#a place to put all these thoughts instead of ruminating over them again and again

[comfortableinthesilence]

I’m up for work in 5 hours and of course my brain picks now to overthink things! Ugh! I can tell sleep is going to be in short supply tonight 🙃

[kay-elle-cee]

@jilytoberfest 31 Prompts: Day 22 || 675 Words || Read on Ao3 —

13 October 1986

“Did you always know you were going to marry dad?”

Harry’s talent for asking blunt questions was bound to land her here one day, but still, Lily finds herself momentarily frozen while putting away a host of dinosaur plushies. There’s a simple answer to this: Yes, of course I did! I’ve always loved him and I knew we’d live happily ever after!

But she was very opposed to lying to her child.

So instead, Lily gives her six-year-old son a small smile, putting the stuffed toys in the basket in the corner of their living room and crouching down to his level.

“Well, no,” she starts simply, looking for the words to be honest and simplistic at once. “Your dad and I didn’t really get along much for a long time.”

“Why?” Harry asks.

“Well…” Lily trails off, looking for a way to skirt around the truth of he was a bit of a bully. One day Harry would get the full picture with all the nuances, but those specific details seemed unneeded at the current time. “We were very different. We liked different things and different people.”

“Then when did you start to like each other?”

Her lips twitch up in the beginning of a smile. “Your dad says he liked me from the moment he saw me on the Hogwarts Express,” Lily tells him. “But I think that’s a load of dragon dung. We started dating in seventh year.” Again, a little bit of a fib, but their six-year-old doesn’t need to know about the five-month secret-relationship that predated their public relationship.

“Seven years?” Harry exclaims, dumbfounded. “But if dad liked you, why didn’t you like him back?”

“Oh, Harry,” she laughs, smoothing down his hair. “When you get older you’ll learn that people don’t make much sense, ever. Less so when there are feelings involved. Your dad and I became friends in sixth year and that helped me to really get to know him, and fancy him.”

“You didn’t like him at all?” He’s slightly horrified, and she feels a blush creep up her neck.

“If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell?” Harry nods vigorously, and Lily leans in. “There was a time—when we were in fourth year—where I fancied your dad something awful.”

“But then why—”

“Just because you like someone doesn’t mean you want to marry them. There was a lot going on at that time, and though I liked your dad, there were other people that I was better friends with, that I had known longer, and they were more important to me.” She shrugs. “But when I got older, I realized those people weren’t really my friends, and your dad was there to make me laugh and feel better, and I realized that we had more in common than I expected, and when we started being friends, it all just clicked into place.”

Harry’s silent, ruminating on all this information, and Lily rises to her feet, affectionately smoothing his hair down again. “So I didn’t always know, but once I let myself see it, I knew pretty quickly.”

“That sounds really confusing,” he decides, face scrunching up, and Lily can’t help but laugh.

“You have no idea, my love. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

Harry scrambles out of the room, and when Lily passes through the doorway to the kitchen, she’s surprised to see James leaning against the wall, a smug smile on his face.

“I thought you were doing dinner with the boys?”

“Remus has been powering through a splitting headache all day and Peter got called in for a surprise audit, so we’re rescheduling,” he explains with a half-shrug.

Lily nods, going over to inspect the bag of take-away James has brought home and placed on the counter. She keeps her voice light and unaffected. “How long have you been standing there?”

He pushes off the wall and comes to stand across the counter from her, the grin wider. “Longer than you’d like. Fourth year, huh?”

[murmel-malt]

Hedaera Targaryen - 97 AC

Viserys Targaryen x Hedaera Targaryen (OFC) prev / next wordcount: <1k summery: my answer to the question: what if Viserys and Daemon had a little sister? canon divergent dance of the dragons au featuring canon and original characters.

chapter summery: Four years after her own wedding, Hedaera attends her cousin Aemma’s wedding to her brother Daemon and ruminates on what has happened since she married Viserys.

A/N: note that english is not my first language so there will probably be some grammar mistakes.

97 AC - Kingslanding

Daemon and Aemma’s wedding is nearly as grand as her Viserys’ had been. Once again the great hall is filled to the brim with decorations and guests and music and conversation, and the long table for the royal family at the foot of the Iron Throne to preside over the masses. The tables are laden with the finest food and Aemma is decked out in white and light blue and the silver circlet holding her veil in place, is matching the one on Daemon’s head. She looks happy Daera thinks; a far happier bride than she had been four years ago.

They are older now; Aemma being five and ten and Daera three and ten. She doesn’t feel very different, but everyone is telling her that she is now almost a woman, grown and ready to fulfill her wifely duties. She has yet to be pushed into the marriage bed, despite having flowered and plans to avoid it for as long as possible. Which probably isn’t for that much longer. The King is getting impatient, according to her Lord Father. But they will have to force her if they want her to share Viserys’ bed. There’s not a bone left in her that wishes to please any of her grandparents or father anymore. Instead they should be pleased that she has not run off or thrown herself from some tower. She has thought about it on occasion. Both about running away and throwing herself from the highest tower of the Red Keep. About the latter only in her darkest moments though and only twice.

The Queen and her Lord Father seem to have finally understood the consequences of their actions. No longer is Daera referring to them as Grandmother or Father, Alysanne is ‘her Grace, the Queen’ and she had flinched as if struck the first time Daera had addressed her this way. Her Father simply is ‘Prince Baelon’ and there is always a distance between them now, physically and emotionally. Everytime Daera looks into their eyes and sees the pain her behavior inflicts on them all she can think is: “Good. I hope this hurts you as much as you have hurt me.” She no longer feels guilt over these thoughts. It was them that hurt her first, now they simply reap the fruits of their hard labor. 

