have fifty of them

I’m having a bit of a dilemma. Need some input. :)

So, I’m making skyglobes. So far, I’ve made about thirty of them. In the end, I might have as many as fifty. I want to share them all, but I’m just not sure what the best way to do so would be. 

By that I mean that they’re big files because the texture images are 4096x1024 pixels in size. They’re about 1.5-2.5MB each, already compressed. (About 5MB apiece not compressed, which is roughly the size of an average skintone file.) I’m not sure that anyone would want/need to have all of them in their game at once, and to put them all in a single download file that includes reference pictures would make for…a really large download, which might be a pain for folks with slower internet connections, especially if they don’t actually want all of the skies. It’d also be impossible to make one Tumblr post with pics for all the skies, especially because I’d like to do at least two or three big pics for each of them because that’s really the only thing that does them justice, so that you can see what you’re getting before you download. 

Soooooo, my thought is releasing them separately, as single, individual downloads on separate Tumblr posts, maybe making 3 available a day. Or maybe putting two or three on a single Tumblr post or something. The goal would be to avoid flooding anyone’s dash with fifty posts about skies in one day. :) That would also mean that I could start releasing them sooner, instead of waiting until they’re all done and ready to go. But I’m second-thinking again, thinking that method might be annoying, too. 

So…What do y’all think? Is it better to have multiple small posts released over two weeks or so and you can download skies individually as you see fit, or is it better to wait and get them all in one dump, with reference pics that you can sift through and that I could maybe make a photo album of using my LJ space instead of putting pics directly on Tumblr?

nursey week day 7 - red

Dex is grinning at his phone when Nursey sits down across from him at the table. Nursey doesn’t say anything, because Dex doesn’t smile nearly as often as he should, and he doesn’t want to ruin it. Dex catches him staring when he looks up, though, so Nursey’s kind of forced to recover with a chirp.

“What’s got you all smiley? Did Aerosmith announce a reunion tour?”

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

prompt idea: everyone's reaction to the fact that pidge has been hiding their trash meteor fluff buddies in the castle of lions for months


“You know, Pidge,” Shiro says, somewhat weakly. He’s standing in the doorway with Keith, staring slack-jawed into Pidge’s bedroom. Approximately four dozen Pastel Space Caterpillars blink curiously back at them, little mustaches glowing far too cheerfully in the dim lighting. “When you said you needed help, this isn’t exactly what I thought you meant.”

“How did you smuggle so many of these things in?” Lance gawks. Hunk’s delighted, already inside cooing at a handful of the pastel yellow friends.

“I didn’t ‘smuggle’ them, thanks,” Pidge says, “And I never meant to have fifty-something of them here or I wouldn’t have let them get used to my room. I only started with two.”

(Accepting mini-prompts tonight!)

How I’d like to see Gabriel return

Sam is just working a case in a small town, when this little fella appears and won’t leave him be. 

Originally posted by lamafole

He’s everywhere, watching, waiting, showing off.

Originally posted by rofledcom

But Gabe doesn’t do the big reveal until long after Sam has given in.

Originally posted by exbloodjunkie

Sam decides to take the cutie back to the bunker, hiding the pup from Dean in a backpack.  Then that first night when Sam is about to go to bed-


These are for my daughter’s birthday party this weekend, but I thought I would go ahead and share this because it’s seriously so easy and I can see there being a lot of uses in the witchcraft community. These are heart shaped sugar cubes and they are seriously easy to make. I have roughly fifty-nine of them too. I went with white because I had no red food coloring in the pantry (the theme is soft pastels), but it’s also really easy to color these to suit your needs. 

You can literally really make cute enchanted sugar cubes and I like this method because it feels very ritualistic - like it has the potential to be magical if you make it magical. 

I pressed birthday wishes into these - that this year will be fun and kind and that she’ll learn the lessons that she’s meant to learn. 

The recipe is as follows:

  • 2 cups granulated sugar
  • food coloring, if desired - you can use wet or dry food coloring
  • 4 teaspoons water

Mix sugar and food coloring until sugar reaches desired color. Add in four teaspoons of water to mixture and combine until the mixture reaches a sandy consistency. If you add too much water, it won’t hold its shape so be careful. 

Turn sugar mixture into a flat surface. I used a glass pie pan. Use the bottom of a cup to compress the sugar into a solid layer. Use a small cookie cutter to cut out the desired shape and carefully place on a baking sheet. 

If you want to let them dry out for a couple days, you can. However, I rather prefer this way: preheat the oven to 200 F and bake sugar cubes for 10 minutes. Take out of the oven and let cool completely. 

I pressed my intentions into the sugar when I pressed the sugar mixture down into a solid layer. There’s a lot of ways you can customize this into a spell, however - the color of the sugar, the shape you choose to make, the intentions you put into the sugar itself. The possibilities, as they say, are endless!

EXO’s Reaction to you doing your make-up



*It was the millionth time he’s seen you put make up on and he still has no idea how you remember which brush does what.When you asked him to hand you something, he just gives you a confused look.*

“Okay, sweetheart. I have absolutely no idea what brush you are referring to, you literally have fifty of them.”

