage of that. Her pockets were already rather heavier than they had been this morning.

But just as she spotted a particularly promising-looking old woman with a shiny polished cane, she heard something that made her stop dead in her tracks and look around wildly.

“—ah, you look like someone who’d like to know their future, how about it? No? Well then, how about you, miss? Yes, I can see you’ve got something very important happening soon! What’s that? Well, you’d have to sit down for a reading to find out, eh?”

Nott immediately abandoned her search for loose wallets and jewelry and began shoving her way through, weaving around legs and ducking under shopping bags, until she arrived at a tented stall selling warm apple cider.

Next to it, sitting cross-legged on a thick, navy-blue carpet, was none other than Mollymauk Tealeaf himself. He was wearing his full makeup, glittering eyeshadow and all, and had his crimson performer’s coat on. A white cardboard sign by his knee read, FORTUNES TOLD FOR GENEROUS TIPPERS, and he was shuffling a thick stack of blue-and-gold cards between his fingers as he beamed widely at passing shoppers, winked to small children, even tipped an imaginary hat to an old woman walking by.

And then he caught sight of Nott, her face poking out from behind a young couple’s shins. His eyebrows shot up, and he smirked all the way until she had finally managed to throw herself onto his carpet, the small rectangular island of peace in this sea of people.

“Well, well, well,” Molly grinned, setting his cards aside and gesturing for her to sit. “Look at what the cat dragged in! Nott the Brave, how are you, dear?”

Nott took the seat opposite him. “I’m fine, I guess, but what’s up with you? Why are you here?”

Molly shrugged. “It’s the holiday season, dear. No better time for attracting customers! Well, it’s not quite as good as Midsummer or Merryfrond’s Day, or Harvest’s Close, but it’s best you can do in the winter, eh?”

“Winter sucks,” Nott grumbled. “Aren’t you freezing, out here? Most people bundle up so much there’s nothing I can pickpocket.”

Molly snorted. “Is that why you’re here?” he asked.

Nott crossed her arms. “You can’t prove anything,” she said. “But seriously, isn’t it cold? You’re going to get sick.”

“I won’t,” he reassured her, “tieflings run hot.”

“You’re not running now. How is that supposed to help?”

Molly opened his mouth as if to respond, then paused, and sighed. “Nevermind, dear. But hey, since you’re already here, how about a reading? I’d be willing to do it free of charge, for a friend as delightful as you.”

Nott rubbed her chin. “Are we even friends? I mean, I know we hang out with the same people, I think, but the two of us have never exactly…bonded.”

Molly waved a hand dismissively. “Let’s make this our bonding experience, then! Let me read your fortune.”

She responded with a suspicious glare. “This isn’t your way of buttering me up because you want to get to Caleb, is it?”

Molly lowered his hand. “Of course not!” he said. “But, er, he hasn’t mentioned me at all, has he? It’s been a couple weeks but, uh, I was just curious,” he added hastily.

“Ha! I knew it.”

“Come on, Nott, you can’t blame me for just asking. Besides, I am genuinely invested in getting to know you, now. Jester likes you plenty, and Yasha seems to have taken a shine to you, and you insult Beau just as much as I do, so really, we’re just best friends waiting to happen.”

She eyed him over carefully. Then she sighed and nodded. “Alright, alright, performer boy—”

“—mmm, not boy.”

“Performer person?”

“That’s sort of better—”

“Performer fey-being?”

“...sure, alright. Yeah, let's go with that.”

Nott nodded and leaned in. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Molly deftly scooped his cards back up and began to toss them from hand to hand, effortlessly forming a gleaming bridge between his fingers. He laughed cheekily as Nott rolled her eyes at the extravagance of it all. Then he made a few more passes, flicked his wrist elegantly, and let three cards fall onto the carpet between them. They landed face-down, lined up evenly next to one another, and Nott genuinely couldn’t tell if that was dumb luck, or pure skill.

“Would you like to flip them over yourself?” he asked generously.

“Why?” she asked. “Is that part of the trick?”

Molly scoffed. “It’s not a trick. It’s fortune-telling.”

Nott raised her eyebrow. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

•

“Hey, Beau?” Jester asked, lowering her magazine. “I know I don’t usually ask about this kind of stuff, but…shouldn’t you be looking for a job?”

Beau, who had been furiously doing chin-ups on a rod jammed into the doorway leading into the living room, paused. Arms raised, bare feet brushing the ground, she gave Jester a suspicious look.

“Why’re you so interested, all of a sudden?” she asked. “You’re not worried about money, are you?”

“No, no,” Jester said, and set aside her issue of Iva’s Secrets. “Well, okay, kind of a little bit. But I’m worried about your money. What are you going to do when I move out? Are, are you going to, to find a super-rich roommate, or something?”

Beau dropped off the bar and sighed. “It’s sort of a long story, but I don’t really…I’m actually good, financially speaking.”

Jester blinked. “Good? What do you mean by that?”

“I just mean…it’s not a concern. I found a way to get cash.” She leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. “It’s not even illegal, so don’t worry about that either.”

“You just found some way to make money like that, not illegally, where you don’t have to work for it?”

“Yup.”

Jester considered this. Then she reached for her magazine and nodded. “You should write an article or something about that for Iva. That sounds just like the sort of thing that she likes to put on the cover.”

