#last year i looked terrible when i bleached my hair *professionally*

[northern-borealis]

.

[transskywardsword]

quick drabble i wrote last night exploring Mask and Waker's first real one-on-one interaction. waker agrees to be friends pretty soon after this, but i think he's allowed a little bitterness

---

Link must have done something terrible. Or, rather, Mask must have, because that was the name he'd given himself all those years ago when the Her Royal Highness first offered him a place in her army, and it was the name he used now, two weeks after meeting eleven other men--boys really-- who supposedly shared his soul.

Naming aside, Mask must have done something terrible, because Waker didn't like him. The sailor liked everyone and in turn everyone liked him, smiled at his antics and laughed at his shitty jokes and ooh-ed and aww-ed at his ghost stories. Waker was an easy man to like, with enough swagger for a whole ocean and a mischievous streak that was tolerated by the adults when no one else's nonsense was. Waker was the best of them, even with him being the only hero present without the spirit of the first hero inside him, and if Waker didn't like someone, it was almost always for good reason.

So then why didn't the sailor like him?

It was subtle. Era insisted Mask was seeing things, while Twilight said Mask was inventing problems that weren't there. When asked if he would talk to his friend about it, Wilds had rolled his eyes over his cooking pot and ignored him. They could be right. Mask could be projecting two childhoods' worth of trauma onto the teen and twisting the narrative but--

But Waker didn't smile at him like the others. Didn't squeeze his shoulder or pull him into rib shattering hugs. Didn't offer to fetch him seconds, or share his bedroll when the nights got too cold, or drool over Mask's instruments like he did with Legend's seashell orchestra. He didn't sit beside him, didn't swap stories, didn't ask Mask to go search for koroks together. No, with him, Waker was cold and silent and Mask knew he must have done something wrong, he just didn't know what.

Night fell quickly on the beach, and the sea water left a chill in the air. Waker sat beside the fire, keeping watch with his good foot burred in the sand, his prosthetic off and his trouser leg rolled up, exposing the stump to the fresh air. It was obviously an old wound, nothing like Wilds' recent amputation, and the scarring spoke of professional work, not goat kings working to attach ghostly arms up in the sky.

"Take a pictograph, it'll last longer." Waker grunted, looking up from the shell he was carving, and Mask flushed.

"Sorry," He signed quickly, and Waker rolled his eyes. With a sigh, he patted the sand next to him.

"Sit."

Mask sat immediately, almost embarrassingly quickly, sending a puff of sand into the air.

"What?"

Mask blinked. "Huh?"

"What do you want."

"Oh. I..." Mask struggled to work his tongue. He'd spoken more these two weeks with the 'Links' than he had in months, and the sounds still felt weird in his mouth, but his hands were too jittery and numb to form words. "Um."

Waker sighed again, shifting away from Mask and returning to his carving.

"Wait--!" Mask forced his tongue to work. Now wasn't the time to lose words. "Why don't you like me?"

"What?" Waker spluttered, looking back over.

"Like me. You don't. Why?"

"I like you fine."

Mask stuck out his chin. "Bullshit. I'm not stupid, I have eyes."

Waker groaned, running a hand through his dry, bleached hair. His roots were coming in brown, giving his hair the appearance of an overripe banana. "Go to bed, Mask."

"No."

"Mask--"

"Not until you tell me--"

Waker brandished his carving knife. "Won't you shut up?" He hissed. "Watch is supposed ta be quiet. You're gonna wake 'em all up."

"Right. Sorry."

Waker turned back to the fire, his tanned, freckled face flickering in the firelight, and the two sat in silence for so long that Mask finally considered returning to his bedroll. He stood to do so, only for Waker to grab his sleeve.

"There is a legend of which the people of my island speak. It tells of a beautiful, prosperous kingdom invaded by a demon of great power in search of a sacred power that protected the land."

Mask swallowed, then nodded, urging Waker to continue.

"When the world was at its darkest, a boy emerged dressed in green and, traveling through land and space and time itself, slayed the beast. His mastery of time earned him the title of the 'Hero of Time', and once all was well, the Hero vanished.

But the demon returned. It ravished the land, and stole the sacred power. The people waited with baited breath for their Hero, but he never returned. In their hour of need, he abandoned them."

Waker's eyes burned and Mask found himself frozen.

Abandoned. Abandoned. Abandoned.

"The people, knowing their death was imminent without their Hero, prayed for mercy, and the Gods granted it. They flooded the kingdom, killing every monster-- and every person. The kingdom and its people drowned beneath the waves, and were forgotten, all while the demon licked its wounds.

It returned. And the land stayed dead. And the Hero stayed missing."

"Oh." Mask whispered, and Waker snorted.

"Go back to bed, Mask. I'll wake you for your watch in a few hours."

"I-- okay. Okay." Mask mumbled. "Good night, Waker."

The sailor let out a soft, bitter laugh, returning his gaze to the fire. "Sleep well, Hero of Time."

[bakatenshii]

Grapefruit

Oikawa Tooru x reader (haikyuu!!)

word count: 2.3k

TW: 18+, lemon, wattpad, crack

A/N: I’m so sorry. This is actually a joke, a parody, I promise, it’s written like this on purpose for the collab. Terrible (or lack entirely of) grammar, dialogue so cheesy I threw up multiple times in my mouth, too many specifications of shades of the colour pink. For @undermattsun’s whorehouse wattpad garbage fire collab. I’m so sorry.

grape·fruit

/ˈɡrāpˌfro͞ot/

In the world of fandom (check out fan fiction, fanfics, or fics), a grapefruit is a story which consists of sexual explicit themes in bizarre situations.

An orange-twinged pink, almost coral.

haikyuu series!! :3

disclaimer: haikyuu does NOT belong 2 me. Or else I would make XXXX go w/ XXXX ;)

༻✧༺

𝑝𝑎𝑝𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑎𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠

𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑠

༻✧༺

“hurry up y/n!!!” - i remove my skullcandies out my ears, hearing my best friend sunnie(with an ie! not y!) shout to me from down the hall.

flipping my baby pink (NOT cotton candy pink! god there’s a difference, get it right. last week ash-lee with her stupid bleach blonde hair called it cotton candy pink and I wanted to kill her) hair behind my shoulder, i skipped down the lockers.

i was in my best outfit, checkered pink and white (bubblegum pink, this time) leg warmers with my matching pink + white skirt and white denim jacket with a pink butterfly bedazzled on the back. i saw paris hilton in it on her myspace too, so you could say im pretty trendy.

not like the other girls, like brittney (with her dark hair with a blue streak with a puppy shaped purse she swears is designer.) or ash-lee with her stupid ugly blonde hair that’s deffo fake. oh i already said that

anyways

it’s just an average tuesday morning, and i’m just your not-so-average girl. my name’s (y/n) (l/n) and im (age) years old. my best friends are sunnie, rachelle, and meeky. oh, and lindt, sometimes, when she’s not too busy with trying to save the world from global warming.

i’m on my way to p.e. which UGH is my least fav class, who even came up with it? but at least there’s the hottie oikawa tooru-sama in my class (ha! eat that ash-lee + brittney) and all the girls luuuuurv him. he’s soooo hot i bet he has abs

(brianna with the ugly hair who wears green shoes with red socks said she saw him change once and she totally saw his 8pack but she’s a liar so i dont believe her)

(even tho he tooootally has one)

i was on way just skipping down the hall to go to p.e. when someone crashes into me from behind.

‘-u-GH!’ i fall.

‘hey!!!!’ i turned around to yell at who’s bumping into me-

it was oikawa tooru-sama!! the most popular boy in school!!! i felt like i was in a dream i pinched my hand but... it hurts!!! this isn’t a dream!!! the oikawa tooru-sama just crashed into me!!! with his body!!! his shoulder touched me!!!!!

he turn and looks at me and... my heart stops. i think im dying omgomgomg

‘a-are you okay (y/n)-chan?’ he asks me and holds his hand out.

i cant believe it. the oikawa tooru-sama is giving me his hand to hold?!?! is this heaven???

‘i-i-‘ i stammer. i’m so shocked i swear my face is beat red. ‘i-i’m ok.’

i was too scared to hold his hands because mine were so sweaty from seeing him this upclose. i stand up and dust my knees because i want him to think i’m tough. that’s right. oikawa tooru-sama is a professional vball player! (v for volley-ball) he’s not going to like some dumb average weak normal crybaby girl.

‘ok. see ya in class!’ he smiles and waves at me before walking down the hall, shooting me his signature smile. the one that makes flowers bloom around him and glitters around his whole body.

h-how did he know? did he just say in class??? the oikawa tooru-sama knows who i am???

i take out my phone to frantically text my bffs (sunnie, rachelle, meeky and lindt) and see the group chat had some unread new messages. i click open it.

(beep)

𝚋𝚕@𝚑𝚔𝚞𝚐𝟶𝟶: omgzzzz i juss saw tsukki-sama xDDD

𝕣𝕒𝕖𝕖𝕖𝕖𝕩𝕠𝕩𝕠: STDU XDD wut wuzz he wearin?!? hes sooooo hawt oh em geez

tsukki-sama, aka tsukishima kei-sama, is the hot blondie in the other class’s vball team. rachelle and sunnie are sooo in love with him, but i don’t blame them. he’s soooo tall, taller than oikawa tooru-sama even. (but that doesn’t matter because oikawa tooru-sama has the prettiest smile in the world and no one’s seen tsukki-sama smile like... since he came outta the womb)

i quickly type out my txt because this is more important than what the blonde vball star is wearing.

(beep)

𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖗𝖇4𝖐4: guizzzzz guizzzz GUIZE!!!! GUEZZ WUT JUSS HAPPND!!

𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖗𝖇4𝖐4: u’ll nv beliv it!!!!! omGZZZZZ IM LAIK DYINN XDDDDDDD TT_TT

ｓｋ８ｅｒｇ１ｒｌ: omgawd wuuuut

ｓｋ８ｅｒｇ１ｒｌ: w8 kita-sama jus sk8dd by me i fink he haz a new b04rd!!!!! be are be

𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖗𝖇4𝖐4: uGGGHRRR MEEKY DIS IZ MOAR IMPOARTAN!!!!!!

before i have the chance to tell them about my fateful encounter with the oikawa tooru-sama someone snatches my phone away. i turn around, maybe it’s oikawa tooru-sama again?

UGH NO IT’S OUR STUPID BALD PRINCIPAL. now i’m in trouble.

‘no phones in the hall (y/n) (l/n)-san!’ he yells at me. his breath stinks, yuck.

he takes my phone and puts it in his pocket and i realize that he’s putting it in his pocket and taking it away.

‘b-but-‘ jimmy i protest. not my flip phone with my pink bedazzled hello kitty charm on the end!

‘no buts!!!! see you after lecture missy!!’

god, this is just like, the worst day ever.

༻✧༺

𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑏𝑦𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡

𝑙𝑒𝑡’𝑠 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑑𝑟𝑢𝑛𝑘 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑟𝑖𝑑𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑

𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑝𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑛

𝑤𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑟𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡

༻✧༺

p.e. is the same as always: im sitting on the side, not doing sports because girls like me can’t risk breaking my perfectly painted pink (hot pink, not baby pink) nail with diamonds on it. i tell my bffs about the encounter and they all agree that it’s deffo fate.

‘i know right??’ i giggle staring down at the man of my dreams, at his chocolate brown locks, thinking back at his dreamy brown orbs staring into my dark black ones offering me his hand.

‘you should totes ask him out!’ giggles sunnie.

‘oh em gee, never!!! that’s sooo embarrassing, he’s totally gonna say no!’ i said.

‘seriously, (y/n)-chan, what do you have to lose?’ rachelle said.

‘just like, my dignity and self respect.’ i reply sassily.

at that we three burst into laughter, and the fat p.e. prof turns and tells us shhhhhhh.

i love my friends.

i tell them about our bald principal taking my pink flip phone with the hello kitty charm on it away.

‘oh no!’ rachelle exclaimed.

‘what are you going to do?’ sunnie asked.

i shrug, feeling at a loss without it.

‘it’s like, seriously dangerous without a phone.’ the blonde said.

‘what if you get like, kidnapped or something?!’ the purplenette said, clasping her hand over her mouth in a show of shock. (ps. bluette vs. blunette?)

‘kidnapped?!?’ i laugh. ‘who’s gonna kidnap me?!!’ we all burst into laughter again, causing our p.e. prof (still fat and annoying) to shhh us again.

little did i know that the brunette vball star was staring up at me, plotting.

i had no idea what was about to come.

༻✧༺

𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑦𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑎𝑦

𝑤𝑒’𝑙𝑙 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡 𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑝𝑒

𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑛’𝑡 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟 𝑎 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑠𝑎𝑦

𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑢𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑤𝑎𝑦

𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛, 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑖𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑒

𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑒𝑒, 𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡

༻✧༺

when i open my eyes, my eyes are heavy, staring up at a bright light above my head. i squint my eyes because the light hurts my eyes.

‘well, well, well’ i hear a voice behind me. ‘(y/n)-himesama’s awake, i see.’

wait-

i know that voice-

that’s-

that’s the oikawa tooru-sama’s voice!

‘w-what?’ i stuttered, surprised but feeling a warm rush going down my body at the sound of his voice. ‘what’s going on?’

he chuckles. ‘can’t you tell?’

i look around and see my arms taped up behind me on a chair and my legs tied together by... something. rope maybe?

‘where am i?’ i ask, even more bewildered.

‘tsk tsk tsk, silly (y/n)-himesama. i’ve kidnapped you, my dear.’ he said. ‘we’re in my mansion right now’

my eyes pop out of their sockets. am i hearing him right?

‘no,’ he corrects himself. ‘we’re in our mansion.’

i can’t help but blush at that suggestion. our mansion?

that’s right, i must be crazy, i think to myself. this is all just a dream, i’m still in school, on the bleachers with my bffs and i fell asleep in our class.

‘this isn’t a dream, darling’ he singsongs, and i feel more warmth flood downwards. god what is wrong with me? turned on in this situation? but can you blame me? who wouldn’t get turned on when the oikawa tooru-sama is standing in front (or behind) them and calling them ‘darling’?

‘w-what- h-h-how?’ i ask him. ‘i was just at school, staring at you play vball in the gym- i mean n-not staring at you- and-‘

he chuckles darkly.

‘i know you were, (y/n)-himesama. that’s why i kidnapped you, because you’re so cute.’

i blush at his words. m-me? cute??? did the oikawa tooru just call me cute?

i suddenly remember what rachelle and sunnie said in p.e. today about being kidnapped, and shudder. god, h-her mind! they’re totally gonna tell me i told you so! when i tell them.

‘b-but, h-how?’ i bit my lip looking at him beneath my lashes, or however anastasia steele did it in too many shades of grey. (it wasn’t actually that bad, but ill never admit it. it’s sorta kinda hot. also pantone says theres only like 37 diff shades so.)

‘i saw you with your friends, and i served a ball at your head knocking you out.’ he explained. suddenly i feel a pang on my head reinforcing what he’s saying.

‘ow...’ i say quietly.

the brunette man built like a god walks into my frame of vision for the first time after waking up and i notice he’s shirtless, all 8pack exposed for me to look at.

(i guess brianna was right, but she’s still a liar that wears green shoes with red socks.)

he comes up to me and kneels in front of me until he’s kneeling in front of me. he carresses my cheek with his hand (the same one he reached out to me earlier that day, pre-kidnapping) and i sigh.

if this is a dream never wake me up. i think to myself.

‘wh-‘ before i can get the words out asking him why me?, he presses a finger to my lips, shushing me.

he looks at me with his brown chocolate orbs, and i get lost in them, counting the stars and constellations in those glowing beautiful orbs that i never thought i could look at so up close. (except in photos i secretly took)

‘i love you, (y/n) (l/n)’ he says.

i fainted.

༻✧༺

𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑠

𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑠𝑜 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒

𝑤𝑒’𝑙𝑙 𝑐𝑟𝑦, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑢𝑝 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡

༻✧༺

i wake up (for the second time that day, god what is up with today?), my eyes still heavy.

‘good morning, darling,’ i hear a voice say, and suddenly i remember everything that’s transpired so far.

(for reference: i crashed into the oikawa tooru-sama this morning, had my phone taken away, and now kidnapped by none other than the oikawa tooru-sama, now in his- no, our mansion.)

‘o-oikawa tooru-sama?’ i stutter out weakly, still groggy.

‘just tooru, my hime-sama.’ he says and i feel my body heating up again.

suddenly, i’m filled with an overwhelming emotion, and the worlds spill out before i can stop them.

‘i love you, t-tooru.’ i stutter on the foreign name, biting my lips (for good measure).

he looks at me, chocolate orbs piercing right into my super dark black pupils, and he starts to cry. i cry too, because he just looks so beautiful, even when he’s crying.

he holds me in his arm and i nuzzle my nose into his neck, smelling his deep chocolatey velvety sweet minty musky scent. he smells so good i could just stay here forever, bathing in the chocolatey velvety sweet minty musk.

‘u-um...’ i start, and he nuzzles his face into my neck some more. i can feel his wet tears on my shoulder... is he still crying??

i try again. ‘u-ummmm...’

he finally looks up at me and i peer into his deep chocolate orbs, feeling him stare intently into my dark block orbs. i wiggle my arms to show him i want him to release them, because if you remember they’re still taped up by like, tape or rope or whatever.

‘o-oh!’ he exclaims and unties them.

i don’t know what came over me but suddenly we’re kissing, our tongues are battling for dominance within our hot wet cavernous mouths, and it’s soooo hot.

he grips my legs and spreads them apart, tongues still fighting a mighty battle, and i see him take out his big massive rock hard member in his hands.

i wrap my legs around him, thankful for the pink (bubblegum pink) and white checkered skirt im wearing today for easy access, and he pushes his hot shaft into my core. i can feel his member in my wet gushy wushy pussy and it feels so good i came.

he cums too.

‘w-will you marry me?’ he looks up at me, his member still inside. i feel tears brimming in my eyes again as I nod.

‘i do.’