Originally posted by ilovminseok


*He looked at you and then at himself in the mirror. Then back at you and back at himself. He’d walk up to you and observe carefully, wondering how come he does look as good as you when he puts on make up.*

“Teach me how to makeup.”

Originally posted by lycheepeaches


*Cutest sap. He’d flirt with you as you’re putting on eyeliner. Afterwards, you’d laugh at his cuteness for five minutes before going back to whatever it is you’re doing.*

“Honey, you don’t need make up. You’re already perfect.

Originally posted by laygion


*Absolute diva. You know I am going to bring this up but he will be the one doing your eyeliner. When you try to argue, he won’t be having it.*

“Excuse me, please sit still while the eyeliner master does his work.”

Originally posted by kingjunmyeonn


*Wants to join in on the fun and then has to scrub his face because he needs to redo his face for the date. It looked fun when you were doing it so he thought ‘why the hell not?’*

“Oh please, I look waayy better than you with this lipstick. Go ahead, take a picture and anyone will tell you that I look better. Don’t be jealous.”

Originally posted by purpleuhan


*Being a little sneak because before you came from the bathroom, he hid most of your brushes so you can’t use them. He didn’t like it when you wore make up because it masks your beauty.*

“The brushes? What brushes? Me? Hide them? I have absolutely no idea what causes you to say that but I would never do such a thing.”

Originally posted by yeollovemebaek


*As he watches you pull out all your make up equipment, he feels lightheaded. All those brushes, all those palettes, all those colors. He then has to lay down and breathe before he is sent into the oblivion that is your makeup table.*

“Oh my god…No..no what is that. What are those brushes…where am I?”

Originally posted by glorious-soobooty


*He loves it when you do your make up. Sometimes he wonders if you would ever allow him to do it for you. He wants to learn so he can help you.*

“No no, keep going. I think you look beautiful already but continue.”

Originally posted by illegalkai


*Sits there, admires you for a few seconds before leaning back and sighing. He just wanted to leave before the reservation is lost.*

“When you say ‘20 minutes’, were you lying? Because it’s been half an hour now.”

Originally posted by veriloquentmind


anonymous asked:

What if a human got sick or something?

Seeing as I recently got strep (freaking again) then I should be able to properly illustrate the sorrows of sickness.

Also, I cannot wait to write the alien’s reaction. Should be amazing.

Also there may be some fluff because I friggin ship people together and want them to make out and have fifty babies but whatever I have ta pace myself

Everything seemed normal. Like any other day, everyone was busy with their jobs, working to keep the ship in tip-top shape.

Xylion was currently working on the checkup. He had already gone through all the mechanisms, medical wing, kitchen, dormitories, and main console. All that was left was to check on the crew. After all, a good ship cannot run without its crew being in perfect shape.

“Line up in the break room for a checkup. I repeat, line up in the break room for a checkup.” Xylion said through the announcement system.

When Xylion arrived, everyone was already lined up. Dattalion stood away from them, and when Xylion walked in, he nodded and walked up by him. They then began to check everyone for any injuries and asked them about whether or not they were in pain.

“No, I haven’t done anything that would cause injury, sir.” Sil’keen babbled, pressing her paws together.

“Nope. Other than the bump on the head I got this morning from dropping my wrench on my head, nothing.” Grudge said, knocking the side of his head.

“Nothing that I can think of, no. My job isn’t exactly dangerous. I’m just the janitor.” Tilorian said, his whole body seeming to shrink into itself.

“I mean, I accidentally cut myself yesterday, but Quinn patched me up. Besides, cuts are ordinary for any chef.” Micheele said, adjusting her hat.

“I’m the Captain. I don’t do much other than sit in my chair and steer the ship. But even that’s only about an hour each day. We do have autopilot, after all.” Zellnor said, chuckling slightly at the end of his sentence.

“Nothing I can think of, Xylion.” Human Isaac said, his face smeared with grease.

“If I was hurt, I would’ve patched myself up.” Human Quinn said, her green hair falling in front of her eyes

All Human Mason did was shake his head.

“No. I haven’t done any experimenting recently, so it’d be pretty hard for me to get injured.” Human Fredrick said, adjusting his glasses.

And then they got to Human Jenny.

Xylion immediately noted she looked different. Her skin was paler and he could clearly see dark circles under her eyes. Her nose was red and slightly swollen, and beads of sweat seemed to trickle down her face. She looked exhausted.

“Are you okay, Human Jenny?” Xylion asked, eyeing her up and down.

Human Jenny nodded slowly, her eyes barely focusing on him. “I’m…” her voice seemed to vanish for a second, “-pletely fine.”

Dattalion frowned. “Are you sure?”

Human Jenny nodded, but halfway through she began to cough violently. Xylion’s eyes widened and he immediately looked to Dattalion for help. He quickly moved to her and began to pat her body, obviously looking for any injuries. However, when Dattalion got lower, Human Jenny froze and then furiously whacked him on the head.

Human Quinn rolled her eyes at the alien and then pressed the back of her hand to Human Jenny’s forehead. Human Quinn nodded. “You feel like you have a temperature, Jenny. How did you get sick?”