“I’m really concerned about what that rag is teaching you, Jes.”

“I’m not.”

Beau snorted. “Fair enough,” she said. Then she added, under her breath, “It wouldn’t really work for everyone, anyways.”

•

“—and then I told him that his fortunes aren’t right, because I’ve never even owned that many swords before.”

Caleb paused in his whiteboard calculations, bit the end of his dry-erase marker, and stared at Nott. She was sitting at the edge of the kitchen table, swinging her legs off the side and peacefully decimating family-sized pack of chips.

“Are you…aware of how tarot cards work?” he asked slowly.

She waved a hand dismissively, sending Xtreme BBQ flavoring scattering through the ar. “Not really. But I also wasn’t paying too much attention, because while he was talking, I saw a woman passing by with some really nice buttons, so I was busy trying to Mage Hand them off of her.”

“Ah,” Caleb said weakly. “I see. And did you get those buttons that you wanted?”

She beamed, wiped her hand off, and fished around in her hoodie. She produced three glittering, gold baubles the size of her fingernails.

“Got ‘em. Look, look, they’re in the shapes of flowers, I think.”

Caleb did not in fact look very closely, but his slightly-weary, mildly-amused smile was good enough for Nott.

“How’s the accountant stuff going?” she asked after the buttons had been safely stowed back into her pockets. “Are we looking good for the month?”

“More than good,” Caleb grinned, and swiveled the whiteboard around for her to see. “We are looking the best that we ever had, spatz, thanks to Fjord and Jester for getting their classmates to hire me. Movie night tomorrow will go off without a hitch, I am sure. We even have money for extra pizzas! We can even go to a bookstore, can you imagine?”

“I can,” Nott said happily. “I can imagine it real well. Thanks, Caleb.”

He scoffed. “Do not thank me, I am just riding on a wave of good luck and kind people.”

“No, no,” Nott shook her head. “I meant, thanks for keeping me around. And for, um, buying me stuff, and letting me live here. And for not kicking me out even though you’re rich now.”

“I am not rich, far from it,” he laughed. “But…” he added in a more somber tone, “well, of course. Of course. It is a pleasure and an honor that you are my friend, and I wouldn’t exchange that for anything else.”

Nott cracked a small smile. “Thanks, Caleb,” she said. “I wouldn’t, either. Here, have some chips.”

After that lull in the conversation, he went back to checking over his math, then set on memorizing the contents of their budget. But just as the thought crossed his mind that, actually, I could just buy paper now to do this on, there was a loud cough from across the table. He looked up, and saw and Nott eyeing him over nervously, the snacks discarded at her side.

“Er…yes?” He blinked a few times. “Is everything alright?”

Nott sighed, and pulled out her phone. “That depends,” she said, and handed it over to Caleb. “That depends on whether or not you’d be willing to ask a specific purple bastard out for some more coffee.”

Caleb lowered his marker and frowned. “Er…what?” he asked.

She rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you spoke to Molly?” she asked. “Alone I mean, not at movie night. I know you don’t use your phone, and I bet you haven’t gone out together since.”

“Well, no,” Caleb frowned, “I have not. But…do I need to?”

“Didn’t you have fun on your last coffee-not-a-date?”

“Yes? I did?”

“So don’t you want to do it again?”

Caleb hesitated. He fidgeted with his marker. “No? Er…yes. Wait, no, that’s…” He sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, I had fun,” he said. “But that does not mean…that does not mean I want to ask Molly to do it once more. I mean, what reason would we even have to meet up? He does not have any of my possessions, at the moment, and I do not have any of his.”

Nott stared at him incredulously. “Caleb…you don’t need an excuse to see him.”

He bit his lip. “Yes, I do.”

“What? Why’s that?”

Caleb sighed, and put his forehead against the kitchen table. “I…I can’t just ask him. He’s probably busy, and probably has much better things to do.”

“Now, that’s just a lie,” Nott countered. “Both of us know pretty well that he’s been bored out of his mind ever since the Moondrop shut down.”

“Ja, alright, but he would probably be offended if I asked him to coffee out of pity.”

“But it’s not out of pity, it’s because you’re friends and you want to hang out!”

“Are we…friends?”

Nott leaned over, and prodded Caleb between the eyes. “You won’t be for long, if you keep avoiding him! Come on, it’s easy! Just pick up the phone, ask him if he’s busy. I don’t know why you’re so freaked out.”

Caleb considered this. He thought about telling the truth, telling Nott that he couldn’t do it, that he was afraid to ask, that if he initiated things, then he would be acknowledging his own feelings, that he would be indulging in something he shouldn’t, that he would be making things real, that he didn’t deserve this happiness, and that worst of all, above everything else, he would be betraying her—

But then he thought about how much he didn’t want to say any of that. He thought about how excited Nott was for him, how supportive she had become, and really, how nervous and excited and elated he felt at the prospect of seeing…

Caleb sighed, and reached for Nott’s cell phone.

“Fine, fine. But you’re going to help me compose the message, spatz. I…I really don’t remember how to do this sort of thing.”

Nott grinned. “Oh, I know exactly what to do! I’ve been reading that magazine Jester showed me, ever since you got back from the last date."

