#kind of fulfilling a long awaited ritual really

[komorim]

something more

-> naoya x f!reader (kamo!reader)

[ synopsis. ] naoya had a reputation for being misogynistic, and he certainly didn’t believe that he would ever fall in love with the disgusting creatures called women. the only one worthy of his attention was the strongest female sorcerer, a woman who was nearing in skill to gojo satoru himself. yet the attention doesn’t mean he would treat you any better. but he wished he did.

[ content warnings. ] manga spoilers. misogyny. kidnapping. heavy angst. character death. mentions of child abuse. mentions of suicide. mentions of murder. mentions of attempted murder. mentions of torture. mentions of inhumane experiments. mentions of disability. allusions to sex. miscarriage. description of gore. reader is underweight. reader is older than naoya. belated love epiphany. more pain, possibly more than the suna one :)

[ word count. ] 3.7k

[ author’s note. ] wow. this story went from the original 10+ chapter fanfic to a 3 chapter fanfic to a one shot. after so many trial and errors, i finally decided to make this a one shot, even if that means i’ll have to cut some major plot points. the reason being that this story was developed a bit over a year ago, and i’m honestly starting to lose interest in finishing this as a series. well, here it is!

[ previously named: a cracked shell ]

“i’m home,” naoya says as he slides open the door to your shared room. yet he doesn’t find you in there. he’s confused to say the least. even though you had a small fit with him the other day, it wasn’t nothing serious. you would always pretend as if nothing had happened. you were just like that. you didn’t like conflict, so in order to avoid it, you became somewhat of a pushover when it comes to most things.

your boundaries are set very low, and they continue to lower with every violation of them. it was one of the reasons you and naoya could coexist. he wished for an obedient little wife, and although you weren’t obedient per se, your character in its nature was close enough.

you never acted out of line as you were clear of the troublesome headache it would bring you. and naoya was okay with that.

it would be an understatement to say that his expectations for his wife also lowered. the original idea in his mind was that he would marry a docile, mindless woman who would do everything he asked of her without question. and you don’t fit that description. but he’s okay with you.

you, who is a sorcerer strong enough to rival geto and gojo.

it wasn’t a secret that naoya had always admired the strong. and even if it’s a woman, he’ll show some degree of respect to them as long as they’re stronger or on par with himself.

which is why he’s so lenient with you.

he remembers how miserable you looked when he first met you at the kamo estate when he was eight and you were nine.

the only reason he appeared at the kamo estate was that he heard of a secret kamo child that had been recently escorted back to the estate. though he wasn’t the type to come for solely this minor, insignificant purpose. no, he came since he heard the rumors of what you were.

not only had you inherited the kamo technique of blood manipulation, you also had an immense amount of cursed energy within you. though what made you the most special of all was the essence of your cursed energy.

a cursed energy with scent.

and not only did your cursed energy have a scent to it, the scent was odd. it had the ability to put people in a drunken state upon breathing in the fragrance too much. it was truly odd. something like this had never been seen. it was probably why the kamos were so hell-bent on bringing you back to the estate to recognize you as one of their own.

nine year old you was very similar to how you are like now. quiet, appearing to be uninterested in almost everything, and eerie. almost twenty years later of knowing you, he could never pinpoint exactly what it was, but you always seemed off. it was an eerie aspect that made others uncomfortable in your presence. maybe it was a dominating attribute that came with being that strong.

yet what he didn’t understand was why you always looked so miserable. you were so strong that you could destroy a city and possibly more if you wished. but you were never happy. eight year old naoya thought that if he was that gifted, he’d never have a bad day in his life. maybe it’s because you were born a girl that you are unable to be happy. after all, the elders always spoke of how unlucky it is to be a girl.

that was the first time he met you. only being able to get a glance of your face in a open room. the next time he saw you was at the goodwill event. you appeared to be the same as before. you didn’t speak much, you still looked miserable and unbothered, and you still had that eerie feeling about you.

around this time, naoya had been raised by the zenins’ misogynistic ideals for so long that he has also adopted them himself. and even if he knew that your current abilities can rival even the two most powerful jujutsu sorcerers, you were just a woman. you were born with the right, immense power, but the wrong gender. you were bound to one day become someone’s wife one day, confined to the chains of marriage and the duties of a woman.

your talent and power will succumb to nothing. it’ll all be useless.

maybe that’s when he first started hating you. he envied you for having the power he could not. his eyes grew red at the thought that a woman had received the main inherited jujutsu technique of the kamo clan when he himself only inherited a sub technique of the zenin. he feels frustrated that you have all this power and he’ll never be able to see its full potential since you’re a woman that’s destined to be in a house and nowhere else.

maybe that’s why he was desperate to hunt you down during the goodwill event. he was desperate to prove himself better. he couldn’t stand being weak compared to someone who’s power will become useless one day anyways.

but he lost. zenin naoya had lost. it was humiliating really; the way you barely looked at him as you successfully constrained him, proceeding to leave without a care in the world.

he had felt a new kind of sensation that day. a strong urge to see what kind of faces you can make other than that miserable, unbothered expression.

so when he found out from his father later on that you’ve been engaged to him, he found it perfect. he’ll have the rest of eternity to make you say something, feel something more than hopelessness. you could tell that his preference for said feeling would be suffering, but it’s not like he ever succeeded, so you didn’t pay his unwell intentions much thought anyways.

it was at this point when he finally found out why you always looked miserable. after all, the least he could do as your fiancé was get to know you, albeit you didn’t want him to.

when he heard about your life so far, he laughed a bit. you’re so strong and yet you couldn’t prevent any of the tragic events in your life. the elders were right. a woman like you was destined to live out an unlucky life. but maybe yours was a bit too unfair, even by naoya’s opinion.

secret child born to loving parents, you had been raised without the kamos’ knowledge. at the age of nine, shortly before naoya first met you, an escort had appeared at the peaceful apartment you lived at and supposedly murdered your father. your mother fell into hysteria and blamed your existence for the death of her only love. she looked at you with hatred, with the intent to kill her only child. and when she regained some sense of logic, she would hold you closely and cry. he bets that this on and off behavior you endured also dried you up emotionally. and apparently your mother too, for she committed suicide in her room less than a year later.

before doing so, she didn’t forget to smash a rock onto your head. either trying to take you with her or trying to enact some revenge for the love of her life he doesn’t know. but what he does know is that the damage caused absolutely destroyed your right ear.

irreparable loss of hearing.

however unlikely, it was probably the hearing of your tragic childhood that made naoya show you a bit of kindness after the marriage. he showed some form of respect for you, the one who survived such a past and also you, the one stronger than himself.

you had also noticed this. how he wasn’t exactly like how the rumors depicted him. but you paid no mind, as he still treated you as lesser than. it was to be expected. and although the younger you would scowl at the disrespect shown by someone younger than you, the current you couldn’t care less.

you were only a wife to naoya for one reason. to escape being assigned as the next clan leader.

you could never take that position. not when you saw how the kamo clan had crushed your family. not when you saw how noritoshi hated you for receiving the attention of the elders. you knew about the boy. his mother being a mistress made his standing in the clan awkward. and you knew how much he needed to be the next clan leader in order to reunite with his mother.

so you allowed him to take the position of heir. you declined as your uncle, the clan leader, tried several times to make you the heir. you knew why he treated the two of you so differently. one was the only child of his only little sister, the last blood relation to her on this world, and the other was simply a mistress’s son, albeit his own.

but you couldn’t destroy a family the way he destroyed yours. you didn’t want to watch as noritoshi falls into despair like you. so even when your uncle pressured you with the choice or either marriage or heir, you confidently chose to be married off.

and what a choice it was.

from day one of being zenin y/n, you already disliked the atmosphere of the zenin household. but alas, it was the place where you would be living for probably the rest of your life.

and when the year passed by and you still had no sign of child, the zenin naobito had attempted to have you divorced.

least to say naoya was furious when he heard. why? because he finally had the second strongest sorcerer chained to his side. how was he supposed to just willingly give you up? but he and yourself both know what the cause for your lack of child was.

the fact that naoya refused to touch you.

it’s not like you minded. you had no emotions for your husband; you couldn’t care less if he had someone pleasuring him outside. in fact, you’d probably be better off if he did.

but that wasn’t the reason naoya didn’t want to lay a finger on you. suprisingly, he had more than just one single reason.

one of which was that he still didn’t want to be so intimate with such a lowly creature, a woman. but he needed an heir and he knew this well. actually, it would be best to have his heir be birthed by you. the possibility of your child inheriting some of your incredibly unnecessary cursed energy, or better yet, inheriting your unique scent would be splendid.

but the most important reason was that your body most likely couldn’t handle it. not to mention the mental toll that your past and even the duration you were a sorcerer had on you, you had a more concerning issue. you turned sickly after overexerting yourself during the time at jujutsu high. and although he shouldn’t care so much for a mere woman’s life, he knew that you were different, and he couldn’t afford to lose such a valuable asset like yourself.

he’s seen how pregnancy does a woman over, and as much as no one would believe it, he doesn’t want that to happen to you. either for his own selfish reasons, or for the reason he dreads, the reality was that he was contempt with not having an heir in the mean time.

so divorcing you? absolutely out of the question.

if his father used not having any emotional attachment as an excuse to tear you away from him, he would create that emotional attachment. fake or not, he won’t have anyone thinking of making him divorce you.

so he pushed himself. he pushed himself to treat you as a decent human being, and pushed himself to buy gifts for you when he’s out, going out of his comfort zone to try and pleasure you.

he allowed you and gojo to continue writing letters to each other. although he’s still sick to the stomach knowing his wife is conversing with another man, he knows that ever since you had been more in touch with your childhood friend, your mood became better.

and finally, on your second year of being married to naoya, he was finally able to see a genuine smile grace upon your lips.

it was the wish he had when him and you were still engaged and not yet married. the wish that you could display an expression different than that of your normal, unbothered one.

and it was beautiful.

he knew you were a looker since the day he first met you. and maybe that’s a subconscious reason why he always wished you could show some more emotion. but seeing your actual smile was so much different. it’s almost as if he’s been blind all his life and finally saw light.

and as much as he wants to deny it, maybe he did have a growing place in his heart for you.

so why are you now missing when things were just starting to get better? it wasn’t long after when he first shared a kiss with you and the two of you started acting more like a married couple, and now you’re nowhere to be seen?

naoya first reached out to gojo within two hours of you not being home, and when the white haired man responded with he didn’t know where you were either, naoya almost lost his mind.

she’ll be okay, he thinks to himself. but another voice in his head reminds him of how you’re not in a state to fight. weirdly your physical state has deteriorated the past few days, and you turned into a even more sickly condition.

it isn’t until the next day when he confirms with hayashi, your personal servant, that you haven’t returned during the night does he really lose it.

weird too. hayashi was saved by you as a child, and follows you around ever since to repay you. he’d never leave your side, so why is he still in the estate and you’re not?

hayashi responds to the question with how you were invited out by a letter, and he wasn’t able to see the sender.

it was a dead end.

quite a few months pass by before naoya finally hears about you. by this time, naoya has thinned down quite a bit and also looked abnormally pale. probably from the lack of sleep or the lost of appetite. or both.

and what he heard from gojo made sick to the stomach, so much that he wished to throw up even though his stomach was empty.

you were found.

the bad news? you were found bloodied and very much dead. you were found rotting.

and although gojo was wearing sunglasses that covered his eyes, anyone could tell the way this affected him through the crack in his voice as he struggles to continue on. after all, he already lost a best friend, and now he had just lost his childhood friend; he lost the one that he swore to protect since your parents failed to do so.

not much information was exchanged after the initial news was delivered, for it pained gojo too much to describe the horrendous scene in which you were found in. but he did take naoya to the scene shortly after he delivered one last piece of news that was sure to shatter naoya.

you were pregnant.

naoya wasn’t all that surprised. in the last few months in which you were missing, he thought of you a lot. how you looked paler, sicklier than usual. how you were more sensitive than usual.

and because of his guess, he had treated you much better than before. he knew how you used to get suspended from jujutsu high for being overly cruel when some curse user would overstep your boundaries. and although your sharp edges dulled over the years, he was still afraid you’d have even a sliver of thought to abort it. and he couldn’t let that happen.

but you probably didn’t know yourself.

“we’re here,” gojo announces.

he bids naoya well before waiting outside the warehouse. he already saw it once, and he couldn’t bear to see it again.

naoya braces himself before slowly walking inside. the interior of the warehouse seemed very normal. it looked like a warehouse for scientific research. there were lab tables, and giant fluid cases. the only thing out of the ordinary he noticed was how dirty everything was. there were many blood stains, but he convinced himself that it was too rusty and old to be yours.

as he walks further, that was when he saw it. the small hidden door in the far back. the door was unnecessarily heavy, seeming to made out of hard iron.

even if it was his first time being here, even if he can’t see what’s beyond the door, he knows what’s about to appear before his eyes.

and he dreads it.

but he still pushes open the door that has already been forced open once. it was easy, seeing how the lock had been destroyed completely. but what wasn’t easy was the capacity to handle everything that he saw.

cruel tools that his imagination can help show him what their uses were. red colored stains on the floor and counters. pieces of meat each around the size of a finger littered around the damp and suffocating room.

syringes. tubes of medicine. medical equipment. chains and shackles. bandages, both used and new. disposed pieces of surgeon uniforms, all covered in blood and a weirdly colored substance.

it didn’t take a psychic to know what had happened here. it didn’t take an actor to imagine the performance that undergone here.

the performance of torture. the act of experimenting on a living human being.

naoya’s trembling although he doesn’t notice it. he comprehends the emotions inside him bubbling as anger that someone had dared to lay their hands on what was his. but the truth was that this unfamiliar feeling he had was despair. something his pitiful wife was familiar with, but something he had only now acquainted.

despair over the fact that all this equipment was used on you and despair over the fact that when you were in pain and suffering, he couldn’t do anything about it.

he slowly walks over to the small bed in the corner of the room. he noticed the blood stains on the sheets and the shackles on the headboard and footboard. most of all, he noticed he noticed the small shard piece covered in blood. he knew why it was covered in blood although no one told him.

it was probably what you had used to end your life.

he stares at it with a blank face, and he eventually reached out to grab it, grief and frustration causing him to clench the shard so hard he sees red. but it doesn’t hurt.

it’s nothing compared to the atrocities you endured.

you were missing for months. he had been informed that your death report showed that you had only died a few days ago. to imagine that you had to suffer from these cruelties for months; the only thing in his mind was how strong you were.

he turns around to walk back out. to see you again. he deemed that it was worthless to stay here any longer.

as he was leaving the room that housed your pain, he saw it. the thick notebook filled with notes and scribbles of the things done to you.

from cutting away pieces of you to examine your genetic makeup, to attempting to force the day of labor so they could research his child; every word written was horrendous.

the contents journaling the day it was discovered that you were pregnant were drastically different than before.

at first it was just terrifying experiments performed on you to determine why you had an intoxicating scent to your cursed energy, but then when they couldn’t find anything out, they wanted to try to copy the trait completely. through what? the child you were harboring.

as naoya flipped through more and more pages, he saw how they took their research further and further. and as things failed again and again, their methods only became more inhumane.

when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, he threw the notebook behind him harshly, hearing a violent thump shortly after. he met up with gojo outside the warehouse and notices how his eyes were somewhat red.

when he brought naoya to your body, that was when both men couldn’t take it anymore.

your originally sickly features looked even worse. you had grown paler and you looked like you had starved for every day you were missing. all that was left of you was skin and bones. there were bruises on your skin, littering almost everywhere the eye can see. the ones on your wrists and ankles naoya knew were from the shackles confining you, and the others on your body seemed to be wounds still unable to fully heal.

you, who hated becoming dirty, lay there with dried blood and dirt on your body. your skin had turned gray and you felt colder than ice. yet naoya still held your hand, trying to warm it up like he had done so before.

but he knew it was fruitless. you couldn’t possess body warmth anymore, and you had no need for it either.

but as he holds your hand with both of his own, what he doesn’t know—what haunts his mind—is the question of did you wish for him to come to your rescue when you had passed day by day and week by week in that tiny little room.

were you disappointed as days passed and he still hadn’t come?

or did you think he wouldn’t come? did you doubt his love for you and think he wouldn’t care if you were there by his side or not? did you think you were replaceable?

but the fact is that you weren’t. albeit how badly he showed it, he knew he couldn’t lose you.

he smiles bitterly as he pressed his lips to your cold forehead and thinks. maybe the possessiveness he held for you had a different meaning. he realizes that even if he denied to everyone that he didn’t love you, maybe he did.

but it’s too late now. he only knew now. he’s only now understood what it was that he felt when you left. you probably also never knew.

after all, you left without giving him a chance to tell you.

do not copy or repost my works. likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[kjoywritesstories]

My mind started churning. How did this happen? Why now? Did this have anything to do with the box? How could this be real? I really wanted answers but I just kept hugging her. 

When she finally pulled away I couldn't stop myself from bombarding her with questions. She looked at me with her glowing eyes and motioned for me to sit. I wiped my face with my sleeve and sat down eagerly awaiting the answers.

“Let me tell you a story,” she said as she took a seat on the coffee table. I was afraid it might collapse because it was very old but it didn’t so much as creak beneath her.