“I’m not-” violent coughing “-sick!”

However, Human Quinn didn’t take no for an answer and forced Human Jenny to go to the clinic.

Xylion was forbidden to go in there. Dattalion didn’t know if the disease she had was dangerous to aliens, so they decided to quarantine the area.

Xylion had no idea why, but he was scared. He was scared for Human Jenny. What if this disease was fatal? What if she never recovered?

He couldn’t have a crewmember die on him.

That’s what he kept telling himself.

Xylion was currently sitting right outside the clinic, waiting for any news. It had felt like ages, just waiting for something. He didn’t know how long it had been when Human Fredrick and Human Isaac came over.

“What’s wrong, man?” Human Isaac asked, scratching the back of his neck.

“I’m just worried for Human Jenny, that’s all.” Xylion said, looking down at his gloved tentacles.

Human Fredrick chuckled. “You look more worried than you’re letting on, Xylion.”

Xylion was confused. “What do you mean? I am just worried about my fellow crewmember.”

Human Isaac threw his head back and laughed. “I don’t have a degree in psychology, and I certainly am not smart, but even I can tell you’re being a bit too worried. She just has a cold. Should be better in like, a day or two.”

Xylion felt his nerves settle. But why though? He certainly didn’t feel this nervous about other crewmembers. Unless-

“Well, it looks like Grudge is gonna need some help fixing up the plumbing.” Human Isaac said, looking down at a communication device.

Human Fredrick nodded. “I should go and analyze this ore we picked up off of Planet 559.”

“See you, Xylion!” Human Isaac said as the two walked off.

Xylion blinked, and then sunk even deeper into his chair. Before he could sink an deeper into his mind, the door opened. Dattalion stood there with a stupid grin on his face. “You can see her now, lover boy.”

Xylion began to secrete mucus.

However, he calmed himself and walked in. Human Quinn nodded at hi as she walked out. Xylion glanced over at Human Jenny. She looked at him. “What were you doing waiting out there?” Her voice was hoarse, and he could barely hear her.

“I needed to make sure my crewmember was alright.” He whispered, sitting down on the chair next to her.

Human Jenny sat up, laughing as best she could. “I just have the flu, don’t worry about me.”

“I worry about all my crewmembers.”

Her smile seemed to fade. “Right.”

Xylion frowned. “Are you alright, Human Jenny?”

She nodded, looking away from him. “Of course! Just a…peachy.”

Xylion didn’t know what that meant. “Are you sure?”

Human Jenny looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “I promise I am okay, Xylion.”

He nodded. The two descended into silence.

Human Jenny coughed a few times while Xylion felt the mucus begin to secrete even faster. He tugged his sleeves further down until they touched his gloves, prohibiting her rom seeing any of it. Why did he care about what she saw? Why did he care about what she thought of him?

Xylion sighed. “I’m going to go, Human Jenny. I hope you get better soon.”

As he was standing up, his arm was suddenly grabbed. He frowned as he looked at her. “Human Jenny-”

Xylion was cut off. HIs eyes widened at her action. He felt the mucus begin to secrete even faster than before. His heart was beating quickly. How would he respond to this? How did one respond when their whole body was frozen? Xylion couldn’t move as he was rooted to the floor.

She had just kissed him.

On the cheek.

Human Jenny pulled away, her cheeks flushed red. “Thank you, Xylion. Thank you for checking on me.”

“Of- of- of-” Xylion couldn’t say anything, so he just nodded.

Human Jenny blushed even more before she sat back down. Xylion let out a breath and looked down at her as she laid down and pulled the covers over her face. Xylion sighed before stepping back and walking towards the door.

As it opened, he stole one last look at her before walking out.

*coughs awkwardly*


I either just made your day or made you want to cut me into a thousand little pieces. Not sure which one.

How’d you like the chapter?

Did I just say chapter? What the fudge? Am I really that friggin’ tired? This is tumblr not Wattpad you stupid face.

*coughs even more awkwardly*

Speaking of Wattpad, I will post something about it later, along with something else regarding this series.

So yeah.

If you want to request something, then please message me! I may be busy with school and learning how to frickin’ drive, but I will do my best to answer ya’ll!

Adios, amigos!


On October 3rd, 1978, Ted Bundy asked Judge Rudd that the trial be delayed five months. The prosecution protested, reminding Rudd that Bundy had said just a week before that he was ready to go to trial. 

I seem to get a bit overconfident, cocky, if you will, being locked in solitary day after day,” Bundy said. “In reading the state’s evidence I got a bit overconfident. I didn’t see anything there. Mr. Farmer said I better get down to business.” Bundy held out the hem of his suit jacket.

Mr. Farmer gave me this coat yesterday,” Bundy said. “He said any time I get overconfident to think of him.

The defendant has done nothing, taken no deposition, filed no motions,” assistant state attorney Larry Simpson said. “He has done absolutely nothing except come in here and say he is unprepared. The good people of Leon County have been living with this thing for more than seven months. Witnesses and jurors have been summoned.