“You’ve-wait, what?”

“Shhh. Don’t worry about it. Okay now, type this out—”

•

Today 6:22PM

Nott TB: good evening Mister Mollymauk Nott TB: it has been some time since we last spoke Nott TB: how are you doing? Molly Tealeaf: … Molly Tealeaf: nott what the fuck Molly Tealeaf: I just saw you today Molly Tealeaf: why are you talking like that

Molly, sprawled across his bed and back in his silk pajamas—at six in the evening, no less—watched the tiny dots appear at the bottom of his phone. He had a glass of wine in one hand, and an appropriately bewildered expression across his face.

Nott TB: schmid Nott TB: *scheiss Nott TB: I am so sorry this is Caleb, actually Nott TB: sorry

Molly spat his wine out. He practically threw the glass onto the nightstand in an effort to free both his thumbs.

Molly Tealeaf: CALEB Molly Tealeaf: GODS I THOUGHT THIS WAS NOTT Molly Tealeaf: CALEB???

There was a brief pause. And then the words:

Nott TB: yes, caleb Nott TB: Caleb Widogast? We went on that double date once Nott TB: and we fought a really big toad together a couple weeks ago Nott TB: I think you told nott a fortune this morning, I am her roommate

Molly snorted, and shook his head.

Molly Tealeaf: yes yes dear I know who you are! Molly Tealeaf: I was just surprised!! Molly Tealeaf: I didn’t think you knew how to text

Another pause.

Nott TB: nott says that youre joking and also that this is a common theme in our group chats Molly Tealeaf: shes absolutely correct Molly Tealeaf: now, how have YOU been? and how can I help you?’

Molly was not too proud to admit that he waited, with baited breath, for the answer.

Nott TB: oh Nott TB: actually I have been well Nott TB: and I was wondering Nott TB: if you were free any time this week? Nott TB: id like to get some coffee together, if you also would Nott TB: my treat this time

Molly felt his soul burst into song.

Molly Tealeaf: that sounds lovely!! Molly Tealeaf: and I would never say no to such a gentleman Molly Tealeaf: Wednesday or Thursday works for me! Nott TB: thursday it is

Then there was a long pause, and the “…” icon appeared on the screen for almost a minute, before one last text came through.

Nott TB: I have missed spending time with you Nott TB: see you then.

Then this was followed by another message.

Nott TB: im back Nott TB: I hope your happy Nott TB: im deleting this conversation off my phone

Molly rolled his eyes, and waited a few more beats, just in case there was more on the way. When nothing else happened, he sighed deeply, screenshotted the entire exchange—for posterity’s sake. Then got up and waltzed out into the kitchen for more wine.

As he closed the refrigerator door, his eye caught the calendar that Fjord had hung up ten months ago. They had used it for about a week, before promptly abandoning it in favor of never knowing what day it was.

He flipped all the way to the last page, and found at this coming Thursday.

Soon.

•

“Oh, but then he confesses his love for her!” Jester sighed, leaning flush against the brick wall behind their building and pressing a hand to her forehead. “He tells her that no matter what, he would stay true to her forever, and then she starts crying because no man has ever been that open and loving to her in her entire life!”

“Uh-huh,” Beau mumbled. She was only half-listening to Jester’s account of Guard of My Heart, instead directing most of her energy towards trying to open the lid of the dumpster—which had sealed itself shut with a thin layer of frozen trash slime—as fast as possible, so they could get back inside. The weather forecast had predicted heavy snowfall tonight.

“But then in the second act, her family finds out about it!” Jester continued. “And of course they don’t approve, she’s a high-ranking member of the Crownsguard! And he’s only a lowly butler, but they’re so in love, and—”

“Uh-huh,” Beau muttered. She had almost lost her thumb to jagged ice, and was now trying to figure out a different angle of attack.

“Beau, are you even listening?” Jester asked, crossing her arms. “You just cut me off.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Maybe if she wedged a stick under the hinges, yes, that could work—

“Beau! Beauuuuuu, are you sure you’re listening?”

“Yeah, yeah, Jester, their…families suck?”

“Oh. Oh, you were paying attention! Right, okay, so, basically what happens next is that her dad forces him to a duel for her favor, and the conditions are that he has to duel a member of their family. And that sucks, because all of them are such badasses, you know? But then, oh my gosh, I didn’t even see this coming, she’s also in the family! And so now it’s two lovers forced to fight, one to prove his love and one to defend hers, and…”

Beau finally gave up, and took a deep breath, and slammed her shoulder as hard as she could into the tiny gap between the top of the lid and the dumpster itself. It flew open, leaving a rank trail of festering garbage-stink through the air as it went, and Beau was so relieved that she almost immediately threw the trash bag over the edge to call it a day.

But she didn’t.

Which was fortunate, because if not for that split second of hesitation, if not for the quick pause she had afforded this errand, Beau would have completely missed the tiny black bundle huddled in the corner of the bin, draped in dirty, wet fabric, and shivering in the cold.

She dropped the garbage bag onto the pavement. She threw her face closer to take a better look, ignoring the smell.

“What’s wrong?” Jester asked, and joined her at the edge of the dumpster. “What is it?”