༻✧༺

𝑤𝑒’𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑜𝑓 𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑢𝑛𝑔𝑠

𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑦’𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑤𝑒’𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑔

𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤𝑒’𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝑠𝑜 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒

a/n: ta-dah!! the end!!! tankzz 4 readin guyzzzz lawl im thinking of making dis a series so... ;))) tell me who u wana be kidnapped by next! xD

a/n #2: speshull tankz 2 uwucatgirlprincess99 4 da line (u kno da one ;))) + sk8erg0rl666 4 havin me in da collab! + also cummin up wiv da title!! lawlzz rawr x)))

a/n #3: OH WOW . erhm. Longest chappy thing ive written. Hope you liked it. so uhm. ENJOY ! [btw, I'm considering doing the NEXT CHAP; sneak peek thing. Should I? :3 Comment?] plz R&R!! :]]] kudoz 4 u <333

p.s. da colour i used 4 da lyriczzz is fuschia pink! :3

p.p.s. comment below if u reconize dee song!! ur a kool kat if u do ;))

[shigarakis-fifth-hand]

Shigaraki x Todoroki!Reader; The Mask

Enjoy the series!<3 one two three four five six seven

Warnings: Extreme abuse, blood, murder, mental issues, cursing

You’ll never forget when your entire life changed for the better. The day you found your purpose, your meaning, your new family.

It all started Friday night, your least favorite night. Your father Endeavor came home early to rest every Friday to check up on your training. Over the week you were required to train 10 hours a day, eat exactly 1700 calories, and to have straight 100′s as grades. Of course, it was almost impossible to maintain such a lifestyle as a 17-year-old, but again, your father was not only the cruelest man alive, but also the 1# hero Endeavor. We’re you almost old enough to leave him? Yes, but at the same time, he would never let you do so. He owned you.

That’s when he first burned your hip.

Your siblings were Natsuo who was 25, Fuyumi who was 27, Shoto who was 20, and lastly your missing brother Touya. Sweet… sweet Touya. Over the years of having children, your father had tried to build the perfect child but had always failed. Fuyumi had been weak, Natsuo had been too kind to hurt a soul, and Shoto was too rebellious against your father. You would be too, but Endeavor had done everything to keep you “right”. 

You were allowed no socializing on the any day except Sunday, you were kept on a tight schedule of modeling, tutoring, interviews, studying, and training, and your father watched you like a hawk.

With you being the last child, he could not mess up with you. You would be the next All Might if it was the last thing he did. He hit you more than any of his children, tortured you more than the rest, and yelled at you more than any of them. And all of your siblings knew that, crying themselves to the sleep at the thought of your bruised and burnt up torso. 

Your father could never touch your face, you did modeling after all. Nobody could know the awful mental issues you had, or the trauma that had scarred you for life. To the public, he wanted you to be the perfect child. Beautiful… brilliant… and powerful. 

God were you ever so powerful.

You took after your brother Shoto, possessing the power to control fire and ice. You could catch things on fire or ice them when you touched things, and once you did, you could control it with your mind. If you tapped the floor with your bare feet, you could start a fire and decide where it went and what it did. You could make it chase someone, make it form a heart, and eventually… kill someone. 

With the power to control it’s movement, you could control the temperature of it as well. You could catch someone on fire and then make it reach over 500 degrees in an instant.

Endeavor loved it, seeing you impress even his fellow pro heroes. Your control over it was amazing, and you were beyond the best they had ever seen. You were a model too, and goodness were you pretty. You had short white hair that went to your shoulders, piercing blue eyes, and beautiful skin. You had been born with red streaks in your hair, but had bleached them out of anger when your father had hit you for not wanting to train. 

You only wanted to have the hair of your mother.

He had knocked the wind out of you with a hard punch to the gut and then burnt your side hip to a crisp when kicked you. “Stand up Shiro. Prove yourself.” He yelled as you used the staircase to pull yourself to your feet, almost falling over in pain. It hurt so much to stand. “Good, now feel the consequences.” As he said that, he pushed you down on your hip, watching as you screamed in pain.

That was the day you ran out of the house, and into the nearby alley, ducking behind a dumpster to breathe. Immediately, you began to switch to a different mindset. You didn’t have DID, but you weren’t normal. One moment, you were crying, and the next you were angry. The next moment, your thoughts would jumble together and you would crave revenge in the form of violence. You had terrible anger issues and a taste of violence, taking after your old man. 

Sure, you were the sweetest thing, but sometimes… you could be cruel, evil, and a demon to be around. But only when you were alone in your thoughts would you allow yourself such cravings as shooting a gun at a bulls-eye in self-defense training, or “accidentally” tripping one of your friends down the stairs.

At those moments, you felt no pity, no love, and definitely no shame in your actions. And outside of those episodes as you called it, you tried your best to ignore it. You weren’t going to stop yourself, because the more you held back, the more destruction you would cause. 

And you didn’t want that, because outside of those episodes, you were sweet, innocent, even fragile. You hated seeing wounded animals, hated seeing your friend get a paper cut, and you never understood your friend’s dirty jokes. You knew what sex was, but why would you want it? 

You had never even felt romantic feelings for someone.

So there you were… sitting behind a dumpster, crying. Pathetic. “Heyyy. Pretty lady. What are you doing out here? Need some help?” A college-aged man started walking towards you, two of his friends following behind. The smell of smoke and alcohol radiating off of them. 

“No, leave me alone.” You insisted, hugging your knees and barely even paying attention as you tried to contain your thoughts about your father, and the searing pain in your hip. It burned like crazy. “But why, you’re pretty and crying. We’re bored and here to help.” 

They kept walking as you looked up at them, shocked and a little scared as they were very close now. “Don’t come any closer! I’m warning you!” You stood up, even though they had you backed up against the dumpster and wall. “Aww, don’t be scared. Now let’s see what’s under that pretty dress of yo-”

In that moment, you sent a spear of ice through the man’s heart, blood splattering all over you in the moment. “W-what?! Hiromi?! Man, this bitch is bat-shit crazy!” As the guys were about to run, you did what your instincts told you. You sent ice spearing through their torsos too, sending them both to the ground. Slowly you walked over to them, rain starting to fall on your head. “I warned you, didn’t I?” You asked, stepping on one of them as they pleaded for you not to kill them. 

“I’m not killing you. I’m just… letting you out of your misery.” Before the rain could start, you set them all on fire. Hearing their blood-curdling screams, you smiled. How nice. They’d be dead before the rain could pick up. Walking down the alleyway, you listened to their screaming of pure music to your ears. You loved every bit of it.

In that moment, your entire life changed. You began your journey on your way to your true passion. You were able to get yourself a custom mask from a shady store in the down-country, and started your new life. Whenever you got bored or your father pissed you off, you would slip on the mask, pull up your hair into your hoodie, and kill. 

Your mask was amazing too. It was a bright red gas mask, which hid your entire face except for one of your blazing blue eyes. It was amazing, watching your victims stare at your one eye as you killed them. They were looking into the same eye as the pro hero Endeavor, your father, and that made you smile. The man who made your life hell had made the latest and greatest new villain in town.

“Again? God, when I get my hands on you I’m going to make you pay!” Endeavor yelled at the tv in his office, sitting at his desk with his feet held high. You were sitting in the chair against the wall near him, sketching in your book. Your father had brought you to work to meet your future teachers, since there was a villain on the loose and he didn’t want you at UA, one of the main targets. Little did he know she was right next to him. 

“What are you talking about Dad?” You asked, looking up from your book. Unlike your siblings, your father made you call him that, since none of his children had ever called him anything near it. He had said it showed that you saw him as a father figure, respected him, loved him, saw him as a caregiver, and gave you an innocent appeal that contradicted your powerful and aggressive quirk. The word had lost any meaning to it.

“Shiro, this villain will be your competitor when you become a pro hero. Look at them. Sources say they’re known for burning their victims bodies so we cannot find fingerprints, or anything. We don’t have a face to go with it, or even a picture of them in general. The only thing is that they believe it may be a female based on the laugh heard, and that they wear a bright red gas mask to hide their identity. It’s brilliant!”

“This bitch has killed over 75 people, and has burnt over 2 million in property damage. This is next level stuff for one person. If we can’t take them down, you will have to.” Endeavor sat back in his chair, returning to his computer. That was about the amount of conversation you would have with him on the weekly.

That was, until you heard an explosion outside, and yelling. Running to the window and standing on your tip toes, you looked out to see the League of Villains on the streets, all running around. Blue flames circled the streets, and you wanted to go join. You had your hoodie and mask in your back pack, and you wanted to get in on the fun, get some promo on the news. The very thought of people seeing your one blue eye was exciting, and sent shivers down your spine. 

“Dad, let’s go o-” You were dragged from the window and thrown to the ground. “Get under the desk Shiro! Don’t be an idiot!” He yelled, not caring that you had hurt your ankle in that moment. With hesitation, you walked behind the desk, bringing your bag with you. “Good, now don’t move. Remember, you don’t get to fight professional villains until you’re a pro yourself.” Endeavor explained, picking up a few things to bring with him downstairs. 

“I don’t want to be a hero.” You mumbled, rocking back and fourth as you held your legs. “What did you say to me?” He screamed angrily as you looked up, not knowing that he heard you. “N-no! Dad! I didn’t- I didn’t mean to say that. I just- eck!” You screamed as his hand came to hit your face, leaving a large bruise. 

“Don’t you dare bitch! You don’t get to say what you want and don’t want! I wanted a son, but look at what I got! Now you’re going to fucking listen!” His hand came to punch the other side of your face, knocking your head into the desk. 

“Fuck, if I had a belt I would whip you senseless.” He murmured as you started crying. “I-I’m sorry… just stop…” You cried, trying to hide your face between your knees. “Oh I’m not letting you get off this easy! Your brother said the same thing, and I’m not making the same mistake again!” 

As you tried to hide, he grabbed a box-cutter off his desk and sent it into your hip. “Now don’t you try to leave this room.” He mumbled, walking out without hesitation, leaving you to bleed on his floor. 

The cut was deep, and you were loosing blood fast.

Only being able to listen to the outside, you could hear the commotion calm down within minutes before your old man walked in. “Get up. Your future UA teachers will be here in five minutes. Put your jacket around your waist.” He threw it at you as you picked yourself up. “Don’t speak unless you’re told to. Got it?” He asked as you slowly nodded, trying to pull yourself together and wipe the tear marks away before two men stepped through the door. 

One had black hair and a man bun, and the other had long blonde hair that he kept down. You recognized them immediately. Radio sensation, UA teacher and pro hero Present Mic with his husband Eraserhead, who was a UA teacher and a low key pro hero as well. 

“Ahh, Shiro! We’ve heard so much about you! Hello!” Present Mic came to shake my head as you shook his, still shaking as Aizawa looked at my bruise. “Ahh, I… fell.” You hesitated, laughing as the two smiled nervously. These two worked with kids… so could they sense your fear. Could they help you?

“Um, let’s sit. Of course you were recommended, but I’d love to see your quirk in more action.” Aizawa motioned to your father’s couch as you all began to walk over there. But in the moment, your jacket fell off your waist, showing your crisped and bloody t-shirt from your father earlier. You could see the burn mark of a hand print even. “Oh my god! Shiro dear!” Present Mic got up to help you before you pushed him away gently. “I fell earlier! If you’ll excuse me I’ll just be a minute!” You rushed out of the room, leaving the jacket on the floor as you grabbed your backpack and sprinted out. You had to get out of the there, to take a break from your father. 

You didn’t care if it ruined your shots at UA or gave you a bad reputation with your teachers early on. You refused to sit there and bleed while they talked about your future. 

As you were waiting for the bathroom, you looked outside to see the League of Villains within the forest. Without thinking, you ran outside and into the forest after them. You didn’t know why, but it felt like destiny was calling you. That was, until you saw Best Jeanist sneaking up on one of the members. 

He had black pointy hair and wore a cloak-like jacket that was also black. Very emo. Slipping on your mask and hoodie before anyone could spot you, you snuck up behind him. Just as Best Jeanist was about to attack and spit cloth strings around Dabi, you tapped your foot, sending ice to Best Jeanist to freeze him like an ice cube. 

“Look out!” You screamed as he turned around to see the frozen pro. “Huh.” He whispered to himself, before turning to face you. With a clear view of you, he could see the red gas mask and knew that you were the one who the news networks had been talking about non-stop. The lonesome villain with a fantastic kill list. But… then he looked closer. He saw how on your hip was burnt to a crisp from someone’s hand, the bruise on your one eye, your bright white hair, and… the bright blue eye. After adding everything together, he realized something. 

“Shiro.” He whispered in shock, before you feel to your knees due to dizziness.

[theemptyquarto]

Abandoned WIPs

for @goodintentionswipfest

“Oh my God, that was, like, the saddest thing I’ve ever seen.”

That was the first thing she ever said to him.

~

Victor Trevor, the bastard, had dragged him out of the lab, then made him drive a car full of giggling idiots for three hours to Swanage, then had abandoned him to get drunk with additional idiots from Birmingham who had driven even further.  And now one of the idiots from Birmingham, the American girl with too much hair, was criticizing his stone skimming abilities.  

“I’d like to see you do any better,” he said, shortly.

The girl raised her eyebrows and made a face at him, then went to look for a stone of her own.  

“The water is too turbulent here,” he said.

The girl kept looking, until she found a smooth white stone, really too large for the purpose, being almost the size of her palm.

“It calls for a calmer day than this,” he said.

Then the girl drew back her arm and lobbed the stone, which skimmed perfectly, touching the water five times before sinking into the water of the bay.  Because of course it did.

“If you want to skip rocks in this kind of water you need to pick a bigger one and kind of… loft it over the breakwater.  Just like that,” she said, waving vaguely at the sea.

“Skim stones.”

“What?”

“Here we call it skimming stones.  Not skipping rocks.”

“And it’s pech blini in Russia and hacer ranitas in Spain.  We didn’t pitch your tea into Boston Harbor just to keep doing everything the same way you did.”

The words were bellicose but for once he was able to pick up on the tone, and when he looked through the ringlets that the breeze was blowing into her face, he could see that she was pinching her lips together to keep from smiling.

“I remember,” he said, slowly, “The great skimming stones debate that provoked the revolution.  We learnt all about it at school.  That’s why we burnt down your White House.  That and your willful mispronunciation of aluminium.”

The girl burbled a laugh, and it was not as unpleasant as it mostly was when girls laughed.  The “with” not “at” made all the difference.

Because he was eighteen years old and still desperately trying to pass for normal, Sherlock said, “I’m Will.”

She was twenty-one, and Mary Morstan and the rest of her pseudonyms were well into the future.  So because it was the simple truth, she said, “I’m Rose.  Nice to meet you, Will.  I can teach you how to skip rocks properly if you want.  Though it’ll wreck your attempt to look all Byronic and interesting.”

Sherlock frowned, though he wasn’t quite sure what Byronic meant, honestly.  “I wasn’t trying to look like anything.”

“Oh come on.  Alone, staring out over the sunset sea, the wind ruffling your hair.  Very ‘Adieu, Adieu, my native shore.’”

“This is my native shore, I just wanted to look at the tide pools.  Anyway, why are you here?”

“I,” she said, grandly, “Am way too close to shitfaced and I need to take a break for an hour.  And I thought you looked Byronic and interesting.  Where are there tide pools?”

He angled his head to their right.  “Back that way.  Maybe half a mile.”

“Let’s go see them!”

“I’ve seen them.  And you aren’t wearing the appropriate shoes for climbing.”

Rose looked down at her cheap flip-flops, shrugged, and said, “God hates a coward.  Come on.”

~

They’d looked at the tide pools, and Rose hadn’t complained as they scrabbled over rough Purbeck stone to get to them.  Being a small woman, she’d asked for a hand up on two occasions, but she didn’t complain, and she was genuinely interested in the sea slugs and anemones they found.

Then they’d moved on to another section of swimming beach, and now she was trying to teach him to skip rocks.

“Oh!  You almost had that one,” she exclaimed, as his latest effort sank.

“What sort of trajectory am I trying for?” he asked.  “It really isn’t obvious.”

“Ummmm…” and she pitched another stone, which made four hops before sinking.  “I mean, I guess, like fifteen or twenty degrees.  But it depends on the rock.”

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“You just take the rock and then you know how you have to throw it.  It’s mostly practice.”

“You’re very good at it.”

“It’s what I’m best at,” she said, and the next stone made six skips before it sank.  “You got a projectile and need it put someplace specific, I’m your girl.”

“Really?”

“Really.  What are you best at?”

He thought about it for a minute. 

“Deductions.  That’s what I’m best at.”

“Like… in geometry?  If AB equals BC then A equals C?”

“Sort of.  But it’s not just that.  I can do it for other things.  And people.”

“How?”

“Just like in geometry.  You use if-then logic and come to the appropriate conclusion.  Except most people aren’t aware of all of the givens, and I am.”

“O-kay,” she said, slowly, “So, like, what can you deduce about me?”

He cocked his head, doubtfully, and asked, “You want me to do that?”

Rose shrugged.  “Why not?  What have I got to hide?”

Sherlock wished he hadn’t mentioned it, now.  It would spoil what had been a surprisingly pleasant afternoon. She was only asking because she’d never seen him do it… nobody really wanted his deductions.  Everyone had something to hide.  

But she had asked and declining would be nearly as offensive, he supposed.  So he let himself really look.  Excessive dark-blonde hair, no jewelry, black midriff-baring top with thin straps and no bra (irrelevant, he chided himself), well-developed lean musculature particularly in the shoulders.  Mid-priced wide-legged flared jeans clumsily home-hemmed, since she fell between the “petite” and “regular” lengths.  He walked behind her, continuing his examination, and smiled.  The grey plaid flannel shirt she had knotted around her waist had a great deal of relevant information.  

Returning in front of her, he asked, “May I have a look at your hands?”  Rose complied, extending them forward, palms up.  Her hands, with their emerald-green fingernails and distinctive musculature, had almost everything else he thought he could get, except-

“And a better look at the tattoo, please?”

Rose smiled and raised an eyebrow at that, but complied, slipping a thumb under the waistband of her jeans and tugging them down another inch or two to reveal a small, stylized design of a leafless tree struck by lightning (and incidentally a crest of pale hipbone and just a flash of red plaid underwear).