The King is the only one who doesn’t care and Hedaera now thinks that he never cared to begin with. Not about her or about any of his daughters. She barely knows any of them but she has heard stories about them. How Viserra had been so desperate to avoid being sent North that she had tried to seduce Hedaera’s father. Baelon hadn’t helped her either. He had stood by his father’s decision, a loyal son to King Jaehaerys at the expense of his sister.

Viserys will be different when he is King, Hedaera decides. For one, she cannot imagine him ever being as scary as Jaehaerys; the thought is so ridiculous it nearly makes her laugh. Her brother just doesn’t have that air about him. Not now and not ever, she is afraid. Daemon even at four years younger can be scarier than Viserys; and Rhaenys, too. It is a very unfortunate thing that only the future king does not. Perhaps she as his Queen will have to make up for it. She puts the thought aside. She will not let her brother’s shortcomings ruin her mood. 

From her seat beside Viserys she gazes across the hall instead, making note of the attendants and testing herself if she can remember all the names belonging to the faces and sigils on display. Many of the guests are Vale Lords, which is not a surprise given Aemma’s father Rodrick was Lord Paramount of the Vale. She imagines his recent death is still weighing on her cousin but the celebrations seem to have lifted her spirit. Not even Daemon seems able to dampen it, and apparently he hasn’t even tried. On the contrary, he looks almost happy, if Daera is to judge. 

He has generally been more agreeable ever since he had claimed Caraxes last year. He is the only one of them that has a dragon now after Balerion’s death only a year after Viserys had claimed him. Some had taken it as a bad omen and that Viserys might turn out to be a bad king or something ridiculous like that. The dragon had been old, simple as that; and eventually even dragons died. It was only a matter of time. And honestly, Hedaera doesn’t need the death of a dragon to know that Viserys might not be a good king, she simply knows her brother.

Daera hadn’t even been allowed to try to claim a dragon. Four years ago they had told her that she was too young, now they pretended that as the future Queen and mother it was too dangerous for her. It was a weak excuse but she had no power to argue or contest it. Another reminded how powerless she was. Viserys of all people had comforted her, telling her that not having a dragon wasn’t so terrible and that perhaps it simply wasn’t her time yet. It had been a nice gesture and had actually helped a little bit but it still stung whenever Daemon talked about Caraxes.

It made her feel less than and that was infuriating because she knew she wasn’t. She was a Targaryen, the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and if she did not get to have a dragon, well, then she would have to become the dragon.

a/n: this is a short one. sorry people.

[moethewriter]

Could u do 14 for that dialog prompt with finnick? I'm picturing district 13 reunion angst. You're an amazing writer!!!

Hello! Of Course I can! Thank you for the kind words anon! -- TITLE: Nothin's Gonna Harm You, Not While I'm Around ... WORD COUNT: 1.1k PAIRING: Finnick Odair x Reader WARNING: Mentions of violence, injury and torture (Nothing super extensive but it's there TAGS: Lot's of angst and introspection lol! SUMMARY: You couldn't look at this face, you knew it would break you. A/N: Thanks for another request! I very much appreciate it! This one is definetlely angsty, and since it's me tons Y/N being in their head and analyzing the situation. Of course I always take construction criticism so please feel free to leave it!

You stayed still, as the doctors surrounding you poked and prodded, checking over every aspect of your person. You knew this was protocol, you knew it was necessary … to help you, or even heal you. But this wasn’t helping. You were exhausted, and just wanted a shower. But above all you were frightened and in pain. The Capitol hadn’t been kind after you had been taken, in fact they were violent and you wanted to forget it all.

You were scared. 

The rescue hadn’t been the smoothest operation, The Capitol sparing no expense to keep you, Johanna, and Peeta in The Capitol. People had died, you could have died but you didn't. You had to put faith in the plan, the one that Haymitch Abernathy had explained, That Plutarch Heavensbee and District 13 had concocted. But that didn’t mean you were okay, that didn’t mean that you were ever going to be okay again

. 

When you had woken up in the Capitol instead of in the arms of Finnick, you had been horrified … You knew there was no escape, no way you could get out, despite ruminating on ever plan to get yourself and your friends out. 

The realization that you hadn’t been rescued from the arena had set in after listening to Johanna’s screams. But you couldn’t place the blame on anyone, you had all separated in there and Katniss was the face of the Rebellion, she needed to get out, they needed to save her before anyone else … The Mockingjay.

You could take some Capitol torture, is what you had thought, after all they had tortured you and Finnick for years after your games.

You winced, as a bright light filled your vision. The Doctors were shining a device in your face.. 

“Cognitive function, still good.” 

You wanted to let out the bitter laugh you had been holding back, but you couldn’t bring yourself too. Your brain was all there, of course. The Capitol and Snow hadn’t taken that from you yet.

Pain filled you, as one of them touched your leg firmly, feeling around the broken skin, the sores and blisters that hadn’t been quite allowed to heal yet. 

“Leg Injury is severe but it’s nothing that won’t heal.”

Right, you remembered having to be carried out of your cell by someone. You had always been quick. That’s something that saved you during your games. You had been fast, quick to hit and quick to run before someone could see you, like a phantom in the night. The Capitol … Snow had made sure you couldn’t run this time. 