“Do you see that?” Beau asked. “I…I can’t really see in the dark, but…there’s something in here? I think it’s moving?”

Jester peered in. “Ugh, it's so gross, what are—”

Her eyes, glowing a faint purple and built for low light, immediately latched on to what Beau was talking about.

“Oh, shit,” Jester breathed. “Oh my gods, what should we do?”

•

TUSK LOVE 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO Today 7:09PM

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: heyyyyyyyyyy guys? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: uh (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: I think maybe whoever is free right now might want to come over (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: beau and i sort of found something???? (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: and we need a little help Lavender Thunder: of course, I’ll come now Lavender Thunder: what kind of help? NottSoBrave: and what kind of something??? Seaman: fuck, im at work Jes Seaman: is everything alright? Drunkmonk: we're fine but like Drunkmonk: just Dunkmonk: you have to come and see alright? we don’t know what the fuck to do NottSoBrave: caleb says “don’t worry” NottSoBrave: caleb says “we’re on the way”

Today 7:14PM

NottSoBrave: caleb says “help we don’t have a car” DrunkMonk: good gods Lavender Thunder: im stealing Fjord’s station wagon, i’ll get you two NottSoBrave: caleb says “tell Molly I said thanks” Lavender Thunder: (o^-')b Lavender Thunder: be there in a flash

• • •

💚 ☕ ☕ 💚

[justaramblingromantic]

when she was little - part i

Characters/Pairing: Sarugaki Hiyori and Hirako Shinji/ShiYori

Type: Canon, Post!Series, Say Please!verse, Lily and Thistle!verse, ShiYori Week 2018, 

Word Count: 2897

A/N #01: First of seven parts. I will post an update daily just for this arc, in honor of ShiYori Week 2018. I’m already days behind and I don’t think I will be able to meet all the prompts, but I will still do what I can. :)

Wow. I’m still so amazed by the existence of a ShiYori week! Back in the golden days of this fandom grandma, we just yelled ship gibberish into the void and maybe every turn of the century, some casual ShiYori shipper would take pity and touch base for a while. This…This must be what they call progress!! You go, you, ShiYori Week Organizer!

FYI, this chapter corresponds to the Prompt for Day 1: Reversed.

A/N #02: Back to this arc – I’ve always wanted to explore a de-aged Hiyori so I finally got around to writing it. Baby!Hiyori is so cute I can’t even. I hope you guys have your fluff caps on.

Random note: I’m always endlessly amused that the ‘hiyo’ (ひよ) in Hiyori’s (ひよ里) name is also used in ‘hiyoko’ (ひよこ) – meaning ‘little chick,’ haha.

                                              Though she be but little, she is fierce!

                                                          - William Shakespeare

When Hiyori was late for lunch, which almost always never happened, Shinji should have already guessed that something was not right. 

His petite lover never missed a free meal as a general rule of thumb, which was how he was able to (often) lure her back to Seireitei to seek him just like he had this time. She still did not like Soul Society all that much, but with enough incentive (as well as the promise of his charming escort and company) she could usually be convinced to set aside her prejudice temporarily and learn to enjoy her time with him in this realm that they both originally belonged. He hoped that he would eventually be able to wear down her resistance and reluctance to come back permanently to Soul Society – he did not expect her to return into service as a Shinigami of the Gotei 13 (that would be too much to ask from her and would earn him nothing but her fury), but it would at least be nice to have her nearby all the same.

He had promised to treat her today – yakiniku, her favorite – and in light of that, it hadn’t taken much persuasion on his part to get her to clear her ‘busy’ schedule to lunch with him. She had grudgingly agreed to turn up at noon when he spoke to her through the phone last evening, but it had already been a couple of hours past that appointed time, and she still had not showed at his office in the Gobantai. Shinji had been quite busy with his paperwork and therefore he had only been mildly exasperated by her unpunctuality; two hours had to be some kind of record even for her.

His Lieutenant had approached him a while ago, and Momo had rather concernedly enquired if her Taichou would like her to bring back some takeout for his sake instead. The dark-haired female was very conscientious of her duties and would often fret when she felt that her Captain was neglecting his personal wellbeing, though she stopped when he explained that he was waiting for a certain snaggletooth monkey brat. His Fukutaichou had smiled then with understanding, content with the knowledge that her Taichou wasn’t starving himself under her watch, and work in the office resumed for the next hour or so.

By then, Shinji had already finished all the bureaucratic tasks that he had set out to do for the day, and Hiyori still had not showed up at his office. The fine-haired Vizard Captain was no longer just disgruntled with his significant other, he was also starting to become a mite concerned. It really wasn’t like Hiyori to be late at all, in fact, she was usually excessively on time for appointments, often even going so far as to arrive early (and then she would go around beating up those who came after her for being tardy). Shinji was starting to wonder if something had really happened – though if it turned out that the brat was indeed simply, just unbelievably, incorrigibly late, then he would be really unamused.

It was then, that there was a quiet knock on the door of the Gobantai office, and both Taichou and Fukutaichou looked up from their desks to see the composed figure of Kurotsuchi Nemu standing at the entrance. The artificial soul sketched a solemn, polite bow to her fellow Lieutenant and the latter’s Captain before asking for permission to speak.