“Satisfied?” she asked.

“Entirely.”  And Sherlock was.  

“So what do you deduce?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.  You’re an American-“

“Well that was a toughie,” Rose teased.

“From Iowa.  You’re a natural linguist but you’re studying chemistry.  You played softball seriously, as a pitcher, until a rotator cuff injury which you opted not to have corrected bought your sporting ambitions to an end within the last year.  Upper middle class family, strict parents.  You currently live with a wire-haired terrier you dislike, you’re sentimental, and you’re a keen amateur cook.”

And that had done it, of course.  Her face, which had formerly seemed naturally happy, had closed off and become hostile.  She took a step away from him, and said, coldly, “Has Victor been talking about me behind my back?”

“You know Victor Trevor?” Sherlock asked.

“Everybody knows Victor.  Answer the question.”

“No, he hasn't. I told you.  I looked and I listened.  Teeth straightened in adolescence, a selection of newish mid-priced clothes, spending a semester abroad?  Well off but probably not rich family, then.  You know, at no notice, idiomatic phrases in two separate languages describing an unusual activity?  Clearly, there’s a gift for languages.  The mild splay of the fingers in your dominant hand and unusual muscular development in your shoulders, along with your obvious aptitude for throwing suggests softball and pitching.  The slight pull and hesitation when you draw that arm back would allow any doctor to diagnose a rotator cuff injury, a career-ending one without surgical correction, and yet you lack scars.  Thus softball is over.”

Rose cocked her head and looked at him, but at least the anger was gone.  So he continued.

“There’s particularly contoured dog hair common to wire-haired terriers on your jeans, meaning it’s fond of you, but none on your shirt, meaning you don’t pick it up, and you aren’t fond of it.”

“Marco’s a drooler and he scratches.  Anyway I’m more of a cat person.”

“Cats eat you after you’re dead.  They don’t even wait until they’re starving, just mildly peckish.”

“True, but on the other hand, I’m dead in this situation.  So who cares?”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “Very practical.  You’ve got enough minor knife and burn injuries to your hands to suggest you spend a lot of time cooking but your forearm development isn’t substantial enough to indicate professional work in the field.  I can tell you study chemistry because of the marks on your shirt.  They never properly clean the lab benches off and you lean into the edges and get some trace amounts of peroxide or acid on the material… which then produces distinctive straight lines of bleaching the next time the shirt is laundered.  I have some of the same ones, see?”

He gestured to his trousers, where the bleaching effect occurred on him, given his greater height.  

“Huh,” Rose said, “I never really thought about that.  So why Iowa?”

“Ah, I was right!”

“Not really.  Nebraska.  But just across the river from Iowa.”

Sherlock sighed.  “Accents are difficult with anyone young enough to have watched television as a child.   But the Iowa accent is marked by monopthongs and “T”-glottalization, and you have it.”

“I have no idea what those things are,” Rose said, musingly, “But since most people around here think New York and L.A. are the only two cities in America that’s actually really good.”

Sherlock felt the blood rushing to his face with pride, and so he kept on, “You’re sentimental because that flannel is battered and you’ve fixed three different tears rather than just discarding it, even though it was never terribly expensive.”

“I saw Nirvana in this shirt.”

Sherlock frowned, wondering if she meant she was Buddhist, and then recalled the band.

“That tattoo,” he wrapped up, “Is a Marius Cook, done about five months ago.  I’ve made a bit of a study of the major tattoo artists of the United Kingdom, you’d be surprised at how often it’s useful. You’ve been of legal age to get tattooed for some time but waited until you were well away from home and then did it instantly but kept it someplace easy to hide, thus: strict parents.”

~

It was dark, now, and someone had pulled out a guitar and was strumming amateurish chords.  Sherlock and Rose had looked at one another and, in a moment of pure intoxicated understanding

~

The semen had more or less dried on her thighs by the time Rose decided that Will wouldn’t be back, even to collect his shirt.  She sighed and rubbed her stubble-burned face.  Then she pulled on her underwear and jeans, and sat and looked up at the stars, which were slightly more mobile than they ought to have been.

She’d liked him.  He wasn’t handsome, but five years and twenty pounds of weight gain would probably have made him so.  And he was sweet.   Clumsy and inexperienced, yes, but intelligent and fun to talk with… essentially, she’d been very happy with the encounter and now she felt…

Cheap.  Which was undoubtedly what her mother would have said about anyone who fucked a man who she’d just met and was expecting to never see again.  So Rose had a bit of a self-pitying snivel, and cried about her troubles.

Eventually her natural good humor resurfaced (she had the beneficial confidence of someone who had taken a birth control pill every day for the last three years) and she said, smiling to herself, “Jilted by a gentleman.  If I can get ruined and discarded by a redcoat I can  have my own Gothic novel.”

 She collected the blanket and Will’s shirt, then ambled back to the party, which was still in full swing, although the Oxford contingent seemed to have gone.  Her flatmate Magda spotted her and called out, “There you are, you whore.  Where’d tall dark and skinny run off to?”

“I think I frightened him away,” Rose replied, lightly, “English boys are all prudes.  Are there any more of those screwdrivers?”

Magda gestured wildly at the five gallon drinks cooler behind her.  “About half.”

“Good.  About half sounds just about right.”  And she wadded Will’s shirt up, tossed it into a nearby rubbish bin, and poured herself a drink.

~

They both forgot all about it.  The vodka helped Rose do a great deal of this within the first twenty-four hours.  Then there was the fact that Byronic-and-interesting Will was neither the first nor the last of a long string of men that would eventually span four continents, some of whom would disappoint her in far more spectacular fashion.  By the time she buried Rose and became Mary, she could skim stones without even vaguely recalling that summer afternoon.  

Sherlock didn’t forget much, and so deleting Rose took an effort of willpower.  He performed a few subsequent experiments with sex and came to the conclusion that it was unlikely to be productive of any good and indeed, subjected him to undesirable sentimentality.  Cocaine was a far more efficient euphoric and asked much less of him, in the end.  The choice to purge his files on the subject en masse was therefore simple logic and had nothing to do with wishing to shed the recollection of a callow, prematurely-ejaculating version of himself.  

When, much later, he plugged the memory stick marked AGRA into his laptop and began reading the files, the name Rose Addison didn’t stir even the faintest reminiscence.

~

“Oh no.  Oh my God, you’re-  You died!  You jumped off a roof!”

That was the first thing she ever said to him.

[recurring-polynya]

9, 13, 19, 23 for RenRuki OTP meme!

9. Have they made each other cry?

Neither Rukia nor Renji are criers by nature, but absolutely yes.

I looked it up, and weirdly enough, Rukia does *not* cry in the manga version, but she does cry in the anime when Renji tells her to go to the Kuchiki. Regardless, I think they both had some wet face syndrome in the days following that.

Rukia was having a pretty tough time in the Academy, and Renji was in a constant state of unconsciously rubbing it in. I bet he made her cry at least once, although she is way too stubborn to actually do it in front of him, I think she did it in private, later.

I’m not sure crying over someone is the same as them making you cry, but I believe with 100% of my being that the “fear she was trying to avoid” in the As Nodt fight was Renji-related, and even though she held it together pretty well at the time, I hope homegirl went home and had a good cathartic sob after the fact.

In the same vein, it’s very believable that Renji had at least one tearful breakdown at some point in the Soul Society Arc. I imagine he came home and puked his guts out after he had to arrest her and throw her in a holding cell and there could have been some tears that went along with that, and possibly also after he found out that Byakuya had no intention of lifting a finger to stay her execution. (I just realized this is not the first time I have headcanoned Renji puking out of grief and it’s true, I think he does, it’s great, I love my brain, thanks)

I would bet money that Renji (possibly both of them) teared up a little when Ichika was born, and/or when they found out about the pregnancy.

Also, not to ruin the vibe, but it seems highly likely that at some point in their acquaintance, probably in their Inuzuri days, Rukia kicked Renji in the nards hard enough to make tears come out of his face.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

Like the dealbreaker question, this one is really hard because they are both really intense people who are absolutely ride-or-die for each other (as well as everyone else they know). I am still sticking to my guns that Rukia became a shinigami in the first place for Renji’s sake, and Renji’s entire first character arc involved him binning 40 years of hard work and career ladder climbing to be with her.

That being said, though, they do maintain a fair amount of personal autonomy that I think they would stick to. Renji would never get his brow tatts removed, for example, no matter how much Rukia hates them (or conversely, I think he didn’t tell her before he got them because he knew she’d tell him not to, and he was determined to get them and wouldn’t have listened to her anyway). Likewise, if she asks, he will refrain from wearing a particular pair of extra-terrible sunglasses to a Kuchiki family picnic, but he’s not going to get rid of the sunglasses collection for her. I honestly can’t imagine her seriously asking him to do either of these things-- she’d rather just drag him for them.

I think the part in WDKALY where Rukia decides to keep “Kuchiki” as her professional name was written in a kinda stilted and dumb way, but I do not disagree with it. I am reasonably sure that this was decided at an editorial level, because if they have a Bleach continuation, they would want the character to keep her more familiar name, but then they added the fact that she took his name more generally because people are weird about women who don’t take their husbands name (and then people argue that her keeping her name is “evidence” that she doesn’t love him... so, honestly, there’s no winning either way). Personally, I didn’t like that they waited until they were actually in line at the Soul Society DMV to have this discussion (with Byakuya standing around, no less), but but otherwise, I think it’s a nice compromise, and that Rukia would want to use the names of both the men she considers her family. Renji seemed vaguely disappointed that she wasn’t taking his name entirely, and I can see that, but also, it’s her choice and he doesn’t make a stink about it, which rings true to me.

In all of these examples, the principle is that, all else being equal, each of them will take input from the other, but they would stick to their guns when it comes to decisions about themselves. That doesn’t mean they are going to die on these hills out of sheer stubbornness. I wrote a fanfic once where Byakuya died and Renji married Rukia in order to help her consolidate power in the family, and he took her name and very vehemently made everyone call him by it. 

Also, I am sure there are some household chores that Renji would like done to some particular specifications, and Rukia just will not. Like, she refuses to rinse the dishes before she puts them in the dishwasher and she won’t squeegee the glass after she showers, or whatever the Soul Society equivalents of these things are.

19. If they could each write a single line in their marriage vows, what would they be?

I cannot emphasize enough that Byakuya paid for their entire fancy Kuchiki-ass wedding and even though they are constantly on their best behavior around him, he knows how they are and he would never, ever let them write their own vows.

So, here is a dispatch from some secondary drunken, backyard wedding that they had for close-friends only (Byakuya was also there, but Isshin slipped him a pot brownie and he was feeling very at one with the universe at the time)

Who the heck writes a single line of their wedding vows?? I gave them each a paragraph.

Rukia:

People have been joking a lot, every since we started dating, how lucky you are, but the fact is, I am the lucky one. I’ve been so fortunate, in my life, to have such good friends and family, but I feel luckiest of all to have you-- you’ve always been there to cheer me on, to pick me up, to make me pickles. You’re brave and you’re handsome and you have really, really great hair, and I feel like the luckiest person in Soul Society that I get to marry you. I love you so, so much, you big dummy.

Renji:

I used to think that I would be content if I could just love you from afar. That just being able to see you and hear your voice and know that you were happy was enough for me. But I was wrong, as it turns out, because being able to touch you and kiss you and tell you I love you a hundred times a day has made me happier than I ever thought I could be. I expect that being married to you is going to make me more powerful and obnoxious than anyone here could possibly imagine and I am absolutely not sorry. I love you so, so much, you little dummy.

See, Byakuya, that wasn’t so bad! (maybe it was)

Bonus! In the dead Byakuya fanfic I mentioned above, I had them get married under Gotei authority and I wrote some (partial) shinigami wedding vows that are basically perfect for them and also I was really proud of them:

How will you meet your enemies? As one, we shall meet them, as one, we shall fight.

And how do you swear this? We swear on sword and soul.

Let it be so. With this, you are forged together, a single blade. May your battle be long, and when you fall, may you fall together.

23. Write a ~300 scene between them with no dialogue, only body language.

Wow. Dang. This felt like a personal attack. Anyway, it was really hard, and I did it, but I didn’t like it.

Here’s the scene right where Renji hauls Ichigo off to go fight Ywhach, because I am always thinking about this scene and willing it to make sense (Rukia should have gone with Ichigo, I will die on this hill!!!!), and I think it only works if there’s a bunch of unsaid subtext. It’s depressing, but it’s only 511 words, which is very much like 300 words, almost exactly the same, honestly.

~

The others don’t see it, because they are busy watching Orihime restore Ichigo’s sword, his swords, for maybe the last time, but Rukia does, because she needs an explanation.

Renji’s shoulders slump, his chin tips down, his hands are open at his sides.

He is sorry.

He better be sorry! Rukia clenches her jaw, her eyes burn at him. She is the one who should have yanked Ichigo to his feet, she is the one who should go with him to his death.

Renji’s eyes slide upward and meet hers. His jaw is set.

He is right, and she knows it.

Orihime is hurt. Her lungs are making ominous bubbling noises as Zangetsu pieces itself back together under her care. Rukia is exhausted, but she can manage the kaidou that will save her friend’s life. Renji cannot.

It is more than that, though. Rukia’s bankai is perilous. Ichibei warned her that she should use it sparingly-- that it will take many hours of practice before her body can handle the wrenching temperature shocks. She has used it too many times already in the last 48 hours. She still can’t feel all her fingers and toes since she came back from killing As Nodt. Another go at it so soon may kill her before she even has a chance to be useful. It could kill her and everyone in her blast radius, which might be helpful, but probably...not. Her hand rubs nervously at the hilt of her sword. She tries to flex the dead pinkies, but they deny her.

Renji sees the motion, and he grips Zabimaru confidently. His bankai is new to him, too, but Hihiou Zabimaru was like a weighted practice blade-- So-oh Zabimaru is familiar enough and easy in comparison. Sode no Shirayuki and Zabimaru are both temperamental blades, but Zabimaru has always been at their most dependable when the odds are stacked against them.  

Rukia reaches out and gives Orihime’s hair a gentle pat. She will stay, but she will not like it. 

The side of Renji’s mouth ticks up in a rueful half-smile, and his eyes glitter with the last bit of humor he can muster. She can beat him up all she likes when he gets back.

Rukia flings an arm around Orihime, and stuffs her face into her friend’s shoulder. None of this is fair. 

Renji’s eyes soften briefly, and his eyes are filled with so much love for her. He knows he has the easy job. There aren’t any words to thank her enough for letting him go on a suicide mission with Ichigo while she stays back to give them something worth fighting for.

Then he stiffens, and squares his shoulders once again. He jabs Ichigo impatiently with one foot and screws up his face into the same scowl he always uses to armor his heart. 

It won’t work, Rukia thinks, as Orihime finishes her task and slumps backward. She will keep Renji’s heart here with her, and Orihime will keep Ichigo’s, and no matter what, none of them will die alone.

[tf2canons]

First Meeting

For @axis-intercept‘s Pyromedic Week, Day 1!

Prompt: First meeting Warnings: Mentions of needles and stress eating Word count: 1734

It was Medic’s first day on the job and already his laboratory had been thrust into chaos. He had had a simple task: perform basic checkups and physicals on all of his new teammates to make sure they were in fighting condition for the battles that would begin in the following days. He had been so busy setting up his equipment, organizing his things, and getting his birds settled in that he had neglected to meet any of his coworkers up until the morning of their checkups. He had foolishly thought this would not be a problem; Why would he need to prepare any more than he would for typical patients? Surely grown men- professional assassins, no less- would be able to control themselves and act civilly for a doctor’s appointment.

He hadn’t been immediately proven wrong. The Engineer was an early riser and the first into Medic’s office, and he happily complied with all of the doctor’s requests. Truth be told, Medic found it almost nauseating to see someone so cheerful and friendly so early in the morning when he himself was barely awake, but he tolerated it in the name of efficiency and teambuilding. The Heavy had come in and they had a lovely first chat as Medic checked his vitals and made sure he was in good working order; he seemed such an interesting man that Medic hesitated to dismiss him when the Spy showed up. Spy, of course, refused to take off his mask for the checkup, but since this did not get in Medic’s way it was not a problem.

Things finally became difficult in the afternoon. Despite the fact that the team had all been told to see the doctor sometime that day, they had stopped trickling in. Medic had to go out into the common areas and start dragging people, metaphorically and literally, into his office for their physicals. This method ranged from successful, such as simply tossing a drunk unconscious Scotsman onto the examination table and then dragging him back into the hallway when he was done, to the exact opposite, such as when the Scout knocked over a bookshelf and nearly dropped a surgical saw on his own foot in an attempt to escape a mandatory flu shot. By dinner time three of his good beakers had been smashed, his textbooks were strewn across the linoleum floor, a syringe was lodged in the wall, a blood bag had ripped and spilt it’s contents all over his counter, and someone had posed the skeleton he had on display in the corner to look like it was pointing at its crotch.

That was the room Pyro walked into after they stress-ate a pound of chicken nuggets for dinner alone in their room. They didn’t have the best past experiences with doctors, and all day they’d heard their teammates talking about the crazy German scientist that was trying to steal their blood and cut off their feet with a saw. They dreaded the visit since they were told they would have to make it, having no idea what was in store for them. Only once everyone else had gone and come back alive did they get the courage to knock on the laboratory door. They heard a muffled shout from inside that they took to mean ‘come in,’ so they pushed open the door and stepped into the laboratory.

Immediately they heard glass crunching, and they looked down to see the shattered remains of a beaker underneath their feet. Books and loose papers were strewn about the white tile floor and on the metal tables that lined the walls, and on the far counter was a dark pool of blood. It was dripping down the cabinets onto the floor, and several white feathers were stuck in the puddle. Pyro wondered where the feathers came from until they heard the soft flapping of wings coming from above, and they looked up to see around twenty doves convening in the rafters. The room had unpainted gray cement walls and one long rectangular window, but since the sky was dark outside now the lab was lit only by one fluorescent light that hung from the ceiling in the dead center of the room. Pyro almost couldn’t smell it through their mask, but they got a faint whiff of bleach and death as the heavy wooden door swung shut behind them.