“When I was a child I was very sick. My parents tried everything to find a way to help me. I was always in one hospital or another. When we were told I would never get better, by more doctors than I could count, my parents took me to a witch.

When I first saw him, I remember thinking he looked worse off than I did. He disclosed to us that he was not long for this world, for his healing powers took their toll. He promised to heal me but there was a condition.” As she paused I felt a chill run its way down my spine. The anticipation was torture.

After a moment she continued, “When I was old enough I was to find a teacher and learn from them. Learn from them the ways of old. As my parents were about to accept, he held up a shriveled finger. ‘Know that the healing process will not be easy. It will take many moons and much agony. Even then I cannot guarantee it will be successful. This is a decision that the child must make.’ I was frightened but I knew that I could take it. I would get better and learn so that I could help others.”

As I listened to her speak about the healing rituals, although she spared me the details, silent tears streamed down my face. Her voice never wavered but as she spoke her posture tensed and she wrapped her arms around herself.

“Finally, I was done. I slept for three days. My parents were sure that it didn’t work, that I was dying. But then I opened my eyes and leaped from the bed. I recall feeling as if I had bounds of energy, something I had never felt before. That feeling took a long time to fade.

Right away I wanted to find a teacher to begin my studies. However the witch forbade it. He told us how my body was still fragile. I was to wait until my 17th birthday before beginning my search. He also warned that I should choose my teacher carefully. A bond like one between teacher and student was powerful and dangerous if used improperly. My parents and I thanked him profusely. It pains me to say he died soon after.

We didn’t have a home to go back to because of all of the medical bills I had racked up, so we lived on the streets for a short time.”

My heart hurt for my grandmother. Her far off gaze suddenly locked onto something. A smile crept its way across her face and she relaxed.

“Never mind that part,” her smile widened. “When I was in highschool I met a man named Joseph Frey.”

I smiled too. That was my grandfather’s name.

“He was strong and kind. I was infatuated with him but he was always so distant when I asked about his home life. I pushed for a long time but eventually gave up.

Despite knowing I was to leave on my 17th birthday I fell in love with him. I reminded myself what I had survived and assured myself in my goal, however love is a powerful force. When he asked me to marry him, I was torn. I knew my path would be long and hard and I loved him too much to drag him along with me. So I begrudgingly declined.”

Confused, I interrupted, “Wait, you said no?”

“Of course child, I had made a promise I needed to fulfill. Now don’t you want to hear the rest?”

I nodded my head and she continued, “He asked me why. I against my better judgment told him the truth. I told him everything I have told you. He listened aptly. When I was done he stood. I was scared he was going to leave, call me a liar and I would never see him again. Instead he grabbed my hand and pulled me to my feet. When I asked where we were going he just said ‘Home’. We walked for what felt like an hour, I tried to ask questions but he just smiled back at me.

I had never seen his home before and I was nervous. When we approached the city limit and the sidewalk ended we kept walking. I was confused but followed anyway. Finally he stopped. He turned to me and asked if I trusted him. I told him with all my heart and he snapped his fingers. My ears popped and I felt dizzy. I stumbled forward and he caught me. When I regained my balance I realized we were standing in front of a small house. It was quaint, painted a deep brown with an abundance of exotic looking greenery. I knew instantly what he was showing me, why he was so secretive. I recognize many of the herbs along the perimeter as ones I saw when I was a child. He was a witch.”

Halloween Writing Prompt 1

You've always been fascinated by the Occult. When you acquire an old tarot deck from your grandfather you are intrigued. You soon find yourself in a world beyond what you could have ever imagined.

[animepopheart]

Wonder Egg Priority, Episode 11: “The Temptation of Death”?

Wonder Egg Priority is a beautiful, uncomfortable, moving and confusing series that starts out engaging all the things we don’t talk about—self-harm, abuse, rape, bullying, gender dysmorphia, and homosexuality, to name a few. Our silence and blindness to these issues have a weight and pressure to them, and WEP shows how this reinforces the isolation and hopelessness of the young women of the “eggs” who turn to suicide for relief. The first ten episodes have been exhilarating and exhausting alike.

And then there is Episode 11. This past week, the series took a bit of a turn, leaning hard into the sci-fi-philosophical, with appearances from Greek gods, a murderous artificial intelligence, and really, really disturbing insect girls, one of whom, despite being a brutal killer, is apparently a vegetarian. Has the show gone off the rails? Has it lost its way in departing from the familiar procedural approach of engaging a differing social or mental health issue with each episode?

Such a critique is perfectly legit, but before you write off the penultimate episode of WEP, just hear me out on why the abstract, meta turn in episode 11 may just be the most valuable thing this series has to offer so far.

Before we begin though, a little recap of what we learned this week. In episode 10, we hear the eggheads, Acca and Ura-Acca, discuss the need for warriors of Eros to battle Thanatos. This is our first hint that things are about to get lore-full and maybe a bit weird. Eros and Thanatos are of course gods in the ancient Greek pantheon, Eros being the god of love, and Thanatos, of non-violent death. Within the first minute or so of episode 11, it’s clear that the eggheads’ hope is now focused on Ai becoming the long-awaited warrior. At this point though, rather than continuing with Ai’s story, the episode shifts into flashback mode and we are finally introduced to the villain, an artificial intelligence created by the eggheads back when they were still human. Their lives gradually come to revolve around her: She is the fulfillment of their obsession to create life, and she is good.

Frill is associated with hydrangeas, which symbolise heartlessness and pride in Japanese flower language. But is it her heartlessness and pride, or that of her makers?

(Atelier Emily has done an outstanding series of posts on the flowers in WEP. Check it out!)

Only, it turns out she doesn’t play so nice when others join the happy family. After killing Acca’s wife, and putting the life of the unborn baby at risk, the AI—who named herself Frill—is unrepentant, all traces of her seeming humanity now revealed to be illusory, a mere affectation. Acca locks her away in a hole in the cellar. Years pass. The baby, Himari, grows up and is a ray of sunshine. But after effectively confessing to her ‘uncle’ (why does anime always do this?), she commits suicide. Ura-Acca discovers that Frill is still very much alive and active from her hole in the cellar, having powered up all the discarded monitors and laid down reams of electrical cables—to what end, we do not yet know. Though Ura-Acca surmises that she has somehow influenced Himari to take her own life. How else would the girl have known about Ura-Acca’s admiration for her mother? Where else would she have learned to make what will forever be to me now that uncannily sinister popping sound?

Here’s where it gets weirder. Unlike the suicides of subsequent egg girls, there is no indication that Himari, Frill’s apparent first victim, struggled with any mental health or other issues that would motivate her to take her own life. Indeed, her ‘uncle’ did not even reject her confession. (Again anime, why you do this thing?) Instead, the eggheads explain Himari’s suicide as being on account of the “temptation of death.” What now?

This is implying that death is somehow attractive, not just to someone facing overwhelming brokenness, trauma or pain, like the egg girls we’ve met so far, but to someone on the verge of stepping from a (relatively) happy childhood into young adulthood, with the promise of potential love to look forward to; someone who has not known suffering, but rather only smiles and cake. (To be fair, it is always possible that she experienced trauma in the womb, or was more deeply affected by her father’s sadness than Ura-Acca’s memories belie.)

That’s my question too, Ai.

The notion of death as somehow attractive or even beautiful is rather alien to Western culture. Certainly, there will always be some who romanticize death, à la star-crossed lovers (Shakespeare, I’m looking at you). But in general, Western culture views death as something ugly and frightening, something to avoid until it is staring you directly in the face, and even then, closing your eyes in denial is a perfectly reasonable response. Death is one of those things we don’t talk about. In my experience, Anglo-American culture is not very good at even mourning death. We lack the grieving rituals and observances of other cultures, and instead seek to confine death to the sealed, sanitized spaces of hospitals, care homes, and funeral parlors. We keep it shrouded tightly in silence. How could there ever be anything like the “temptation of death”? How could we ever consider death to be something desirable? Are the eggheads or CloverWorks simply aestheticising suicide and death here to make it sound deep and philosophical?

No, I don’t think that’s it. Instead, Acca and Ura-Acca are doing what all good researchers do—and indeed what all Christians, as believers in an unseen spiritual reality, are also called to do: They are looking more deeply into phenomena that seem, on the surface, to already be explained. The two idol fans were consumed with their obsession, so when their idol killed herself, they followed suit. The young woman whose identity was wrapped up in her own appearance ended her life to preserve her beauty. The abused gymnast saw no way out, no hope in ever living free from torment. Some explanations may be more sympathetic than others, but they all possess their own internal logic. Contemporary society is full of a vast array of pressures and stresses and each one, taken to breaking point, can result in death. Case closed. This might very well be our conclusion from the first ten episodes.

Only the case isn’t closed. Because there is a question that has pervaded every episode until now, but has remained unspoken: How is it that death could even become an option for the egg girls? Why does reaching a breaking point trigger suicide? What made death seem like a savior to these girls? This is the question that episode 11 tackles, in its own admittedly obscure way. The eggheads are focused on the underlying, deeper reality that unites all the eggs’ stories, as disparate as they are—the common thread, which is the idea that death is a release, a rescue, a beautiful ending, and as a result, it is tempting.

“But we wondered if there could be another push that drove them to suicide,” explains Ura-Acca.

This is a really important question for us to be asking. Because it’s not just these traumatized, vulnerable girls who fall for the seduction of death. We do, too.

Just ponder for a moment: Have you ever anticipated how wonderful it will be when, in heaven, you no longer struggle with that particular temptation? When your temper is no longer so short, when you’re not afraid of being hurt anymore? Or maybe you think about how one day, on those gold-paved streets, you won’t have to worry anymore. All your hard work coping and just keeping it together will finally pay off and you’ll cross that finish line and heave a sigh of relief, knowing that you made it in the end. Have you ever contemplated these kinds of things? I know I have.

But here’s the thing: When I expect my liberation to come only after I die and not right here, right now, then it is not Jesus who is my savior, but death. I am waiting for death to free me from temptation and sin and fear and brokenness, and usher me into eternal life. I make Thanatos my god.

The temptation of death is not limited to the drastic act of suicide, but also permeates all the accusations and fears that inspire us to put off living the fullness of life in Christ here and now. It’s the temptation to believe that it is death that will ultimately solve the more difficult and painful problems in life.

Acca and Ura-Acca seek to create a love that suits their ideals, just to relieve their stress.

The source of this “temptation of death” in Wonder Egg Priority is Frill, the AI. That is, a man-made, artificial version of love—with ai meaning “love” in Japanese. According to Ura-Acca, they made her “just for fun,” as a way of dealing with the stress of their enclosed lives. They designed her to suit their preferences, to make it easier to love her and forget that she was artificial. In this sense, Frill is the fruit of their self-centeredness, her every characteristic designed to satisfy their own ideals of how a daughter and woman should be. And this artificial love born of selfishness brings death into their midst and beyond, spreading it through the horrendous deformities of girlhood that she in turn creates, in imitation of her fathers. (Only perhaps her creations are less deceptive than theirs, wearing their monstrosity plainly on the outside…)

Frill’s creations. We’ve met Dash (right) and Dot (center), but who is that on the left? And is her name Morse??

To counter her destructive influence, Acca and Ura-Acca need true love, a genuine love. They need Ai, a messy, at times very weak human being, but one who nevertheless is willing to fight to live up to her name and maybe, just maybe, become a warrior of Eros.

There is also a deep, underlying force at work in our world, one that connects all despair and the actions born of it. A wide range of social issues, traumas and mental health challenges can and do trigger suicide, but they do not explain it fully. The deeper reality is the existence of an enemy who seeks to manipulate us into believing our true savior can only be death, whether it is right away by our own hand, or more subtly, decades from now by natural causes. But this is a lie, and it is one that we can combat. Just as I’m sure we’ll see in the final episode that Ai is equipped to wage the coming battle in WEP, so too are we armed, here and now, with the power to overwhelm the enemy’s “temptation of death”—we possess already the words of life, given to us by our true savior.

Jesus began his ministry with a public announcement that he had come to heal heart wounds, comfort those in pain, fill broken lives with beauty, and wrap those in despair with reasons to praise like a warm protective blanket, so that they might celebrate with joy once again. He came to bring freedom to prisoners and captives alike, giving a fresh new life to those locked up because of deeds done wrong, and those punished and injured at the hands of others. He came to take the outcasts, the weak, the traumatized and broken and transform them into mighty oaks, clean and strong; into people with the vision and skill and compassion and fortitude to rebuild a broken world (Isaiah 61:1-4, Luke 4:18),

He came to rewrite and restore our experience of life here on earth, and through us, to redeem our communities, cities, nations, and the world. God does not withhold the fullness of life from us until we finally make it to him in heaven. No, instead he moved heaven and earth to get right up close so that he could pour his own life out into us, even going so far as to breathe his very spirit into our hearts and bodies and minds. We don’t need to wait for death’s rescue—our hero has already come. But we do need to remind each other and ourselves of this truth pretty often, and let it work down deep into all the cracks and bruises in our souls until it strengthens all our weak spots.

In Deuteronomy 30:19, God tells the Israelites that he has given them the authority to choose between life and death. But he also tips the balances in their favor, urging them to choose life. In Jesus, he comes to tip the balances even further, making it possible for us to step into eternal life here and now, immediately and forever. So let’s do it. Each day, through each struggle we face. Let’s choose life and not death.

Warrior of love? And is Ai’s himawari (sunflower) related to Himari somehow?

Join me (in spirit) for the final episode on Tuesday to see Ai’s love triumph! (At least, I really really hope that’s what happens!)

[geirskogull]

Important - Chapter 1 - Loss

a Colab fic between myself and @momomomodi ft. something we short hand call DRK Haurchefant AU 

Danica Voss and Aveline de Bontensont are two very different Warriors of light, but also two very good friends. Even now, five years down the line when loss has colored them so different than they use to be. They mourn the loss of one so important to both their lives, only to have that ritual practice interrupted by their own minds and ascian fuckery.

Archive Link

Words: 2.6 K

Rating: M

It was a slow day at the Quicksand. The people of Ul’dah bustled in and out as they always did, going about their business, making deals, living their lives. Two individuals seated at a corner table mourned the loss of one. It was the anniversary of Haurchefant’s death, the day when the spear of light pierced through the metal of his shield and speared him. The day when they had held his hands as the light faded from his eyes. The day when his life blood seeped into the stones of the Vault. Danica Voss sat, mourning the loss of her first love. A man so kind and loving, who cherished her as though she were the most valuable thing on Hydaelyn. Who craved to protect those he loved. Who died fulfilling his life’s wish. Aveline de Bontensont sat, mourning the loss of her best friend. A man she had known since the tender age of 11, who she helped to rescue when the stress of his family became too much to bear. A boy who only wished to serve as a Knight of Ishgard. Who took an arrow unarmoured for his best friend. A boy so courageous, he gave his life for those dearest to him. A man who would never know the truth behind the Dragonsong War but died with love in his heart and a smile on his lips.

Voss inhaled, closing her eyes as she raised her glass. Words swirling through her head, muddled by the echo of Ul’dah behind her. to paint the monument to a man who deserved one far more permanent. Light danced through the pale liquid, reflecting off of it, sparkling. Gentle whispers of memory floated through her mind as she remembered some of his most gentle words towards her. “Like gold”  he whispered “Rare and brilliant and beautiful, your eyes are the pinnacle of you.”  She said nothing, finding any toast lackluster, and gave Aveline a sad smile. 

Francel was right, it never did get any easier.

Though this ritual they had made probably didn’t help its chances. A yearly remembrance, somber and fueled by booze, far far from where he laid.  She downed her drink, shook her head, and gave a sad smile. “I know by this time I’m normally sobbing into my twelfth glass, but count it as a record that I’m not. So what do we now? Trade stories?” She asked, shrugging and pouring herself another glass

Aveline sipped her drink, shrugging, “I suppose. Five years now, it still hurts to think of him.” It burned harshly in her chest every time her mind recalled him, scalding and painful. She couldn’t help but think of him as a young boy, angry and sad at the world. She took a deep breath, trying to hold back tears. She took a long drink, letting the liquor fuel her. “Would… would you like to hear of how he earned his knighthood?” The story was a fond one though it reminded her too much of his death for her liking. He took the exact same stance as when he protected Francel that day. Tears burned in her eyes. Damn it, how could his death still have such hold over her? She buried her face in her hands for a long moment before looking back up at Danica and taking another long drink.

“No he told me that one.” The Half Elezen woman responded, tracing her eyes across the crowd, trying to find anything to occupy her mind instead of visages of cold stone. And the Dead. You’d think she’d be use to the dead by now, “about Francel and you and all that...” She smiled, thinking fondly of Haurchefant, sitting in front of the hearth in his room in Camp Dragonhead, speaking of his own adventures that “are not nearly as grand as yours, love”  all the while she sat there rapt, fascinated beyond reason, simply joyful she was getting to know, to see someone as more than just this warrior the world had decided to paint her.

To paint the both of them. 

She dug her fingers into the tablecloth, looking back at her glass and at Aveline. She knew her mourning was obvious, even now, especially to Aveline, but cracked a facsimile of a smile anyway. “Why not tell me something that makes you happy?”