“Go ahead,” Shinji responded, intrigued by this unusual visit. The Fifth Division and the Twelfth Division typically did not have many dealings with one another, so he was curious to see what the latter Squad wanted from his.

“Good afternoon, Hirako Taichou,” the young woman greeted in a calm, modulated tone. “The Twelfth Division seeks your assistance in light of a particularly unexpected situation that we are currently doing our best to correct. We require your cooperation in the meanwhile as we’re not equipped to deal with the subject, and our Third Seat has mentioned that you may be able to offer invaluable assistance in resolving this accident.”

Shinji was visibly baffled. “Subject? Accident?” he echoed, his brow furrowing ever so slightly in bewilderment. “…This isn’t another one of yer Taichou’s ploys ‘ta get a Vizard Shinigami on his table again, is it? What, or, as I suspect, who are ya talkin’ ‘bout, Kurotsuchi Fukutaichou?”

In response, the Juunibantai Shinigami moved aside slightly and made a small gesture with her hand, revealing the presence of the Third Seat of her Squad who had just shifted into sight.

“No, Hirako Taichou. This is not a ploy.” the other Lieutenant replied quite truthfully and courteously. “I shall allow Akon-san to explain the situation in detail.”

Shinji had not seen the horned scientist of the Twelfth ever since that last time they had that conversation about Hiyori, and as Shinji’s dark golden gaze shifted over to younger male, mouth already open to ask what was going on, he immediately caught sight of the tiny bundle that the clearly discomforted man was gingerly holding in his arms.

The little thing that Akon was carrying with painstaking care shifted and moved slightly, and Shinji’s eyes widened imperceptibly in surprise.

It was a child.

A very young, tiny one at that – not exactly a baby and probably just slightly more grown up than a toddler, but what had stunned the Captain so much was not the presence of the child, but rather, her all too familiar appearance.

Soft, fluffy, shoulder length blonde hair. Cute, cherubic features. Small rosebud mouth. Huge ochre eyes. The unmistakable smatter of freckles dusted over babyish cheeks. The young one did not look a day older than four or five, and in reaction to that sight, he had damn near shot up from his seat instantaneously, the earlier bemused, laidback look in his eyes disappearing abruptly, agitation visibly thrumming through his previously calm spiritual pressure as he grimly eyed Akon.

“What exactly is this?” he demanded immediately, his tone becoming sharp and clipped, an apparent undercurrent of growing ire in his abruptly shifted demeanor and speech. “What have ya done?”

There weren’t a lot of things that would immediately rile the lean, rangy blonde, but what he was looking at right now came pretty damn close. ‘What the hell are ya tryin’ ‘ta pull?”

Poor Akon visibly blanched at the deadly serious, borderline angry expression on the Captain’s face, suddenly reminded of the fact that this usually laidback male was also quite powerful in his own right. The black haired man nearly took a step back before he caught himself and shook his head quickly. “Hirako Taichou, believe me when I say that this is anything but intentional. …There has been an…unfortunate mishap.”

And it had been an awfully unfortunate mishap, indeed.

It turned out that Hiyori had somehow decided to make a small detour to her old Division when she had arrived in Seireitei ahead of lunchtime, and thanks to an unfortunate series of events (aided and abetted by her bottomless pit of a stomach), the waifish blonde had ended up eating something that she shouldn’t have – i.e. an entire plate of delicious looking (but highly experimental) cupcakes that had just been freshly created by the R&D department of the Juunibantai, mistaken by the pigtailed female as part of the refreshments that her ex-colleague Akon was serving her – and the result was now one age-diminished female Vizard, both her physical and mental forms returned to that of a young, impressionable child, with no memories of her adult life whatsoever, and currently more fascinated by her surroundings than in understanding whatever had happened to her.

Shinji was flabbergasted as he listened to the explanations of the two Juunibantai Shinigami, and then he had quickly gotten pissed off on the behalf of his hapless lover.

“How come yer squad’s always leavin’ this sorta highly ambiguous and dubious things lyin’ ‘round?!!” the Gobantai Taichou had demanded with significant displeasure even though he had already been repeatedly assured that this…affliction that had come over her could be corrected and that they were working on the cure to counter the reverse aging effects, though that would technically rectify itself eventually, given time – a few centuries of it. Shinji had not been amused. At the same time, since Hiyori had ended up ingesting several servings of the spiked cupcakes all by her petite lonesome, it had actually been a surprise in itself that she hadn’t accidentally overdosed on them and eaten herself right out of existence – Shinji was hardly impressed when that possibility had been mentioned to him by the clinically composed Kurotsuchi Fukutaichou, and he had been very close to storming over to the Twelfth Division himself to strangle her ‘father’ with his bare hands whilst demanding that he fix this, right now.

For the first time ever, Momo got to experience her usually calm and laidback superior blow his top, and the blonde would honestly be growling and snapping much, much, more, if not for the tiny little girl child who was still ensconced in Akon’s arms.

The same tiny little girl child who also happened to be his lover, and was now staring warily at him like he was a raving madman – which he had been pretty much behaving like for the past half an hour or so.