“Just a moment!” Came a bodiless, very German voice. A few seconds later it’s accompanying head popped over the top of a desk on the other side of the room. The doctor’s dark hair was tousled and sticking up in strange places and his round glasses sat crooked in front of his bright blue eyes. When his eyes settled on the Pyro he visibly jolted, his eyebrows shooting up on his face, but the expression was gone again in half a second. “You almost scared me with your mask, mein Freund! You must be my last victim- I mean, patient. Take a seat on the examination table, won’t you?”

Pyro stared at him for a second before turning and reaching for the door handle.

“Oh, nein, it was just a joke! Doctor humor, ja?” Medic laughed softly at his own joke, his chuckle sounded somewhere between an owl hooting and an evil cackle. He stood up and ran a hand through his hair to fix it, and then straightened his glasses and tie. He was in just his vest over his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows; his lab coat was a few feet away tossed over a chair. He grabbed it and pulled it on as he went over to the examination table, patting it welcomingly. “Come on. I do not bite much.”

Pyro hesitated before slowly making their way over and hopping up onto the examination table. They gripped the edge of the table for security and swung their feet back and forth in front of them while glancing around the room some more. They noticed a small fridge with a padlock fastened to the handle in one corner, and the funny skeleton in another. One of the birds flew down from the rafters and landed in the pool of blood on the counter, starting to puff out its feathers and roll around in the puddle like it was a bird bath.

“Wunderbar.” Medic picked up a clipboard off a nearby table, pushing his glasses further up his nose with one finger so that he could better read the papers clipped to it. “You are the Pyro?”

Pyro nodded, their attention being pulled back to the doctor.

“Well, it says here that we do not have any medical records for you. Why is this?”

Pyro took a deep breath, a strange raspy noise due to their mask, and began on a long-winded explanation of which Medic could not understand a single word. He stared blankly at them over his spectacles as they rambled, their voice muffled and incomprehensible, gesturing exaggeratedly with their hands to explain something, but what that something was, Medic had no clue. When they finally stopped talking they folded their arms conclusively, as if they had just made a very good point and were saying ‘I rest my case.’

“... Right, well, I am sure it will not be a problem, as long as you do not mind getting a few shots today to-”

Pyro shook their head aggressively.

Medic squinted at them. “You do not want to get any shots?”

They shook their head again with just as much force as before. They started to talk again before they were abruptly cut off.

“-I am sorry, I cannot understand you with that mask. If you would remove it, I am sure we could have a much more productive conversation.” Medic raised a eyebrow awaiting the Pyro’s response. He sighed heavily when they shook their head again. “Would you at least take off the suit so that I can listen to your heart and your lungs? My stethoscope will not work through this material.”

Medic watched his own expression reflected back at him in the dark glass eyes of the Pyro. They did not move for a few seconds and simply stared at him, as if considering his offer. He held his breath and leaned in the longer they seemed to think, until once again they shook their head no. He huffed and slapped a hand to his forehead. The exhaustion of the day was starting to get to him and he could feel a sharp ache beginning to form behind his eyes.

“Pyro…” He said slowly, pressing his hands together in front of him. “I will make you a deal. If you promise not to contract tuberculosis or any other terrible condition, I will tell everyone that I performed a full checkup and physical and that you are in perfect health. You just cannot tell anyone we made this deal. How does that sound?”

Pyro slowly tilted their head to the side in thought and then pointed past Medic to his desk. Medic turned to follow the gesture, his eyes landing on a small bowl of lollipops on his desk. Keeping a bowl of candy around was a habit that he’d picked up in his early years of being a doctor, when he still had a respectable practice and had yet to lose his license. He hadn’t even stopped to think that there wouldn’t be any children here, but it seemed to him that the mistake would serve him well.

“Here.” A tired smile came across his face as he picked up the bowl and offered the lollipops to Pyro. Pyro didn’t hesitate before taking the entire bowl out of his hands and hopping off the examination table. Medic snorted as they started to walk away. “I thought you wanted one!”

Pyro stopped, looked over their shoulder, pulled the bowl closer to their body, and shook their head.

Medic laughed. “It is alright, take it, no one else will eat them. Just remember our deal, ja?”

Pyro gave him a big thumbs up with their free hand and then waved before skipping out the door. Medic watched the door swing shut behind them, and then looked out over the mess of his laboratory. He let out a tired chuckle and shook his head before starting his work cleaning up the day’s mess.

[hvllanders]

wanderer part 3 (college!peter x reader)

pt. 1. pt. 2. pt. 3

summary: in which you clean up peter’s mess and receive an unexpected phone call

warnings: language

a/n: ahhh part 3! thanks for all the awesome feedback, i’m so psyched to see where this story goes...:) this chapter has a bit of a different feel...no peter in these scenes BUT we will see him more in the future, and someone else may make a surprise appearance...

“Oh my god. Did you murder someone in here while I was gone?”

The noise snapped you out of your thoughts, causing the rag to drop out of your hand, heart racing erratically. “Jesus, Gwen. You scared me.”

You roommate just raised an eyebrow, long blonde hair tied back and swinging, chewing on a piece of gum like mad. “I scaredyou, huh? You’re not the one who returns home to her roommate scrubbing blood off your couch.” She set her bags down on the kitchen counters before rifling through the fridge. “God, do we have anything to eat?”

You didn’t look up from the current stain you were scrubbing. “There’s Goldfish in one of the cabinets. I think?”

“Mmmm.” She continued rustling.

Your phone buzzed, and you looked up, half-expecting (hoping? foolishly?) to see a text from Peter. You weren’t sure what you wanted it to say (“Hey gf! Sorry for crashing at your place for the night while severly injured! xoxoxo). But it was just an email from the local pizza place reminding you to use your rewards points before they expired.

“Pizza points.”

“What?” Gwen sat carefully on the non-bloodstained part of the couch, Goldfish in hand. You extended the phone towards her, email open. “You make no sense when you’re upset,” she finished. “And we’re not using the pizza points tonight, we just got pizza.”

“That’s why we have the points,” you told her. “Because we’re frequent pizza eaters. And you have to use them within two days or they expire.”

Gwen’s lips pushed into a thin line. “Are you going to tell me what all this is?” She motioned to the scrubbing, the blood, the bleached cushions. “Or do I have to guess? Because I can guess, but I’m going to guess like mob ring or secret assassin or something.”

You sighed, putting down the anti-stain solution. It wasn’t really helping anyway. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Well, I’ve only got three finals, a lab write-up, and a term paper to do. Hit me, baby.”

You smiled ruefully at the sentiment, wringing the rag through your fingers. “What do you remember me telling you about Peter Parker?”

Gwen’s facial expression didn’t change, but you swore there was a knowing gleam in her eyes as she said, “Only that he was your first kiss, first love, first ‘Damn, we don’t really work now that we’re all grown up.’”

If only it were that simple. “Yeah. Well. I saw him last night.”

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up as she surveyed the couch damage once again. She said nothing, chewing vigorously on a Goldfish. Waiting.

“He had…he had gotten in an accident. Fell off his motorcycle.” How had it been so long, and yet lying for him to your best friend came like second nature?

“Mmmhm.” Gwen’s face was impassive. “And you didn’t…I don’t know…bring him to the hospital? Get professional help? Put a tarp down on the goddamn couch first?”

“He doesn’t have insurance.” That could be true. Although, with Stark…well, maybe. It could be true.

“Okay.” Gwen’s eyes were still moving in-between the bloodstains and the rag in your hands. “But he’s alright?”

You scrubbed at the stain again. “I think so. I wouldn’t know.”

“Oh?”

“He was gone when I woke up.”

Gwen let out a cynical laugh. “Figures.” Her face softened, though, as she looked at you. “How are you doing about it? It’s been, what, a year since you’ve seen each other?”

“Two.”

The girl shifted so she could take the rag out of your hand, squeezing it instead. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s fine.” But your voice shook when you said it.

“Listen, don’t worry about the couch, okay? I’ll get us a new one.”

You shook your head, pouring more stain remover onto the rag. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll fix it, really, I promise.”

“Y/N-”

“It’ll be good as new.” You couldn’t look at her as you said it.

“Babe, I’ll get a new couch, it’s okay.” She squeezed your hand again. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t want a couch that someone bled all over. Even if it was your extremely hot ex-boyfriend.”

You rolled your eyes, but you felt the knot in your stomach slowly unraveling. “He’s not extremely hot.”

“Well, I’ve never seen pictures of him! I wouldn’t know! Plus, you’re blushing, so I don’t believe a single word you’re saying.” She shifted backwards, grabbing her phone from the coffee table. “Let’s get that pizza after all. You choose the toppings. We can even splurge and do deep dish if you want.”

She smiled deeply at you, wiping a tear off your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you’d been crying.

***

Finals came in their usual flurry of stress and manic studying, manic non-studying. You were sitting in the living room of your apartment surrounded by papers as you “reviewed” Organic Chemistry with Gwen.

“This makes no sense,” she was saying, frowning down at her textbook. “Make sure you study this key point! Well, no shit! I’m trying to study this key point, but I can’t understand a word of this jumbled mess!”

You snorted in agreement, continuing your age-old studying diversion of taking Buzzfeed quizzes. So far, you’d learned you should move to Amsterdam immediately, and that you’d get married in thirty-six hours. “Exactly. That’s why I gave up like thirty minutes ago.”

Gwen let out a long-suffering sigh. “God. We were such foolish mortals to let those finals-free days escape us! Curses!”

You laughed. “Come over here and see what breed of dog best matches your feelings about cookie dough ice cream instead! I got Corgi and I don’t really know what that means for my life trajectory, but it feels pretty important.”

“Aww, I miss my dog.” Gwen’s bottom lip stuck out as she surveyed her notes. “I can’t wait to visit my parents and see him again.”

You nodded, returning to your quizzes, but Gwen narrowed her eyes suspiciously towards you. “And what exactly are you doing over break?”

“We’re eloping in Rome.”

The new voice made both of you jump as Blake, gangly and long-limbed, picked his way through the mess of papers littering the living room floor to plant a kiss on your lips. “It’ll be incredibly romantic and unexpected and so Millennial or Gen Z or whatever they’re calling us these days.”

You rolled your eyes as he flopped on top of you into the chair. “No. You’re going to Rome withoutme, because you’re an incredibly important person who has family to visit on the other side of the globe for some terrible reason.”

He pecked you on the nose. “You know I’d bring you with me if I could, right?”

You sighed. “I know.”

“Excuse me,” Gwen interrupted. “But, Y/N and I were actually doing some studying.”

“Oh, were you?” Blake raised an eyebrow towards your phone. “You know, I do seem to remember Corgis and cookie dough being crucial to a key understand of Orgo.”  

“Fuck off.” You shoved his shoulder, but you were grinning, and he knew he had won. “Okay, okay, I was taking a break, but Gwen was, I don’t know, trying to be a good nursing student-”

“Trying is the key word,” Gwen interjected, looking desolate from the floor. “Blake, how did you get through three years of nursing without wanting to die because I’m trying and failing.”

“The trick is to accept the wanting to die feeling,” he grinned. “Embrace it, and then accept that it is your new reality.”

Gwen groaned, collapsing backwards into the crunch of papers to closer her eyes, fingertips coming up to rub at her temples. “Okay, okay, fine, that’s cool, that’s great, I love it, really, I do, I love it.” She opened her eyes to look at you, “Y/N, you happen to have any painkillers lying around?”

“Sure. Check my bathroom.”

“Cool. Awesome. Time to go drug up.” You watched as your roommate disappeared into the other room, trying to ignore Blake’s persistent gaze as he twined your fingers together.

“What are you doing over break? We haven’t talked about it.”

A shrug.

He shifted so that his hand was cupping the back of your head, running a thumb over your cheek. “I don’t want to think about you moping around this apartment by yourself for a whole month.”

You didn’t meet his gaze.

He sighed, squeezing your hand tight in his. “Bunny, why don’t you go back with Gwen? I’m sure she’d love to have you.”

You squeezed his hand back, focusing on the way his fingers looked intertwined with yours. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

He searched your face. “Then what…what is it?”

“I’m not sure I can describe it,” you whispered, which was the truth. “But I just…I feel like I need to go home.”

Whatever he was going to say in response was cut off as your phone vibrated. The caller id sent an electric jolt down your spine, and you were suddenly scrambling to your feet, pushing Blake off as he gave a confused, “Y/N?”

“I have to take this,” you told him, and you could only judge by the expression on his face that you looked as rattled as you felt.

You pulled yourself into the privacy of your room, hearing Gwen ask, “What’s wrong?” to a confused response from Blake before you held the phone up to your ear.

“May? What’s wrong?” Your left hand was clenching and unclenching itself into a fist as you waited. You felt that odd pulsing, the adrenaline rush of standing on a live wire, a kick through your whole body, but-

“Sweetie, nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine.”

“What?” You sat down on your bed, a marionette with your strings cut, body not quite keeping up with mind. Fist still clenching, unclenching. “What do you…why are you calling me then?”

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” May said, and you could feel her concern through the phone. The tension in your body slowly started to unwind, though your fingers were still twitching in your palm, in out, in out. “I just wanted to talk to you. It’s been too long.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. “I…I’m sorry. I overreacted, it’s just-”

“I know. It’s okay.” Just hearing her voice again slowed your heartrate considerably. “It’s okay. How’s school going?”

“It’s…going.” You let out a breathy laugh. “Finals week is finals week, but I’m nearly done. Just a few more exams.”

“I know you’ll ace them.” You could almost hear May smiling through the line. “You were always so bright, and you’ve done so well in school. I’m really proud of you, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“Good. Now listen, there was something else I was wondering.” May paused, and you felt your heartrate kick back up. “Are you coming back to Queens over break?”

“I’m…I’m not sure.”

“Do you want to come back?”

Wasn’t coming back what you wanted? But, suddenly, nothing seemed certain, and you felt incredibly out of place, not here in your apartment, Blake and Gwen laughing at some joke outside your door, not back home, back where memories were nestled in every stoplight and magazine stand. “I’m…I don’t have anywhere to stay.”

“Of course, you have somewhere to stay.”

“May, I couldn’t.”

“Yes,” May’s voice was kind, but firm. “Please, Y/N. Just think about it.”

You sighed. “I’ll think about it.” You couldn’t do it. You wouldn’t do it.

“May?” You just couldn’t help yourself.

“Hmmm?”

“You don’t…is…is Peter okay?”

There was a long silence. Too long. “Sweetheart, I haven’t seen Peter two years.”

pt. 4

send me an ask and lemme know what you think! also lmk if you would like to be added to the tag list!

tags: @ceruleanparker @underoosstark @webfluidbih@yourtomwritings @spideykisses @gqtom @demigodscum @bethanyleerose @infamous-webhead @starkravingparker @transnerdparker @freeheat @infinityonfiction @sighspidey@tornadoxx @lovelyh0lland @hollandahlia @hollandlovely @starksparker @supernaturalpllfan1 @petertomparkerholland @k0h04 @nobledoritoman @freeheat @totallyreadyforthis @tomhollanduniverse @beterbarkerbooty @ohmypcter @mayhemmeg @tremendousstudentartisanfestival @spo0derman @notimeforthemessenger @pensysto @jet122 @comfiecorner@dontpanc

[supporthosechi]

Visitation Reflection June 21st, 2018

Alisha was nervous about us driving in the rain. She called twice to check on us while we were on the road. It’s about three hours without traffic or under normal weather conditions. It took us a long while to reach the prison because the torrential downpour forced us to take it slow almost the entire way. Using phone calls (anyone who is used to how expensive and precious they are will tell you) to check-in on us was beyond considerate, and was not thrifty. It was touching to be checked-in on, something that we wish we could do for her, whenever the want or need to will arise. Unfortunately calls from prison are just that, from and not to. You have to wait to check up on your loved ones. When a few days go by and there’s silence, you are forced to infer the worst, because of the shitty prison mandated phone usage protocol.

The rain flooded the low roads practically the whole way to Decatur. It was nerve wracking and I felt terrible--we were panicking our friend.

We have not seen Alisha since her (incredible) Shakespeare performance in April and were beyond excited to catch up. We brought zines (Support Ho(s)e Year One, A Survivor: Alisha Walker, and Client & Co-Conspirator) as well as the comic book about our first visit with Alisha called “No One’s Victim,” published by Vice Versa Press, to try and include them in a property drop off (as a property officer had advised me over the phone) since the past four times we’ve tried sending them, they’ve gone missing. We also brought more money for snacks during our visit. As we pulled into the visitor’s parking lot it was really pouring. We grabbed all of our identification, cash, vending machine money card, zines and shoved everything down our shirts as we hurried in the cold rain toward the processing area.

I hate this place. We hate this place. Everyone should hate this place.

We walk in: “What’s that under your shirt?!” A CO yells out as soon as we come in from the storm. A has all of the precious print material we’ve brought for Alisha protected from the rain under his shirt. We look up, “it’s raining, they’re publications we’re dropping off.”  I’ve met these COs on duty at least half a dozen times and they still ask if I’ve visited before. I say yes, they hassle me about my expired driver’s license and my renewal print-off. They hassle us about the zines and comic. This really infuriates us. The zines and comic look “homemade” (they are). We can’t drop them off...we have to mail them in…only “publications” are admitted this way. I plainly explain that they were purchased (they were not) publications. They say that doesn’t matter. I ask what constitutes as “publication.” They say a professionally produced magazine or book. I explain about Vice Versa Press publishing the comic...they say it still looks “homemade,” and the won’t approve it. They tell me I have to mail them.

I raise my voice. I rarely do this.