“Not like the Mellark boy, she’s safe.”

Your head shot up at the mention of Peeta. You knew that if they rescued you, that Johanna and Peeta would be as well. But … What had happened to them? Fear laced your thoughts, weaving into your mind like a virus. They hadn’t been kind to Johanna, you could hear her screams from your cell … was she safe? 

You looked past the shoulders of the doctors, vision slightly blurry, trying to find your friends. You could see Johanna fighting back, she had always been feisty, you were glad that the Capitol didn’t take that from her. She was pissed, you could tell just by her face. You couldn’t blame her, either. 

Were you really safe?

“Can you tell us your name?” The female doctor asked, gently. She was clearly approaching this with some sense of tact.

Bile rose in your throat, as you shrunk into yourself. “Y/N L/N.” You whispered, voice hoarse, and throat raw. 

“You’re in District 13, you’re going to be okay.” The woman doctor said, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

You flinched back, violently, despite her gentleness.

“I know you’re frightened but it’s alright.” She spoke again

You couldn’t bring yourself to believe her. 

Nothing felt alright, in fact this whole situation had been fucked from the start, from the reaping to the escape plan … Nothing had gone right. 

“Y/N!? Y/N?!”

You knew who was calling to you. Finnick. But you weren’t sure if you even wanted him to see you like this. You felt broken, you barely felt like yourself at this moment, but you knew that he would fight his way to you. He always would. 

You sank desperately into your bed, shrinking as small as you could sniffling like some coward, or at least that’s what you felt like. 

He found you, after a while, of course he did. He would always find you, and he wouldn’t give up till he knew you were safe.

“Hey.” You could feel his presence crouching down beside you, his voice so quiet.

“Hey.” You whispered back, voice breaking as everything that had happened finally seemed to weigh down on you.

Finnick had always had that effect on you, always able to break down your walls with a simple word. 

You could feel him moving, and then his hand was on yours. You violently wretched it away, on an instinct, almost throwing yourself away from him. 

“Y/N” Finnick whispered, voice cracking.

Tears trailed down your cheeks, hot and salty, burning the small wounds on your face. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, you didn’t want to see the heartbreak written across his face. Finnick had always prided himself on being a good actor, pretending to be The Capitol darling, but he was never able to do that with you.

The Capitol hadn’t broken you, but seeing Finnick hurt … you knew that would.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I would never hurt you.”

You let out a loud sob, unable to hold it back anymore. You needed him. His arms wrapped around you, and you allowed yourself to sink into the comforting feeling. It was different, everything was different now but he was still Finnick and you were still you. 

“God Finnick I-” 

You didn’t even know what to say.

“I know.” He said, pulling you into his chest. “I know.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed there, crying, and allowing yourself for the first time in weeks to be comforted by the person you loved. 

“I’d burn this world down for you, and Snow is going to be first.” He said, voice rough, rocking you in his arms. “The Capitol doesn’t know what’s coming to them, they hurt you and I can’t let that go. I won’t let that go. They’re never going to hurt you again.”

“As long as you come back to me.” You sniffled.

He kissed the top of your head.

“I will always come back to you.”

And you desperately hoped, with every bit of strength you could muster, that his words were true.

[th3-0bjectivist]

Face # 7: Baby Frog ruminates

To recap once more, this year (2024) I have been trying to draw faces, all year long. Being an outsider artist, I never had anyone teach me how to do it. So once again, I will just teach myself by doing it over and over in different variations. Recently I went out on a few dates with this single mom, her name is Britt. No spark, no problem, we kind of became friends instead. I’ve been over to her place a few times and met her infant boy. I won’t give you the boy’s name, but I call him Baby Frog because he’s got a bit of a froggy face going on. He’s like all other babies. He loves to laugh, and he gets fussy sometimes, but he also makes this stone-cold face when I’m talking to his mom, like I owe him money, or like he knows something about my mother.

Out of any of the drawings I’ve done for this series, this one was by far the easiest. Babies have these fat, lumpy faces that basically have no definition. This kid has eyes that are deep brown, and they're HUGE, so when he’s just kind of passive and staring at something he kinda looks like he’s a possessed stone golem. Britt puts him in funny hats that make his head look like a big, chubby mushroom stalk. He drools uncontrollably all the time. When I’m over at Britt’s place I sometimes wish I could get away with an infant’s social behavior and fashions. I often wonder if the Baby Frog is in deep thought when he just stares away like he does, and I wonder if he’ll have the same steely glance as an adult, because it’s somewhat intimidating even at his age. I’ve come to like Baby Frog a lot, and he has enjoyed my company as well. I’m around few babies these days, and despite their awkward mannerisms, I still like them better than adults. Infants are just honest. Drawing faces has been generally difficult, next time I’ll try an adult face at a dynamic angle. I’ve got to keep challenging myself, and I’m still not VERY good at this. More to come!

Face # 1: Click here

Face # 2: Click here

Face # 3: Click here

Face # 4: Click here

Face # 5: Click here

Face # 6: Click here

[hexfloog]

07/27/2024 - Chapter 1/???

Mild content warning for language and disturbing imagery.

Also posted on AO3 if you prefer to read on their platform~

day six

Conan's eyes drifted towards the badge on the table. He tilted his head, presumably in an effort to read the upside-down characters, and idly drummed his fingers until he could make them out. 