The fact is,” Bundy said, “I’m on trial for my life. A few expense vouchers, the passion of this county, will not stop me from exercising my right to organize a defense.

Rudd stared down at Bundy, thinking one word: appeal. The judge called a five-minute recess. He returned twenty-four minutes later.

I am not convinced the defense acted in good faith,” Rudd said. “But to avoid the possibility of a retrial in event of conviction, this court is going contrary to its better instincts and judgement. This court is going to reset this trial for December 4th, 1978.” Rudd turned to Bundy.

I again offer you the services of a public defender,” Rudd said.

Bundy shook his head. Rudd ordered the clerk to read off the first fifty names on the list of jurors and have them report for regular duty in the morning. The others would be called when Bundy came to trial.

Oh no,” the fiftieth juror on the list, a woman named Eva, said. “I don’t get to be on the Bundy case.

This isn’t the Chattanooga choo-choo,” Bundy said as Rudd exited. “This is the Tallahassee express.

Three camera crews were waiting when the deputies led Bundy out of the courthouse to the paddy wagon.

Say hello to Millie Farmer for me,” Bundy said, “because he’s a good man. Right now, I’m relying on the man I know best. Ted Bundy.” - Rolling Stone, December 1978

Dating ASTRO Cha Eunwoo

Title: Dating ASTRO Cha Eunwoo
Pairing: Lee Dongmin x You
Genre: Fluff 
Type: AU
Summary: What it would be like to date ASTRO’s visual Lee Dongmin.
Request?: No 

  • his eye smile is what gets you the most because it makes your day
  • whenever youre sad his smile just brightens your day 
  • speaking english to make you feel better and him teaching you 
  • “repeat after me” 
  • “i love you”
  • “i ruv you?” 
  • blushing madly because youre so cute trying to speak english 
  • cuddles for days 
  • not even cuddling or spooning 
  • its just you two in each other arms and buried underneath blankets and legs tangled 
  • pillow talk in the middle of the night as the sun rises
  • studying together because youre still in school 
  • “what did you get for number 15?” 
  • *looks over at your paper with glasses on nose* 
  • bedhead when he wakes up
  • taking hours out of your morning to fix it 
  • but you dont mind because he enjoys it when you run your hands through his hair 
  • its always fluffy after he showers 
  • back hugs when your doing stuff 
  • resting chin on the top of your head because the guy is a tree
  • him singing broadway songs in the car because hes the only one who can sing them correctly 
  • his dancing is to die for 
  • have you seen him dancing to Russian Roulette? 
  • that boy is a dancing sensation 
  • next best dancer next to rocky and moonbin 
  • only cries when youre with him because he trusts you 
  • when its your anniversary he gets you stuffed animals because he reminds you of a teddy bear 
  • so you have like fifty of them in your room 
  • “this is when we had our first kiss” *gives you teddy bear* 
  • he probably bought you one of the giant costco bears for your first year anniversary because hes just like that
Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart for all of your loving encouragement and support through all of Bloo’s treatments, cheering him on and keeping me from losing hope before everything possible could be attempted.

Because of your encouragement, there will be emergency treatment immediately available for the next impacted peep that can save its life.

Thank you for reblogging, especially the updates on Bloo, and bringing a lost baby feral pigeon into the public eye.

Feral pigeons are the stray sky puppies society abandoned forgot about after thousands of years of partnership.

Racing homers, the magority donors of feral genes, were not just pre-tech twitter.

Every one knows about the way homing pigeons have saved soldiers. It makes sense that they were used extensively by the coast guard for their accuracy in locating people lost at sea.

Some of you may have heard that pigeons are proving accurate at diagnosing breast cancer from slides.

Or that the similar pattern of deterioration with age has made elderly homing pigeons ideal subjects in the ongoing studies of alzheimers and some forms of dementia.

But did you know that they can develop legitimate reading comprehension in english? Three different scientific studies have taught pigeons the english alphabet and words to the extent of proving that they could obey a command written on a cue card, in a box where they could not see the handler to avoid the Clever Hans effect!

Did you know that Racing Homers were the golden standard of reliability against which the postal service, telegraph messages, phone lines, and even the developing internet were all measured against for speed and reliability?

And did you know that without long distance correspondance by pigeon, roads connecting settlements, towns, and cities could not have been accurately planned for and constructed?

Our societies as they are known today were built and expanded on the wings of pigeons.

Even showy pigeons who couldn’t fly well enough to bring messages kept us from starving.

Pigeons were the one kind of livestock no one was too poor to afford.

And yes, on occasion, they provided meat or eggs, but their clutches are limited to two eggs every ten days AT MOST!

Guys, a chicken egg is about 10x the weight of a pigeon egg.

Barely worth farming.

And if you want squab, you have to wait. 7 days from sex to egg. 18 days to hatch, and 4 weeks to harvest.

To have enough squab to rely on a clutch a week, you need about 8 pair of birds.

Some breeds of pigeon are the size of bantam chickens, so the meat might be worth farming, but big pidge are bad fliers, so they couldn’t go out to forage.