“I have tried mailing them in. Four times.” They tell me I must be mailing them wrong...Then they look through them more and see a photo of LeLe that appears to be a screen shot of her during a video visitation. They start lecturing me on how this could get her a citation and list-off creative punishments if this is the case. I ask them if they’ve ever used skype or known someone who used skype before they were locked up. They didn’t get my inference so I said I didn’t take a pic of her during a video visit and removed myself from the intake area to go piss before the full screening/inventory. I splash water on my face, I look like shit. I am so fucking angry. We lock up the zines and comic in our locker with our IDs, and it’s A’s turn to take a piss. I go through screening first. The CO begins lecturing me again about video visitation protocol.  

I’m better at playing dumb and nodding this time.

She sends me through to a room where she touches my breasts and makes me take my shoes off. She grabs my hair bun and yanks, “just making sure!” ...Of what, if I feel pain?

A is screened next, I can hear the CO who’s screening him offer a similar lecture. A is better at keeping calm, he always is. We go into the visitation room and LeLe’s wing mate is there having a visit with her brother, his kiddo and another friend. Alisha comes in shortly after this, a complete 180 from our last visit where we waited hours to see her after the play. The kiddo is very interested in us and Alisha for most of our visit, asking questions and dancing around, showing off her daisy barrettes that make truly wonderful sounds as she throws her head around dancing-- they click and clack into each other.

We take a photo. We laugh wildly because LeLe sprang this on us, and quite frankly A and I were not our most photogenic--but of course LeLe was! She had on some gold eyeshadow she had made.

LeLe had her hair done-up differently, in a half-bun; it’s lighter, the sun bleaching it more and more because she’s been working outside, a new job cutting grass that she’s really liking because she’s left alone and gets exercise. She makes $30 a month doing (at least) 8 hour shifts per day, every day. She does the entire prison grounds over the course of the week. Essentially she gets $1 per day for her labor.

She’s giddy and nervous, in a good way. She likes a fellow visitor in the room and it shows. More on that when that fact doesn’t threaten either of them…

She spends the visit mostly talking about wanting to go to college, and talking about the research we’ve been doing on correspondence courses and how she can best get an Associates degree while inside. She updates us on what she’s reading, she’s deep into “Invisible No More” by Andrea Ritchie and she’s revisiting “Soledad Brother: The Prison Letters of George Jackson.” We talked about afrofuturist sci-fi (a genre she adores) and how she’s basically doing upper level college reading already. She reminds us she’s still got like 60 books from supporters for her birthday to go through, and how thankful she is for this.

As an aside--after she reads a book, she donates it to the prison’s library which is woefully understocked and most features self-help books (she despises these) and romance novels (she tolerates these).  

We talk prison medical treatment (we agreed it’s bogus to use the word “care” in relation to anything in a prison) and how fucked it is. She started taking birth control and now she really can’t stand chow hall meat. She’s been craving fruit and juice and yogurt. Things she can only get when we visit and buy them from the vending machines...and that’s if the machines are stocked. Thankfully they are, so we can. She gets her fruit and yogurt fix.

We do our normal organizing debrief to wrap up our visit, filling her in on project ideas, taking cues and inspiration from her thoughts. We talk about the other folx we’ve been talking to inside and what they’re thinking and feeling. She reports back on her contacts some more. It’s like working with someone who can read your mind or at least anticipate the capacity/building/organizing needs. It’s pretty fucking remarkable. That’s gotta be what’s meant by the saying “find your people.” She says she’s ready to be free--she’s been ready. She’s “got work to do.” 

- Red 

[barlee--mars]

Hello, how is your ibs? My tummy is a bit bloated and it feels a bit sick so I’m anxious about it and it makes it worse. And ibs is terrible, so I hope that you’re ok

Thanks for checking in, it was actually pretty decent/tolerable during august, but as of September I'm back to realllly bad health. There was a lot of stressful/depressing stuff that happened so I get why it got so much worse..I just wish it hadnt.

I was supposed to go to a renaissance faire today with my friends who I havent seen since like...2 feburarys ago? A year and a half basically. But i cant go, because my gut is so bad. It really really sucks. I'm bummed about it.. idk.

And I spent like $250 on my costume to wear to the ren faire, and spent 2 weeks sewing it etc, and now I cant go. So that adds to the stress and makes it worse. I lost 5 more pounds this week alone, and my clothes dont stay up.

Also as a side note, one of the depressing things that happened this summer (alongside several deaths of friends/family) was that my hair has all fallen out. My last bleach/dye I got professionally done in june, and she bleached too far past my roots onto previously lightened hair, so the past 2 months I have been pulling it out by the handful where it all has broken off at the weakened point 1 inch from my scalp. And not even like aggressively pulling it out - I mean that when I comb my fingers through my hair casually, bunches come out. I didnt brush it with an actual comb/brush all summer, just to try and preserve the long hair..and now it has all fallen out. I look like I've grown out a buzz cut. 2 years ago I had huge beautiful long hair and now im..this. it is completely demoralizing. I bought a few wigs, but cant wear them longer than a few hours at a time. Big bummer. Guess I'll be wearing a ton of hats this year ha.

I just wish there was some treatment plan or like "dont eat these particular foods"

Okay enough rambling sorry, thankyou for asking though

[tk-duveraun]

The Same Moonlight 1/?

Title: The Same Moonlight Fandom: SWTOR Rating: T Genre: Romance & Drama Summary: Cakara’s life has been a combination of bad luck and bad choices. She’s on her second fresh start, but maybe this one isn’t as fresh as she thought it would be. Notes:

I’ve made a lot of personal headcanons for echani because there is so little in canon. So don’t try to look stuff up.

Mandalorians in this time are officially allied with the Empire and, according to the Empire, this makes it illegal for them to have Force users in their ranks. They see it as a capital offense and will punish it as such regardless of the fact that Mandalorians are their own state and not actually subject to Imperial Law.

Mandalorians by tradition also don’t allow Forcers in their ranks regardless because of something terrible that happened in the past.

yaim = clan home/camp

alor = clan leader (more literally clan mother/father)

aliit = clan/family

cin’vhetin = the Mandalorian phrase meaning that your past is irrelevant and wiped clean.

beskar = Mandalorian iron, also shorthand for armor.

This is in the continuity of the Morning Comes AU wherein Rathi and Fox both live.

Meshurok’s yaim is in the middle of a thick forest. It’s not too different from Tiyaar’s. The wood making up the temporary defenses is less green and the twisting, creeping ivy is further up the ramshackle walls, but it’s not a complex with roots deep in the ground. The camp guards wear their armor as bright and polished as any other Mandalorian’s, though Meshurok’s grey gemstone sigil is more prominent than most clan symbols.

Cakara’s sunset orange armor doesn’t have Tiyaar’s mark. They had taken her in when she needed it, but she’d never felt like family. And she never would as long as people flinched at the first sight of her. She removes her helmet as Meshurok’s guards check her credentials, but neither one reacts nor comments. A green laser flashes over her armor, scanning for beskar and then the gate opens and she’s instructed to speak to the alor.

Eyes follow Cakara as she walks through the camp, but the expressions show only mild curiosity and the stares linger more on her weapons than her face. The command tent is impossible to miss, with its two meter tall standards. The grey gemstone is flanked by two smaller standards depicting the silhouette of some animal wearing a crown. It’s completely foreign to Cakara, but it’s no stranger than most symbols, so she doesn’t waste time thinking about it before nodding to the sentinel that lets her enter the tent.

The Hound of Meshurok is a tall, human woman with black hair so thick it fights against the braids keeping it in place, despite her undercut. Her expression is carefully neutral as she looks Cakara up and down. The muscles in her face twitch just the slightest bit, just the smallest movements that only an echani would catch, but aside from signifying that she has some thoughts, they don’t tell Cakara anything.

Cakara gives her new alor a shallow bow. “I’m Cakara. Wat Tiyaar said you’d be expecting me.”

“I was. Sit,” Hound says. Once Cakara is seated, she sits as well, her face still betraying nothing. “He said you were interested in joining our melee corps.”

“There was some tension because of my blood, as well,” Cakara says. Under her black tattoos, her skin is whiter than any sun-bleached bone. Even if the Hound is unfamiliar with echani bone structure and faces, there’s no other subhuman race with white irises like Cakara’s.

“Tiyaar are a hard lot. Good at what they do. Traditional,” Hound says. Her tone is slightly clipped, but not enough to suggest anything other than brusque professionalism.

“They took me in when I needed it. That’s what matters.”

Hound nods at her. “Good. I’ll tell you right now, if you’re looking for glory and constant engagements, you’re in the wrong place. We fight and we do it well, but we’re conservative with what jobs we take and our profits go to the children, not necessarily the newest weapons and the fastest ships.”

“I’m not here for glory. I’m here for…” Cakara hesitates, but finally says, “aliit.”

That puts a smile on Hound’s face, though it’s quickly wiped away. “That’s what I like to hear. I don’t tell newcomers what I’m going to say next, but with your training, you’d notice and it’s best to avoid any unpleasantness.”

It’s only her perfect muscle control that keeps Cakara from reacting. She doesn’t know which of the many things Cakara’s been trained in Hound is referring to. Nor does she have any idea what kind of unpleasantness the clan leader is imagining. She allows herself a single, quick nod.

“We don’t break up families for having gifts. The ideal warrior is one using all of their best abilities. If we don’t have a teacher for whatever they’re good at, we’ll find one. Even if someone has to leave for training, Meshurok will always be their home,” Hound says.

Cakara counts the steady, perfect beats of her heart as she mulls over those statements. There’s some specific talent Hound is referencing. One Cakara would recognize on sight. One she doesn’t want to talk about directly. Cakara fights off the urge to narrow her eyes in thought and leaves her face unchanged as her brain makes suggestions and tosses them aside. Despite her best efforts, an involuntary gasp escapes Cakara when the pieces fall into place. She whispers the word, barely giving it the breath for any sound. “Forcers?”

“No child will be ripped from their family for having a gift,” Hound says.

Cakara feels cold inside her armor, but also clammy and too warm all at once. More than half of her training in her old life had been to counter Thryssian sorcerers. They were evil, corrupted and couldn’t be trusted. She forces her eyes closed and shoves the old thoughts aside. Cin’vhetin. When she opens them again, Cakara meets Hound’s eyes and nods. “I understand.”

“The details aren’t something we discuss openly, even here, but rest assured, Mandalore already knows. That said, should the Empire take exception to our clan, we’re on our own. That’s what’s best for our people. Cerar and D’narr could have a place for you if that’s a problem.”

Wat had offered Cerar and D’narr to her, too. The four clans are close and often send warriors where they fit best. Everyone speaks highly of Meshurok, but the clan has no reputation… by design, clearly. They don’t want word getting back to the Empire that they’re ‘harboring’ Forcers. If the Empire finds out, summary execution is on the docket and Mandalore won’t intervene. It’s a dangerous position, but it could be worth it to find a family that accepts her for what she is and only what she is.

“I’d like to make a home here,” Cakara finally says.

“Excellent. You’ll be bunking with Zali for now. She’ll get you sorted and settled in. If you need more privacy after that, we can discuss it and work something out. I don’t anticipate any interpersonal issues, but should one arise, you are to bring it to my attention immediately so that it can be resolved before a true problem can arise. Arbitration doesn’t favor longevity, so do not hesitate to speak up.”

Meshurok is on the small side for a Mandalorian clan, but even so… “Your attention, personally?”

Hound grins. “Zali will tell you who can speak for the clan. She should be waiting for you outside.”

Cakara nods at the dismissal and stands. Just before she can step out, Hound stops her with a few words.

“One last thing. Welcome home, Cakara.”

“Thank you, alor.”

---

Meshurok’s mess tent is loud. Despite there being empty tables scattered around, the warriors are crowded onto the tables closest to the firepit in the center. The main ruckus seems focused on a red-haired human man that’s gesturing wildly as he tells a story. He has a long, intricate braid just as fancy as Hound’s pulled over his shoulder. Even from the distance, Cakara could easily read his lips and ‘listen’ to the story, but she doesn’t because she’s terrified. She has to imagine that no one else can see what she does, but they’re warriors, surely they should be able to recognize an apex predator.

It’s not that his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, because it does, there are even crinkles in the skin around his eyes that prove he smiles a lot. No, it’s the way he sits and how perfectly he moves his arms. Non-Echani shouldn’t have that kind of muscle control, especially not people in full beskar with its limited joints and lagging pneumatics. In order to compensate for those factors, the man would need years of training. Cakara’s been a Mandalorian for three years and she only has base proficiency at what this man does so carelessly.

Something of her fear must make it past her control over her expression because Zali puts a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay? Do you want to go back to the bunk?”

Cakara can’t take her eyes off the danger, so she doesn’t look at Zali when she speaks. Each word is deliberate and torn from her chest because she’s sure he can hear her, even from the distance, even over the crowd. “That man is-”

“Gorgeous, right?” Zali gives a wistful sigh. “Wherever alor got him, I want one.”

She chokes and feels weak in the knees even though she’s sitting. “Are you out of your mind? He could tear you apart with his bare hands.”

“Fox would never. He and Morathis, that’s the chiss on his left, they’re alor’s partners. They wouldn’t hurt anyone in the clan. You’re fine. Fox is the best person to go to with problems. Alor tries to make it a lesson and ensure we learn from our mistakes, blah blah, but Fox’ll just fix things.”

Zali sounds so confident that Cakara glances at her. “He’s a monster.”

“Well, yes, you met Hound, didn’t you? They’ve gotta be monsters to keep up with her.”

“Are you really not worried?” Cakara ask as she turns back to watch Fox.

Zali shrugs next to her and loudly picks up her plate. “Of course not. He pulled me outta the rubble on Balmorra and brings me food when I’m sick and stuff. Doesn’t matter that I’m not officially adopted, he’s basically my dad now.”

Cakara lets a frown sit on her face. It’s slightly reassuring that he’s apparently affectionate under his terrifying strength, but that’s almost completely negated by the clear devotion on everyone’s faces. Power comes in many forms… “I suppose I just have to trust you.”

[driftwork]

a port story [1]

[ I am reasonably certain I will never go to Lisbon again, the only aspect of Portugal that will come into my life now are humans who have migrated here for social-political-economic reasons, which is the only reason anyone moves anywhere] I had never been to the city before and was intending to spend a few days there before traveling north. The hotel was a nice business hotel, the room anonymous and comfortable. I wandered around the city and was going to a restaurant in one of the nice squares,  neither of the names, the restaurant or the square matter, forgotten as they are, obscured by passing time.  The restaurant I remember  had comfortable chairs, mirrors on the walls, wooden tables, round, square and a few triangular tables, the cuisine was mix of international and local Portuguese.  Some of the international dishes were served with a delicate local reinterpretation, a few clams added, a red wine sauce reimagined with local fortified wine.  Either way I have fond memories of the place.  I think I took a bus from the square the hotel was in, or perhaps I walked, I am unsure. Let's say it was a bus with aluminum poles wrapped in yellow reinforced plastic tape that took me to the district, the square. Which was full of people, adults and children. It was early evening, before seven. I was early as the table was booked for eight. We had agreed to meet in the restaurant at eight, she would be on time, she was always on time, arriving in the district early and meandering slowly so that she would arrive ontime.  I had an hour to use so I went to an old cafe on the east side of the square, the sunlight poured like liquid gold onto the front of the cafe, crawling under the old sun-bleached awnings. The cafe served a vast array of different drinks, it had various types of billiard tables and a pinball machine with images celebrating yuri gagarian’s test flights and a trip around the moon. i ordered  a glass of Marsala and an espresso, and started watching a game of bar billiards being played between two old grey haired men,  one of the old men was using a walking stick to support his weaker left leg, clear blue eyes, his hair cut short and he was evenly matched with his friend,  he was hitting the pins and sinking balls with the sharp eyes of a professional billiards predator. Do you want a game ? He asked. No I replied, I cannot play bar billiards, though if you like and can tell me the rules as we play, honestly, we could play for who pays for the glass of port? He smiled at me, where are you from? Overseas?  A bit, I admitted carefully. Where from, Catus Minor, I said. I don’t know where that is, he said.  The south end of the  Haydes. That’s strange, still never heard of it, but there are so many new countries these days. He said scratching his head and then polishing his cure. So what’s your name? Petr, I said in english with the purely english home counties accent. Petr is the short version that friends and people call me. So youré baptised, a christian he said. Oh no,  we are all atheists in my family and culture. There are lots of deities here, but on Catus Minor there are none, nobody knows why. It's said that gods only exist here in  the entire galaxy… Really? he waved the waiter over and ordered drinks. I know what you need, a beautiful african, good price, about 19 or 20 from Mozambique, just arrived.  No thanks my partner would be upset, and besides I have to meet some people at the restaurant over the square, I said paused, so I have no time for girls or boys either.  So what are you doing here then?  I am meeting a woman and perhaps her husband in the restaurant.  I thought about lighting a cigarette, <cigarettes in those days were harmless again>  but decided not to, i am looking for a man and they may be able to help me. I am just here killing time. Just a second, why are you looking for the man? What for? he asked intensely.  Maybe nothing,  I simply lost track of him and need to connect with him again. I have come all this way from Catus Minor just to look for him,  i would like to speak to him again, its pretty urgent. So i have this appointment in the restaurant, its full of mirrors and memories. I have never been, it has triangular tables,  i  hope we will sit at such a table. I have never been before. Sounds quite exciting, he said, are you paying? no we’ll be splitting the bill, they have money i believe. Is it a place for fascists? He asked. Probably as its expensive, though they aren’t. I left him with the port and walked around the edges of the square to the restaurant…[We met when we were young whilst working in a decorating chain store that sold paint and wallpaper and the usual tools, paint brushes, poisons chemicals and so on. I think we were both about 20 or 21, he had recently got married to his deeply neurotic girlfriend, how could he be married at such a young age you might think, people simply did that in that place at that time.  Later though,  not that much later he became a near-legendary troublemaker primarily in the micro-political realm. At that time to be political, to be a socialist meant that you were focused on the micro-political as the enemy had almost filled the macro-political realm with lessor variants of themselves. Before that he’d originated from the mid-west, in a German high school there, to be in that private school meant you would probably be taught by anti-capitalist teachers and going to the German High school meant you knew of the world, that you’d go on trips across the Atlantic to Berlin, New York and Paris. Whereas people like me going to a Secondary Modern school on the outskirts of London were going to a terrible anti-intellectual school staffed by imbeciles who hated us and themselves  —— in this place we were taught about the history of the local monarchs, the great men of history discourses that the imbeciles liked. Now that I think of it in those days there were still teachers who left to travel to the colonies and ex-colonies to preach and convert. Others who were ex-colonials explaining how good the empire was for everyone.  A few years later, i remember it well, in a cafe in north London, their children were still explaining that American, French and Belgium colonialism was worse, they were children and couldn't count. Not long after that these same people decided to start murdering people again.  Eventually I took the line of flight as far away as I could travel, whilst he continued to drift around europe.  When we  finally separated we still spent a few summer vacations in various cities and seaside towns, Italy, south western France, the Balkans.  He dreamed of painting, his output consisting mostly of windows with shutters, still lives, iron bars, plastic frames and occasionally lace curtains that hinted at humans hiding, mostly from themselves behind the lace.  When he stopped painting or drawing we would go for a walk. It was on the last of these walks, the last time we were together that he said, someday if I kill myself, I'll do it slowly, as if I have a terminal illness over a six month or year long period, saying delirious goodbyes from the hospital bed. Did he do that, is my search in vain?]