The Elezen thought for a long moment, drumming her fingers on her glass. After a long moment, she smiled, “Our birthdays. We always spent them together. We had a small wooden cabin in the middle of Coerthas where someone would always bring a cake. We wouldn’t have to deal with families or politics or other people. It… it was just the three of us.” She looked down at her dress, fiddling absent-mindedly. Those days had passed. Now Haurchefant’s birthday had returned to only being a day like any other. She and Francel rarely had the time now to see one another, even when she was in Coerthas. Long had it been since laughter echoed in that cabin, now a vestige of their childhoods. She looked off into the distance, her eyes going glassy for a moment as she remembered the nights they had spent simply having fun with one another. The silver haired Elezen giving her piggybacks around the snow-covered hills, Francel laughing so hard that tears welled in his eyes, moments spent in quiet acknowledgement of where their futures would lead them. “Hey, I know you’ll come back soon enough, Ace. Couldn’t bear to be away from our handsome faces for too long!” He had pulled Francel close to his side that day, the two of them beaming at her. Part of her wished that she had never left. Part of her wished she were there as a bystander the first time Danica, Alphinaud, and Tataru walked into Ishgard, murmuring about the newcomers who had passed through the gates. Not knowing anything of primals or the Empire or anything outside of the quiet isolation of Ishgard. She took another long drink, poured herself another glass, and downed that one as well.

Danica looked to her glass, envisioning simply days she had never seen - and thankfully the echo did not change that this time. A small smile dancing at the edge of her lips, imagining her friends, young and carefree. She emptied her glass in a fell swoop, liquid courage for questions and statements alike. Strange she still needed it after all these years. Aveline was a friend, probably one of her closest. Knew more about her than anyone else living, save maybe Estinien. And Haurchefant  her mind reminded her, she grimaced, hoping that she could play it off as the booze. The dead may know, but they do not speak. 

She inhaled, reaching for the bottle, but stopping herself. If she continued at this rate she’d be back to her usual “crying incoherently into her glass” phase before the hour was up. She swallowed hard, and reached into the collar of her shirt, fishing out a necklace holding a simple ring. She twisted it in her hand, flicking her eyes back up to Aveline. 

“Can I ask you a personal question?” She inquired, hoping to pry thoughts away from her strange display of restraint in her consumption. 

Danica’s voice snapped Aveline from her thoughts. Her eyes flickered to the ring, to the glass, to Danica, “Of course.” Her eyes flicked down to her own ring on her left hand. She watched Danica carefully, sipping her own drink while she waited for the question to come.

“Why did you leave Ishgard, initially?” the Ala Mhigan tilted her head not unlike a curious dog. She couldn’t think of any reason she would want to willingly leave her home, at least not as young as she met Aveline. Hells, she would have sold her left kidney to be back in Bittermill, with her parents, and the inn. She shivered, trying to force her mind's eye away from that burning wreck of a town. Even with Orlaux back and Maerwynn buried, the ache that ate at her chest was too much, especially today.

Aveline took a deep breath, “My brother, partially. My parents loved him, far more than my sister or I. The “Knight of Ishgard”.” She shook her head slowly, “I had wanted to learn, to see other parts of Eorzea. It didn’t help that I didn’t care for Ishgard’s rules. So, I left, made arrangements to stay somewhere in Thanalan, and left. It wasn’t easy,” She fidgeted with her glass, the liquid inside swirling slightly. “Quite honestly, I was terrified, but it scared me more to think of what my life might’ve been like if I had stayed. Would I have been married off to some distant noble who had some semblance of money or power?” She shook her head again. “What made you decide to join the Thaumaturges?” Let her shift the subject onto something she regretted less. Her mind continued to bombard her with the ‘what ifs’ of that decision, tormenting her with what might’ve been.

Danica cringed physically at the idea of an arranged marriage. That never made sense to her, why marry if not for love? Perhaps her perception was colored by her own creation. The Ishgardian noble who ran off with the Ala Mhigan sellsword, with all the good that did them. Nald’thal still took his due when decided, far too early for her liking. She also couldn’t understand the idea of loving some of your family more than others. Another relic of her shattered childhood, she never had the chance to meet her little brother. 

Her eyes snapped up, thankful to be reminded of something better? Perhaps? She was never really sure when it came to that life event. She downed her glass, and left it empty this time.

“I didn’t choose. It was the Thaumaturges guild, or they’d take off my hands for theft and throw me into blood sands for illegal usage of magics.” She replied, blunt and matter of fact. Chuckling after a moment of silence.

“You see, when I left little Ala Mhigo” When The Echo forced out, too much pain, too much suffering and what had she decided to do? Go to the big city? Where yet more awaited her? “I came here, I wasn’t alone, of course I had Coyote and Zara but we were 12 and didn’t have any money. One day when were rifling through a fruit merchants trash for our breakfast the merchant caught us and sent us running. His guards after us.” Brutish fellows, not averse to cleaning  up the streets of some street rat refuges. “They caught Zara by the tail, and I wasn’t about to let anything bad happen to my fa- my friend that I panicked and somehow lit the man on fire”

“They grabbed me, shoved me in a little metal cell while Zara and Coyote ran, and told me to await my sentencing.” She continued, confined areas still bothered her. She had a hard time breathing in them. She needed to see the sky. Or at least have a very tall ceiling. “Then Cocobusi came in and asked me where I learned my magic and I said I didn’t know any. Then he asked me if I wanted to learn. I said anything was better than the Bloodsands, and he agreed. Thus, Thaumaturges Guild.”

It was almost funny now, the first domino on her path to “Warrior of Light”-dom. “What about you? Why not the pugilist guild or the Arcanists guild of Limsa?” She asked, reflecting back the question to her friend.

Aveline looked over at Momodi for a moment, “In all honesty? I wanted to rebel. My brother had always been the perfect White Knight. I wanted to learn the so called “Black Magic”.” She looked down at her skirt. Would Haurchefant have been disappointed in her for that decision? She shuddered, playing with her glass. She sat in silence for a moment. “Do you think he would be proud of who we are now?” She spoke softly, looking up at Danica.

Danica paused, going as still as a statue as the words wreaked havoc on her thoughts and her heart. Would he be proud of who they were now? No. Her mind said at first. She was brutal, violent, and cared less and less for the world as a whole as the days went on. She cared only about the survival of those closest to her, those she considered her people. She smiled still, but it was never real. Only Feral. And those parting words, nothing but a twisted mockery of their intention, repeated like a mantra now, to keep her going even when all things told her to rest. 

Yes. Her mind also shouted, was it Fray? Was it Odin? Was it some other part of her that she didn’t have a name for? He’d be proud because they kept going. They didn’t wallow in their sadness, even as it threatened to overcome them. It clung to them, yes, but life did that. But they kept going. Kept doing good. Moved forward towards grand horizons that he never got to see. 

“I don’t know.” she voiced those words cautiously. Thinking of all the things stolen from him, all the moments in time stolen from them. Was it worth making his hypothetical ghost proud, if his actual form wasn’t there to see it? “I don’t know, I will not and cannot speak for him. But... I’d like to think so.” I don’t know if I could handle otherwise. She thought, but did not say.

“What about you? You knew him much longer than me, what say you?” She asked, a heavy question for a heavy question weighing strong upon her neck much akin to the golden band that hung there. Remembering his words. Making her promise that she’d wait to tell people till after he told his father. Never getting the chance. 

She still had a hard time looking Count Fortemp in the eyes sometimes.

The Elezen woman sat for a long while in silence. Would he be proud of who she had become? A silent protagonist in a story filled with so many voices. She had changed so much since she had first known him. No longer was she a young girl, full of life and cheer. No. Now she was a woman filled with responsibilities and obligations. “A Knight lives to serve.” Was serving the people of Eorzea worth giving up everything she used to be? She was cold, calculating. The ice to Danica’s flame. She couldn’t remember the last time she had truly smiled. She twisted her ring on her finger, absentminded, distracted. “I think he would have been proud of us for continuing on. For not letting his… his death stop us.” She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat for a moment. She looked back at the ring Danica wore around her neck, silently acknowledging it. Taking a deep breath, she poured herself another drink, downing it quickly. Haurchefant wouldn’t be proud of her for drinking her pain away. For trying to forget. Forget the look in his eyes as the life faded from them. She flinched as through she had been slapped. Halone help her.

Danica sat up, determined and inspired by her friends dour confirmation. Raising her glass, she began. “Well then, To us.” She started, extending arm in a toast. “May we keep making him proud.” The clink of glasses that followed rang hollow in their hearts, devoid of such an integral piece for so long.

[themostwonderfulestthing]

29th degree in Astrology through the signs:

SCORPIO 29

an umbilical cord

Definitely completely attached, but what you are attached to changes drastically. Each time it is to the source of sustenance. If at first a mother, womb, an elemental past, it can easily become later on a great teacher, a path, a journey. You are still thoroughly, personally hooked into the sweetness, the juice, the power. Yet as the levels shift, as the attunement deepens, you go from destructive enmeshment toward incredible openings. And as you learn to cut loose from each last thing and to move toward the next greater thing, you become adept in the rough process of inner soul work. You have an extraordinary aptitude for taking the most binding and heavy-duty circuits and moving into and through them, grasping hold of the guiding influence of ever-greater circles of allegiance. Leading eventually toward mutation and evolutionary breakthrough of the first magnitude.

TAURUS 29

A man amuses himself by drawing strange shapes.

Crystallized imagination. The inside of the inside remembered and evoked whimsically. There is no form, no pattern, no binding reality. Dreaming the world into being from a greatly bemused stance--other. Twinkling observer-witness consciousness. Off on tangents that call, a life, a cycle, a realm set aside for inventive play without boundaries. You feel exultant in the freedom. Swept away beautifully. Answerable to nobody and nothing except the muse.

VIRGO 29

A witch preparing magic mushrooms.

Within the delicate, formative stages of major departures into the unknown, there is encountered an extraordinary task and lesson that detains you a long while. It becomes self-evident that it is everything that comes before that makes the difference. There must be a fully attuned, magical sensibility to make the future possible. Coming to this requires arduous discipline and elaborate ritual, internal initiation. This becomes such a labyrinth of discipleship and apprenticeship that you wander through the maze discovering everything you ever needed to know. All is played out within. There is no need to make anything happen on the outer. You are assigned to empty yourself out, to strip everything away, to become invisible. And if you excel at your craft, so many ventures and initiatives will be seeded, that this inner planes total mobilization will prove to be more fruitful and productive than any premature thrusts of outer mind, no matter how impressive or seemingly necessary. The entire path lies well within, and needs no surface success to substantiate itself.

SAGITTARIUS 29

The ritual slaughtering of a lamb.

It is so hard to give up your fondest notions. It is so testing and trying to be asked by universal spirit to surrender your privileges, to renounce your claim upon your own life. And it is even an extreme act of self-transcendence to come to terms with the position you find yourself in as it really is. Ego-busting comes as a rude shock, even when the time is at hand to leap beyond your own shadow. The very idea draws out to the surface every resistance imaginable. The mind goes crazy with this edge. If only you could control it, manipulate it, relativize it. But excruciating self-awareness accompanies this edge--in particular no sentimentality towards your own excuses and reasons. For you are at that point where there is no place to hide and nothing to do except surrender gracefully, when you have exhausted every other option and found them to be null and void.

PISCES 29

Balinese dancers wearing elaborate gold costumes.

Scintillating performance. Learning by heart all of the ways to perfect the Earth dance. Elaborately and ritualistically devising and setting up cycles, projects, programs, and trainings to master skills, to develop missing areas, and to make up for what are felt to be gaps and gaping holes. Remedial practice--going back to go forward. Relentlessly pursuing perfection. You are granted a sensibility that knows and can recognize anywhere the real thing, the fulfilled prototype. Tyrannically beset by the need to embody that archetype no matter what. Putting yourself through hell to make it happen. No sacrifice is too great. A virtual masochism of submission to programs, trials, and cycles. Trancing out on discipline and constraint, yet you are ultimately inspired and infused with a marvelous and even a spectacular self-witnessing capacity and self-reinventing skill that does work if you stay with it forever, and refuse to hear of anything less, no matter how crazy it momentarily seems.

LEO 29

A broken sword.

Consecration to a higher power. The giving-over of the personal will--the marvel of root change. Coming to the end of your own path, and it is just the beginning of the greater way. The heart must open. The infinite must be born inside. The destiny-necessity is there--so much karmic backlog. So many ways to be right and to be wrong. The realization in the very midst that there is nobody listening to the old tale and everybody is awaiting somebody else to come through. A profound and utter doorway into a great unknown. What has been is finished. What shall be is so very different. And what is now is a question and a prayer and a destiny that must find its redemption.

AQUARIUS 29

The sound of dripping water echoes through a great stone room.

The most unusual and distinctive of inward conditions. You are held within a mode of awareness that is from another time and place altogether. You have nothing to say and nothing to do. There is no power of individual life-force. Instead you see as the ancient ones see. Utter unworldliness to a point of dissociation from surface experience. A part of the mind transported by a reverie of timeless, effortless realization. Everything is clear. The subtlest, most refined things are obvious. It is all a matter of perspective, and here the perspective is that the only thing that matters is how the inward resonant echo registers and where it leads you in choiceless awareness, in communion with the Gods.

ARIES 29

Dr. Jekyll drinks the potion.

The unconscious mind and the subconscious mind bear seeds of worlds which the conscious mind had yet to penetrate. These worlds can turn from dark to light and back again, but they are there, crying out to be fathomed, accessed, given their part in the dance. It is no longer possible to push into far shadows that part of the light which dwells in darkness. And so you must bring up, playfully or mischievously, candidly or surreptitiously, all of the hidden places. So that nobody can deny how much of our energy and resource indwells the deep and how all of our being longs to be known, to be seen, to be activated, to partake in the dance of life freely.

CAPRICORN 29

An architect carefully surveying old ruins.

What is to be seen is the outer skeleton of things. What is to be known is the inner essence of things. The code, the extraordinary revelation, the realization is there inherently in the very substance of existence. A practiced eye can see inside, can penetrate and illuminate. The schooling in perception comes between lives and then overshadows each and every idea or notion anybody can come up with. But to access and do honor to this advanced faculty is rare. For seeing the whole truth is excruciating to the ego-mind. And therefore the battle is on to awaken to your innermost truth, or to succeed brilliantly in adapting your truth to the marketplace, selling your soul to the highest bidder.

CANCER 29

A large school of baby fish swimming in a group.

You spawn fertile variations on an archetypal theme. These surround and envelop you. Saturated with your own creations; afloat in a multitime warp. It is all old stuff, backed up too far, too long. And so the familiarity smothers, the closeness renders insensible. You are just about consumed by myriad pasts streaming through. And the only possibility is to acknowledge how fed up you are with yourself, and to open to fresh facets with no expectations, no assumptions, no programs, nothing but the living moment.

GEMINI 29

A garden planted solely with shade plants.

Offered the unique chance to take any given side of self and world to its absolute limit and beyond. Scouting out ahead in whatever direction suits your fancy. Saturated with all the props and accompanying attitudes and gestures of your chosen tangent. Fabulously alive to your fantasy, your obsession, your specialized style and manifestation. Extravagantly lavish in letting yourself go to decadent or breakthrough places. No conscience, no ethic, no restriction. Exploring to the hilt one side of things. And hoping to wear it out if it is limiting, or to bring it back alive for everybody to get in touch with if it proves to be relevant and enduring and cosmically right on.

LIBRA 29

Servants giving a woman a bath.