You wanna know what made pigeon flocks so valuable that people with the money to do it hired guards to kill fucking pigeon poachers?

Their shit.

Shit you not, godawful pun intended.

Pigeon shit is one of the most nutritious fertilizers on the planet.

If you want crops to grow in the desert, moisten some pigeon shit and till it into the ground.

Composting it with refuse from meals makes lovely, rich soil that won’t burn roots with an OD of nitrogen.

The point of all that is that we have been partners with Pigeons, dependent on them for everything from growing food in hostile conditions to long distsnce comunication and coordination since the dawn of written history.

And in a span of fifty years, we have not only abandoned them, but largely forgotten that we ever had this relationship in the first place.

I’ll get to the root of that in the US in another post.

But the long and short of it is that feral pigeons are basically hoards of stray puppies with wings, that don’t even get the love and sympathy and basic compassion that a stray puppy would get from the average person.

We see stray puppies, or even dogs, and we don’t care if that dog or puppy has never SEEN a human, we are INSTANTLY concerned for its wellbeing!

Feral pigeons are ALL lost pets, and most people don’t even know they can BE pets.

One of my most brightly burning passions is to remind people that pigeons are sky puppies… and bring them back into the public eye in the capacity of companionship.

Next time you see some feral pidge, think of Ankhou and Bloo, and be sweet to them.


We Will Rise

“I think people who don’t want to go through the Stargate are whacked.” Lt. General O'Neill

rating: teen
pairing: Bellarke
chapter: 2/5  The Number You Have Dialed Is Out Of Service Range
A Stargate Atlantis AU because Raven Reyes is Rodney McKay and @bellsqueen asked nicely.

Plucked from assignment in Antarctica, Air Force Major Blake leaves Earth with an international expedition to find the lost city of Atlantis because aliens built the pyramids. No, really. What they find is a collapsing city trapped under the ocean and space vampires. No, really.

The Atlantis Expedition is a monumentally bad idea, as far as Bellamy is concerned. Tasking only 100 people with traveling to a distant galaxy on a prayer that they might find a lost spaceship of a city is crazy. Having more than half that complement be civilian scientists is certifiable. Never mind that they’re representing a handful of countries, some of which don’t have a history of playing very well together. The icing on this cake is they have less than fifty Marines to defend them. That’s what finally tips Bellamy’s pro-con list as he sits on the hood of his truck watching what may very well be his last sunset on Earth.

read on AO3

so @spideyxchelle said she needed part two and also gave me some quality ideas so here is peter’s perspective because i am a sucker who’s soul belongs to her. update because i forgot to tag my wife @spideychelle-romanogers, the lovely @spideychelleblessup, and an angel @bellamywarriorblake.

part one here.

peter parker is a professional (ao3 link)

Let it be known that Peter never claimed to be a great driver. He’s still new and gets distracted by small things because his spidey sense is always going off. In all actuality, driving and Peter probably shouldn’t mix. But May had insisted. So, really, it’s May’s fault that Peter dents the car by hitting a tank of a car that’s parked near their apartment. But he needs to expunge that thought from his head lest May make him pay for more than just the damage to the car.

Thus, Peter takes a job as a lifeguard at the local pool for the summer. And he takes to it surprisingly well. It almost feels like being in the suit. People look to him as this hero and the kids at the pool basically idolize him and always ask him to play with them. The parents like him too because they get to relax when he’s working and the kids just follow him around and try to trick him into jumping in the pool. He likes everything about being a lifeguard. Well, there’s one thing that’s beginning to become an issue.

MJ comes to the pool with her sister during Peter’s first week on the job. Which, in itself, is not a problem. He and MJ are friends. They’re on the decathlon team, she sits with them at lunch sometimes, they have a lot of the same classes and do projects together. He greets MJ the minute they get their and meets her sister who has, like, the greatest name ever: Leia. They come fairly often and Peter always makes sure to at least say hello to MJ when she comes. Sometimes he waves from his lifeguard chair when she looks up from her book. Usually, she just goes back to her book. But on some rare and lucky occasions, he gets a smirk and a small wave out of her. But his favorite days are the ones where it’s slow so he can walk over to where she’s reading by the pool. Sometimes she’s on a pool chair, sometimes she’s kicking her feet lightly in the water. Either way, he walks over and plops down next to her, starting a small conversation. (And, okay, maybe being this close also gives him a better view of her in her swimsuit but that’s another story and he doesn’t have to go into it right now.)

Keep reading


all the boys // panic! at the disco

Go to school, take extracurriculars. Go to college, get decent grades. Get an office job. It pays alright. It’s fine. Try dating. It’s fine. Spend weekends watching tv or finishing your workload. It’s fine. It’s fine. It’s fine. It's— “Fuck it,” Bokuto and Kuroo decide one day. “Fuck it all”. They fish around. They start saving up. They find a big old house in the north country, dilapidated and cheap, on a drive to nowhere, and save up. Save up.