"Sergeant Wataru Takagi?" he scoffed. 

Takagi watched him closely. For the last half-hour the world outside had ceased to exist; Conan and himself were all there was, confined together until Mouri-san returned. The habitual, incessant click of nails against steel reminded him of suspects who couldn't stop flicking their lighters in the hot seat. It was a coping mechanism, music to soothe the savage beast, subconscious and damning, but Conan lacked the usual apprehension of someone who knew they were in deep trouble. 

"You’ve never told us what your official rank is before.  That's one rung below inspector, isn't it?" he continued. "Nice job, Takagi-keiji, they'll make a good ol' boy out of you yet," he crooned. 

He ignored it, instead trying to put words to the disquiet. Names disperse the fog of the unknown, he recited. But did he really even know anything to begin with? Conan was an enigma: a proven child decidedly unchildlike, some contradictory performance of amateurism and expertise. And it had always been like that, of course, but here in this cold, metal box… it was different, somehow. It felt sinister. 

Surely he was being toyed with, manipulated and used as he often was as a convenient pawn with police privileges, but he suspected that this time it was not in pursuit of justice. And certainly not in service of benign curiosity. 

Toyed with. Yes, that was it. 

The room seemed to darken. He was suddenly cognizant of the M60 resting in the holster hidden behind the flap of his coat, pressing into him like a ready hand on his waist. 

“I'm not anxious, if that's what you're thinking," Conan smirked, as if to answer his thoughts. "Are you?"

Takagi's eyes widened. He shifted his jaw and accidentally swallowed the mint he'd had stuck between his cheek and molar.  After the discomfort subsided, he quietly cursed no longer having a distraction to cull the effects of his ruminating.

Just over his shoulder, the clock struck four.  Sweat collected on his brow and he wished he hadn't forgotten his water at home.

"You know something," his voice finally cracked.

"I know a lot of things," Conan jeered.

"Okay," Takagi ventured, "then tell me all you know about the whereabouts of--"

The square in his back pocket suddenly buzzed to life.  He hid it well, but it had the same effect as someone putting ice down his back on a slow day, a rude awakening from the procedural tunnel-vision.

Deflecting the look of disappointment from Conan, he traded his lull for focus again and turned away to check his messages.  

You need a warrant.

He stopped himself from making a noise should anyone hear it and typed his response.

doesn't it count as a wellness check?

This is a little more than a welfare check and you know it. Don't get us into any shit.

He knit his brow.

suggestions? loopholes? Sorry, but that's it. Mouri-kun won't let me keep going without going through the proper channels. that's not like him. It's how it is.

He spared a glance at Conan, who was studying him fiercely.  He grimaced.

Shiratori-san might jerk him off about a lot of things, but not this.  He was right: it wasn't his place to instigate, especially without probable cause.  All he had was a cryptic, anonymous tip, a hysterical ‘witness,’ and a gut feeling.  Edogawa Conan killed Kudou Shinichi, the caller insisted.  When he scolded them not to pull pranks on the police, he was cut off.  He knows a thing or two about what happened to the girl who disappeared, too . That was three days ago. 

It was an outlandish claim that couldn't possibly hold water.  Would anyone be so eager to investigate such an absurd tip?  He didn’t really believe it himself.  Frankly, that he was even entertaining it at all was a little embarrassing– well, embarrassing enough that he was being careful not to proceed officially. 

That said, he was quickly learning that bureaucratic inconvenience only kindled his curiosity.  Absurd as it was, Conan himself was absurd, was he not?  Case after case, he had proven himself intelligent and formidable…calculating, even.  Genius was capable of both great and terrible things.  And he couldn't speak for the others, but he'd noticed time and time again that he seemed to know how to play a Machiavellian game and win.  

Perhaps the caller had noticed, too.  The warning had come to him directly, after all - they had bypassed the official tip line and called his extension.  That probably stood for something and it was a detail he couldn’t ignore.  

Still, gut feelings and hunches were mere embers against the fires of doubt.  And as Shiratori-san had pointed out, he had no authority to fan the flames…yet.

He looked back to his phone.

okay. but one more thing can you ask around 5-chome for kudou shinichi? just if anyone's seen him recently. off the record

When there was no immediate reply, he hastily– and begrudgingly– tacked on another text.

i’ll grab lunch next week.

What's this about, Takagi? I’m off today.  Why didn't you run this by Sato or Megure instead?

The phone snapped shut in his palm before he could really think about doing it.  Or before Shiratori-san could agree to taking his lunch money.

He caught Conan’s watchful eye in the next moment and puffed his chest out, suddenly awash with a sense of injustice.  The answer was obvious, wasn’t it?  Ayumi-chan had disappeared, and if Kudou-kun could be declared officially missing too, then he just wanted to find them, right? 

The sound of his own voice startled him.  "Where is Kudou Shinichi?”

Conan canted his head, surprised by his audacity.  An ominous, knowing smile crept across his face.

"In here," he offered, thumping his chest.  "With me."

Takagi’s skin prickled.  He sounded so sure of himself.  Too sure of himself, actually, for having given such a baffling non-answer.  Was he just wasting his time?

“I’m not playing around, Conan-kun,” he warned.

"And I am?” he fired back.  “How can you know ?  Maybe I am telling the truth.  Can you prove it?"

"Don't--"

"Get real,” he growled, cutting him off.  “I'm not a suspect.  And you can't make me tell you anything, either."