Instinctively drawn to be where everything is happening in order to give and receive invaluable energies, feelings, and messages. The outstanding destiny of one who contacts the source of greater cycles and movements, you have your finger on the pulse of epochal change. Offering freely what you have gathered along your journey and equally welcoming lavish gifts from others. The budding impulse is toward the new kind of community, toward sisterhood and brotherhood unlimited. Sparkling awareness of the cutting edge of evolution and of being somebody on the spot. The convergence of worlds to open a space for the radical unknown to come through, to heal and transform and make a huge difference.

http://aquaorfire.net/astrology/inside_degrees/inside_degrees.html#gemini29

@transcendicalprosperity

[lurkingcrow]

now I'm curious—you have to tell us more about Dooku doing that ancient sith ritual that accidentally calls up force ghost qui gon (and also half a maul?? would he still be here??) and qui gon just. Refuses To Leave Him Alone,

Ok, so now I'm no longer sleep deprived and sugar high I can take another look at this with hopefully a little more coherence!So, Dooku and Sith rituals. Blame the Dathomir zombies but somewhere along the line I came to the conclusion that resurrecting the peaceful dead is exactly the kind of thing ancient Sith Lords would have been into. But that it is both costly (requiring massive amounts of dark energy and at least some form of sacrifice) and difficult ( the Dathomir witches were likely willing, and even then it was only something Talzin could pull off).But Dooku is nothing if not arrogant, so of course he not only thinks he can do it but he thinks it might be the edge he needs to overthrow Sidious! But all his research suggests you need something personal to pull the right personality back from the void, so he is rather limited in his options... Oh who am I kidding, Dooku wants his insolent, frustrating, yet remarkably wise Padawan back by his side ok? Now originally I had an idea regarding him using the lightsaber as a focus, and getting a two for one with time displaced Luke, but now I realise that would have had an even better option...From inside an ornate box riddled with complex locking mechanisms, kept in the most secure vault of his personal wing on Serreno, Dooku pulls out a fragile braid of long brown hair banded with faded threads of cotton. Qui-Gon's padawan braid.So Dooku thinks he has everything he needs. And he is looking forward to the prospect of having​ his true apprentice back. And here is where I need to stop for a moment, because there are two ways this could go and both are hilarious...Dooku is very lucky - Qui-Gon is of course not fully one with the Force, and so the ritual does succeed in summoning him to where Dooku is standing over the body that he hopes to use as a vessel for Qui-Gon's spirit.But this is Qui-Gon Jinn, Force expert, that we are talking about. So the first option is that he just ignores the reanimation part and takes advantage of the fact that Dooku can now see and hear him to attempt to bring him back to the light.Like you said, he just will not leave Dooku alone. And while the exorcism does technically remove the binding that keeps him nearby, Qui-Gon has decided that this is a better option that fruitlessly yelling at Anakin and Obi-Wan and just keeps showing back up. And talking. And talking. Dooku is haunted by an "I'm not angry, I am just supremely disappointed Master." ghost who keeps telling him truths he doesn't want to hear. Incidentally the Republic is beginning to believe he is going insane. Because seeing the head of the enemy army use his lightsaber to point at General Kenobi and scream "Why don't you go tell him what a marvellous job he's done with Skywalker and leave me in peace!?!" is a little bit disconcerting...But this Dooku should count his blessings. Because the second option is that Qui-Gon decides to go along with the resurrection.Dooku is ecstatic! Qui-Gon returned! And in a body forced to obey his orders! How the Jedi will crumble before them!Oh Dooku. You poor fool. Have you forgotten where Obi-Wan learnt his all his tricks? Zombie Qui-Gon is a menace. Zombie Qui-Gon insists on hugs. Zombie Qui-Gon fusses about him not getting enough sleep and reprograms the kitchen droids to make his infamous fish curry. Zombie Qui-Gon takes the initiative to teach Ventress Jedi meditation techniques and gives her blackmail when she succeeds.Zombie Qui-Gon cannot be used on the battlefield because of his idiosyncratic interpretation of orders. "Destroy the republic base" might involve him walking up to the walls with a hammer and screwdriver. "Kill the Jedi General" involves him pulling out his best jokes because Dooku failed to specify a method and he wants to see if dying from laughter is a thing. Specifying "Kill the Jedi General with your lightsaber" results in him "losing" said weapon and since he cannot fulfill the orders, asking if the Jedi happens to have recent pictures of his boys and their new padawan.Zombie Qui-Gon awaits the day Dooku will foolishly try to make him face Obi-Wan and Anakin. Zombie strength means he can finally give Obi-Wan the hug he deserves without him wriggling out of it. So you see, Canon Dooku should be really, really glad that he never experimented with necromancy! 😂

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[machinakrpx]

>> OPEN KANG SAEROM’S FILE …

:// AGE — 28 :// OCCUPATION — owner of ambrosia casino :// CLASS — elysium native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MODIFICATIONS —

techhair - artificial hair that is embedded into the scalp and contains a display layer that can emit colors and patterns.

turn-on fails: fake fails that possess the same properties as techhair, the display layer allows the change of colors and patterns within seconds.

cyberlimbs (validation fingertips): chips implanted into the skin on the fingertips can detect counterfeit money upon touch.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

kang saerom had the great fortune of being born into a family that had abandoned any glimpse of hope. they had stopped living under the assumption they could evoke change in the charred grime of elysium long ago. truth was that everything surrounding us has been built by despicable people for despicable people; only burning it down to the ground and vowing on the remaining ashes of the past to never let the darkness of our hearts take over again could lead the world onto another path. alas, it had to be different.

as he liked to lament so much in his stories of older times, her father, a weathered politician, had seen it all. kang saejun had witnessed how those with ill intentions had molded the city into their perverse playground with no limits. how those with the means simply took what they wanted, rightfully theirs or not. life in itself is the quietus for every scintilla of hope, for every thought that maybe, just maybe, it could be different. elysium had made sure to terminate any idea for a better future and the deal was sealed when he married the heiress of the ambrosia casino.

choi mina played her part in the casino’s blinding farce perfectly. black market mink coats, self-sown sequin dresses and fake louboutins adorned her when she made her laps through the casino, a child born from foul soil pretending to be a dazzling star. convinced that the olympian’s superiority can trickle down one day, she gave ambrosia the necessary touch it had been craving for so long. naked bulbs replaced with chandeliers, blood stains covered by red carpet and blackjack tables instead of rundown slot machines. wicked mouths spoke of vicious assumptions where the sudden capital came from, truth was that saejun and mina cared little about each other’s promiscuity. if the ritual of their bodies could buy them a deal beyond pleasure, so be it.

the tireless devotion mina displayed evolved ambrosia into what it is today. one of the few seldom places where olympians and elysium natives cross, the fine line on which they balance, careful not to step into the other’s world. a bridge between what could be and what really is.

saerom emerged from exactly that pass, that paradox of the two worlds. her birth was a welcome one and yet it wasn’t, as all parents feel the hot drop of guilt run down their spine when they bring yet another life into this godforsaken world. her mother sang her lullabies of olympus, of clear blue skies and a life with no concerns, a life with overflow of everything. saerom listened with ardor about the stories that allegedly unfolded behind the doors of the casino. a place where olympians and elysians coexisted, even just for a few hours, beneath crystal lights and with heartfelt laughter. her mother instilled the thought within her that one day they too would emerge from the dust of elysium, and saerom awoke every day with the thought that it might be the one. a place in olympus was already reserved. but when she was old enough to step into the myth-enshrouded hall, she was met with disappointment.

the image she had painted in her head did not match with reality. what her mother had sold as coexistence was a laughable claim. olympians and elysium natives still prevailed in separate parts of the building, one reserved for the elite and one for who would like to imagine they belonged to it as well. there was no fine line, there was a border. as the owner her mother naturally had access to both parts, slowly feeding her with the thought she belonged to those that descended from the blinding skyscrapers. honey-coated promises of her own ascend made her turn a blind eye to the indebted elite, only to never see those promises fulfilled.

saerom was repulsed. and even more so when her mother pronounced her as her successor, a servant of those she deemed so honorable and dignified. the first specks of doubt had already settled down comfortably in the darkest corners of saerom’s mind when she starts to learn the ins and outs of the casino. she had been trying to dream of something more, something beyond this, but how could it be any different? she negotiates with her quiet, she wanders, she bleeds, but no matter where saerom goes, she is confined by the polluted horizon, fully aware that was lays beyond it is out of her reach. she feels miniscule but funnily enough, saerom always seeks to be present. like, really present. feeling every chill, bloody morning running through her spine and the soreness of her eyes as the neon lights burn themselves mercilessly into her retina.  

only when her mother stepped into a more passive position and saerom emerged as the operator, she realized the unique potential the establishment holds. she noticed the same glint in everyone’s eyes, whether they came with their pockets loaded and ready to be emptied or  if they put their last savings on the table. the highest of the elite and the lowest of the society were attracted by the same blinking slot machines, addicted by the same flick of the cards during a round of poker. truth was that rich and poor used the casino’s grandeur to take their mind off the troubles that await once they step outside. unlike her mother she did not view the similarities between the two worlds as a strength, but as an exploitable weakness. she began holding debts like a damocles sword over those who she knew could afford it, the debt purging policy of her mother abolished once and for all. she goes the extra mile, the one her mother had not dared to walk in order to stay neat and tidy for her alleged olympian rise. books are cooked, bets arranged under the table. she has little respect for life and even less for death, a dangerous combination that feeds her with reckless devotion.

it was at that time that she realized that the halls of money had fold speaking in idioms and empty platitudes. at times she feels far away, as if she could go on and plagiarize identities for a while and no one would notice - it is an off pretending and profoundly unsettling. but at its core is a yearning to bring this chapter of history to an end. she is a hungry woman. heart like a cigarette that won’t stay lit. sometimes she think believing in some kind of manufactured god would be better because it would give some meaning to the soulless networking between blackjack tables. the bitter truth is that she is simply someone searching for savagery. a phrase, a light, a fire. the signs along the way, even if it turned her more into a sinner than a saint.

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[baekzhang]

january 14th | misdial

byun baekhyun. park chanyeol. reader-insert. voicemails-series. 

—it all started with one misdial, and a second, and a third, and…

original misdial: [click]

What does “voicemail-series” mean?: guide to misdial + misdial m.list 

[2017/01/14] 06.34 p.m.: 

“I came to visit you today again. I saw Baekhyun for the first time in my life. He seems like a nice guy, no wonder you and him were so close. We talked a little while…he told me something more about you. I didn’t know you play any instruments…he showed me some of what you’ve composed. It’s good. I made it my ringtone for you.” 

 There was a lump in your throat when you woke up and your eyes were still glazed with tears. It was precisely 7.05 a.m. Usually, you’d simply kick the blankets away and swing your legs out of bed to feel the comfort of your sheep slippers on your feet. You’d walk toward the kitchen, heat water and let some coffee brew whilst you’d have opened the fridge to try spotting some remains of these certain cold cuts, which appeared to always hide somewhere your eyes couldn’t see. But eventually, you’d end up finding them and then your coffee would be ready for the mug, and you’d get bread out of the breadbox plus the butter, which you’d have put out of the fridge over the night so it would be somewhat soft for servings. It was a routine for years, but ever since this everything clashed with reality, you found yourself unable to function at all. Instead of maintaining your kind of healthy and regular eating times, you fell into the irregularities of skipping meals, running never on time for work—either you were an hour early or late—, and you had established this anti-modern act of avoiding your mobile as much as possible. 

The reason was obvious to you, and maybe to those who knew of your situation. But when it concerned some half important colleagues or friends you barely see twice a year, it was an entirely different story and you were met with a lack of understanding. Why would you never return a call, why was your phone turned off so often, why were you always flinching when you heard the ringing of your phone? These were among the top questions people asked (not always you, but often just themselves) whenever you stepped outside because, quite surely, you weren’t in the mood to let anyone in…and not just your apartment. 

But today was out of routine. You remained in bed, creasing the sheets; you stared at the ceiling for perceived five seconds, however when you read the clock again it was already 7.28 a.m. I’ll be late today again, you thought, slowly making a couple efforts to get yourself away from the mattress and this dull bedroom in general. In actuality, on the other hand, you would not show up at work at all today, January 14th.

That fact sunk in when you were already on your way, in the bus, 8.49 a.m. From the corner of your eyes you could spot the hospital, which made you feel your heart stop for a solid second, and—in your view—urge you to leave the bus at the station near him. And when you exited the vehicle and stood outside, your eyes inevitably locked with the simple words of Seoul Hospital. Your pulse became more and more rushed with the more steps closer you got to the entrance, which would bring you to his room, just to see him: tied to a monotonously white bed in a white colored room, sleeping for way too long with no mention of when that slumber would end. And when it ended, you were sure of it, the white would deceive the awoken’s thinking to believe one would be already on the gates of heaven, hell or whatever awaits them. It was an agitating thought, complimenting the anxiety and rounding you up to be just as ready to end up with supervision or at least have you bound to some mind doctor. Of course, you wouldn’t let it come that far. 

 It wasn’t like you had someone else to visit or some other purpose in that building, and yet you took your time to wander through the hallways. You have been here just a couple of days ago, but unlike your last rushed time, where you’d run to this hospital in the span of twenty to thirty minutes, getting almost squeezed by the doors—this time you stepped forward with caution, you read every name tag, spectated every painting, which would be on the walls ever few meters. 

 That act sprung from the fear of seeing things you wouldn’t like to see, despite having arrived in this very place to see him, including the unescapable things you wished to avoid. And that fear would lead you late to Chanyeol, but on point to another person: 

 You faced the door, reading the name “박찬열” for the fifteenth time now. Breathing became heavier and your heart was in your lung. Your hands have started shaking from anything but excitement and everything screamed at you to either turn on your heel or press down that shiny handle—the second option fulfilled itself excluding you. 

 Your eyes widened and you gasped as the door suddenly opened, revealing a man of average height wearing casual clothes paired with an unreadable expression. He immediately stopped when he noticed you. 

 "I’m sorry,“ you mumbled and took a step behind to give him enough space to leave the room. 

 He responded with a simple “it’s alright”, which corresponded to a half-acknowledging nod and a slight smile on his lips. That was all you could note, then you only saw his back—right when he was past you, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked in a slumped way. When he vanished from your vision, you shook your head, and (after inhaling sharply) shifted to enter the room he was previously in. Strangely, your movements weren’t hectic at all, and still you would judge yourself to be just as nervous, worried and edgy like when you first saw this room. 

 Before you pulled a chair toward you, you noted that on his bed stand there was a picture, which wasn’t there before: it depicted Chanyeol, you could immediately recognize him, along with a bunch of other guys, of which you could register another one—that guy from just now. Well, it was very much possible that the guy was a friend or relative; that thought was present even before you entered Chanyeol’s room. But seeing this guy in a picture next to Chanyeol, quite close and pulling grimaces with him together—you couldn’t help but wonder who he was. 

 "Hey,“ you whispered as you’ve finally settled, "it’s me.” Yours and his fingers were intervened, although with no tension in Chanyeol’s. The moment you felt his somewhat warmth you noticed that the breath you’ve been holding in has been released. 

 "Today I didn’t go to work,“ you stated and began to giggle, "maybe I’ll quit, although it wouldn’t surprise me if I just get fired.” Of course, there was no answer. You were the only one speaking and occasionally you’d stop mid sentence to listen to the sounds the machines made. Sometimes you could hear him breathing lightly, but that was all response you received. “When will you wake up? You know, Chanyeol, sleep is very important and all…but you take it to a new level. Four days of sleep is a lot, the most I’ve ever slept was…ah! I think it was when I finished all my finals. Slept for thirty hours, my dad thought I died. But he felt reassured that I was alive because I was snoring so loud.” You poked him. “Start snoring for me, please,” you demanded with a pout whilst leaning forward to inspect him for any reaction—there was none, however, somehow his breathing got a little louder. 

 When the nurse entered the room,—it was around twenty minutes after you arrived—you rose from your seat, gave her an acknowledging nod and left, sparing Chanyeol a last glance with a wave (although you knew he would neither see it, nor wave back). 

9.23 a.m, you checked your watch. You hadn’t stayed too long, more like too less. Going to work and getting screamed at for arriving close to two hours late was an option, but one you didn’t consider for longer than three seconds and discarded right after: there were better things to do, although you haven’t found those yet. 

 Coffee. Surely, the odor of it had been captured by your nostrils, and it intoxicated you, too. Not having had sticked to your morning rituals, your body urged for the taste of warm and fresh coffee by now, and you’d follow such desires. It was better than waiting at the bus stop to go to work, you figured. 

On usual occasions, you’d have walked till mid city to go and get to the café you’d always go to. But this time you settled with the first you’d spotted: it wasn’t small, but neither big and located right at a junction, housing opposite some electronic store nobody really entered and next to a pharmacy. Inside weren’t too many people. Just a casual amount enjoying coffee and cake. 

 You walked to the counter and ordered what you’d always order in a café, turning to the seats and looking for a place to wait till your order would be done. If you’d gazed only to the right, you would have ended up sitting in that corner close to the counter, facing some plant in a mosaic pot. But you gazed haphazardly to the left as well, getting your jaw to drop enough for you to feel the weight, but not sufficient to be noticed for it. There he sat, texting on his phone; a cup of coffee was on the little table in front of him. And that sight was too tantalizing to not walk right to his seat and sitting down on the empty chair opposite of him. He looked up, and truly, you were right—same guy from the hospital, same guy from the picture. 

 "Excuse me, but haven’t we—,“ you began and he threw you a questioning gaze, which faded with a smile on his lips. He interrupted you knowingly. "—Seen each other at the hospital? Yeah, that’s me.” You figured that much already. “I was wondering…if you’re a friend of Chanyeol’s,” you stated, biting slightly on your upper lip to ease the tension. “Oh, yeah, I am. Chanyeol’s…pretty much my best friend.” You gulped as you noticed him staring sadly into his half-emptied cup. 

 "What about you?“ 

"Pardon?” You pressed out and blinked twice to focus on what the guy would say. “Like, what are you to him? A friend as well? I’ve never seen you before,” he clarified and your lips shaped into an O. It wasn’t perceivable, but you hesitated a little as you were thinking about the question and even more so about the answer to it. 

“Well, you could say I’m a friend of his. I haven’t known him for too long, though. Because of…you know." 

 He inhaled audibly strong and cleared his throat. The topic was as sensitive to him as it was to you. A relief? Not really. "I can tell you more about him, if you want to,” he suggested and your heart started beating in a vigorous manner. What? “I’ve known that idiot for ever since I remember. You said you didn’t know him for long.” He shrugged. The perplexed expression must have been too obvious this time, you guessed. 

“Sure,“ you noticed only when his head moved a little aback that you had shouted that reply. "I’d love to hear some more about him, if that wouldn’t be a bother.” He chuckled and nodded, however, his attention was suddenly drawn by the sound of a ringing mobile, his mobile. 