They quit their jobs and leave the city. They take out a loan and start fixing the house up. They’ll turn it into a bed & breakfast, they think. They get to know the locals. About a mile down the road lives a farmer, a youngish man named Ushijima. He knows some people and recommends them. They help with the plumbing. And the wiring. And the carpentry. And everything that this great lumbering beast of a house needs. Bokuto and Kuroo camp in the living room while the rest of the house is made habitable, using an actual tent against any leaks, and use a portable camping stove for the first few days before the gas and oven are working. “This is crazy,” they think laughingly, as they grill hot dogs and marshmallows over their dinky little stove, mocking themselves and this ridiculous idea of theirs.

They meet a guy in town named Terushima. He’s from the city too, like them (and his style of fashion certainly shows it, with his bleached hair, undercut, and tongue piercing), but he’s lived out here in the boondocks for the past five years. He teaches snowboarding and skiing to tourists at a lodge, up in the nearby, looming mountains, in the wintertime, having taken a lifelong passion and made a job out of it. He’s a little uncouth, but easy-going and has a good sense of humor, and they become quick friends. They tell him they’re opening a bed and breakfast. He laughs; he says he wouldn’t have pegged them for the type, they reply they didn’t either. He’s intrigued, and seems to nearly whoop with excitement when they invite him to come around once they’re open, and thanks them with vigor.

They post flyers around town and take an ad out in the paper to recruit employees. They chat up the local librarians hoping to get to know the town better, as well as maybe get the word out if it wouldn’t be too much trouble? The librarians tell them soliciting is frowned upon but they do have some brochure maps for the town if they’re interested, and then ask them to move out of the way for the people behind them in line. They don’t expect much, but when they’re in again a week later, one librarian, a calm, authoritative yet kindly woman in her fifties, tells them they have a potential candidate if they’d like to meet with her? They agree, and she leaves them and comes back a minute later with a small young woman who nervously, timidly introduces herself as Yachi Hitoka. She volunteers at the library after school but would like to try working as a maid, or a server, or whatever they need, and they tell her with a smile they’ll keep her in mind. The librarian tells them knowingly before they leave, after Yachi has gone back to work, that despite her timidity she’s a hard worker, and very good at what she does, and they’d honestly be lucky to have her as an employee. “We understand,” they say politely, and thank her.

They don’t have enough money to fix up the house, they realize, or at least not all of it. They make the painful decision to make sure everything needed is done for structural integrity, and then to leave several of the rooms untouched cosmetically. They’ll only have a handful of rooms for guests, but with hope and luck they’ll have the rest of the house fixed up with revenue within a year or two. On the bright side, the limit for capacity prevents them from taking on more customers than they might be able to handle; it’ll almost be like a trial period for them, a training run, and they’ll get sorely-needed practice in.

They hire Yachi. They open in time, and they get customers, though not many. Bokuto takes a day job at a restaurant to help pay the bills, and Kuroo translates some English literature into Japanese and vice versa for hire in his nights. Bokuto, the better cook, should be the one cooking for the guests, but he’s the only one who’d been able to find a job among the limited options the town holds for them, so he helps Kuroo improve his own culinary ability in the mornings and evenings before and after his shifts. “God bless his endless energy,” Kuroo thinks, his heart brimming with love as the other explains the finer points of a more complicated recipe.

Their first winter in the town they head up, at Terushima’s invitation, to the lodge he works at, and get to see him in action. He’s wearing a sleek winter sport suit that looks expensive as hell, and he swaggers a little as he moves around, until they get his attention, and then he comes bounding up to them, almost a bit like an excited dog, with a whoop and a holler. He shows them around the lodge and buys them lunch on his break, and then insists to try teaching them how to snowboard, or ski, their choice. Bokuto chooses snowboarding, Kuroo skiing (Terushima seems put out at that, and Kuroo supposes with amusement he chose wrongly), and Terushima does his best to teach them the basics. His efforts fruitless after one hour, he goes back to teach his afternoon class, and they decide to loiter and watch him teach. He’s calmer than they expected from a rebel punk, and more authoritative, and he’s surprisingly good with the children in the group.

They put out ads every once in a while, and they slowly build up local knowledge of their existence. They work hard, and it’s slow going, but eventually they get more customers. They finally manage to fix up the last few rooms, and their capacity expands. Yachi is a hardworking little champion, and in the evenings, on the days she can stay late, Kuroo helps tutor her in preparation for her entrance exams (she’s brilliant, clever, and innovative, and Kuroo laughs at the idea of her getting anything less than a scholarship to even a good school, but her mother is overbearing and Hitoka, sweet, and likely anxious even by nature, is riddled with insecurity, so Kuroo is happy to help assuage her fears any way he can). Bokuto sometimes sits in while they study and watches, leaning in, and his frequent gasps and exclamations of incredulity and praise earn laughs and blushes from her, and snickers, eye-rolls, and rebuttals of “Shut up, go do something useful” from Kuroo as he shoves him away by the face.