When I arrived at the restaurant they were already sitting at a triangular table with a small crystal pitcher full with vodka martini, slices of lemon floating, there were three martini glasses on the table, theirs not quite full, mine empty. She poured some of the perfect liquid into my glass.  Hello, I said, how ae you?  They looked neutrally at my face, you look younger than we expected she said. Its the relativity effect. Time passes more slowly during space travel, even now. A friend is always a friend, he said philosophically. We exchanged small talk, briefly touching on the stories of our lives. The events, music, images and stories, the politics, communities and cultures we had passed through in the recent past.  I told them about the media at home, they told me about how their local right-wing discourse had become dominant by allowing itself to be subculturized, falsified and socialized.  They were, (I remember sitting there sipping the drink,) database animals... their social values and standards were always dysfunctional, which is why they felt a pressing need to  construct alternative values and standards. Eventually this faded away and it had become clearer who we were. Only then, when it may have become impossible, we began to talk about the reason why  I wanted to meet them... Eventually after  they explained about the suicide, the leap from the 22nd floor onto the plaza in the middle of the night. Wait, I said,  where was he buried? where are his remains I asked.  But most of all I wanted to know  what were his motives ? why ? We don't know his personal motives, he never told us about his personal motives for anything.  You must have known something, was he depressed, mad, pregnant, you had eyes to see the state of things?  He stroked his beard and eyebrows,  a strangely neutral and yet erotic gesture directed I thought at her.  He poured some more martini into his glass, ordered some more liquor. But they couldn't say anymore.  They couldn't say where he was buried, nor even how his body was dealt with, did someone inherit his kidney, heart, eyes, liver?  Cremated, buried, frozen... I ate  pan fried fish,  fried sweet potato chips,  some forgotten vegetables, an unmemorable desert.  They disappeared into Brasil.  Days later as I prepared to leave Lisbon  the doubts crept in,  I thought, that perhaps,  I should confirm he was dead by speaking to some other people, perhaps their were some family members still living in the  house in S.Ware,  I couldn't remember the number, the street must look the same though. Perhaps he is still alive.  That's all there is.... I had six months after all before the ship was leaving for home and needed to fill my time with something... [for Armando]

[jk28147]

Spring Cleaning Tips And Spring Decoration Ideas

Spring Cleaning Tips

Spring is a time of renewal. It is the time of year when people across the country begin shaking off the final dregs of winter, opening their windows, and hanging clothes on the lines to dry. It is the time of year that many people associate with spring cleaning, but only few, associate it with spring decoration ideas Perhaps we are too tired from all of our cleaning efforts to seek the inspiration to decorate. If this is the case with you, then my hope is that some ideas mentioned below will help bring some serious decoration inspiration your way. Either way, it's that time again! The yearly spring ritual is upon us. And with Easter only a few more weeks down the road you probably wonder if wasting a whole Saturday or even the whole weekend is worth it.

Found on Etsy We want everything done instantly, that's the fast paced world we are living in today. Therefore, you might want to turn to the Professionals. Professional home cleaners come prepared and they're not going to waste any time. If you can afford it, hire them! If you can't hire the professionals here's how to get it done just like they do. We've got some spring cleaning tips and advice from the pros that will help you get done in record time. Spring Cleaning Tips - How to do it the Right Way? Have a Plan: - Spring-cleaning can seem like such a chore. Often you spend all day, or even a few days to get the entire house sparkly clean. And as s a busy mom, you will appreciate some of these cleaning tips that will make the job a little easier and much faster. A few days Prior Cleaning Day: - Start out by taking a quick look through your cleaning supplies a few days before the big spring-clean. Make sure you have plenty of paper towels and cleaning rags. If your mop or broom is really worn out, this is a great time to invest in a new one. Check all bottles and containers of cleaning supplies that you like to use and see if you have plenty of them. There’s nothing worse than having to clean yourself up during your big spring cleaning to run to the store for a new bottle of Windex. The Day before Spring Cleaning: - Get everyone in the family to spend some time with you the day before the big spring cleaning to pick up around the house. You don’t want to spend time picking up toys or washing dishes the next day. Because you don't want to slide your junk from side to side or just clean under and around it. Therefore, removing your clutter first, will make your whole job easier.

 On your Cleaning Day: - Get up early and put on some comfortable clothes that you don’t mind getting dirty. Dress all the way down to your shoes and put your hair up and drink a cup of coffee. Take the following few minutes to gather all your cleaning supplies and get going.  Tackle one room at a time. This works much better than trying to do 10 things at once. It will also give you a great sense of accomplishment to see each clean room.  Start at the top and work your way down. Use a broom or a mop with a soft cloth wrapped around it to get any spider webs and dust out of the ceiling corners. Dust the light fixtures. Keep working your way down cleaning counters, windows and windowsills, furniture. Finish by dusting the baseboards and giving the carpets a good vacuuming. Take the time to vacuum under the bed and move furniture to clean the floor under it whenever possible. Or use one of our recommended Robotic Vacuum Cleaner.

Spring Cleaning Safety Tips Make sure you dress for the job. You want to be comfortable but functional. The clothes you wear should be loose but not so loose as to catch on corners, doorknobs, or anything that could spill. If you're going to be on your knees a lot, look at investing in some knee pads. The professionals use them, and for good reason. You'll lose steam and motivation quickly if you start feeling uncomfortable. Don't forget the gloves! These can keep the germs and chemicals off your skin. The regular yellow cleaning gloves you see at any grocery store will work fine. Spring Cleaning Tips - For Your Kitchen As a notorious family gathering place, kitchens often become cluttered with everything from bills and report cards to shopping lists and fridge magnets. With spring just around the corner, it's time to say good-bye to all that clutter and Tupperware has some simple solutions to help you do it! Compress the Mess: - If there is just not enough space in your kitchen, then it's time to toss all unnecessary items. Remove objects from kitchen counters that are not essential for everyday cooking (blenders, mixers, juicers, etc.). This will make the room look more spacious and clean and will give you extra room to prepare daily meals.

Fully decorated Kitchen Shelf Fridge Feng Shui: - If items in the fridge are preventing the door from closing easily, it's time to take notice. A bonus to cleaning out the fridge is that when racks are sparkling and items are organized, it's much easier to find everything. Are you constantly throwing away spoiled food or leftovers? Avoid letting things get out of control in the future by placing food in Tupperware's FridgeSmart® or Fresh 'N Cool® containers, which maximize shelf life and minimize space. Kitchen Crackdown: - If you are prone to experiencing pangs of distress at the thought of uncluttering your kitchen, stick to one simple rule: Clean as you go. Spending 15 minutes a day clearing countertops and discarding leftovers will create a stress-free environment and allow you to keep your kitchen running smoothly. Tupperware has many useful products to help reorganize your kitchen. Pantry Antics: - Before you take a trip to the grocery store, take a good look inside your food pantry-if in doubt, throw it out! It's safe to assume that the expensive jar of Spanish olives sitting on the shelf for the last five years will never be used and the cans in the back are only useful for gathering dust. If food is stored for too long and in the wrong conditions, the freshness, quality and taste will suffer. Tupperware's Modular Mates® containers are ideal for organizing cabinets and offer the perfect solution for storing dry foods such as pasta, cereal, beans, rice and sugar. Fruit - Bowels Have bowls of fruit placed throughout your home. Not only does it add a layer of fresh fruit fragrance to your home, but it is also visually appealing and edible home decor.

Spring Cleaning Your Bathrooms When you get to the bathrooms, start by spraying some all purpose or bathroom cleaner on all the appliances, especially anything that may have some build up on it, like the soap dish in the shower. Next, pour some Clorox / Bleach in each toilet. Allow the cleaner spray to soak in while you get started on the ceiling, windows and counters. By the time you get around to the sink, shower and toilet, all you need to do is wiping them down and give the inside of the toilet a quick scrub with the brush. Towels Yes, I said towels. In your kitchen and your bathrooms you need bright, bold colors that signify spring, birth, and renewal. These little touches can make a huge difference in not only your attitude about cleaning and decorating but also your attitude about cooking. Shower-Curtain If you use those in your bathroom, switch it to a spring motive for a nice color pop.

Feng-Shui Shower Curtain Spring Cleaning & Freshen up Walls Washing the dirty walls around your house can be a huge chore. Not only is it a time consuming project, it’s physically exhausting. If you want to spiff up every nook and cranny, washing walls requires an enormous amount of reaching, stretching, contorting, and bending to clean off the layers of dust, dirt, grime, cobwebs, finger smudges, and/or greasy soot that have accumulated. Luckily, there are a few tricks that can make it easier. Cleaning Solutions Your choice of cleaners is very important and should be based on the type of wall that you are cleaning. To avoid ruining the paint job on your walls, stay away from abrasive cleaners and steel wool. Use a toothbrush for small stains that need gentle, but abrasive action. A solution of clear ammonia and water works very well. However, Ammonia has a terrible odor. Either way it is cheap and has superlative cleaning capabilities. Nevertheless, if you can’t get past the smell, there are other options. Most painted walls can be cleaned with warm water and a gentle, non-sudsy detergent. Still, you should always test the cleaning solution that you will be using on an inconspicuous area of the wall. Make sure that the solution is removing just the dirt, not the paint. Cleaning Strategy

Download Here When washing walls, dripping and streaking is inevitable. To avoid rewashing something that you have already cleaned, you should always start at the top of the wall and work your way down. Don’t forget to catch corners, trim, and baseboards as you go. To get to those hard to reach places, use a sturdy stepladder or a small portable ladder. Make sure that you choose a ladder that is both stable and appropriately sized. If you will be working in a stairwell, use a ladder that is made for uneven surfaces. Try to center the ladder directly in front of the wall that you will be washing. Over reaching or leaning too far to one side could cause you to lose your balance. These final tips can make the job of washing walls a little easier. Rid the walls and baseboards of cobwebs and dust bunnies before you begin washing.If you are using ammonia or another strong-smelling cleaning solution, make sure the room is well-ventilated. Change your cleaning solution often. When you are washing walls, the water gets dirty very quickly. To avoid streaking, wipe the walls with a dry towel after they have been cleaned. Fragrance   While most people do not realize that the fragrances we use in our homes is a type of decoration. It makes our noses happy to some degree but also the potpourri and candles are often decorations in and of themselves. Put out bowls filled with brightly colored and lightly scented fragrance balls, dried fruit, and other delights. Gourmet potpourri can be found in all kinds of gift and fragrance shops and is a rather inexpensive way to add a fragrant touch to your home decorating as well as the fragrance to cover up the cleaner smell in your home. Cleaning Down Bedding

Spring Cleaning Tip: Never wash your Down Bedding! Because washing it will leave you with a flat pillow and feather-bed-covers. Most times washing those will result in clustering of down and the down feathers to break. They will lose their fluffiness and with it the ability to trap body heat. Appropriately drying a down bed set can be problematic, due to the size of comforters and feather beds. If down is not dried properly, mildew will set in, leaving you with a bad odor and a problem for allergy sufferers. So if your bed set really needs to be cleaned I advise you to find a dry cleaner that can do this task for you. Not all Dry-cleaners have equipment large enough for feather beds. Down bedding purchased within the last 3 or 4 years should be hung over a line on a warm, sunny, breezy day. Let nature refresh and rejuvenate them. Back home in Europe we would every weekend, (if the weather was nice) hang them across the window sill to air them out. After that you shake them good up to make the covers and pillows fluffy again. If this is not possible hang them over a couple of chairs near an open window. Placing comforters and pillows in a dryer will fluff up, There are also dry-cleaner Kits for your dryer available. If your down comforters, pillows and feather-beds are over 4 or 5 years old, take them to a dry cleaner. Or get one of the previously mentioned kits. That should clean and reconditioned using an all natural method which will fluff up the filling and deodorize it If you purchased a high quality down comforter, you could use it all year around. However, if you like I rather store your comforter during the hot summer nights. You better store the comforter in a cotton bag, and not a plastic bag. Take care of your down bedding by having it cleaned by a professional. Luxury quality down comforters, pillows and feather beds deserve the proper care to protect your investment so you can enjoy your down luxuries for life. Candles

While briefly mentioned above they deserve their own spot among the top five to say the least. Candles can be depending on their fragrance soothing, relaxing, and invigorating. For your décor they can also be inspiring, beautiful, and elegant. Candles are great no matter what time of the year it is however, if you select candles in bright spring colors and fragrances you might be amazed at exactly how uplifting these candles can be. Cleaning a Sofa & Sofa Cushions Don't forget sofa cushions and throw pillows. These too can be cleaned/reconditioned, Some cane have extra filling added. However most of them would require opening a seam and stitching it back. I would recommend using a steam cleaner or a small wet-carpet-cleaner to clean the sofa cushions. And strip the covers of your throw pillows and wash those with your drapes and curtain. You can also try to plump up a sagging chair or sofa cushions by adding and new fill foam.  Flowers Spring is the time of flowers. They are all around us. Use fresh cut flowers and candles to create beautiful arrangement and centerpieces throughout your home.

A few blossoming twigs bring the spring indoor

Conclusion

Spring Cleaning is a tough job Make sure you take some breaks, and drink plenty of water. When you are done, enjoy a long hot shower or a soak in the tub. Next put on some clean clothes and put up your feet. Give yourself a pat on the back for a job well done and get some rest. You deserve it. And for those of you, that are in need of springtime home decorating ideas. I hope that my suggestions helped to nudge you into the right direction. And if you hoped for some outstanding suggestions, I suggest that you visit our blog or follow us on Instagram where you will find inspiring ideas for your own spring decorating. Have any tips or questions to share??? Please leave it in the box below Read the full article

[i-am-horrible-with-numbers]

In the Nick of Time

In all my years of enjoying life as a college student, I’ve had my fair share of Friday and Saturday nights out in bars and clubs with my friends. I’d say they were memorable, but I don’t remember much. I can say I’ve learned so much about so many things because I’ve met a lot of people coming from different backgrounds. They’re an experience, for sure I hold on to them for they are dear to my heart, but I also had to let some go because it wasn’t good for me to keep them anymore.

College is where I met Connor. We were both working in student government. I was in public relations, while he was in the creatives department. We’d often stay up late in the office working on projects, handling events, having meetings, and sometimes we’d just hang out. Our colleagues would often think that there was something between us two, considering how close we are and how we’re always seen together. When we’d be asked if we were dating, we would just deny it and say we’re just friends.

It’s a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth either.

During our second year of college, I could tell our relationship was already something more than friends, we cared for each other a bit more and our words meant something else to one another. I didn’t know exactly what we were, but this wasn’t something you could call platonic. The moment I started thinking that it was going somewhere and actually tried to take it somewhere, he asked if we could just stay friends. I took it because it was better than wondering where we were at that point.

What Connor didn’t know was that I had fallen; harder than I ever had in my whole life. We did stay friends and kept it professional when working, but I couldn’t help but long for him. Later on, what I felt faded into non-existence.

It’s eight in the evening, and the wind blows cool on the balcony of my condo near school. I’m in my fourth year, and life just seems overwhelming for me at this point. I’m graduating next year, and I have no idea what’s in store for me after that. I’m giving my all to my work and studies since I’m about to end this chapter in my life. I take a sip of my cold-brewed tea as I drink in the sight of the city.

Connor sits on the chair opposite of me. It’s become some sort of tradition for us to hang out in the balcony and just talk. Sometimes even more than that, if you know what I mean. Yes, we’re friends, but with benefits.

“Can you believe it, Lilah? We’re graduating next year. Sooner or later we’re gonna have to face the real world and do what people call adulting.” He says while scrolling through his Facebook feed.

“Connor, we’re both in our twenties, we’re already adulting.” I reply with a slight chuckle.

“Yeah, but I’m shit at it.”

“No one is good at adulting. We weren’t exactly taught how to do this, we just make it as we go along.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Connor locks his phone and lets out a huge sigh. He sinks into his chair a bit deeper, staring into what’s in front of him.

Picking up my box of cigarettes from the table between us, I light one up. I stand and rest my elbows on the fence of my balcony. “What’s up? Why are you reflecting all of a sudden?” I ask him after I take a hit from my stick.

“I don’t know, I guess I just realized that I could have taken so many opportunities back then but didn’t because I was scared.” He rests his head on his palm, looking at his toes rested on the fence.

“Like what?” I take another hit from the cigarette between my fingers and watch as the wind blows the smoke away.

“Stop you from smoking.” His eyes fix on me, accompanied by a smile I’ve seen so many times. I laugh.

“We’ve been through this a million times, I know it’s bad. It’s my decision.” He was shocked when he saw me smoke at a party for the first time. He has told me to stop smoking more than once already, but in a caring way, not in a way that he sounded like he was judging me. I know he’s concerned.

“Second-hand smoking is bad!” He slides his hand to his throat, making it look like he was choking on something. “Lilah, I can’t breathe, help!” This isn’t the first time he’s done this. He normally does it on the few occasions I smoke around him.