The young girl had one arm slung around her temporary caregiver’s neck even as she was being securely held on the side, and her large eyes took in everything with unbound curiosity. She instinctively pulled herself closer to her current guardian when their gazes crossed, and Shinji frowned inwardly at her unexpectedly timid reaction. In response, Akon awkwardly petted the child on her back and held her snugly, and even though Hiyori was only a five/six year old in physical form, Shinji was still immediately irked by the fact that she was being cossetted and comforted by somebody else. She was very young and vulnerable right now, and that only made his already existing protective instincts towards her increase even more – a lot more.

“I assumed since she’s your…partner,” Akon spoke up rather carefully then. “-that you’d at least be informed about this situation. I feel partly responsible, so I’d like to help out too since uh, little Hiyori may be too much of a handful for you to handle by yourself, Hirako Taichou.”

Perhaps the kid truly meant well with his offer, but Shinji felt his eyes narrow slightly at the less than well-meaning way in which he had structured his words. Why, that punk- He still obviously hadn’t given up on his little crush on Hiyori yet.

“I ‘preciate yer offer, but that ain’t necessary,” Shinji replied in turn, his earlier irritated and upset demeanor fading quickly as he regained his cool composure. “She’s never gonna be ‘too much’ for me ‘ta handle, so ya can just pass her over right now – I’ll take care of her just fine on my own.” The blonde walked over to the Twelfth Division Third Seat and reached out towards the little golden haired girl still ensconced in the latter’s arms, and child that she was, young Hiyori put up no resistance as the now significantly older blonde placed his hand on her small shoulder.

No, the one who failed to budge was Akon, and this time, Shinji’s eyelid twitched as he looked at the latter’s equally dogged features. The blonde gritted his teeth slightly and ‘smiled’ at the Third Seat. “Ya should really let go now, Akon-san,” the Vizard Captain commented rather pointedly, but much to his chagrin, the black haired man maintained his grip on the precious cargo.

“I think I’d still like to offer my assistance,” Akon insisted with determined firmness even as he subtly attempted to maneuver Hiyori back closer to him. “Like I said, I feel partly responsible, so I want to do my part to help as well.”

Shinji placed his other hand on Hiyori’s other shoulder and lightly tugged her to him once more. “And like I said, yer assistance’s not needed here,” the Gobantai Taichou retorted in return. “If ya really wanna help, then go straight back ‘ta yer Division and do yer best ‘ta figure out how ‘ta undo this mess. Now, give her ‘ta me.”

Akon rocked backwards slightly in an attempt to loosen the other man’s hold on his charge. “I’m pretty sure that I can be of service here as well,” he insisted with an equal modicum of stubborn politeness, though Shinji wasn’t about to be shaken loose so easily. “Besides, it’s obvious that Hiyori likes being near me – she has been clinging to me the whole time.”

Shinji’s eyelid twitched again, and his pull became stronger. “Don’t make it sound so unnecessarily suggestive. Yer startin’ ‘ta get on my nerves, Third Seat!”

In reply, Akon pulled back. “I apologize, Hirako Taichou, for that’s not my intention,” he replied in a passive fashion, though that turned out to be more passive aggressive than anything else, for he continued. “But you can safely entrust Hiyori to me; I’ll take good care of her and make sure that she is well tended to-”

It sounded suspiciously as though the younger man was asking him for her hand in marriage. Unsurprisingly, Shinji started to look more than a bit brassed off then.

“Oi. Ya do not get ‘ta say this sort of things ‘ta me!!”

Meanwhile, the two Fukutaichou of the Fifth and the Twelfth stood to the side and watched the ensuing altercation with varying degrees of chagrin and clinical fascination. After all, it was a rather unusual sight - two grown men, both powerful in their own right and usually insouciant and pretty difficult to stir up, were resorting to downright childish levels of rivalry as they argued rather fiercely for the possession of a little girl.  

Momo glanced timidly at her fellow Lieutenant, who was still intently watching the rather comical scene of the two men currently involved in a tug of war over a child. “Ah…I had no idea that Akon-san felt so…passionately over Hiyori-san.”

Nemu inclined her head slightly in agreement. “Neither did I. It’s interesting.”

Momo did not quite know what to make out of this whole escalating situation (this was not going to end well, she was sure), and she was about insert herself between her Captain and the Twelfth Division Third Seat when the issue suddenly resolved itself.

Tired and wary of the two men fighting over her, Hiyori flinched away from the blonde man and quickly cuddled towards her default guardian, wrapping her arms firmly around the latter’s neck and hiding her face in his shoulder.

Shinji paused, surprised by her action, but she had clearly chosen, and it was Akon’s win.

“Hiyori’s more familiar with me now,” the black-haired scientist remarked then, though to his credit, if he was quietly gloating over his victory, then he was hiding it very well. “Let me take care of her for now-”

“Hiyori.” Shinji spoke then, and there was a quiet, compelling tone in the way he said her name, completely different from which he had bickered with Akon earlier, and it was enough to prompt the young girl to lift her head and peek at him with curiosity in her large ochre eyes, automatically drawn to him even though she did not understand a thing. The child silently watched the beautiful looking, golden-haired man talking to her.

“S’this what ya really want, brat?” Shinji asked, before simply stretching his arms out towards her once again, this time not touching her yet, but close enough that she should be able to make contact with him should she wish it. “If not, then come back ‘ta me.”