 You tried your hardest to not listen too much to the conversation. But you knew it wasn’t a long one, and by the way he rolled his eyes and pronounced the caller’s name—in an annoyed and mocking tone—, you figured it was among the lines of urgency. 

 "Yeah, Soo, I’ll hurry up. Keep your feet still,“ he babbled into the device and clicked his tongue as he ended the call. He shoved the phone into his pocket, giving you an apologetic gaze. 

 "I’m sorry, but something just came up,” he started, “shall we postpone that to another time?” You responded quicker than you wanted it to be: “Of course!" 

"I’ll give you my number,” he said and you reacted immediately—you handed him your phone, unlocked and you spectated him swiping his fingers across the screen, the sound of typing echoed through the quiet café. 

 "Here,“ he tossed the mobile back to you and you smiled, however, your eyes felt like plopping out when you read the new contact: Byun Baekhyun. You looked from the screen to the man, and he noticed your shocked expression, answering it with an even more confused one of his own. 

 "Our phone numbers are really that similar,” you exclaimed, making Baekhyun raise his eyebrow. But a millisecond later he almost jumped out of his seat and pointed at you. 

 "You are the misdial girl!“ He yelled. That’s right, the misdial girl, you thought. 

[2017/01/14] 6.15 p.m.: new message from ‘Byun Baekhyun' 

»okay, misdial girl! I just finished my "appointment" 

»kyungsoo is frustrating 

»so, what do you wanna know about Chan? 

«oh hey. Ummm, anything would be fine hahaha

[seen: 6.17 p.m.] 

»well, when we were in high school Chanyeol, me and a couple of our friends started a band 

«really? He told me he loves music, but I didn’t know that! What was his position??? 

[seen: 6.20 p.m.] 

»honestly…kinda everything 

»he was the bassist, but he also played keyboard 

»sometimes drums too 

»I was the singer 

»chanyeol mostly composed songs for the band 

«that’s amazing! I wish I could listen to some of it :D 

[seen: 6.22 p.m.]

»[attachment: exo.mp3]

» ;))

»enjoy^^ 

«wow thank you, baekhyun!

[seen: 6.23 p.m.]

[2017/01/14] 6.30 p.m.: calling ‘Sly Fox Chanyeol’

“Hey, this is Chanyeol, I am currently too busy being awesome to answer your call, but you can leave me a message after the beep! [beep]”

[iris-sistibly]

It was a perfect day.

The sun shone brightly at the azure skies, the emerald sea was calm. Golden sands shimmered under the rays of the majestic ball of fire. The mood was festive which lit up everyone’s spirits. The guests were all dressed up, garments made from the most expensive cloths adorned with intricate designs and precious stones. The aisle was decorated with colorful blossoms, freshly picked from the gardens of Lireo and Sapiro. Soldiers of both kingdoms lined on either side of the aisle, Lireans on the left, Sapirians on the right. At the dais stood a beautiful woman in sea green gown, she had long, curly locks, a crown in her head, a scepter on her hand. She looked regal and queenly…well, she’s now the queen of Lireo. I smiled as I watch her from afar—my Ashti Hara Alena, one of the women I look up to. On her left was a nursemaid with a sleeping infant in her arms, a baby boy who was born just after the war, a child who’s both diwata and Adamyan. Hara Alena’s child with the late Memfes. The monarchs of Hathoria were also present, Hara Pirena and Rama Azulan with Mira who immediately became close with her stepfather, I knew it has always been her dream to have a father and I as her friend and soul sister couldn’t be more happier for her. Of course, former queen Danaya and her husband Aquil were there, they are now expecting their first child. I bet he or she will be just as stubborn as his or her mother. I couldn’t help but chuckle, I can just imagine Ashti Danaya grumbling endlessly about how ashtadi her little brat is and Aquil reminding her that stubbornness is from our side of the family, well, our diwata genes are that dominant.

“They’re here!” Mashna Mayca announced. Everyone settled as the ceremony immediately began, Mashna Muros and Mashna Mayca walked together in the aisle first, holding the flags of Lireo and Sapiro, I came in second, now dressed as a Sapirian heiress. Me being officially hailed as my father’s successor came out as a surprise, I mean, everyone was expecting me to ascend the Lirean throne. Who would have thought I would be recognized as crown princess of Sapiro instead? Especially when the council expressed their strong opposition of breaking the norms that only males can rule Sapiro (dude, seriously?). The struggle was real you know, I had to work extra hard to prove that I am worthy to ascend my father’s kingdom in the future. And if you’re asking if I succeeded, well duh.

I stood beside Aquil and Ashti Danaya, and then they came. Dressed in matching gold and brown garments, they both looked great. My mom looked immaculate in her wedding dress, she looked radiant, she looked very happy as she smiled at everyone. My dad meanwhile kept looking at mom, his aura was very different, I haven’t seen him smile like that for many years, but thanks to Ariana who paved way for my mother to return and to Emre who finally granted her another chance to live as her own self, mom was able to return to us, just like what yla Mine-a promised to my Ashtis. Looking back, I witnessed how their love story unfold, from being allies to good friends, to being lovers. I witnessed how they fought the odds together and won every battle together, they were each other’s strength and weakness, happiness and heartache, true love and beloved. I witnessed how they both sobbed as they went on separate ways to fulfill their duties, I witnessed how my father shattered after mom chose to sacrifice herself to save us all. It was a struggle that was impossible to get through, but as they say, “Love makes the impossible possible,” when you love someone, you can do things you never thought you can do, my mother and father are living proof that true love conquers all, and I their daughter is a witness. My parents stood before Ashti Alena who became good friends with dad, after everything that happened, I know that she has truly moved on. Finally, no more awkwardness, no more hidden feelings, just genuine happiness. She was the first to bless my parents, “Ybrahim and Amihan,” said she, “As the keeper of the water gem and queen of Lireo, I am giving you my blessing, may you live a peaceful life like the calm sea, have a blissful marriage throughout the years, and may you continue to love each other unconditionally until the afterlife.” My mom looked at her with gratitude, their relationship as sisters were also put to a test, but my mom and Ashti chose to love and forgive each other in the end. And for that, I have such respect for the two. If I will blessed with a sister or even another brother, will we able to get through the trials we may face in the future like my mother and her sisters?

Ashti Pirena was the second to bless my parents, everyone shared a hearty laugh as she wished for them to have more children. Dad obviously liked the idea, mom blushed but laughed along as well, that thought excited me–I am an only child, I lost my half brother many years ago, and even though I have Mira, I still want to feel what it’s like to have siblings, I mean REAL siblings. Ashti Danaya who is my mom’s closest sister was teary-eyed when she gave her blessing to the bride and groom, it’s not everyday that I see her get emotional, maybe her pregnancy has something to do with it. Or maybe she really has always been a softie, I don’t know, it’s hard to read her mind.

After the blessing the priestesses performed some sort of ritual to help strengthen their marriage, and all that stuff. When the ritual was finished, the head priestess gestured me to come to the dais, I walked towards Hara Alena with a crown in my hands, a crown that is worn by queens of Sapiro. My parents knelt, the Lirean Hara placed the crown on my mother’s head, my mom became queen once again, of Sapiro this time. Ashti Alena happily announced, “My beloved encantados, I now give you, Rama Ybrahim and Hara Amihan, king and queen of Sapiro!” my parents rose to their feet and faced everyone. “Ivo Live Rama Ybrahim! Ivo Live Hara Amihan! Ivo Live Sapiro! Ivo Live Encantadia!” the crowd chanted headed by Mashna Mayca. The crowd applauded and cheered for the king and queen. Mother and father faced each other, eyes full of love, smiles full of happiness, mom wiped a tear from my dad’s eye and gently caressed his face. They weren’t saying anything, but that scene was worth millions of words, words that speak of love, happiness, and forever. Then the most awaited part happened next, my dad pressed his lips against my mom’s, I cannot help but squeal as they shared that long, sweet kiss. I looked at Mira, and she has the same reaction, I winked at her as if to say, “Finally!” Mira responded by raising her thumb which meant, “Alright!”

I joined my parents afterwards, giving them the both warm hugs. I guess group hugs will always be a thing in my family. I’m not complaining though, I am not and will never trade my family for anything. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever meet a guy like my father someday, a man who will never give up on me no matter what, I wonder if our love story will be just as beautiful as mom and dad’s? That is, if dad will ever allow me to date someone (he still sees me as his baby, don’t judge). Oh well, I guess love will have to wait, I still have a lot of princess-y stuff to learn, and I have to focus on being Ashti Danaya’s protégé aka the next keeper of the earth gem, I still have a long way to go. But as I prepare myself for the future, I will always keep in my mind the lessons I learned from my parents’ experiences, that everything will fall into place at the right time. Hold on, and trust the power of true love. I will always keep their story in my mind and carry it in my heart, and one day, I will relive those memories as I tell my future children and grandchildren their story. A love story that is one of a kind, the love story of Ybrahim and Amihan.

Beloved (by: Iris) From Lira’s point of view

Photo credits: @GMAEncantadia (via Twitter)

[zoegmiller]

Fire Emblem Fates: The Princess, On Her Night

Fire Emblem: Fates Fan-fiction || Hinoka/Orochi/Reina

💖💫 Woah, it’s a non-smut thing from me! :o It's been a while!! 💖💫

...it's also just been a while, yeah? o_o;;; Sorry!

So this is a cute thing that's kind of a continuing timeline from an unfinished Orochi/Mikoto story I wrote allllllll the way back. Years after crushing hard on her queen (and many pints of whatever the Hoshido equivalent of sadness ice cream is) Orochi discovers she may've fallen for the next generation instead! XD

It's the most lore-y thing I've done, probably, and I have another chapter in the bank--and then after that, maybe some smut can sneak its way in--so please enjoy and look forward to it! orz orz orz

You can read this on Archive of Our own, if you want!

Hinoka’s legs ached.

Ladies and men of Hoshido…

She was accustomed, now, to extended exercise and strain. She had begun training with pegasi at the age of seven, and had hardly spent a single free moment outside of the stables since the awful day...

Best not to think on that.

My beloved servants of Hoshido—drat, no.

Her legs shook, when she wasn’t careful. Despite powerful thighs built for hard effort, everyone has limits, and she had been standing in front of the huge, ornate mirror since sunup as retainers fussed over her.

Though this was to be expected: the robes and jewelry of the Rite of Ascendance were intricate—every hairpin and every tie had not just a ritual method, but a ritual meaning. The fact that HER retainers insisted upon being part of the preparation, however, made the process no swifter. Azuma, once granted entry, had knelt in the corner, offered only "what is adulthood? Death, but through the eyes of others" and had hardly moved before being summarily ejected. Setsuna had somehow suspended herself from the ceiling in her first attempt to tie an obi.

And Hinoka had, for the most part, fussed and fidgeted throughout the entire, day-long ordeal, thankful for the moments of distraction, when eyes were on suspended Setsuna and she could breathe without looking in the polished brass mirror that seemed to calculate and track her ongoing descent into ritual femininity. She was only too happy to let the inevitable be delayed.

But it was inevitable, wasn’t it?

Thus, midday came ‘round with precious little progress to show for it, and there was only one thing to do: call in professionals.

When Orochi and Reina arrived, Hinoka felt some strange relief despite herself—ah, adults! They'd handle everything. With precision and grace, her mother’s retainers went to work. Orochi flitted about her like a butterfly, pulling robes close, adjusting and creating form as a stoic Reina deftly closed these shapes around Hinoka's body with traditional water-blessed rope and silken ties in ornate knots.

That relief soon congealed into a new form of disappointment, as the robes draped and tied around Hinoka's lithe, toned frame failed to transmute her into the emblem of beatific womanhood her mother represented. Never had she felt more childish than on this, the eve of her twentieth birthday, and her official coming out as the eldest princess of Hoshido. It was a dual, yet paradoxical disappointment: Hinoka resented these robes for what the mythical image of femininity they represented, and yet she also resented that they failed to bestow her that same image, when forced upon her.

She tried to focus on her speech.

Loyal servants of our b-beloved Hoshido…

Then there was the matter of the hair. She flinched this way and that as the pins and clips went in, her relative lack of experience with them amplifying a fear of being poked and prodded at the scalp. Orochi's dexterous hands had to redouble their efforts just to ensure that Hinoka's rabbit-like quavering did not become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“O-our bold and… noble… charges; gathered here today we… we… we…” Hinoka swallowed, suppressing a groan of frustration as her head was urged forward and her short bangs fell into her face. Frustrated bloomed red on her cheeks, and her hands balled into fists. “W-what is it now, Orochi?”

"Your hair." Orochi filled the space of her pause with a mild sigh. The sun was slinking behind the distant, snow-capped mountains already; it was hardly an hour before the ceremonial banquet. "I've been working on you all day, Hinoka-poo, and there is not a Single. Thing. I. Can. Do.” Noting the consternation that claimed the Princess’s visage, Orochi braced her with a smile, and a squeeze on the shoulder. “Never you fear! What style we lose in hair, we’ll gain in makeup." The flighty woman, herself complicated and ornate, who moved with fluid grace despite the heavy bangles and rosary beads that adorned her slim arms and the majestic array of decorative combs and pins of her intricate hairstyle, reached for jars of pigment and brushes small enough that gods of grass could dance upon their single bristles. "Relax. Sit. You'll be just fine."

Sit? Relax? Hinoka’s thighs and rump ached from standing all day, it was true, but it wasn’t a seat they craved. Her haunches yearned to spring into motion, to dash away and find her beloved mount, to take to the skies and soar—or to even pick up her training lance and whack away at a straw dummy in an empty courtyard. Anything but this!

And, especially, anything but what might come after...

And makeup?

"No," Hinoka said firmly, though her reddening cheeks (she hardly needed rouge!) and wilting gaze transmuted that denial almost into a petulant whine as it broke the air, the sound trailing into the echo of a childish do I haaaave to?

Reina lifted Hinoka's arm to tie off a thick tress in her gown, and Hinoka cleaved to her—a powerful knight of the sky, like Hinoka aspired to be—for support in this engagement. Though she did not know her mother's retainer especially well, the blue-haired warrior hardly seemed the type to give into parlor games and court antics. If Hinoka had an ally in this plight against caked-on beauty and the encumbrance of jewelry and gowns, it was surely stoic Reina!

In response to Hinoka’s plaintive look, Reina cleared her throat, furrowed her brow, and, after a moment, broke her silence.

"My parents were magistrates when I became a pegasus knight,” she said. “I was required to attend many a court banquet in my day, before I joined the kinshi, and your mother’s service. And yours..." the faintest hints of a smile surfaced on her face. "Are not the first ceremonial silks I've arranged, or knots I've closed.”

Was that the hint of a blush on Orochi's cheeks? Her own cosmetics were artful and careful, and did well to conceal this new, natural pinkness. Conspicuously silent through the exchange, she rallied. "Besides, I've done your divination! It's extremely important that you look your best tonight!" She nodded, firmly, the many brass bracelets on her left arm clinking. "Now, sit!"

Hinoka settled down into her chair and straightened her back, attempting to assume the role of a proud and indefatigable ruler that she'd present on stage—the confident, self-assured, eldest daughter of Hoshido on the long-awaited night of her debut as an adult. The first coming out of a royal princess since long before her birth. It was fair to say the nation was in a dizzied fervor of anticipation. And still, Hinoka had only one thing on her mind... and it was hardly the make-up.

My dutiful subjects of Hoshido…

But the make-up was certainly the most present. And so she clarified her position, and her timidity. "I mean... really, must we, Orochi?"

Orochi's fingers pressed softly against Hinoka's cheek—delicate and beautiful, for someone so fierce. "We must. It is tradition, and I promise it will make you look so very ravishing!" Her grin was easy and wide, and with a soft ivory she began applying a foundation. "Don't think on the makeup. Tell us a bit about the words you've planned, show us the Princess of Hoshido you plan to reveal to the nation!"

The word 'ravishing' triggered some uncategorized and unpleasant thought in Hinoka’s mind, and the pit of her stomach sunk a little. For some reason she found herself painfully aware of her breasts, and how the tight ties of her robe seemed to emphasize the shape of her curves despite her modest bosom and the thickness of the cloth. She sighed, biting her lip and trying to relax into the ticklish feeling of Orochi's tender brush strokes along her cheeks.

Reina emphasized Orochi's statement by braiding a silk through and around one of Hinoka's shoulders and pulling it taut, a tight sensation at her shoulder even as Orochi practically caressed with the gentle ivory. "It'll be important. They love you, and they take strength from you. This is everything you are." The warrior—with a casual comfort and confidence, which Hinoka envied almost as much as the soft leathers of Reina’s military uniform—grunted, and the corner of her mouth quirked up, patterning against the crossed scars on her face as she gently tied the brocade loops at Hinoka’s chest. Her tone softened. “Take heart. The ladies in this room have suffered similar trials, and both lived to tell the tale"

Hinoka's face made a show of shifting, both as she struggled to accept Reina's advice and she struggled to avoid bursting into laughter at the thought of strong and scarred Reina in these ridiculously ornate robes—the latter bringing a mirthful wrinkle to her nose. She glanced between her attendants. It was a trial to keep her coltish body still, and thus, she sublimated that energy with her eyes, darting them back and forth as Reina and Orochi manipulated her like some precious doll.