They’re studying one night when Yachi thanks Kuroo again for his help.
“What’s this?” he asks, gasping in an exaggerated manner. “I told you to stop thanking me.” The first thirty times were more than enough, and he’s told her so.
“I know,” she says, “It’s just that—”
“What?” he asks, goading.
She pauses, working up her courage. “I think you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met,” Yachi says.
“Well,” he replies, regrowing his grin once his shock’s worn off, “that’s flattering, because you are definitely the smartest person I’ve ever met.” He manages to reply with his usual lazy smirk and drawl, but, unused to being complimented so straightforwardly,  he can’t quite help the blush spreading slightly across his cheeks.
Yachi, for her part, combusts and stammers out Thank Yous and Oh Noes with a crimson face, too shocked to notice how touched her tutor is. Kuroo waits for her to calm down, and then they continue as if nothing happened.

All the while, Kuroo and Bokuto are forced to examine their feelings, which slowly, imperceptibly, have been changing over time. “When did this start?” They ask themselves, ask each other, but neither has the answer; maybe when they hatched this scheme, probably long beforehand. Maybe in high school, even, when they were young and things were simple enough to categorize as deep friendship. Maybe there wasn’t a single point where they crossed the line; there couldn’t have been, they’re sure, with how gradual it all happened. How natural it feels, they realize. They start having a talk one quiet night, but neither can finish it, and words die on their lips as they go back to watching tv. It takes a few days to find the courage to finish.

It’s three years (well, three years and five and a half months, but who’s counting) after it first opened that all the invited guests gather on the house’s front lawn. Officially it’s an engagement-cum-life pledge celebration, and legalized gay marriage is still years away for Japan, but they all know what it’s supposed to be. Yachi’s there, along with the greying librarian her mentor; Terushima is there, filming the reception with a very expensive-looking video camera and a wide, ecstatic grin (when he’s not looking impish and smug, claiming he saw them coming years beforehand); Ushijima too, who, earthen and straightforward but believing in a take-life-as-it-comes philosophy, had become good friends with them and had never bat an eye (surprising them) when they themselves had become something more; along with the many other friends they’ve made in the town, including even a few former guests.

Stray Dog (Extras)

(Have two extra bits from the next few chapters that never got finished, to complete the set.)

“If you’re doing this,” Shuuhei says, crouched at the lip of the pit and watching the Kurosaki boy struggle, “I want backup.”

At his side, Urahara blinks at him from underneath the shadow of his hat. “Oh?” he says after a moment, his tone as close to bewilderment as it ever comes. “Kurosaki—”

“Is untrained, unfamiliar with the Seireitei, emotionally invested in this matter but unused to separating himself from his feelings, and fifteen. Even if you and Yoruichi are right, and those friends of his finish their training, I’m not storming Soul Society with a couple of teenagers as my only allies.”

Urahara flicks his fan reprovingly at him. “So pessimistic, Shuuhei-kun! If things go according to plan—”

Shuuhei cuts him off with a snort, because honestly. And the shopkeeper accuses him of being naïve. “When has anything regarding Aizen ever gone according to plan? I’d rather go in there loaded for bear than putting all my faith in our ability to stay under the radar. You were there for the disaster with the Menos, weren’t you? If Kurosaki wasn’t on Aizen’s radar before that, he sure as hell is now.”

Just for a moment, the ever-present humor and cheer fade away, and leave behind a tired, worn man. Urahara frowns deeply, staring into the pit where Ichigo is still fighting, still so far from giving up, and Shuuhei can see the indecision weighing on him. Shuuhei’s talked to Shinji, to Urahara, to Yoruichi—together and separately—and he’s well aware that they all blame themselves. For not seeing Aizen, for not being able to stop him in time, for the end results where there was honestly no other choice. As an outsider looking in, Shuuhei knows he has it easy, the benefit of hindsight with the emotional distance of not having been a victim himself, and he’s more than prepared to play that card if Urahara forces him to.

Somehow, looking at the man’s worn, weary face, Shuuhei doesn’t think he will.

“It’s been a hundred years,” he says softly, though he doesn’t soften his words at all. It’s never been his way. “You know that better than I do. But this whole setup will work in our favor. Send Kurosaki and his friends, that’s fine. But let me go, too. Use them as a distraction while I clean up whatever crawls out from under its rock.”

For the first time in several hours, the shopkeeper pulls the entirety of his attention from the orange-haired boy below, and looks at Shuuhei squarely. He studies the former lieutenant, carefully, closely, and settles back on his heels without saying a word.

Shuuhei meets his gaze, holds it. His confidence isn’t all bravado, either. Maybe Aizen has had a hundred years to plot and plan, but Shuuhei has managed to throw him for a loop once already. Shiba Kaien’s continued survival was in no way a part of Aizen’s schemes, but it happened regardless, and Shuuhei emerged from the incident without being identified and compromised, regardless of how close it was. He’s not the same green soldier who ran from Soul Society and disappeared into the darkness of the human world, seeking answers with only his convictions to guide him. He’s a fighter, just like he’s always been. A survivor. He and Kazeshini have had fifty years to work things out between them, and it shows.

“Not alone,” Urahara says at length, still unnervingly serious, but there’s a spark of something satisfied and entirely too amused beneath the solemnity. “I have to stay here to maintain the Senkaimon, and Tessai is required to help me. Yoruichi will be with Kurosaki’s group. I see few choices, Shuuhei-kun.”