She continued to stare at him for what seemed like the longest time, as if mesmerized by the quiet intensity in his eyes, trying to figure something out in her mind. Then, at last, still without a word, the little blonde started to loosen her arms from around her black-haired guardian’s neck and simply reached towards Shinji to be carried, going so far as to lean her torso slightly towards him as well so that he could take her easier. Her act of blind trust made her lover really happy, though he was careful not to show it. Slipping his hands under Hiyori’s skinny arms, he lifted her easily from Akon’s grasp (the latter finally, reluctantly letting her loose then) and rather awkward fitted her to his own lanky form. It was a good thing that she was already old enough to somehow cling to him on her own, for Shinji was very quickly learning just how challenging it was to carry a child by propping her against the side of his distinctly non-womanly and non-curvaceous hip.

The man was still rather awkwardly trying to figure out where to appropriately place his hands on her small body (she was so much tinier now than she had ever been, and he still had problems getting over that fact), when the child boldly reached up, caught his face by placing her little hands on the two sides of his cheeks, and made him look at her.

Then, she asked the question that had been plaguing her since she had been brought into this office.

“Are ya my family?”

                                                                   ::tsuzuku::

[jeantue]

SLAIN by guitars

I love guitars! Though as a guy in a band, I usually think of the song first and the guitar second. At least that was the case up from my Pie days through Verst’s last album Starship Crash. But leading into our new album David Slain, that started to change. The songs on this new record are built around riffs and I did stuff with the sounds just to make the guitar louder, more cathartic, and more over the top than ever before. I don’t know why. It’s just the way I felt. Anyway, here are the guitars we used to record Verst's David Slain LP..

Rickenbacker 4003 Bass

Since he bought it a couple years ago, John Parsons has played only this instrument. I've never seen anything else in his hands. He just loves it. 

JP's ricky sounds incredible, and stays in tune like an absolute champ - much better than you'd expect for such a lightweight bass. Like any stock Rickenbacker bass, it hummed quite a bit when he got it, because the single coil pickups do not come with reversed polarity. I have no idea why Rickenbacker doesn't set them up in humbucking mode. Weird. Anyway, I tried to do the polarity mod myself, but realized pretty quickly that there was a possibility that I was going to damage a pickup irreparably. So I backed away from that, and John had Chris Barnett do it. Now it doesn't hum when both pickups are selected. I don't think John ever sets it any other way. The both-pickups sound seems to be his jam and I just love it. 

Speaking of Jam, Bruce Foxton played his Rickenbacker through Marshalls and it sounded like God’s piano.

I just see that bass and famous Ricky players come to mind - Lemmy, Paul Gray, Paul McCartney, Bruce Foxton, Lou Barlow.. the list goes on. I think that in order to play a Ricky you really need to be a BASS GUITAR player, not a low end or clean player. I suppose you could use it as a slap pop machine, but with no gain loading from the amp, it's a pretty thin sound. But run it through a cranked up tube amp, such as John Parsons' 200-watt Hovercraft, and you are on your way to achieving a very rich, thick, punchy, piano-like tone. Now that we have only one guitar in the band, there is a huge amount of space for John's bass to own. His Rickenbacker really does that space justice. You can hear nothing but this bass in the first couple minutes of Secret Sea.

That’s Paul Gray on the right here with The Damned. Gray’s extremely sick Rickenbacker tones and guitarish playing can be heard on The Black Album, Live at Shepperton, and Strawberries.

1993 Gibson Les Paul Custom

This guitar is the living document of just how far my Les Paul obsession has gone. Last time I wrote a blog entry, I said that I was obsessing over a cherry sunburst Custom. Then voila. LOOK at the thing. 

It's gorgeous. And it plays like a big heavy brick of butter. Smooth as hell. Resonant, but not overly midrangey. It is so heavy that the notes it produces are like icebreakers smashing and cutting through a mix like so much glass. I'm pretty much playing this guitar 95% of the time and it pretty much comprises about that much of the guitar on the album, so I guess that makes me a real Les Paul guy. For all the fighting and ergonomic crime involved, it is so addictive and sounds so powerful that I just can't put it down. It’s the best instrument I’ve ever had.

While I was thinking about this album, and wanting the guitars to fucking completely take over, I kept going back to Iggy Pop's Raw Power - the sound of James Williamson's LP custom through a dimed Vox AC30. It’s so huge and in-your-face. I realized pretty quickly that the stock 90s pickups that came on my Custom were too heavily wound, too dark. The key to Williamson's sound is the brightness, the presence. So I got some fantastic pickups for this guitar - some Throbak PAF-style things that give it a holographic, smoky brightness. Man, that hit the spot. Because in a big way, I was tired of polite and pretty sounds. I wanted this record to be an aggressive guitar album. I wanted weaponized guitar. The LP Custom seemed to force all of that to happen anyway. My challenge was just to capture those sounds and mix them in a way that didn't puss out. 

James Williamson wielding a generator of raw power back in the day.