I chuckle at him. “Well, you could go inside for a minute and wait until I finish this. Besides, it was your choice to stay with me. A while ago you even said you didn’t mind.”

Defeated, Connor puts his finger up. “Okay, true. I’m not going inside, though. I like your company.” I smile at the thought. It doesn’t register to me that quick because he’s always had trouble expressing what he feels. It still takes me by surprise when he tells me things like this.

“Aw, Connor!” I rest my hand on my chest, making it clear that I was touched by what he said. We’re accompanied by silence for a moment, save for the noise coming from the streets below us. I put my cigarette out on the ashtray placed on the table.

“Okay, that’s my last one.” I state as I go back to my seat. That was my third one.

“For the rest of your life?” he follows up.

“For tonight.” I clarify. I could never explain to him why I can’t stop. I can’t say it’s an addiction, but I only truly understood tobacco when I started smoking.

“Hey, Lilah,” he sounded like he has a question to ask.

“What’s up?”

“Remember sophomore year?” I remember that year very well. I never want to talk about it with him again, several thoughts about that time that run through my head. I’m not exactly sure how I feel about it, but I just know I feel something. I used to wonder why I still do, but now I’ve just accepted it.

“Ah, yes. The year you had a terrible sense of style.” I kid, it wasn’t actually that bad. His style now is just better. I try to change the topic to avoid talking about what was going on between us two back then.

“Oh, come on, Lilah! I was figuring a lot of things out back then. At least I didn’t dye my hair four times in one school year,” he comes back at me. Just like him, I was trying a lot of new things out. My hair went from red, to blue, to blue and green ombre, to pink. I don’t regret it, but actions do have consequences. I need to take extra steps to take care of my hair now because of the amount of bleach I put it through.

“Hey, college is a way to experience new stuff.” I retort.

“That’s true.” He laughs. “Remember when we had something going on?” Oh, boy. He brings it up.

The mood changes suddenly. “Yeah, why?”

“Well, I was stupid.”

“Was?” I reply, raising my eyebrows at him.

“Let me finish, God damn it!” He exclaims. The tension in the air is buried by the laughs we let out.

“Lilah,” he calls when the laughter dies down. “I turned you down because I didn’t know if I was ready for a relationship like that.” I stay silent. I don’t know what to say. “It was dumb of me to rush into things. I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know what was going to happen, all I knew was that I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Connor, what are you trying to say?” I’m confused. Not just by what he’s telling me right now, but there are so many thoughts running in my head. All these years, I’ve been thinking that I’ve gotten over him, but I realize that I always go back to him. I keep telling myself that I don’t want him, but I also don’t want him with anyone else. Maybe I do still have feelings for him, even after all this time.

“I’m saying that I want you, Lilah. I didn’t know that back then, but now I do.” He lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry for being a douchebag about it.”

I sit there for a beat, processing everything that just came from his lips. I have a strong feeling I still want him too. “What made you realize all this?”

“No other girl could compare to you, Lilah. You’re always there for me when I need you, and you’re one of the very, very few people I trust. Honestly, I don’t deserve you. I know you deserve way better, but if you could give me another chance, I swear I won’t blow it this time.”

I’ve known Connor long enough to know what he’s like, and I find more and more reasons to fall in love with him, even with his flaws. It’s only come to me now that I’ve been denying it all this time, doubting what I really feel about him. I have been hurt by him before, yes, but I’ve forgiven him. I guess I love him that much.

“Are you saying that we should date?” Now I’m the one asking the question.

“Pretty much, yeah.” He shrugs, not knowing what my answer is.

“Let’s do it.” I reply. Suddenly, his face lights up. I can see his eyes sparkle, and I love seeing him like this. It warms my heart so much.

“For real?”

“Yes, for real.” This time, I have a good feeling about it. I’m a little scared, but I’m confident about it. Now, it’s clear between the both of us about what we’re doing and what we want.

Connor gets up from his seat and holds his hand out to me. I take it, and he envelopes me in a hug. It lasts for so long, that I forget the world around me. I breathe in his scent, and just take in everything that’s happening right now. When we let go, he places his lips on mine. It’s sweeter than the previous ones I’ve had with him before. It feels different, I feel a spark that’s extremely bright.

He pulls away, smiling at me. “I can taste the tobacco.” I giggle, burying my head closer to his chest.

“Sorry!” Connor wraps his arms around me and kisses my head. I don’t ever want to let go.

I don’t ever want to let him go. 

[squidmouth]

the land of daol

Raina: The night before my and JP’s landing was bizarre as it was happy, because of my friend Tracy’s 13th birthday party. After the party, on that mercurial May 25th, the air smelled of a redolent rain, and I tumbled and danced down Tracy’s lawn, waiting for a Lyft. An ebony Kia zoomed past, splashed some rainwater upon my legs, and the driver rolled down the window. The dude in the driver’s seat, a young, pale, and lanky graduate, said,

“Hey, you’re Raina, right? This must be 116 Siberia Avenue, if I followed the directions.” I tossed myself into the car, with its new car smell and some fuzzy pillows in the back seat. This environment welcomed me, and after I tossed him my debit card, he introduced himself.

“Yeah, my Lyft profile might call me Jerome, but you can call me JP. It makes me feel a little more professional. DO you like grunge, Raina? I mean, I can change it if you want.” I didn’t care much about Green Day, so I nodded in pure indifference. In a box facing me, Doritos, cookies, soda, chips, and fruit relaxed, but I already binged upon Halal hot dogs at the party. JP didn’t mind that I turned down his snacks, and I reclined in the padded backseat, texting mom,

“Hey maman, will b 🏡 soon. JP my lyft just drove onto Oceanview” JP blasted soundgarden, and from the right side of the car, an olive Corolla swerved and rammed into JP’s Kia, sending it rolling and flying into the ocean. When we were about to die of drowning, the car spun in a strange glowing tornado, and everything went black.

I don’t remember much of the dream I had, but snippets of the party aligned themselves within my dream.

JP: That morning, I woke up in a strange white bodysuit, and I felt a pain like every part of my body was getting a tattoo. Raina, the little girl who I had to take home last night, was knocked out cold. The walls were coated with marble tiles with hologram displays and glowing cracks. Eventually, our nurse, a blue-skinned elf chick entered the room, and my gut told me that I must have been dreaming. The woman said,

“Hello, human man. May I ask you to fill out this form, and ask your little girl friend there to do the same?” Her voice had the snarky and burned out sound, and I sighed and did it anyway, whispering, “Jerome Phillips Hinton, birthday: 10/09/1993, date of entry 5/26/2017, species: human… blahh blahhh blahhhh…” When I returned the magic clipboard, the nurse told me, “Jerome, the date is Nekogo 27, 2017. You’ve been knocked out for two days.

Raina woke up after a few minutes, and the nurse turned to her, and groaned, “Little girl, fill out the form. I don’t have all day.” Raina grasped the clipboard, and filled in her information. The tattoo pain I had from when I woke up was still there, and I couldn’t move much. The tired elf lady pressed the clipboard against the holograms, and they flashed our names and diagnoses: “Jerome Phillips Hinton, birthday 10/09/1993, date of admission: 5/26/2017, diagnosis: full body injury” “Raina Summer Cook, birthday: 8/20/2003, date of admission: 5/26/2017, diagnosis: full body injury’, The sound of hooves filled the air, two green-glowing sliding doors opened up, and a gnome riding a unicorn stepped in. The unicorn welcomed us with,

“Good morning, Mr. Hinton, and Miss Cook. I am Doctor Basil Sunwish. If it wasn’t for our healing team and Faer here, you two would have died horribly. Of course, the healing process wore us out, but we placed our best efforts into helping you survive the automobile crash.” Faer, the gnome, leaped down, and dusted themself off.

“Hey guys! I’m Faer! Welcome to Daol! I had a huge homework assignment to open a portal, but I accidentally opened a portal to your world, and my magic grade is terrible as it is.” Faer whined. They scratched their head, took a deep breath, and muttered, “Do you mind living with me for a few while I work on another portal to take you back home? It’s just that my older twin brother and sister are at magic school and their room is empty.”

Me and Raina had to agree, because we had no other choice.

Raina: Dust scattered across the bedroom in Faer’s family tree, where we would have to stay for an undetermined period of time. Faer giggled, “It isn’t much, you two, but you can make yourself at home.” It was an awkward situation, sharing a bunk bed with a practical stranger that was older than you, but JP didn’t mind much. Faer later reminded us,

“Guys! You’ve gotta come with me to the last day of school tomorrow! You’re my science project, and I have to present you guys as my final!” JP nodded, and I was a little anxious about returning to school after I graduated the 7th grade 5 days beforehand, even as a guest, but was school different in the world of Daol?

JP was 6’2”, and I was only 5 feet tall, so he deserved the top bunk, according to his logic. I pounced on the bed, and noticed a small bump under it. I felt underneath the bed, and it turns out, the lump was a large box.

Inside the box, lay our old clothes, the things and knick-knacks we’ve carried along with us to Daol, and a small note. The note read,

“Fixed Up By Yee-Haw Tinkers! P.S. The automobile could not be repaired, so we had to toss it aside. We’re sorry for the inconvenience.” JP became furious and gained pure fear from that little note. He roared,

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CAN’T FIX MY CAR? THAT CAR WAS MY JOB! MY LINE OF WORK! AND IT WAS DESTROYED RIGHT BEFORE YOUR EYES? FUCK YOU!” JP crumbled up the note, and catapulted it out an open door that led to a balcony, wishing the wind could send all its stupid and offensive glory to oblivion.

JP leaped onto the bed, and screamed so hard into a pillow, I had to cover my ears because he was annoyingly loud.

JP: That night, I dreamed of fairies in a city in Daol surrounding me. I remember passing by a forest of tree-buildings, and fairies flitting across the place, but this dream was quite creepy.

I travelled across the forest, and different types of creatures surrounded me. The wind blew the scent of pine into my face, and daylight lit up everything. The weirdest part was that I was still in my hospital jumpsuit, and two elves in all brown camo followed me eerily. Eventually, I stopped to play on my phone, and three more elves stopped to nab me, I paused and realized what they were going to do to me.

“GASP!” I slapped the light on, and Raina opened her golden brown eyes, and whispered, “JP, what’s wrong? I was dead asleep!” I giggled a bit, because her bleach blond hair was everywhere, and she looked like Medusa.

A clock nearby glew “0431”. It wasn’t exactly midnight, but it was early enough to be too early. I still felt anxious and I thought about how the unicorns could have been too pooped to cure my explosive anxiety. The window showed a moonless sky, and I was suffering emotionally as I climbed up the bunk bed, I remembered to turn on the light, because if I didn’t, I would feel extremely guilty.

My bed leaked a bit, and it smelled like a human armpit. The armpit-smelling sweat cavern of blankets had to do for the night. I tucked myself inside, and thought long and hard about this world’s futuristic aspects due to magic, and how I survived a car crash. I tried to comfort myself using the method of “Hey, don’t worry, JP. There’s someone else in here too, bud.”, because I had an extreme existential crisis.

This world of Daol, so far, was devoid of modern sadness, due to the discovery of magic, and all my fantasy books on Earth took place on a medieval paradise. Daol had its flaws of its own, as monsters popped up on every corner, and the concept of stuff breaking down after many years was still there. Despite the fairies in magic flying cars, the world had some primitive and Earthly issues. Gangs, tired unicorn doctors, and bullies still existed here.

After a few minutes of thinking about Daol and Earth, I fell asleep.

Raina: Other than JP’s daunting nightmares that shot him and the whole house awake, I had quite the nourishing rest. Mornings on Daol were beautiful, as the heavens were a glittery hue of pastel indigo, the air smelled of pine and maple, and clouds of white with sprinkles of gold rested in the sky.

JP was out of bed, and that left me some privacy to get dressed. I whipped on the clothes from the party: a sepia leather shrug, a goldenrod glitter tank, a skinny eggshell belt, my favorite vermillion denim knee-length skort, and orange strappy sandals. It had to do.

I peeped into the kitchen, where JP, clad in his “I hate pterodactyls” t-shirt, olive cargo shorts, and mahogany birkenstocks, feasted upon toast with peanut butter and jelly, or at least the Daolish version of it. I leaped over to the cabinets, impregnated with fragrant fairy foods, and searched for something relatively delicious.

Picking up a bag loaded with pink berries and grain clumps, I tried to search for some creamy moisture in a gelatinous blue cube with floating sustenance inside. The navy gel coated my arm with a cold blast, and I grasped a bottle of milk labelled (Suitable for Gnomes, HUmans, and Elves) I fished the human milk out of its icy indigo gel cube, and nommed the delicious berry granola.

The granola was wondrous, but the milk was the sweetness not supposed to be in sushi rice. That being said, it was an odd taste unacceptable to my taste buds when mixed with berry granola. Faer scooted into the pink kitchen from the balcony, and said,

“Hey, guys! Aren’t ya pumped? My friends Morpho and Abyssine are going to be when they see two HUMANS FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION! Come on, guys!”

I bounced out of my seat, throwing the yummy granola to the floor and awakening a temporary robot mouse army. The three of us toddled to what seemed to be a bus stop; Faer typed in a code, we landed inside a subway tram, and zoomed to Faer’s school, an array of trees of varying sizes, guarded by a magical fence.

JP: Me and Raina weren’t recognized by a magical gatekeeper, so we needed to sign into the database and wear crazy hats that said, “Hi! I’m a visitor!” We had nothing to do, other than hang out in a tree and wait like puppies in an obscure robot office.

Hours passed, and Faer swung over to the office, giggling,

“Jay! Ray! Come on, it’s lunch, and my friends are anxious to meet you!” We walked down to an overly wide tree, and a fairy and a girl with scales and tentacle hair sat down at a picnic table. Faer invited us to sit down, and told the duo,

“Morph! Abby! I want you to meet JP and Raina! They’re my science project, and they fell through a portal I made to a world where there’s no magic but electricity, and humans rule!” Morpho, the fairy, giggled and squealed, and Abyssine, the “Sea-Dweller”, let her tentacles fly with excitement and her smile. We talked a bit about our world and theirs.

The lunch whistle tweeted, and the three amigos (Faer, Raina, and I) headed off to a tree with autumnal leaves. Faer’s classroom, on the 3rd floor, was scarily round, and a diverse cast of students packed the room. The teacher, a blonde bat fairy, welcomed us with a smile. After three people presented their science projects, the teacher, Nix Wingsley, asked,

“Faer, can you present your project, please?” Faer walked up towards a button panel, placed a camera thing on a projector, and the class watched my car whoosh through a portal, and everyone in the room clapped. Two elves with t-shirts that said, “HP” came up and said,

“Miss teacher, the principal gave us permission to leave school early for uh… dentist’s practice, and we need to take that gnome’s human visitors to drive us there.” Miss Wingsley looked at them with the aura of, “Hey wait, you don’t go here! Get out!” and the elves tackled us. The evil elves from my dream were real!

Raina: “OH SHIT!” JP roared as the elves nabbed him and me. My environment grew darker as they cast a soporific spell upon us. I do not remember what happened when or how I was transported like an animal, but soon, I awoke from a magic stupor along with JP.

A group of humans, more than half of them naked, but all of them frightened, chubby, broken, and golden-toothed, approached us. JP piped up,

“Where are we? And why are there buckets of candy and a scrap blanket on the ground?” A somber human donned only in a white tank top sighed,

“Oh, it’s nice to meet a new set of humans. Welcome to the Homophobe cage, you two! How about some candy… it’s all they ever give us. That blanket was our clothes we outgrew from forced eating.”

JP couldn’t stifle a smile or devour the sweets because of the human’s welcome speech. We couldn’t bear to witness suffering persons of my own species, forced to eat twice their weight in candy, sitting about doing nothing. They almost influenced me to conform to the homophobic will and suffer as they would.

Hours passed and nearly nothing new occurred, except humans introducing themselves to me. At last, there came an event in which our cage was conveyed into a room composed of metal walls and an eldritch abomination that lay at the bottom in wait. The beast had mountains of mouths, brain-like patches with clumps of eyes, and a taste for human flesh. The Homophobes worshipped her and called her “Chag-Pn’gamaii, the wailing maiden.”

A claw descended upon our cage, tossing the roof aside, and pulling a brobdingnagian nudist by the hair, towards the mouths of Chag-Pn’gamaii, who devoured them like a wolf eating a bunny. Our fellow humans squeaked in fear, agony, and loathing, acknowledging their fate.

JP: That night I couldn’t sleep, I just shook the cage bars, trying to pull them apart, but it was no use. The bars were steel, and my hands turned to putty dealing with them. I couldn’t stand it, and I spent the whole night crying, knowing I would die at the hands of a monster. I’d lie in an unmarked grave… and my soul would die in the belly of She Whose Name Cannot Be Pronounced.

Raina kept waking up, as she failed to sleep soundly because of constant nightmares. Everytime, she cried,

“JP, I had a dream about (elves/Chag-Pn’gamaii)” Every time, the dreams were different. Once, she was nude, and the monster’s tentacles kept slapping her as she hung from a rope. Once, she was beat up by a gang of elves. Once she was in the bathroom, shivering as a set of teeth came out of the mirror.

Every single time, I rocked her, and whispered,

“Raina… please… sleep for the two of us. You’re lucky that anxiety doesn’t hurt you. Also, Raina… don’t worry, we’re going to get out of here.”

The fourth and final dream made me faint, but I was off my anxiety herbals for a while, but I felt a bit of it in my system, so I may have been good.

I didn’t dream much when I was unconscious. When I came to, the humans crowded around me, cheering because I woke up. Raina and a boy whose clothes pushed upon his skin hugged me, but Raina’s tanned arms wrapped me tighter.

Raina picked me up, and pat me on the mane and back. My new humans friends tossed me the blanket, though it smelled like the tears and sweat of a thousand sad runners. A man sewed a shirt onto the blanket, and told me about the tradition of the blanket.

“Once, a human was tossed into the homophobes’ cage, knitting a scarf which was the foundation of the blanket. That human, noticing the piles of clothes left by previous humans, had an idea. Thus, using their knowledge of sewing, the blanket was born.”