He’s clearly fishing. Shuuhei snorts softly, dropping his gaze back to the pit. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up,” he mutters. “Desperate times and all that. You’re still wrong, by the way.”

Urahara chuckles and flutters his fan in front of his face. It’s not quite I told you so, but it sure as hell feels like it.

Shuuhei resists the urge to shove him into the pit. It likely won’t end well for him, with how wily a bastard the shopkeeper is. A good four decades have taught Shuuhei that much at least.

“Come. This is the door to Soul Society, the Senkaimon.”

Ichigo isn’t a fool, no matter what people seem to think. He’s just about had it with the stupid creepy shopkeeper not explaining anything, shoving him—all of them, now—into dangerous and likely deadly situations with little to no warning. Urahara is suspicious. This whole freaking situation is suspicious.

But there’s no other choice if they’re going to save Rukia, so Ichigo listens to the explanations, accepts the risk of getting caught forever in the Dangai. Not that much of a risk. All they have to do is avoid getting caught. And they will.

But then, a moment before Yoruichi escorts them into the Senkaimon, Urahara steps forward again, fluttering that maddening, ridiculous fan in front of his face.

“A moment, if you would, Yoruichi,” he calls lightly. “We’re still waiting for one more.”

Even Yoruichi looks slightly taken aback by that, pausing to blink at the man. “Kisuke?” comes the warning growl.

The shopkeeper just laughs. “Oh, no, no, it’s nothing bad! Just a…stray dog to help you sniff out the right path. He’s given me his word he’ll get you into the Seireitei safely, so do have a bit of faith in him.”

“Stray dog?” Yoruichi repeats, ears going back and lips curling just slightly. “Kisuke, that brat—”

“Oi. I can hear you.”

Ichigo turns at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, eyes narrowing as he takes in the dark figure crossing the rocky ground. He’s Ichigo’s height and of a similar build, lean and muscular, dressed in dark jeans and a coat with the sleeves ripped off, leaving his arms bare except for a pair of black bands. A deep hood obscures his face, the dark green cloth casting shadows impossible to see through, but there’s a katana with an eight-sided tsuba slung diagonally across his back.

Dangerous, Ichigo thinks, watching him move, steady and surefooted over the rocks. There’s no hesitation in his movements, everything precise and calculated—almost the way Ishida moves, only…more so.

“So?” Yoruichi retorts, fur bristling ever so slightly. “Who exactly thought it would be a good idea to bring you along, brat? I don’t need a revenge-obsessed—”

“What I want is justice, Shihoin, and nothing less than that. Revenge is for the weak-minded who are unable to let go. I am not one of them.”

The cat’s tail lashes angrily. “Last time you were in Soul Society, you almost blew our cover.”

The man snorts, making a dismissive gesture. The four silver rings on his left hand catch the light almost menacingly. “And saved a man’s life in the process. Are you going to complain about that, too?”

“Enough, enough, you two,” Urahara cuts in, looking like he’s enjoying himself far too much for Ichigo’s tastes. “My, listening to that, one might think you really were a stray dog and an alley cat about to have at it. How…barbaric~.”

Alley cat, Kisuke?” Yoruichi growls.

“I’ve told you not to call me a dog,” the stranger adds sharply. With a huff, he looks around the ragtag group of humans, and Ichigo can feel it when that unseen gaze settles on him. There’s a long pause, and the man inclines his head just slightly. “I am Hisagi. It’s good to see you looking better, Kurosaki-san.”

Ichigo stiffens. There’s only one incident the man could be talking about, after all. “You were watching?”

“I saw you afterward,” Hisagi corrects. “I was the one who carried you back to the shop.”

Upon further reflection, that makes perfect sense, as Urahara is hardly the type to lug someone around when there’s conveniently free labor to do it for him. Ichigo nods in understanding, and Hisagi inclines his head in return before glancing over towards the gate. There’s a long moment, and then the man sighs in clear frustration.

“Urahara,” he growls.

The shopkeeper flutters his fan innocently. “Yes, Shuuhei-kun?”

Another noise of exasperation and the man reaches up into the confines of his hood, one lean, tanned hand emerging with a black monarch butterfly perched on it. Ichigo recognizes it, after a moment, as the same type that followed Rukia, Rukia’s brother, and the hot-tempered redhead into the shoji doors when they left that night. Clearly making a point, Hisagi waves it under Urahara’s nose.

“Oh, poo,” Urahara huffs, reaching out to snag Hisagi’s wrist and push it—and the butterfly—back towards him. “Don’t be a spoilsport, Shuuhei-kun. This is much more fun, don’t you think? And besides, this way there’s no risk that that creepy little friend of yours in the Twelfth will pick up on any unauthorized Senkaimon activity.”

That earns him a snort, but the butterfly goes back in the man’s hood. “You say that like you have any right at all to be calling other people creepy,” Hisagi retorts, but heads for the Senkaimon regardless.

Ichigo doesn’t hesitate to follow, fighting a grin. He has a feeling he and Hisagi are going to get along swimmingly.