I also changed the tuners on this guitar, from the big fat stock Grovers to Schaller knock-offs that I found on eBay. They're not quite as good as real Schallers, but they're much better than the Grovers. I don't know why people like the Grovers. They're heavy and they have all this unnecessary, undignified lash in the way the gears mate up and move. Now the guitar is incredibly stable. I can often play 4 or 5 songs with string bends and everything and it's still in tune. I love the dependability and stability of it. And that's a change for me, because in the past, one thing I've loved about Jazzmasters was their very unpredictability and the cool pitchy wooziness you can create with them. Now when I want to do that with the Les Paul, it all has to be in my left hand - not in a whammy bar or from waving the neck around. It's a different way of playing and I think it makes me a better, more deliberate player.

Homemade Stigmata Jazzblaster

For the first time since I started playing a Jazzmaster (1992?), my Jazzmaster took a back seat to another guitar - the Les Paul. But I did have to pull out the Stigmata. This is the best Jazzmaster I've ever owned, just incredible. And I made it! (See my old blog post about it). It is a weapons-grade Jazzmaster, with all top shelf bits, and it's black with that anodized aluminum pickguard. It's all business and looks like some kind of weapon. It just so happens that it plays beautifully and has incredible halo of harmonics ringing off the string lengths after the bridge. Somehow all those dimensions lined up perfectly to make that happen. And the light swamp ash isn't too light on this one. I think it's too light on the red Jazzmaster I made, but that's a topic for another post. Sadly, I sold that red guitar. 

Even though I am still more comfortable playing a Jazzmaster than a Les Paul, I only played the Jazzblaster guitar on a handful of songs on this record.. Sick Pretty Pilots, Laid Off For The Summer, and (Nice). There are songs, like those, where the Jazzmaster sounds better, either because you can hear the notes of the chords more clearly, or because a whammy bar is needed to do the parts justice. When we rehearse, sometimes I stick with the Les Paul all the way through, even on those songs. But I don't think I'll ever get away from the Jazzmaster for shows and recording. It's in my bones.

Homemade Telemaster

"Burnt candy grind" is how my brother Matt so vividly describes the incredible and unique sound a Tele can produce with its bridge pickup and the right kind of bright clean amp setting. This is the sound you get just before breakup, when the tubes are loading up some compression, but not breaking up yet, bass is set on 0, treble is on 10. The first three Echo and the Bunnymen albums are rife with that sound (example: Do It Clean). I kept hearing some Will Sergeant style chords over the final ending section of Sick Pretty Pilots. For as long as I've been into EBM you'd think it would have been easy for me to get the sound. But I'd tried several times to get it right, using different guitars or having Mike play it on his Telemaster, and none of that quite worked. 

Will Sergeant doing it right.

I finally got it right myself with my own Telemaster and a 70s silverface Fender Twin Reverb. Right when I hit record and it was sounding perfect, Christine and Eli came home and I was already late making dinner for them. So I just finished my one take, saved the file and that was it. But it was the perfect sound and take. Luckily, finally.

I guess the neck pickup isn’t quite aligned, but it’s still a cool guitar.

2014 Fender Johnny Marr Jaguar

This was not my guitar. I don't like Jaguars very much because of the short scale and the brittle-sounding pickups. But sometimes, that's just what's needed, and Fender did a really sweet job on this model. This guitar belonged to Brian Shultz, but I believe he has sold it by now. Brian is a super cool guy with fabulous taste in guitars. We share rehearsal space with him. I used his Jaguar for the left-channel rhythm guitar in Bath Salts & Me, where I needed a single coil sound that would provide just the barest but still great-sounding sketch of the chords and rhythm. 

Squier Bass VI

This is also Brian Shultz' guitar. I used this to fatten up the power chord refrains in Bath Salts & Me, because it can actually dip down for the low D-flats that are in that part. It's in there sorta subliminally in the left channel, slamming through a Marshall Super Lead with the volumes on about 6.

Not quite sure what one would accomplish with the whammy bar on this thing but it must be fun to try.

"Plastic Hippie Values" - 1977 Yamaha FG-345 Acoustic (wounded)

Poor Plastic Hippie Values! A couple years ago I took it on a Summer camping trip to the Southwest where it was basically roasted in the back of my pickup truck for a week. Stupidly, I tried to adjust the truss rod while the neck was in the throes of warping and swelling. The truss rod snapped. So now the neck is permanently bowed inward and the guitar has painfully high action. This is my only acoustic guitar, unfortunately, so it's all I had to use to double the arpeggio parts in the choruses of Plastic Cow. 

Sometimes I create parts I refer to as "music box" sections, where several layered guitars play the same or interlocking arpeggiative parts together to form a machine-like arrangement. It reminds me of a music box or player piano because of how prescriptive and interlocked the parts are. I don't know if that's how it comes across to other people when they hear the recording. But playing that particular part up around the 12th fret with some strings ringing open on this super high action guitar was really difficult. It's already the kind of part that I have to learn by muscle memory and not think about while I play it, or I'll screw it up. The high action made that all the more difficult to do. 

Here’s a very little Eli back in San Leandro with Plastic Hippie Values and a couple Jazzmasters I don’t have anymore.

I do have an emotional attachment to this guitar, because it is the only acoustic I've owned in my adult life and I've had it since around 1991. But replacing a truss rod is very expensive, certainly costing more money than the guitar is worth. And what I really want for an acoustic guitar is a vintage arch top, like a Gretsch or Gibson. I'm not really an acoustic person anyway, so I don't know what I'm going to do.