"Well, no," Takagi admitted, suppressing a nervous chuckle.  The grip on his phone slackened some and in the same moment he became aware he had been squeezing it like a stress ball.  He rotated it in his hands, its rounded corners and worn finish warm in his palm.  "You can't be a suspect if there is no crime.  But you are a person of interest, especially if you have something to tell that would hint at one."

It would've been funnier if their circumstances were different, but part of him was relieved Conan had said the quiet part out loud first.  And maybe he’d realized it too when he shot him a stuffy little pout instead of mouthing off right away, a jarringly childish gesture that betrayed his otherwise cruel demeanor.

There was a silent, mutual understanding that they both knew the jig was up, and yet…

“Okay,” Conan grumbled, shoving his hands under his armpits, “what exactly are you accusing me of, here?”   

“I never accused you of anything,” Takagi assured him, “but you did say you ‘know things.’  Can you tell me those things?”

“Pee is stored in the balls.”

“... Conan-kun. ”

Conan rolled his eyes, folding his arms tighter across his chest.  “In some countries, over two-hundred policemen die in the line of duty.  By contrast, law enforcement agencies can account for over one-thousand civilian deaths annually.  How do you think the public feels about the cops when they either kill or keel over instead of doing their jobs?” he huffed, glowering at his captor from just above the rim of his glasses.

He clearly meant to provoke him, but oddly, Takagi was randomly struck with the thought that he had never had a direct line of sight to Conan-kun’s eyes before.  He was spellbound by the unique color, a shade of mahogany peeking out from behind the glare of his lenses.  Huh.  What did Conan just say to him?  He didn’t hear it.  He’d forgotten what he’d wanted to say, too.  Mahogany?  That was a unique color.  All his years of looking at lineups and he couldn’t think of a single person who had had anything close.  What kind of lineage did someone need to have to inherit red-tinted eyes?  That seemed a bit off, didn’t it?

He kept looking.  He thought of space photography and the fantastical pictures of nebulae he sometimes saw in magazines, red clouds of dust in the ether.

Soon, he was cognizant of the pressure in his teeth, the involuntary clenching of his jaws. The skin around his eyes felt tight… but he couldn’t look away.  The nebulae exploded into rivers of blood and the stardust of lost worlds, swirling into the reddest cacophony he’d ever imagined.

Now his eyeballs stung.  He couldn’t blink.  He wanted to stop, but… nothing would listen.  Instead, his mind was swimming upstream, battling against rapids he couldn’t remember falling into.  He’d not moved from his chair in almost an hour, but his bones ached like he’d been training relentlessly for weeks… useless all the same.

Stop.  Stop!  Why couldn’t he stop?  His lungs were on fire.  Blood ignited like gasoline in his veins, soot choked his throat and every breath was a gulp of acetone stripping him raw from the inside out.  His vision blurred, pulsating in rhythm with the heat traveling through his fingers, and yet… he could still see them … and they could surely still see him … 

God, what was happening??

Conan suddenly erupted into hideous laughter, ripping Takagi unceremoniously from his trance.  Visions of fire and brimstone ceased the moment he was allowed to blink, with barely a second to recover before being addressed again.

“Takagi-keiji,” Conan sneered, his tone dark and domineering, “so what if you find Ayumi-chan?  Or Shinichi-niichan, for that matter?”

Leaning forward, he splayed his fingers across the table, dragging out the metallic slide of nails against steel as they uncurled from his fists.  “Do you think if you pick up all of Ayumi-chan’s teeth, they'll promote you to Inspector?” he grinned.  

The silence hung just long enough for Takagi to recover some of his faculties, but he was too dazed to respond.  There were echoes of something in his head… phantom sensations all across his body like flies on his skin… but ultimately, Conan got to watch as the police sergeant, his face a crinkle of puzzlement, examined his hands and the floor beneath his feet as if he were seeing them for the first time.

That moment of respite, too, was ripped from him when the door suddenly crashed open.  Mouri Kogoro burst into the sterile interrogation room, his expression a rough amalgamation of recently-dormant paternal instincts that hadn’t seen use since Ran-san was Conan’s age.

He spared neither of them any formalities.  “Wait outside,” he growled, fidgeting with the stale cigarette in his mouth.  Conan didn’t fuss and excused himself without another word.  

“Detective,” Kogoro started, “I don’t appreciate being lured away so you can… do whatever the hell with the kid behind my back.”  He waved his hands for emphasis.  “I’m still this brat’s legal guardian.  And brats have rights, whether I like it or not.”

Takagi still wasn’t at one-hundred percent, but he could read the discontent in Kogoro’s body language well enough.  Unfortunately, the most he could do was bumble out a slurred, “No, of course not…”

“What the hell is this all about, anyway?” he demanded.  “Not only do you trick me into leaving the kid alone with you for questioning , but you sicced Shiratori on me too?  To get permission after the fact?”  

He bit down on the cigarette, studying Takagi and his somewhat disoriented manner, expecting him to defend himself.

“...I got a tip,” he finally admitted.

“Tip?  Tip for what?”

“We’re looking for two individuals.  Yoshida Ayumi and Kudou Shinichi.”

Kogoro almost laughed.  The familiarity of both names spurred something in him, but not enough to change any opinions.  “And who’s your tipster?”

“Anonymous.”

“Oh, of course.”

Takagi hesitated. "They mentioned Conan-kun by name."