“The speech?” she asked. “It’s all but written for me… I’m to be proud, yet magnanimous; bold, yet gentle; fierce yet…” Forgetting herself in daydream, the young princess all but smiled, for a moment.

“Head up!” Orochi chastised, playful yet stern, pushing a finger beneath Hinoka’s daydream-drooped chin, so that the light caught the eldest daughter’s cheekbones and Orochi could continue her work.

Hinoka flinched to attention—to reality—at Orochi's order. Her posture became rigid and her broad shoulders set, and she was obedient... for a time, her expression turning rueful, even as Orochi's paints drew out those deep lines of beauty from her youthful face. "But if you've divined it, then surely you must know what happens, isn't that so, Orochi? If you told me what you saw," she began, solicitously, and oddly shy, and her hands gripping gently at empty air as Reina lifted and manipulated her arms to tie off her sleeve. "It might put my mind at ease, isn't that right?"

A tremor took Orochi’s heart. It was just last night she had laid out the cards, and frowned, and collected them, and laid them out once more before summoning Kagero. The kunoichi had, with heavy heart, refused to interfere, for reasons of her own, so there had been only one other choice…

Here, Reina decided to interject, glancing over the top of Hinoka's head and leveling a conspiratorial gaze at the young fortune teller, and interrupting her reminiscence. "Even better, you might tell Hinoka the tragedy of your own royal debut."

"Oh, I know that," said Hinoka, eyes bright with innocence, a quick smile creasing the corners of lips. "It's one of mother's favorite stories. You predicted she'd fall into the fountain, isn't that right? How mortifying!"

With Orochi uncharacteristically silent for a moment, Reina softly said, "Oh, that's only half the story. It was the talk of the court all evening, the things Orochi said before our queen, your mother." Deft, calloused fingered expertly adjusted the crease of Hinoka's tall collar, and a bit of mirth softened Reina’s stern features, in the face of Hinoka's trenchant naivety. "But to my memory, the truly mortifying part came after."

"That's quite enough.” Orochi sternly said, as red as her rouge-pot. “It's a night to weave new tales of the princess’s debut, not rehash those stale stories of ours."

"Indeed," said Reina, with a couched smile.

Orochi favored Reina with a narrowing of her eyes. "That lack of subtlety is why I am responsible for her hair and makeup while you tie knots." The look that filtered across her face was arch, almost inscrutable. She turned her attention to Hinoka once more, highlighting her cheeks, lining her eyes, painstakingly. "We began calling her the Butcher because of how she treats hair." Orochi's own hair was as elaborate as ever, lifted high and pinned under to create an ornate crest, but for some reason a simple, white leather strap was laced through the locks of hair secured by the pins. “Close your eyes.” Gently, she swept a bit of powder along Hinoka’s eyelids, and Hinoka felt a ticklish wriggle run through her blunt nose. "And pay no mind to your divination; if I said it was good you would not believe me, and if I said you fell in a fountain you'd not go. But you MUST go. It was certain on that point."

Reina scoffed, glancing down at Hinoka's hair—it'd been shimmered, smoothed, pinned out of her eyes, her cropped locks given an almost feminine cast beneath the sun-emblem crown pinned precariously into the back.

Feeling unsated, but slightly more at ease, Hinoka obeyed, for a time. The room fell silent but for the gentle susurration of brushes against skin and the whisper of cloth as the women committed themselves to the final flourishes of their duty. Orochi's fingers roamed down Hinoka’s neck, gently turning her head this way and that to apply detail and contour, layer upon layer paper thin, until one could suspect that Orochi's brushes were empty, that she was simply tormenting the girl for the delight of it.

At some of these touches, chaste though they may’ve been, Hinoka would tremble a little—caught as if between conflicting desires to shy away from this strange intimacy and to throw herself bodily into it, into the skilled, yet somewhat cold, hands of the beautiful women gilding her. Her lips parted, and her breath quickened just a pace in her chest, at the thought of their proximity, and all that might entail. Through the make-up, she could feel her skin ready to bead into sweat. It was nerves, she told herself.

And then, after a time, it was over.

"Perfect,” said Orochi, placing the last of her brushes on the table beside her. She stepped out of the way of the mirror, and the face staring back at Hinoka was oddly intense. It was unmistakably her own, but... moreso. An afternoon of sitting, finished… and a strange woman looking back at her in the mirror. Her snub nose was adorable, demure, her lips plush enough to pout, but set firm. The liner on her eyes seemed to focus the gaze on that part of her face, as though she were sizing up an opponent. In one moment, a delicate princess; in the next, a ferocious warrior. But undeniably feminine throughout—indeed, it was a cocksure, headstrong femininity that Orochi had drawn out, uniquely Hinoka in every way.

Proud people of the sun, my noble Hoshidan brothers and sisters…

Hinoka raised her hands to touch her face, as if to confirm it still belonged to her.

Reina favored the younger woman with a smile. "Don't touch it or worry at it, it'll smudge."

The warning halted the princess full stop, and Hinoka hastily bused her hands cupping each other in her lap.

...but it was strange, to look at herself in the mirror this way. Though the thought of having make-up applied had risen a nausea in her gut whose cause she hadn't fully understood, the face that looked at her now, even made up as it was, had nothing to do with the reflection of her mother's feminine grace that she expected; for some reason she couldn't explain, that comforted her. “It’s—”

“Perfect, as I said.” A prideful grin bloomed across Orochi’s face. “An image befitting Hoshido's proudest warrior and Princess."

“If you're quite finished praising your own work,” Reina interjected, “Hoshido’s proudest warrior and Princess still has a banquet to attend.”

With grin unfaltering, the fortune-teller folded her hands, faux-demure, between her breasts, providing room for Hinoka, in her robes and crown, to stand and lead her new procession.Hinoka stood with uneasy, affected grace. The wooden sandals were uncomfortable to walk on, and she yearned from the constrictive comfort of her riding boots. The sun sigil crown pinned to her short hair and the yards of cloth wrapped around her were heavier than any armor or helmet upon her shoulders and head. Though the robes draped wide around her form, they pulled dramatically tight around her legs, so she could only shift forward in meager steps, when her body craved its usual loping stride. To one so accustomed to soaring freedom, such demure shuffling barely seemed like movement at all.

Hinoka had managed to avoid robes like this for many years—since the sakura festivals of her youth. Since those days of blooming flowers, she had bloomed too, followed a path she might never have expected, and grown into a woman—and these robes had only grown more constrictive in their absence.

But Reina and Orochi were waiting, as were all those beyond the dressing chamber’s doors. She took the first few steps, tearing herself away from the trance-inducing mirror, and stepped thoughtfully, practicing her movements...

...and only as she reached her chamber’s sliding door, and the murmurs of the waiting crowd of retainers, servants, maids, and attendants reached her ears, did she begin to shake.

"I can't," she said, with quiet urgency, turning to appeal the inchoate procession of two behind her (indeed, their presence could only remind her of how many more were waiting to join in the hall outside, and had been for hours).

Reina and Orochi looked to her, then to each other.

"I can't," Hinoka said, simply. She wasn’t ready. There had to be someone else who could do this. Anyone would do. “Sakura,” she spoke to herself, in a pained whisper. There had to be another princess of Hoshido who could do this—anyone but her.

Another odd, shared glance passed between Orochi and Reina.

Reina nodded, eliding past Hinoka with a watery grace, and stepping into the hall as befitted Hoshidan Guard—that is to say: protectively. The door opened, the small crowd came alive at even the brief glimpse of the princess in her formal garb, some of the younger servants—many of them young enough to have never seen a princess at her debut—going as far to crowd the door in the excitement.

"Step back. Princess Hinoka requires room to breathe." Reina turned to a minor functionary, with considerably more expensive clothing, and considerably worse makeup, than the Princess herself. "Princess Hinoka has ordered that you summon Princess Sakura. Just as each citizen of Hoshido relies upon the next for safety and prosperity, the royal family shall present itself united in support of its citizenry."

It was no secret, of course, what was missing from Hinoka's heart, and as Reina addressed the mass, so Orochi took the Princess by the shoulders, kept her upright, her robes and makeup and spirits in order.

"I was not to tell anyone, Princess. But a year ago, on the anniversary of your mother’s ascendancy, I read that the family would one day be rejoined. She ordered that I not speak of what I foresaw in that fortune, but…" Orochi looked away for a moment, fretting at her lip with her teeth. "Even if your family cannot all be present for this occasion, it will not much longer be apart.”

“All my family?” Hinoka asked, as if in a daze. The murmurs of the crowd were like war drums in her ears, and her eyes with glossy with confusion. “You mean to say…”

My loyal Hoshidans. Long have we suffered the loss of…

With a firm grip upon Hinoka’s shoulder, Orochi stripped the tall Princess from the clouds of her thoughts and back to ground. “You will be the one who leads us to that future, the free spirit and ferocity that sustains us until that day." She took Hinoka’s rough hands in her soft ones, clasping them in quiet entreaty. "We all need you, and your bravery."

But even as she spoke these confident words, Orochi internally faltered. She’d never been so close to the Princess, and never noticed the litheness of her, the muscle. With her eyes, perhaps, as she tied and measured; but never pressed against her like this, with such immediacy.

Hinoka, too, found herself swept away by Orochi’s close embrace. Gone were the cool touches of her attendant who dressed her hair. Orochi’s hands were warm around hers, and her face was so close that Hinoka could smell the sweet, summertime scent of cherries that lingered on her breath. It reminded Hinoka of a different time, and, eddied by sensation and memory and Orochi’s generous, bodily warmth, she parted her lips to—

Like the sun from behind a cloud, Princess Sakura emerged, her robes emblazoned, characteristically, in white, red, pink—those of a priestess in training—and the corridor fairly sparked with resplendent cherry blossoms as she hurried to her sister’s side. With that smile, with a hug and a hopeful tug of the hand, Sakura beckoned the older princess forward, and Orochi released her, with some regret, under Reina's watchful gaze.

Sakura’s face was flushed and, though she tried to hide it, her breath came in short pants. Unlike her older siblings, Sakura had no aptitude for physical exertion. She must nevertheless have practically run—in her ceremonial robes and sandals!— to her sister’s side upon hearing her need. Brave young Sakura selflessly lifted her head and smiled, despite the shortness of her breath, and clasped Hinoka by the hands, just as Orochi had done moments ago. “They said you had need of me?”

Family. All my family.

Her thoughts cleared, and she felt the vacuum within her fill.

“Need?” The sight of this selflessness sparked something in Hinoka. She screwed her bravery deep within herself, and put on a face unwavering—Sakura was still a child, barely a teenager, it was hardly her duty to muster the confidence her eldest sister lacked. Standing tall and taking her sister firmly by the wrists, Hinoka offered a smile almost cocky in the face of Sakura’s generous, unblinking concern. “Only that I wanted you to be the first to see me like this.”

“Oh, Hinoka.” Sakura’s evident worry for her sister’s well-being washed away with a girlish titter. She took her taller sister by the arms and gave her an affectionate squeeze. “I should only hope to be half as beautiful as you, on my own day of my Ascendancy.”

As Hinoka faltered before Sakura’s fearsome wave of compliments, looking away and descending into stammers and blushes, beneath her breath Reina spoke to the fortune teller.

"Must I tell you everything, again?” She set eyes upon the conspicuously simple leather strap woven in amid Orochi’s many ornate hair ornaments. “I've no more hair ties to give."

An undaunted smile answered the knight’s chagrin; Orochi had become deft and daring in such escapades, and likely it was only Reina who could remember a time when she was not. "We serve, with our lives and hearts,” Orochi said, with a rakish wrinkle of her nose and a knowing wink. “And a heart as strong as hers deserves everything ours can give."

With that, Orochi closed the sliding door behind them, and the two attendants followed the procession to the great courtyard and the banquet.

[dreams-of-the-morrow]

Storge

BNHA Winter Wonderland Event

Kirishima Eijirou/Kaminari Denki

Note: For @milkbottle8! You said that you wanted something that was full of emotion, so what better way to fulfill that then with a good old pining fic? This is my first time writing kirikami, and Kirishima as a main character in general, so I hope you like it~ Also on ao3

Storge: an affectionate love that slowly develops from friendship

Two weeks was too long of a break from school for Kirishima. He had left home ready to crack open the books and get down to learning, willing to endure the looming thoughts of exams on his future if it meant getting to Yuuei sooner. Going out for runs in the morning and doing push ups in the backyard like in middle school didn’t cut it anymore when so many opportunities for growth were blossoming right within these concrete walls every day.

Kirishima jogs up the steps leading to the main school building. He’d already stopped by his dorm to check back in and brush off the pinch of dust from his bed. To think that even with a cleaning staff around to maintain the place while school was out, everything was exactly as he’d left it, messy but perfectly in order. He’d clean up what dirty laundry he had left when he came back.

There’s already a few of his classmates milling about when he comes through the towering door of their classroom. Ojiro and Jirou hang around the back, waving at Kirishima as he enters. To no one’s surprise, Iida is here too, clearly still dedicating himself to being here as early as possible.

The smile he sends to them grows wider when he spots Kaminari lounging in his chair, head nodding to some song coming through his headphones.

Taking his seat, backpack tucked under the table away from where someone could trip, Kirishima leans forward, tapping his shoulder, “What’re you listening to, Kami?” The only way Kirishima could ever get his attention with them on in the past was if he popped up in his vision or touched him.

Kaminari lifts one side of the headphones and looks over. It’s amusing to see how invested can become Kaminari in his music and divested to everything else, eyes widened a fraction like he’d been caught daydreaming, which wasn’t quite a far-fetched possibility, with how everyone in this class has been doing a lot of dreaming and catching up on personal time these past weeks.

Once Kaminari’s gaze falls on Kirishima, he relaxes, the momentary surprise blinked away as he turns in his chair, “Oh, you know, the usual.”

Kirishima never learned what Kaminari meant by “the usual”, but it was safe to assume that it was probably some mainstream musicーalthough it sounded time-consuming for Kaminari to burn the songs onto discs.  

“Still got that old CD player?” Kirishima had learned, after being given the permission to borrow items from Kaminari’s hoard of a room, that Kaminari kept many of the CDs that his parents owned, who were also a bunch of music enthusiasts. He was uncannily similar to Jirou in that regard.

Kaminari nods, patting his bag, “You know it. Finally brought it somewhere to get it fixed, and now this baby is good as new.”

“Mind if I have a listen sometime?” It’d be nice to get to know Kaminari through the type of music he listens to. Knowing someone’s favorite songs gives the piece a whole meaning, and the idea of being closer with Kaminari was a pleasant one.

Kirishima watches Kaminari tilt his head in consideration, agreeing after a moment of thought. “Sure, I’ll even have something specially prepared,” Kaminari grins. 

He nudges him with an elbow, smiling back, “Aren’t I lucky. Anyways, how was your break?”

“Much more boring without a whole bunch of teens under the same roof,” Kaminari shrugs, reaching up to brush the bangs from his face, which Kirishima watches with tickling fascination, “It was nice to be home, though. Unfortunately, we don’t get a lot of leisure time here to kick back and relax. Next time, let’s plan on meeting up to escape the boredom, yeah?” 

And that gives Kirishima an idea, “How about tonight?” 

Seeing Kaminari’s eyes light up, it was apparent he wouldn’t be needing any further convincing. 

Kaminari wasn’t lying when he said that he’d have something prepared. But he wasn’t about to tell Kirishima that he already had one, in need of a bit of tweaking to sound more like a normal playlist, and less like a terribly sappy playlist that only infatuated teenagers would make for their crush… even though that was exactly what made up Kaminari’s favorite CD labelled “Kirishima” in bold red lettering, slapped messily onto the case with masking tape. 

Blood from the murderer’s blade splatters across the screen in classic B-horror movie style, and Kirishima, the most vibrant thing in the room, far brighter than the deep, glowing crimson bouncing off the walls, laughs at the utter hilarity of it all, “I can’t believe you really chose a slasher movie over all the other genuine horror films in my collection!”

Kaminari cracks a smile at how Kirishima holds his face whilst balancing the laptop on his leg, shoulders shaking as a girl gets murdered with all the melodramatic finesse of an eighties actress, “Sometimes you just gotta appreciate a forgotten masterpiece, Kiri.” 

But Kirishima shakes his head, hands held up in surrender, “I think I’ve done enough appreciating.” He gets up off the bed, pulling open the drawer where all his movies were stored, “This time I get to choose which movie we watch next.”

“Go right ahead. I’ll be back in a second,” sliding the laptop off to the side, Kaminari stretches, heading over to his bag. Kirishima makes a noise of acknowledgement behind him, busy weighing two DVDs in his hands. 

He takes out some snacks, sifting through the all the stuff inside in search for something else. Further in, beyond the leftover snacks and useless objects he still found necessary to keep on his person, Kaminari pops open his player, removing the disc to put back in its case. He didn’t want to run the risk of accidentally switching it on and overheating the whole thing again. 

Kaminari gets no further than clicking the container shut before hands clamp down onto his shoulders with shocking firmness, and Kirishima shouting in his ear, “Boo!” 