Raina: JP cuddled up by the warmth of friends, and all I could think of was the death of that enormous human, pallid and bare, and that claw The claw dropping into the cage, like a crane machine, and all I could think about was… what if that happened to me? Henceforth,

“OH MY GOD! JP! I’ve got a crazy idea, but I think it’ll work!” JP bumped his head up, and inquired,

“Raina? Wassit?” I chirped, “I know exactly how we could escape this pity cage,” bouncing on his legs. JP held his cool, even stopping to hyperventilate often. Another human popped up; a woman, paused and whimpered,

“JP, may I come closer? My only friend may die today, and at the moment, she’s the biggest one of us in the cage. Please.” My thoughts lit up, and it seemed as if JP and I could be liberated sooner than when I thought before. I whispered to JP,

“I’ve an idea, but it’s a tad savage. I thought for a moment, and I concluded that we could take the largest human’s place on the CLAW, and CLIMB IT. It could be a beacon of hope for these people, and we could overcome the homophobes.”

We later discussed climbing abilities, and it turned out that preceding his Lyft job, JP was in the mountain climbing club in High School. A fall forced him to break both legs and acquire major anxiety. I was forced into gymnastics class and a middle school gym class.

I lectured JP on our idea, pointing out that because the claw for obvious aesthetic purposes, the surface was relatively rough and crunchy, giving us an easy surface to climb. The claw also sank from the ceiling, and that we could cling upon the robe and wait until it launched up.

JP seconded the motion, and it carried on, as the humans leaped into a chorus of “Raina! JP!” chanting as the claw cascaded down, and JP and I mounted its spikes. JP’s normally olive-pale complexion grew pallid, and the wind pushed my canary curls back. A surge of hope radiated within my heart, and all we could think of was home.

JP: Oddly enough, the claw shook. The monster sniffed out fear and crawled closer to us. I wasn’t going to stand for this, so I climbed higher than I’ve climbed in my entire life. I tugged Raina’s tanned arm, and screamed,

“Raina! Hurry up! Chad-whatever is going to kill us!” Raina jumped up on the chain, and climbed halfway up to my place on the chain, and clung to it. When the claw began to fly, a familiar sound, now bursted monotonically and louder than I remember,

“Weight displaced off chain. Continue to lift.” A sliding metal door flew open, and it turned out the room where the reward for sweet escape was… a janitor’s closet?

I wish to admit this now, but that was the longest leap of faith I had made since I was born. The room was coated with floating glowing beads similar to christmas lights, and the smell of dust filled my nose. The walls had ancient (at the time) computers, and a nearby door was left ajar, letting some light in. I felt a bit nervous hiding from the crack, because only someone knows what lurked behind that door.

Raina peeped behind the door, apparently searching for guards. I hid in the corner, hoping for a sign. Raina stepped out into the world, but then, she screamed,

“JP! JP! Help! A group of ferocious beasts has me by the hair! JP! Help me!” Dammit, Raina’s in trouble! If you go out there, you’ll die! I thought as the sound of a bar fight between Satan, Cthulhu, and a billion children burst through the halls. And just like that, Raina was gone.

All I would have done to save her… gone in an instant. Raina was left for dead. This could have been illegal on this world! I booted up my cell, realizing what I could do now, and did something booted by sympathy for a new friend.

Raina: After the humanoid abominations tore at my teenage flesh, broke my right arm and my left arm’s fingers, and bruised my face, they tossed me in the cage again.

Those humanoid freaks were just beyond imagination and cheesy horror picture shows. Their eyes, insectoid in nature, with a last flicker of humanity trapped within them, coated their bodies. They reeked of old mustard, cat piss, and burning plastic. Their teeth were knives, and their horns were obsidian spikes poking out of their greyed flesh. All across their 9 foot bodies, were tentacles with mouths at the end.

The cage humans peeped up at the guard-abominations and sobbed a little. I inquired,

“My buddies, what’s wrong? What have they done wrong to you?” A woman piped up,

“I gave birth, and my baby was stolen by the homophobes. When my precious darling came back, they ruined him so much, and he joined the monster guards!” The woman held me tighter than bark on a tree, and the world spun around me. I awaited my doom, yet I felt safe in the cage, waiting to be consumed by Chag-Pn’gamaii for her sustenance.

The howling music of a distant wind burst through the door as a band of oddly-dressed scifi warriors coated with diversity shot the beasts with magical chrome laser guns, stormed the cage, and snipped it open with magic lockpicks.

There, in the midst of the officers, was JP, screaming for me,

“Raina! Raina! Get out! Come on!” I dashed out of the now-destroyed cage, fearing for my existence. An officer disarmed, and chortled to me,

“Kiddo, thank you for helping us find the homophobe base. Without you, thousands upon thousands of people would have died.” JP pointed over in my direction, and asked for a lift over to a very special friend’s tree.

JP: “At last, we’ve arrived” Raina giggled to the cop driving us to the tree. We popped out of the car, and there at the door, smiled a little ray of genderless sunshine.

“Hey guys! Where were you? I’ve wanted to take you home since the day after I met you!” Faer, who was glowing brighter today with happiness, welcomed us into their tree, allowing us to chill out on the couches for a while while Faer brought some snacks. Raina and I hung out on the cloud-shaped couch, and Faer asked us,

“Raina! JP! I remembered those guys taking you away! What happened after they took you away?” I was too anxious to explain, so Raina took the reins and told the Homophobe story.

After the wild and weird tales of the Homophobes, Faer led us out to the backyard, and I was curious as to where my car was, but Faer announced,

“Don’t worry, JP! I’ve sent it back to your home dimension!” They drew a magic circle on the dirt, told us to stand on top of it, used their “science wand”, and returned us home.

At least we returned to the beach near our home. The car was ripped to tatters, and I knew, with this situation, Geico would practically tear off my ass, roast it on an open fire, and feed it to a pack of wolves because of this. After what happened with my mental health, the giant Horrorterror, and her multiple evil seeds, I would have to up my herb dose.

Raina didn’t seem to care, except for the tears that rained from her eyes. She seemed to have a broken look in her eyes, and and she could think of was what happened over the last week. I could sympathise with her, as we were both extremely impacted by the event,

Anxiety flared up again because I needed to get Raina home, and my car died because of something Geico would not cover, not ever. Then, I remembered that whenever you’re at your weakest, your enemies could be there to help you. I called an Uber.

Raina: Kimmy, the Uber driver, was quite open-hearted, and when she transported JP to his home, he requested,

“Miss, can you make a special stop at 758 Sarah Drive?” and Kimmy took a mild detour towards my location. In my house at Sarah Drive, my parents waited sobbing. Alas, I returned to their supervision, gaining the unusual,

“Raina! Where were you? You got in a car crash, and we had cops looking everywhere for you, and they couldn’t find you! We thought you died!” Mom’s makeup streamed down her face, and dad’s nose was almost always censored by Kleenex. Mom and Dad called all their friends, and a great gross times a thousand cars arrived at the scene.

Every newscaster in the city, and JP, pushed so close to me. Paparazzi stormed my house. Forensic scientists had me stamp my fingers on a piece of paper. My visage was spray-painted across the internet, and pastors displayed my story as an example about how God is good and could save you at the last moment.

When I sobbed to them about the land of Daol, few believed me and a chorus of skeptics complained,

“Raina! Tell us the REAL story (a bastardized myth manufactured by a skeptic about me and JP surviving off raw fish in a floating car), not this Terry Pratchett bullcrap!” I exposed pictures of Chag-Pn’gamaii and the tree-apartments. The skeptics booed me, and I knew my 15 minutes of fame sank to the bottom of the abyss.

My summer was destroyed, and people whined that my experiences were fantastic, and that I was a stupid kid with a wicked sweet imagination. I could hardly breathe, and they cracked and broke me. The skeptics spread the bastardized tale across the web, and they told everyone that Daol was a dream, though JP backed me up on it.

JP: After Raina dragged along to gather fame for the two of us, I fought with Geico to get my car and job back, and I couldn’t deal to listen to the bullcrap they flung at me, even though I was famous for one second, which I didn’t even get paid for.

My roommate Tommy luckily got a job, so that was a little lift for the two of us. Tommy also started shaving, using female pronouns, and using the name Lulu Aradia, so at least she was happy.

I would never see Raina for many years, but if she was happy, I hoped she lived a beautiful life. We saved each other’s lives in Daol, but from that day, Raina and I were the fountain of knowledge for somewhere only we know.

Years later, I’m 35 years old, I have a pregnant wife, a successful job at AmTrak, and 2 cats (Beowbie and Princess), That day, my wife, Adora, and I rush off to a parenting down in Port St. Lucie, and the place is packed. I sit down next to a woman with warm golden brown eyes, dark skin, and sunshine canary hair. She is assisted by two people who I assume are her friends, but they turn out to be her husband and wife. The teacher announces an icebreaker, where you say your name, and you say something about you that rhymes or begins with the first letter of your name.

When it’s my turn, I say, “My name’s Jerome, and I like Jazz.” The dark blonde woman next to me gives me a look of surprise, intrigue, and betrayal, all in one piece. Her husband then goes next, and then nudges her to speak up. The woman pipes up,

“My name is Raina, and I had a grandma who lived in Spain-a.” My eyes water, and I mutter, “RAINA COOK?” She sobs, “JP? My name’s Raina Armitage now… I’m married to a lovely man and woman. All those years ago, when you were a Lyft driver, and I saved our lives, I’m a manager at Disneyworld!” I told her that I work at AmTrak as an engineer. When I notice her Spiderman shirt, I know she was right about working at Disney. We nearly skip class to have a very tearsome reunion.

[juniperallura]

Pacific Rim AU pt. 1

Word spread quickly around the Shatterdome: her father had returned from the Coastal Wall- successfully. An anticipatory buzz swept through the compound as everyone prepared for the new arrival. The Jaeger program was gearing up once again.

Things were changing quickly, including Allura. She threw shirt after shirt across the room, digging like a madwoman until she found what she was looking for. A record two minutes later she was flattening the lapels of her coat, grabbing an umbrella and pausing for a quick survey in the mirror. Black on black on black on black. Hair tied neatly back. 

Professional? Yes. Dramatic? Sure, but who could blame her? It wasn’t every day she met an internationally renowned Jaeger pilot and girlhood crush for the first time in years. With one last glance and a determined huff, she grabbed her father’s itinerary and marched out, the door slamming shut behind her.

| j | a | e | g | e | r |

The Shatterdome slowly came into focus in the driving rain. The words, Alfor’s words, that had followed him from the Wall echoed in his ears once again: 

     “Where would you rather die? Here, or in a Jaeger?”

He had made his choice, decided to return to everything and everyone he had abandoned years ago. 

                 He was terrified.

Shiro stepped out of the helicopter, pausing to draw a deep breath of Hong Kong air as the wind and rain whipped his face. The roaring clang of the Shatterdome hit him, igniting something in his chest. It was good to be back.

There was no time, however, for any personal reflection, as Alfor immediately started striding toward a figure across the landing pad. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet-” Alfor called back to him. Some interaction occurred behind his back, before Alfor ducked under an umbrella and handed one to Shiro. “This is Allura, one of our brightest.”

Curtains of black parted and two faces— familiar as five years apart could keep them— were revealed to one another. 

Shiro couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising, his mouth from parting. Memories flashed in his mind; a shock of white hair in the background of meetings and training sessions, a girlish face and shrill voice reminding him and Matt that it was curfew, a fire that flashed in the eyes of a teenager who wanted nothing more than to fight but lived under the thumb of someone who had already lost too much—  But what confronted his gaze now was a maturely set face (that reflected his own expression) and a steady gaze, tempered with age and now distinguished as the brightest. “Yes, I remember.”

One of the advantages of adulthood, Allura decided, was the ability to overcome embarrassment. No schoolgirl blush colored her cheeks when she met his eyes, as it had in the old days, before a shock of his hair was bleached with stress and trauma, before his strong chin was shaded with stubble, before they met as equals under gathering storm clouds.

       Their stupors were only momentary.

She leaned over to her father, who seemed to be reveling in the satisfaction of having his two proteges under one roof again, and murmured in accented Cantonese, “I imagined him differently.”

Shiro just caught the words during a lull in the wind. He leaned forward, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Better or worse?”

Allura’s expression stuttered for a moment, her eyes flickering to Alfor, before she gave a lighthearted smile. “My apologizes, Mr. Shirogane. It’s nice to see you again.”

“Please- Shiro.” She nodded. “So, I hear you’ve been working on Kerberos?”

Alfor cut in, “-We have a lot to discuss, inside.”

| j | a | e | g | e | r |

Everything was going wrong. 

Shiro wasn’t sure what he expected; that he would waltz into the Shatterdome, have a beautiful reunion with the kid brother he had abandoned in a spiraling mental state, bump right into a new drift partner and have all his deep seated, debilitating fears be wiped clean by…Jaeger magic?

   At least he still knew how to make himself laugh.

Going to the gym helped, if only a little. Something about running until he couldn’t anymore helped ease the tension from the screaming matches he had gotten into with Keith and Alfor that day. Go figure.

But the real cherry on the shit cake that was his life was Allura. (There was probably a more delicate way to put that.) Everything seemed to circle back to her. More specifically, to their sparring match during his trials. He had sensed something between them, in the little time they had to get reacquainted; there was an understanding, and her eyes still had that fire. But he couldn’t think straight, couldn’t sort anything out through the fog that clouded his mind and his heart.

Matt would know what to do. Wasn’t that the whole problem?

A sudden swell of emotion weighed heavily on Shiro’s chest. 

       Fuck.

Allura could hear footsteps approaching from down the hall. Her forehead, still pressed against the door as her breathing slowed, picked up soft vibrations. Her hand wiped away any remaining moisture from her cheeks. 

It had been a long week.

She pressed her eye to the peephole just soon enough to see that shock of white hair disappear into the room across the hall. She jumped when the door slammed shut behind him, its metallic clang echoing through the hall, just as hers had minutes before. Their neighbors must hate them.

It took a few minutes of pacing for her to gather up the courage to put her hand on the door handle. Maybe he didn’t want to be disturbed. Maybe he’d welcome her concern. Maybe he’d be annoyed by her.

Why was she so intimidated by him? If anything, their match during tryouts had proven that they were equals, on the same playing field. She had certainly been precocious enough that day, challenging him in the ring in front of everyone; but then, her father disapproved (to put it lightly,) and Shiro suddenly became distant, losing the spark she had seen in his eyes when their staffs locked. Of course, she could guess the reason behind his behavior— she was standing beside her father when the images of Shiro, mangled on the Alaskan coast, came back to the Shatterdome. 

But still, Allura couldn’t forget about their trial match.

She glanced at the crinkled picture that sat on her desk, where a little girl with white pigtails smiled out at her. In a burst of bravery she was out in the hall, her knuckles rapping against the half rustled portal. 

Shiro opened the door slowly, expecting to find his little brother’s face glaring up at him. Instead, it was Allura, looking concerned and hesitant. His face softened. “Oh- hey, Allura-”

“I’m sorry to bother you, I just-” her eyes flitted around the hallway, as if looking for a sudden escape from a terrible decision. 

Shiro adjusted his posture, stepping back from the doorway and unfolding his arms. “No, no- please, come in.” He could see her eyes scanning the room as she entered, filing away any information she could glean from the personal mementos that sparsely dotted the walls. The bed creaked under his weight as he perched on its edge, waiting for her to speak. 

Finally, she met his gaze: no going back, no escape, now that his eyes were trained on her, brows raised expectantly, door shut behind her. “I think we’ve been avoiding each other all week,” she stated plainly. 

A hollow puff of air escaped him- almost a laugh. He ran a hand through his hair, about to defend himself; but, the words didn’t come. Instead, he gave a dry smile, admitting, “I know.”

“I know I picked your trial co-pilots, and on paper they should’ve worked, but-”

“-But I was under performing?” Shiro smirked.

A smile pulled at the corner of Allura’s mouth. “They were the wrong partners.”

The words sparked something in Shiro, pushing him to say what had been crouching in the back of his consciousness. He leaned forward, animation coming into his face. “But you weren’t. I mean, am I crazy? Or are we drift compatible?” 

Drift compatible. Part of him still squirmed when he used it toward someone other than Matt, but the growing feeling in his gut was telling him he couldn’t be afraid of it anymore. 

Allura met his eyes, pausing before she said, “No, you’re not crazy.” Slow smiles spread over their faces. “But-”

“-But, your father?”

She sighed, moving to sit next to Shiro on the bed. Her hands gripped her knees, sure to keep them from touching his. “I’ve wanted nothing else but to pilot a Jaeger for so long, but he wants to protect me. And I respect him.”

Shiro moved to face her, his brow furrowed. “Does he respect you? You’re the smartest pilot in the program, you had me on the ropes in thirty seconds, and you’re not a little girl anym-”

“I know that,” Allura interrupted sharply, “But there’s more to it. You of all people should know that.”

Shiro’s face fell, but he sucked in a breath, fighting off the fog that had been holding him back all week. “I know the dangers of drifting better than anyone here. I’ve got a lot of issues, there’s no denying that- and yes, I’m scared- but I can handle myself. And I think we would make a great team.” He reached out, not quite brushing her knuckles as he laid a gentle hand on her arm. 

She didn’t like this new feeling, that he was trying to read her every time their eyes met; and worse, that he could read her. “It’s not just you- there’s things you don’t know about me that could…get in the way.”

Shiro drew back, chuckling to himself. “It’s not you, it’s me- not the first time I’ve heard that.”

Allura snorted. “You know what I meant.”

“We both have a lot to sort through,” Shiro’s tone softened, his face becoming serious, “But when all that comes flooding back, in the Jaeger, we won’t be alone. Don’t forget that.” Allura’s crystalline eyes blinked at him, as if she didn’t quite believe what he said; but behind all the doubt, he could still see the sharpness that defined her from the rest of the recruits. She didn’t answer, but Shiro felt a reciprocal pressure on his hand that rested between them.