Kogoro sighed. “Tell me you’re not taking this seriously,” he pleaded.  “Surely you realize how ridiculous a claim that is.  The kid is seven .”

He didn’t answer right away.  He was talking to the man who, probably better than anyone, could testify to just how abnormal a seven year-old Conan was, which– prior to the conversation he had just had with him– was really the only thing lending this ‘tip’ any credibility.  He didn’t have anything tangible and was banking on Kogoro being a little more cooperative about it on that basis.

“It would be irresponsible to ignore it.”

Kogoro nearly exploded.  “Irresponsible?  My god, man.  It’s a fucking joke.  That Kudou brat fucked off months ago and kids endanger themselves all the time.  Suggesting Conan or any other brat his age had anything to do with either of them disappearing is ludicrous.”

Takagi steeled himself for the next part.  “Mouri-san, won’t you please just answer a few questions about–” 

“No, no, I don’t think you get it, Takagi-keiji,” Kogoro snapped.  “I’m not answering any questions and I’m sure as hell not going to let you rope the kid into whatever illicit investigation you’ve got underway here.”  He stole a glance at the one-way mirror off to their side.  “Does the Inspector know about this?”  

He didn’t answer.

Kogoro inhaled slowly and plucked the cigarette from his mouth, rolling the chewed filter between his fingers.  “I urge you to reconsider this before you’re forced to live with the shame of chasing a false lead,” he warned.

The door slammed shut.  The noise seemed to scare off the last of his daze. 

Fingers on his temples, Takagi deliberated in silence before checking his phone again out of habit.  There was an unread message from Shiratori.  

FYI, Mouri-san’s going back.  Said he ‘figured it out.’

Thanks for the heads-up , he thought bitterly.

Still feeling the shame of their conversation turned sour, he eventually slunk back to his desk with his head lowered, trying to make himself seem as small as possible.  He thought he heard the usual hecklers call out for his attention but ignored them, marching steadfast against the crowd of more sensible people who knew when to call it a day and into the open room that housed his little corner of the world.  He practically fell into his chair.

While he didn’t exactly have a window seat, he did have a respectable view of the street below and, as he sat there brooding, eventually caught a glimpse of Mouri-san and Conan-kun heading off in the direction of the nearest station.

One by one, his coworkers filed home as day faded into night.  But he didn’t move, instead thinking of death in its infinite groanings, of disease and car accidents and six year-olds buried alive.  Monsters snuffed out hope by turning man on their fellow man.  Names disperse the fog of the unknown.     

He picked up his phone, readied a notepad, and dialed. 

I haven’t noticed anything myself, but I don’t see him as often as you might think, Agasa confessed.  But if it helps, Detective, the children– Mitsuhiko-kun, Genta-kun, Ai–kun– seem to have been treating him differently ever since Ayumi-kun disappeared.

Interesting.  Inspired by his statement, he thanked him for his time and hurriedly scrolled through his text history with Shiratori for a phone number.

Streaks of fire thinned into wisps of starlight as the sun finally retreated under the horizon.

Yes, Kobayashi confessed.  He’s… changed.

How so? he pressed.

Well, for lack of a better word, he’s mean.  Even worse– he knows it, and he doesn’t care if you know it, too.

Takagi thanked her for her time, too, and– perhaps subconsciously empathizing with her– apologized for her experience and wished her a good night.

He leaned back and idly observed the twinkling cityscape outside.  Bribing the kids out to a group interview with free food wasn’t a bad idea… it might be difficult to arrange without tipping off Conan, but spending his lunch money on the children had the added benefit of keeping it from Shiratori-san.

He had one last number to call but, after the explosive afternoon, was hardly enthused to follow through.  Still, he wanted to go home.  Chiba-kun had been hyping up the wrestling finals all week, and though he had joked that the night of the match would end up being the night he’d need to pull overtime after an otherwise smooth week, he really had meant it as a joke.   With lips pursed, his thoughts rumbling about how these calls never got any easier, he dialed the number.

After the longest ten seconds of his life, he finally heard the click of the receiver being picked up.

“Ah, Mouri-san!  It’s T–”

“Kogoro-no-ojisan can’t come to the phone right now,” came an all-too familiar, sickly-sweet voice.  “Can I take a message?”

A breath hitched in his throat.  Subconsciously, his fingers hooked under his collar and began to loosen his tie while his brain scrambled for words.  “...Conan-kun,” he managed.

“May I ask who’s calling?”

He exhaled slowly, careful to keep it quiet, suspicious he may have just been reciting lines on Kogoro’s instructions and that he was actually supervising him from nearby.  “...Conan-kun, it’s Detective Takagi,” he tried.  “Please put Mouri-san on the phone.”

“Kogoro-no-ojisan can’t come to the phone right now, Sergeant Takagi.”

“Fine,” he conceded.  “Then tell him the MPD wants to ask him a few more questions about his connections to Yoshida Ayumi and Kudou Shinichi.”

A door shut somewhere in the background.  Before he could get another word in, Conan’s tune changed on a dime.

“Little boy blue, come blow your horn,” he whispered.   “The sheep’s in the meadow, the cow’s in the corn.  But where is the boy, who looks after the sheep?  He’s under a haystack, fast asleep.” 

Takagi wrinkled his nose and exhaled sharply, this time hoping it would be audible on the other side.