It isn’t that Kaminari is particularly easy to scareーhe’s actually prone to jumpscares and the like, unless it was as obvious as Kirishima’s heavy footsteps approachingーbut maybe it was that he was in Kirishima’s room, alone with him, on the eve of their third scary movie, holding something he’d made with Kirishima in mind, that sends a surprise discharge through his body and outwards, cutting out the lights and all the power on this floor. 

Kaminari drops what’s in his hands and rises quickly, batting away the stray electricity dancing along his arms, speaking over the popping in his ears, “Warn a guy when you do that, Kiri!”

“Then that would take away from the whole surprise! Didn’t really think that’d be enough to activate your quirk though…” Somewhere off to Kaminari’s right, Kirishima adds, sounding a bit regretful of his decisions now. After some fumbling, they both take out their phones for light. Kirishima has a sheepish smile on his face, “I’m really sorry ‘bout that.” 

Kirishima really wasn’t the kind of guy Kaminari could stay mad at for long. He sighs, making a show of rolling his eyes so Kirishima would know he wasn’t angry, “Just be careful next time, I don’t wanna shock you.”

“You got it, chief! Luckily I was hard when you did that,” Kirishima teases, and Kaminari swats away the elbow in his side. They look down at the mess that had tumbled out from Kaminari’s bag in his rush to stand, and Kirishima bends down to look over spilled contents, “But all joke aside, lemme help you with this.” 

In the dark, with only their flashlights as luminescence until the security system rebooted itself and turned everything back onーthis wasn’t the first time Kaminari has been startled into cutting the dormitory’s powerーKaminari can hide the franticness in his reach for the hard plastic of the CD case that had slid under Kirishima’s bed. He stuck it into his bag, zipping that pocket closed before anything else. Picking up his schoolwork and pens weren’t as important as hiding that thin little disc from curious hands, which bumped into his own about as often as Kaminari found himself shying away from them.

Once the last slip of paper is lent over, Kaminari sets his bag over next to Kirishima, “Thanks.”

He takes Kaminari’s hand, helping him up off the floor. “No biggie. Now c'mon, let’s go start a new movie that’s sure to spook you.”

His hands are impossibly warm, or maybe it’s Kaminari’s that are too cold, harshly contrasting the heat crawling up his neck as Kirishima grins playfully, awaiting the rebuke Kaminari has for him.

“Don’t think I didn’t hear you scream earlier,” Kaminari counters. Kirishima was always one for playful banter, even if it was about something that scared both their socks off and left them incapable of emerging from their rooms alone in the late hours of the night.

Kirishima snorts, “Oh yeah, says the guy who just cut power to the whole floor.”

“It came back on!” With a muted flicker, the lightbulbs come back to life, and Kaminari holds an arm out as a show of his timely statement. “See?”

“Whatever you say, Kami.” Kirishima squeezes his hand back in answer, tugging Kaminari along even though guidance through this small dorm wasn’t required anymore. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t welcomed.  

Kaminari follows, totally okay with Kirishima’s insistence to keep their hands joined long after the movie was loaded in and each scream left Kaminari clutching it tighter. 

Kaminari doesn’t return to his own room until the next morning, nursing a sore neck. He’s sluggishly straightening his tie as he walks past the kitchen, using his free hand to toss out all the empty bags of food from his schoolbag, when his ritual check for the player and disc leaves him coming up empty of a plastic case. 

Letting go of his tie, he checks the pocket it’s always in. Much to his surprise, it’s not in there. He had tossed his bag to the floor earlier upon entering his room, so it was possible that he’d left it in there by accident.

“Hey, Kami!” Kaminari looks up at the sound of his name to see Kirsihima running up to him, “Ready to go?”

Well, that was a matter for later. He could just look for it later. 

For now, Kaminari plugs his headphones into his phone, sticking close to Kirishima as he holds the door open for the both of them, “Yup, sure am.”  

The subject of the missing CD doesn’t come up until they’re back in Kirishima’s dorm again to play the afternoon away with video games. 

A healthy dose of roughhousing and a spilled drink puts a damper in the excitement, especially when Kaminari is unable to procure anything to clean it with. He sure was missing a lot of things lately. 

“Aw, man.” Kaminari shuts his bag, looking over at Kirishima, “Hey, got any napkins?”

Kirishima nods over at his bag sandwiched between them, eyes never leaving the screen, “Yeah, left pocket.”

“Thanks.”

The school provided standard bags if a student wanted to go with the default choice of wear, but everybody had the freedom to use their own backpacks. And maybe it was coincidence, but he and Kirishima had pretty similar style backpacks. 

The napkins were easy to find, a whole crumpled ball of it stuffed into one pouch. If Kaminari hadn’t already spilled his drink, he surely would’ve at the sight of his red CD case sitting pretty in the pocket opposite the one his hand was currently stuffed in.

He freezes, just about to pull his hand out. 

“Found what you need?” Kirishima asks, playing away at the game.

There was no way Kaminari could take it back. At least, not yet, not without making it apparent that he was taking out something large and obviously not tissue-shaped. He’d left his own backpack in his room with the knowledge that they were going to get zero homework done together, but now he almost wishes they had stuck to their plan like responsible students.

“U-Uh yeah!” Kaminari pulls out a fistful of napkins, going about dabbing at the wet spot on his shirt.

It really shouldn’t have irked as much as it did, but having his favorite CD in the hands of another friend left Kaminari in quite the predicament.

He couldn’t just ask for the CD, because what if Kirishima didn’t know it was there? What if he got defensive about Kaminari snooping around in his personal belongings? What if he’d ask to listen to it then? Would he connect the dots? 

Mina, his company until the rest of the group came back with the rest of the food, snaps him out of his thoughts with, “Kami, you’re talking out loud.”

He pulls his hands out of his hair, now left a tangled disarray thanks to his nervous hair pulling, “Mina, this is terrible!”

She puts down her phone, propping up her arm to look him in the eye. Mina often needed higher or equal ground when she gave someone advice, “It’s really not. Wouldn’t this make telling him how you feel so much easier?”

“Not unless you factor in the whole reason behind that CD!” Kaminari raises his voice a little too much that time, but the all of this was nerve wracking to be happening during the first week back. 

“You’re overthinking this, Kami.” 

“I know I am!”

When Kaminari catches Kirishima whistling a familiar tune before class one day, he feels ready to crawl in a hole when he recognizes it as a track off the playlist. He settles for hiding his face in his arm instead, knowing that there was no way Aizawa would accept the excuse of feeling sick to his stomach, the butterflies increasing tenfold.

It was going to be impossible to bring this up without making this about his feelings, that’s for sure. 

The moment of reckoning, when Kaminari is at last faced with a confrontation by Kirishima, is on the way back to the dorms from another long day of classes. 

“Yo, Kami!” Kirishima waves his hand, a sign for Kaminari to wait up for him. He does, watching from his spot in the courtyard as Kirishima comes down the steps, distracted with taking something out of his backpack. Kaminari’s fingers tighten on the leather straps. 

“I’ve been meaning to give this back to you!” Kirishima reveals the missing CD case with a flourish, holding it up victoriously while Kaminari tries to hide the dread from his face. Of course he would’ve found it eventually. 

Kirishima flips it over this way and that, inspecting the case like he still couldn’t quite believe it was in his possession, “I don’t remember exactly when, but I think I borrowed it off you last week. I mean, it has my name on it, right?”

Kaminari swallows with a nod. “Y.. yeah…”

“Sorry I took so long to return it,” he scratches the back of his head, extending it out for Kaminari to take, “here.” 

Kaminari accepts the CD, uncertain of what to do with it now. He’s barely able to read its contents to check and make sure it was still in good condition, when Kirishima clears his throat in seek of his attention. 

“So, I was thinking…” Kirishima rocks on his heels, hands tightly laced before him, “do you wanna go out to the movies sometime? We don’t have to watch a scary movie, it can be whatever you want!” 

That sounded almost… “Like a date?” Kaminari asks, eyes trained on Kirishima as he laughs, eyes not quite meeting his for a moment, almost as though he was embarrassed. 

“Yeah!” There was a pink hue to Kirishima’s cheeks as he smiled brilliantly at Kaminari. 

A small, meager part of him was speechless, but it was far outweighed by the joy that was welling up inside of Kaminari’s chest as he sucks in a deep breath. With a tight nod, Kaminari grins back, “I’d like that.”

Kirishima, expressive as he is with his body, lets his shoulders drop in relief, a deep sigh falling from his lips as he pumps his fists in the air, “Awesome! That’s great! Fantastic!” Reenergized by the answer, Kirishima straightens, looking about ready to bolt away out of excitement, “I’m gonna, uh, head out now!” 

Kaminari looks over in the direction Kirishima is pointing at, “Aren’t we heading to the dorms like we always do?” 

“R-Right!” Kirishima seems to take that as a cue to grab his hand. It was something Kirishima’s been doing impulsively these days, but Kaminari knows there’s solid purpose behind it this time, “Let’s go!” 

All it takes is a tug of Kirishima’s arm, and Kaminari keeps pace with him the whole way. 

[machinakrp]

>> OPEN KANG SAEROM’S FILE …

:// AGE — 28 :// OCCUPATION — owner of ambrosia casino :// CLASS — elysium native

>> LOADING DEVELOPMENT …

:// MODIFICATIONS —

techhair - artificial hair that is embedded into the scalp and contains a display layer that can emit colors and patterns.

turn-on fails: fake fails that possess the same properties as techhair, the display layer allows the change of colors and patterns within seconds.

cyberlimbs (validation fingertips): chips implanted into the skin on the fingertips can detect counterfeit money upon touch.

>> LOADING BIOGRAPHY …

kang saerom had the great fortune of being born into a family that had abandoned any glimpse of hope. they had stopped living under the assumption they could evoke change in the charred grime of elysium long ago. truth was that everything surrounding us has been built by despicable people for despicable people; only burning it down to the ground and vowing on the remaining ashes of the past to never let the darkness of our hearts take over again could lead the world onto another path. alas, it had to be different.

as he liked to lament so much in his stories of older times, her father, a weathered politician, had seen it all. kang saejun had witnessed how those with ill intentions had molded the city into their perverse playground with no limits. how those with the means simply took what they wanted, rightfully theirs or not. life in itself is the quietus for every scintilla of hope, for every thought that maybe, just maybe, it could be different. elysium had made sure to terminate any idea for a better future and the deal was sealed when he married the heiress of the ambrosia casino.

choi mina played her part in the casino’s blinding farce perfectly. black market mink coats, self-sown sequin dresses and fake louboutins adorned her when she made her laps through the casino, a child born from foul soil pretending to be a dazzling star. convinced that the olympian’s superiority can trickle down one day, she gave ambrosia the necessary touch it had been craving for so long. naked bulbs replaced with chandeliers, blood stains covered by red carpet and blackjack tables instead of rundown slot machines. wicked mouths spoke of vicious assumptions where the sudden capital came from, truth was that saejun and mina cared little about each other’s promiscuity. if the ritual of their bodies could buy them a deal beyond pleasure, so be it.

the tireless devotion mina displayed evolved ambrosia into what it is today. one of the few seldom places where olympians and elysium natives cross, the fine line on which they balance, careful not to step into the other’s world. a bridge between what could be and what really is.

saerom emerged from exactly that pass, that paradox of the two worlds. her birth was a welcome one and yet it wasn’t, as all parents feel the hot drop of guilt run down their spine when they bring yet another life into this godforsaken world. her mother sang her lullabies of olympus, of clear blue skies and a life with no concerns, a life with overflow of everything. saerom listened with ardor about the stories that allegedly unfolded behind the doors of the casino. a place where olympians and elysians coexisted, even just for a few hours, beneath crystal lights and with heartfelt laughter. her mother instilled the thought within her that one day they too would emerge from the dust of elysium, and saerom awoke every day with the thought that it might be the one. a place in olympus was already reserved. but when she was old enough to step into the myth-enshrouded hall, she was met with disappointment.

the image she had painted in her head did not match with reality. what her mother had sold as coexistence was a laughable claim. olympians and elysium natives still prevailed in separate parts of the building, one reserved for the elite and one for who would like to imagine they belonged to it as well. there was no fine line, there was a border. as the owner her mother naturally had access to both parts, slowly feeding her with the thought she belonged to those that descended from the blinding skyscrapers. honey-coated promises of her own ascend made her turn a blind eye to the indebted elite, only to never see those promises fulfilled.

saerom was repulsed. and even more so when her mother pronounced her as her successor, a servant of those she deemed so honorable and dignified. the first specks of doubt had already settled down comfortably in the darkest corners of saerom’s mind when she starts to learn the ins and outs of the casino. she had been trying to dream of something more, something beyond this, but how could it be any different? she negotiates with her quiet, she wanders, she bleeds, but no matter where saerom goes, she is confined by the polluted horizon, fully aware that was lays beyond it is out of her reach. she feels miniscule but funnily enough, saerom always seeks to be present. like, really present. feeling every chill, bloody morning running through her spine and the soreness of her eyes as the neon lights burn themselves mercilessly into her retina.  

only when her mother stepped into a more passive position and saerom emerged as the operator, she realized the unique potential the establishment holds. she noticed the same glint in everyone’s eyes, whether they came with their pockets loaded and ready to be emptied or  if they put their last savings on the table. the highest of the elite and the lowest of the society were attracted by the same blinking slot machines, addicted by the same flick of the cards during a round of poker. truth was that rich and poor used the casino’s grandeur to take their mind off the troubles that await once they step outside. unlike her mother she did not view the similarities between the two worlds as a strength, but as an exploitable weakness. she began holding debts like a damocles sword over those who she knew could afford it, the debt purging policy of her mother abolished once and for all. she goes the extra mile, the one her mother had not dared to walk in order to stay neat and tidy for her alleged olympian rise. books are cooked, bets arranged under the table. she has little respect for life and even less for death, a dangerous combination that feeds her with reckless devotion.

it was at that time that she realized that the halls of money had fold speaking in idioms and empty platitudes. at times she feels far away, as if she could go on and plagiarize identities for a while and no one would notice - it is an off pretending and profoundly unsettling. but at its core is a yearning to bring this chapter of history to an end. she is a hungry woman. heart like a cigarette that won’t stay lit. sometimes she think believing in some kind of manufactured god would be better because it would give some meaning to the soulless networking between blackjack tables. the bitter truth is that she is simply someone searching for savagery. a phrase, a light, a fire. the signs along the way, even if it turned her more into a sinner than a saint.

[uncleyarn2-blog]

Our 2018 all-Chicago holiday gift guide

Sustenance

1/ Local coffee subscription: Back of the Yards, Dark Matter, or Metric Coffee

Coffee is the social lubricant that wakes you up, keeps you awake—or maybe puts you to sleep. You can drink it hot in winter to stay warm! But drink good, fresh coffee. Chicago is home to many fine craft coffee roasters, and may offer subscriptions for a steady supply. Metric Coffee offers espresso ($20) and blend ($20) subscriptions as well as a Roasters Choice Subscription ($22) and Single Origin Subscription ($24) each with two different eight-ounce bags in every weekly or monthly delivery. Dark Matter Coffee offers three, six, and twelve-month subscriptions to their monthly limited blends for $20 per month—with discounts for longer subscriptions. Back of the Yards Coffee Co.'s Coffee Club subscriptions page is currently under construction. Hopefully that will be available again soon. In the meantime, they do sell their espresso and 47th Street Blend medium-dark roast coffee in twelve-ounce bags ($15.99), with one dollar from every 47th Street Blend going to their Social Impact fund to benefit the neighborhood.—John Dunlevy Prices vary at backoftheyardscoffee.com, darkmattercoffee.com, and metriccoffee.com.

2/ Coffee maker Nº3 by Manual.is

Manual's newest coffee maker is four usages in one: pour over, French press, cold brew, and a pitcher. It can keep its liquids hot for about an hour in the double-wall insulated design. With this elegant, hand-blown borosilicate glass vessel, even a person who doesn't drink coffee regularly (me) will savor the ritual of making, and serving coffee. —Sue Kwong $140 at Manual Shop & Studio, 3251½ W. Bryn Mawr, 312-870-0799, manual.is.

3/ Mushroom tree ornaments by Facture Goods

The handcrafted mushroom Christmas ornaments come in earthy brown clay glazed in gray and flecked with 22-karat gold. They typically sell out in minutes when creator Aron Fischer puts a fresh batch in his online shop. But on November 24 you can find them at Martha Mae in Andersonville during Small Business Saturday. The mushrooms come in enoki, morel, shiitake, and straw varietals. Plus, while you're there, you can snag plenty more gifts for loved ones in Jean Cate's magical shop. —Maya Dukmasova $18 each or $60 for a set of four at facturegoods.com and on November 24 only at Martha Mae, 5407 N. Clark, 872-806-0988, marthamae.info.

4/ Malort soy candle

Everyone's favorite drink in candle form. —Vince Cerasani $30 at reuse-first.com.

5/ Tellicherry Black Whole Peppercorns from Reluctant Trading Experiment

Pretty amazing pepper from an outfit started by Scott Eirinberg, the entrepreneur who founded, and later sold, The Land of Nod. —Suggested by Kate Schmidt, written by Reader staff Starting at $6.50 at reluctanttrading.com.