“What did I tell you earlier?” Conan scowled, speaking freely now.  “This is a fool’s errand.  Stop now before you have to–” he giggled– “ live with the shame of chasing a false lead. ”

False lead… had he been listening to their conversation–

He yelped at the sudden, unmistakable sensation of something wet in his ear.  Startled, he tugged at the cord so hard the whole unit jumped a foot closer to him, its illuminated keypad taunting him like eyes in the dark.  A rough grimace turned his face.  The office had emptied out hours ago, but it didn’t stop him from glaring daggers at the surrounding desks, the receiver awkwardly held at arm’s length as if he were holding a snake.

Once the adrenaline wore off, he brought the phone back under the light of his desk lamp for closer examination.  But it was dry… and so was his face.  Had he imagined it?   

He padded his temple with a finger and felt his way down to his evening stubble.  Nothing.  

Anxiously, he placed his ear to the receiver again, fully expecting another assault on his senses, but was instead met with the droning monotone of a disconnected line.  Perplexed, he hastily shoved the phone back into its cradle.

He… What the fuck?

Muscle memory took the wheel.  He switched off his light, slouched in his chair, and gazed slack-jawed into the darkness above him, tired eyes adjusting to an unenviable view of the drop ceiling.  

In a moment of desperation, he briefly considered hitting redial to see if he’d get Mouri-san this time.  It crossed his mind he might be a little nuts.  

Maybe he’d be better off just starting over tomorrow.

[toast-tales]

Cursed Cravings, Chapter 6: Lessons in Futility

In which Christopher gets a talking-to from Sam. Contains: ~1.5k words Chapter 1 | Read this story on A03!

Christopher had retired to his bedroom for the night after his attempt to feed Danny, preferring to sulk in isolation—not that such a thing had ever been hard to come by for him. There had been many times over the years where he might forget that he had someone else in his home at all, if it weren’t for the fact that this awful, grotesque form could smell them so well, even from across the entire house. Even when he tucked himself away upstairs, Danny’s scent was still entwined faintly in his senses.

Thanks to Danny’s friend, he’d done what he had to do this morning to keep the curse at bay, so the pain in his stomach wasn’t so bad yet. It was tolerable—just the gentlest of reminders that he was fucked, instead of the overwhelming ocean of misery it would eventually become. 

He had another week or two, at least, before he drowned again.

The days that immediately followed when he did it were always when his mind felt clearest. And this time, he didn’t have to worry about when he’d find the next person, or if he would at all, and how long he’d have to endure the pain of that infernal magic eating away at his insides and demanding, always demanding more. 

So, in the absence of that usual anxiety, he was left with the much more uncomfortable prospect of the longer term, and the grimness that was his future. Or what was left of it, anyways.

She certainly won’t be the one to end this. 

In the midst of his gloomy rumination, he thought he could hear something downstairs, though he assumed it was just Sam. If there was actually trouble, Sam would alert him. He didn’t particularly want to confront Danny again yet if it wasn’t necessary. There was a chance he could get her to tolerate his presence if he took things slowly—offered her nicer accommodations in return for a more cooperative attitude, perhaps.

Despite his windows being very firmly shut, a breeze blew through the room, raising the hair on his arms slightly. His eyes idly scanned about as he laid back on his bed. “Is there a problem, Sam?” 

“Oh, no, no problem at all. I just thought I’d check on you, let you know I put Danny in the guest room, see if you wanted any tea-”

Christopher sat up in bed immediately, halting Sam’s blatant attempt at skipping past some particularly crucial information. “You what?” 

“Well, you usually like chamomile before bed, so I-”

“No, no. Don’t you try this with me right now,” Christopher muttered darkly, his eyes scanning futilely around the room in search of where his manservant’s voice had come from. Sam’s voice had floated around the room without giving him a place for his eyes to land on, so he chose to glare at a suspiciously sheepish curtain. “You put her in the guest room without asking me first?” 

“You wouldn’t have said yes anyways,” the curtain protested. 

“What if she tries to escape?” Not to mention this throws my whole plan out the window if Sam’s already let her out of that cage. I can only offer so many incentives for her to not actively hate me.

“Dude, it’s still a giant room. She can’t even get off the bed without help. I’m gonna check on her all the time, and I don’t sleep. You know that.” 

Christopher growled, mostly annoyed that Sam was right. Even so, he shook some of the blankets off of him with an irritated jerk of his arm. “I’m going to go put her back.” 

The curtain inflated a little, almost as if it was smug. “No, you aren’t. I locked her door. Give it a rest for tonight, or I’ll lock yours too.” 

“Sam, you’re forgetting your place.” It was hard to muster up any sort of authority, however, when there wasn’t anyone to actually aim his withering gaze at. 

“I am the place, Chris.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Christopher sighed, too tired to argue, knowing it wasn’t an argument he would ever win. Not when his manservant was an incorporeal spirit that could slip a rug out from under him or lock him in his own room on a whim. He was just lucky that Sam was usually incredibly loyal to him. 

Sam didn’t respond, leaving Christopher with the conversational equivalent of a brick wall to argue with. He flopped back down onto the bed, defeated. 

The lamp on his nightstand turned itself on, the flame flickering weakly. “You know, you should try being nicer to Danny. I think there’s a real shot of breaking our curse with her. She did technically volunteer to stay here willingly. Plus, she’s actually pretty nice.” 