Self Care

1/ Houseplant from Foyer

This little plant and stationary store opened in Andersonville a few months ago. It's run by a tremendously helpful and non-judgmental Alma Vescovi, who wants you to get past your fear of killing houseplants. The stock is refreshed weekly and she carries hard-to-find varietals like pilea, monstera, and satin pothos alongside all kinds of succulents and cacti. There are also vintage planters and pots as well as ones made by local artists. If things don't go well with your new plant friend, you can always bring it back for a check-up with Vescovi. She once helped me resuscitate a delicate plumosa fern. It's doing great. Plants are the gift that keeps on giving.—Maya Dukmasova Starting at $8 at 1480 W. Berwyn, 713-994-0302, foyer.shop.

2/ Sound wave art, Soundwaves by Mordecai

Kathleen Mordecai turns sound waves from parts of songs or special moments (for example Pat Hughes saying "Chicago Cubs win the World Series" or children's laughter, as pictured) into sculptures she handcrafts using reclaimed wood. Whether you're shopping for someone who lives in a tiny studio, or in a mansion with plenty of wall space to fill, there's likely an option that will fit; the current selection of sculptures in her online shop runs from 12 inches to 4 feet. Mordecai also takes custom orders, and for those who want to be able to hear the sound while enjoying the visuals, she offers an option for audio playback. —Jamie Ludwig Starting at $76 at etsy.com/soundwavesbyMordecai.

3/ Soap Distillery

The brand tagline for Soap Distillery may promise "Small batches. No hangovers," but no such claim can be made about whether these boozy body care miracles are addictive. Because they are, friends. A bottle of the Beer + Cigarettes hand and body wash disappeared so quickly from my bathroom that I'm not entirely convinced my partner wasn't drinking it. Perfect for the person on your list who always smells so damn good. —Karen Hawkins Prices vary at soapdistillery.com. Catch up with founder Danielle Martin at a holiday shopping event or click here for a list of retailers.

4/ King Spa & Sauna

King Spa & Sauna, the Korean spa in Niles, does not fulfil the glossy magazine ideal of the spa day. There are no fluffy white robes, no soothing music or nice-smelling oils and lotions. Instead, there's a series of saunas, each filled with a different substance that will relieve you of a different source of stress, each more baroque than the last: amethyst geodes, living crystals, 350-million-year-old salt rocks, a 23-karat gold pyramid. The admission fee gets a person access to all of them, plus the soaking pools, food court, and movie theater. (Massages and other spa treatments are extra.) The spa's open 24 hours, so guests can stay as long as they like. In Korea, entire families go to spas for an easy weekend getaway. Maybe they're onto something? —Aimee Levitt $40 admission at King Spa & Sauna, 809 Civic Center Drive, Niles, 847-972-2540, kingspa.com/chicago. Gift cards available.

5/ Mochimochi Land knitting kits

Forget sweaters and scarves, Mochimochi Land gives you the tools to show off your needle skills by knitting something truly unique: cute miniature characters like tiny burgers or tiny walruses or tiny robots and really any other tiny thing you can dream up. The kits go for $12-$15 and include yarn, stuffing, notions, and patterns—all you need are knitting needles, available separately on the website. Mochimochi Land creator Anna Hrachovec features her knitted friends in stop-motion animated videos and GIFs of everyday life in the mystical, yarn-covered land of her own creation. Hrachovec also used the style in her book, Adventures in Mochimochi Land, which follows the adventures of a talking doughnut and a lovelorn balloon, of course. The online shop offers patterns for larger, equally adorable knitting projects ranging from $5-$8 and, for the less crafty among us, pre-knit gnomes, hedgehogs, zombies, and unicorns for $25 each. —Brianna Wellen Prices vary at mochimochiland.com.

6/ Mano y Metal handmade accessories

These aren't your basic accessories. Mano y Metal offers handmade metal jewelry that spices up any look. Owner Desiree T. Guzman features hand stamped metal rings, cuff bracelets, earrings, necklaces, dog tags and more with empowering sayings engraved on them like "be badass" ("chingona" in Spanish) or "me vale madre" which translates to "I don't give a damn." The online shop even offers options available for customization and a Chicago collection. —Marissa De La Cerda $10 for keychains, $16 for rings, $20-$22 for double finger rings, $16-$28 for bracelets, $17-$58 for necklaces at manoymetal.com.

7/ The WasteShed Art Supplies

Help fuel your loved one's winter craft addiction and help rescue markers, knitting needles and paints from the landfill. Cultivating a more sustainable culture, The WasteShed accepts donations of art supplies and repurposes art, craft and school supplies. Pull together a gift basket for a DIY project from their low cost offerings, or grab a gift certificate for the creatives and teachers on your list. While you're there, drop off the crocheting you gave up on. The WasteShed is a tax-exempt 501(c)(3) so your donations are tax deductible! See their web site for complete list of acceptable donations. — Jamie Ramsay Prices vary at 2842 W. Chicago, 773-666-5997, thewasteshed.com.

8/ Mermaid lessons at AquaMermaid

Who doesn't know someone who once dreamed of being a mermaid? (If your answer is "me," feel free to skip this item.) Fortunately, AquaMermaid exists for the sole purpose of helping people fulfill this glorious dream. Weekly lessons are available on Sunday afternoons at the UIC Sports and Fitness Center pool for both kids and adults; parties can also be arranged. You'll learn basic mermaid maneuvers, like how to glide gracefully underwater, flip your fins, and wave gracefully with your tail. And yes, tails are provided—though you'll have to wear your own bathing suit, or a seashell bra if you want to go full Ariel. Be warned: being a mermaid is a lot harder than it looks, but you'll get a great core workout. —Aimee Levitt Starting at $60 at UIC Sports and Fitness Center, 901 W. Roosevelt Road, 866-279-2767, aquamermaid.com.

Community Care

1/ Chicago Community Bond Fund donation

What better way to spread holiday cheer than to help someone in jail get home to their family? CCBF accepts donations large and small to pay bail for those awaiting trial in Cook County Jail. —Maya Dukmasova Visit chicagobond.org to see the criteria they use to select whose bail to pay.

2/ Women & Children First gift certificate

This post-#MeToo moment is a really good time to give all the sexist jerks in your life a gift certificate to one of the oldest and most significant women-owned bookstores in the US. Making people support women-owned businesses and select from an array of books including a higher-than-average spate by women and nonbinary folks is truly a gift that will benefit generations to come. —Anne Elizabeth Moore Prices vary at 5233 N. Clark, 773-769-9299, womenandchildrenfirst.com.

3/ My Block, My Hood, My City gear

Founded by Jamal Cole, MBMHMC is a connectivity-encouraging, mentoring nonprofit that focuses on providing underserved teenagers exposure to opportunities beyond their familiar neighborhoods. Through excursions in STEM, art, entrepreneurism, and community development, called the Explorers Program, as well as service projects like shoveling snow for seniors, MBMHMC fosters experiences to nurture and empower Chicago youth. Twenty percent of all apparel sales go toward the Explorers Program. On December 1 and 8, volunteer to help hang holiday lights from 51st to 87th Streets along historic Martin Luther King Jr. Drive. Like their Facebook page or check https://www.formyblock.org/events/ for updates on projects, calls to action, and to learn about volunteering. —Jamie Ramsay from $50 for hoodies (available in English, Spanish and Mandarin), $25 for skullies, at formyblock.org.

4/ Haymarket Books Book Club

If there's a radical or revolutionary on your shopping list, or, at the very least, someone who cares about social and economic justice, odds are they already know about Haymarket Books, the Buena Park-based publisher of Angela Davis, Rebecca Solnit, Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor, and Eve Ewing, among many, many others. Membership in Haymarket's book club provides regular monthly shipments of all the publisher's new titles, in either print or e-book format, plus discounts on everything on the backlist. Not only will you provide someone with the foundation of a great personal library, you'll also be supporting a local business. It's a win for everybody. —Aimee Levitt $20-$30/month at haymarketbooks.org.

5/ T-Shirt from the Silver Room

I discovered Silver Room when I first saw Eve Ewing wearing a "Make Chicago Great Again" Harold Washington T-shirt at Pitchfork last year. But the store has a lot more to offer, with shirts by local artists ranging from a profile of Colin Kaepernick made out of tiny red fists to one that looks like a hand-painted bodega advertisement for Hyde Park. The store is full of hand-crafted leather goods, jewelry, and home decor, many by black makers. —Maya Dukmasova $20-$30 at Silver Room, 1506 E. 53rd St., 773-947-0024, thesilverroom.com.

6/ Rebel Betty Arte prints and zines

Support a Latinx artist this holiday season by buying zines, prints, buttons and other artwork by Rebel Betty, an Afro-Latina artist, DJ, and educator. Her work focuses on raising awareness and creating discussions about gentrification and issues affecting black and brown communities. —Marissa De La Cerda $5-$35 for prints, $5-$15 for zines, $10-$15 for buttons and other items at rebelbettyarte.com.

Good Times

1/ Hollow Leg cocktail class

Contrary to popular belief, Hollow Leg is not a store where you can buy a leg lamp a la A Christmas Story, it's a company that offers mixology classes at various venues around the city. Founded by Devin Kidner, Hollow Leg aims to share the art and science behind crafting cocktails so that anyone who attends their events leaves with the knowledge, taste, and skill to finally make a decent drink—and since they offer plenty of non-alcoholic options, everyone can join in on the fun. You can purchase individual tickets or gift certificates to workshops such as Liquid Confidence: Mixology 101, or book them for a holiday shindig so you can give a whole bunch of your friends the gift that keeps on giving (and giving, and giving . . . depending on who you hang out with). Though most classes are hands-on, they also offer tastings, so you and your guests can just sit back, sip, and learn. The best part might be that they'll play "cocktail whisperer," and tailor the menu for their audience, so if, for example, you hate sugary sweet drinks, you won't have to waste your time—or your booze—mixing one. —Jamie Ludwig $60-$95 for gift certificates at hollowleg.com.

2/ Fat Tiger Workshop hat

Streetwear boutique Fat Tiger Workshop first set up in a small Congress Theater storefront four years ago. Founding designers Vic Lloyd, Desmond Owusu, Terrell Jones, and Joe "Freshgoods" Robinson quickly made the space a home for friends, aspiring artists, and established musicians. One day I wandered in to find Chuck Inglish and Sulaiman filming a music video behind the storefront; on another I bought a Save Money shirt during a pop-up helmed by Joey Purp. Fat Tiger has changed locations twice since then, and the owners still make sure its large West Town headquarters is an open-door community space, even as their individual profiles have risen. Robinson has become a streetwear celebrity since he made a one-off clothing line in homage to our previous president, "Thank U Obama" (Chance the Rapper wore one such hoodie while collecting his first Grammy), and he's since been enlisted to make clothes for the Chicago Bears, McDonald's, and the MCA. All four designers make gear for their individual brands, but they also have a run of Fat Tiger clothes. The simple, bold Fat Tiger hat is a great way to show love for all four of these independent, community-driven designers. —Leor Galil $30 for a signature hat at 836 N. Milwaukee, fattigerworkshop.com.

3/ Custom handmade guitar strap from Souldier

In 2004, Chicago musician Jen Tabor started making instrument straps for her friends, and soon began selling them at shows. Nearly 15 years later, her company Souldier, which specializes in hand-cut leather guitar, bass, and banjo straps, has helped support the instruments of artists such as Jeff Tweedy, Tom Petty, and Kim Gordon, and has practically come to have rock-star status of its own. You can find Souldier straps at a number of instrument shops and other retailers throughout the city, or purchase directly through their website, where there's more fun to be had by customizing a strap of your own. Choose between dozens of color and fabric patterns to match anyone's personality and/or artistic aesthetic. And though Souldier is most known for their instrument accessories, their product line also includes camera straps, headbands, wrist cuffs, dog collars, and more, so there are plenty of gift options for your non-musician human and canine friends. —Jamie Ludwig Prices vary at souldier.us.

4/ Fine Prints cassettes

Chicago's rock scene–if you can say there is one single community–is a lot broader than it often gets credited. Local label Fine Prints gets it. Founded by Robby Haynes (who helps run Hermosa studio Strange Magic Recording) and Ziyad Asrar (of Baby Blue, formerly of Whitney), Fine Prints has put out only a handful of cassette releases, but the small catalog shows how weird and wonderful Chicago rock can get. The label launched in August by releasing tapes from prog misfits Mayor Daley, art punks Wage, and synthpop hypnotists Desert Liminal; in October, Haynes and Asrar dropped the second EP by bedroom-pop wizard Adam Schubert, aka Ruins. The acts Fine Prints have worked with don't overlap stylistically, and that's partly why these four cassettes work well as a single package; they're great individual documents, and all together they unintentionally function as a reminder that there's a lot of great music happening in the city beyond the sounds on these tapes. —Leor Galil $7 per cassette at fineprints.bandcamp.com.

5/ Sharkula T-shirt

Can you really claim to be a Chicagoan if you've never met Sharkula? For the past couple decades, the oddball rapper who also answers to Thigahmahjigggee and Dirty Gilligan has roamed around the city's streets, selling his wares hand-to-hand: usually that means CD-Rs of his unpredictable raps housed in a photocopied sheet of paper littered with his drawings. He recently started making his own T-shirts, and his detailed, gritty graffiti style gives his pieces a lived-in quality. Sharkula designs each shirt by hand and no two are identical, which means this is the most unique gift you can give the Chicago hip-hop fan in your life. And, since buying a shirt requires that you call Sharkula, this also gives anyone who has never met him before the opportunity to finally meet a local legend. —Leor Galil Starting at $30 at 773-647-4995.

6/ Experimental Sound Studio tickets

Experimental Sound Studio, founded in 1986 and based in Edgewater since 2006, is one of the city's great incubators of avant-garde and experimental music. The nonprofit's facility houses a full-service recording studio, of course, as well as a small public gallery that hosts exhibitions, workshops, and other events. ESS also provides a home for the Creative Audio Archive, which it describes as "an invaluable collection of recordings, print, and visual ephemera related to avant-garde and exploratory sound and music"—including a trove of Sun Ra material dating back to the 1950s and thousands of improvised and underground shows captured between 1981 and 2006 by Chicago sound recordist Malachi Ritscher. The concert series that ESS presents in its cozy live room, including Option and Oscillations, feature internationally celebrated Chicagoans—drummer Hamid Drake, sound artist Olivia Block, visionary multi-instrumentalists Ben Lamar Gay and Douglas Ewart—as well as renowned out-of-towners such as trumpeter Greg Kelley, saxophonist Don Dietrich, and pedal steel guitarist Susan Alcorn. —Philip Montoro $40 for a pack of five tickets good for any concerts, which usually cost $10 apiece—and if you e-mail info@ess.org in advance to make a reservation, they'll even get you into one of the handful each year that sell out, 5925 N. Ravenswood, 773-998-1069, ess.org.

7/ Ninja Zombie DVD

In 1992, aspiring writer-director Mark Bessenger and a small crew filmed a low-budget Super-8 horror comedy in Chicago, the exurbs, and Wisconsin. No distributor wanted to touch his movie, Ninja Zombie, though I have a little trouble understanding why; the sight of a green, shirtless zombie adeptly fighting off a small army of ninjas would've sold me in 1992, but I was also seven at the time. Bessenger made a few VHS copies for friends, but the film otherwise disappeared. More than two decades later a copy wound up in the hands of cinema fanatic Zack Carlson, who helps run Bleeding Skull, a site and film distributor that documents obscure horror pictures. In 2014, Carlson brought the VHS to his Bleeding Skull collaborators (writer Annie Choi and site founder Joseph Ziemba, an Illinois native) who were so charmed by the goofy, light-footed picture they decided to find a way to release it. Last month, Bleeding Skull and Austin-based nonprofit the American Genre Film Archive co-released Ninja Zombie on DVD. I just hope with this wide release it may soon become a midnight staple. —Leor Galil $13.99 at americangenrefilm.com/releases/ninja-zombie.

About the artists

To accompany our gift guide, we commissioned two local artists to create the gift wrap featured on our two variant covers. To take full advantage of the festivities, pick up a paper copy of this week's Reader.

Justin Clemons from Chicago Lawn is also the Production Manager at Magnolia Printing. His gift wrap features hands spelling "C-H-I-C-A-G-O" in American Sign Language. The piece started as a hand study he painted at age 17 in the program After School Matters, and his instructor noted that it evoked the feeling of people being deaf to the youth of Chicago and their issues. Years later, Justin completed the painting in acrylics. It was featured in Black Creativity Juried Art Exhibition hosted at the Museum of Science+Industry Chicago 2014.

Laura Berger is an artist living in Chicago who paints, sculpts and also animates. Her beautifully minimalistic work often focuses on themes of nature, dreams, or travel. Sometimes, her images feature a host of culturally diverse naked bodies—as appear on one of our variant covers. She is interested in how people create meaning and a sense of belonging to a greater whole.

For more info on Justin's work: justinianart.com. For more info on Laura's work: lauraberger.com.   v

Source: https://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/chicago-reader-2018-holiday-gift-guide/Content?oid=63481605