Christopher gave the lamp a weary, dead-eyed stare. “Did you see the way she talked to me? She wouldn’t even eat the food I made for her earlier. She threw it at me. I don’t have a chance.” He stared blankly at the ceiling, a decade-long weariness settling into his bones. “She didn’t scream, but she still thinks I’m a monster. It’s no different than all the others.” 

A pillow from beside him rose with a vengeance and smacked him square in the face. He sat up again, glaring at the offending, seemingly innocent pillow. “Sam, I swear to god, I will-”

“THAT was your idea of ‘nice’ earlier? Really?” 

Christopher sighed bitterly. “Well then, since you’ve got it all figured out, what would you suggest that we haven’t tried already, a million times before?” 

“Well, I’ve already gotten the first step out of the way for you, giving her a nicer place to stay than a cage. You’re welcome. Maybe you could try, y’know, talking to her? Ask her about her hobbies, her family, whatever. Just try and think about how you’d like to be treated if you were in her place.” 

“That never works anyways,” he said with a grimace. “You know it doesn’t.”

“You have to TRY.” 

Christopher rolled his eyes. “She won’t talk to me, Sam. You’re delusional if you think she’s going to be the one to break my curse.” 

“OUR curse, may I remind you. And may I also remind you that the deadline for that is-”

“I know,” Christopher growled, letting out a bit more irritation than he’d intended. His face fell slightly as he sighed. Time passed so agonizingly slowly and yet, the deadline that Sybil had given him was approaching so soon. A month. That’s all they had left, before he was doomed to be a fucking giant forever. It already seemed like forever, anyways. Ten years of this? He could hardly remember being human, eating real food, laughing with friends and hosting parties—a time before he had to hide a set of grotesque horns with his hair every morning. It was like the distant dreams of a different person entirely, tinged with a hazy light but not entirely real. 

He could almost feel Sam draw back, their voice quieter now as the flame of the lamp died down slightly as well. “Pardon me for saying so, but it doesn’t even feel like you’ve been…trying, anymore. We have this perfect opportunity waltz up to our door right before we reach the deadline, and you’re just going to…give up?” 

“What’s the point?” Christopher whispered. He should have been angrier at Sam for saying something so brazen, but he couldn’t find the words to argue with them. He wasn’t the only one cursed, anyways—Sam had also paid the price for Christopher’s mistake, and had done nothing to deserve it but remain by his side when everyone else had fled. But at least Sam didn’t have to deal with the awful burden he did—and when they were doomed to live with this condition for the rest of their lives, at least Sam would be free of the pain he would have to endure. 

“She might be the last one, you know. Before the deadline. We might not get another chance.” 

Christopher’s lips tightened into a fine line. He said nothing.

“...just try, tomorrow. She might surprise you, you know.”

Christopher felt the room get a little emptier as Sam’s presence left, extinguishing the flame on their way out, and he was left with nothing but darkness and his thoughts. There’s no point. She’s not going to give me permission to eat her, especially when I can’t even MENTION the curse itself. That goddamn witch only gave me that stipulation to make a mockery of me. She just wanted to see me suffer for the rest of my life.

He had a week or two, at most, before he would get hungry enough to be forced to eat Danny. It was, admittedly, more time than he usually had—most humans, like the man from yesterday, only wandered by when he’d long since passed the point of desperation. He still didn’t think there was a chance, even if he managed to improve his relations with her in such a short timespan. Why would he go through the effort of being nice and gaining her trust when he’d just have to eat her anyways? It would only make it harder for him when he reached the end of the limit on his hunger. 

It was better that she hated him. Hatred made him feel less guilty about what he’d have to do eventually. 

It had always been harder when they thought that they could trust him, only to have that trust shattered when they were betrayed by the monster in the end. 

* * * * * * * * * * 

Next chapter ->

How will the next day go, I wonder? I guess we'll have to see in Chapter 7, Quest for Answers! Thank you all for reading!

I would have posted earlier, but there was a total eclipse today. I was a bit preoccupied!

Thank you, as always, for reading!

[oldwritingm]

can you please do a snake jay X reader basically you know the episode once bitten twice shy well in this jay is parliamentary a serpentine it's been over a month so everyone is used to it but jay is still a bit nervous and anxious about it so the reader help him both jay and the reader just cuddling and other fluff stuff and jay is just happy to have the reader as his girlfriend (the reader and jay are already dating this takes place a few month after the episode so everyone is used to jay being a serpentine only jay and the reader are in this)

This is too adorable!! I really hope I did it justice o7

Word count: 759

Ninjago - Comforting Part-Serpentine Jay

Jay had been staring at the full-body mirror for five minutes straight now. Occasionally he would reach and touch the glass or poke at his fangs or run a hand over his scaly skin, but for the most part he was just staring silently at his reflection. 

You knew that he had a habit of ruminating, which always made his anxiety worse. You weren’t going to let him do this to himself.

You put your book down, furrowing your eyebrows. “Jay,” you called, frowning at his complete lack of response. It was as if you weren’t even there.

“Jay,” you said again, more firmly this time.

“Hm?” He replied after a moment of silence. You could tell he wasn’t really paying attention to you.

Standing up, you made your way across the room. You stood behind Jay, looking into the mirror with him now. You looked at his eyes’ reflection, gently placing your hand on his shoulder as he raised his gaze to meet yours. He gave a small smile, but the disturbed look in his eyes gave him away. It was a look you could recognize a mile away; he was anxious about something. No doubt about it.

You placed your chin atop your hand on his shoulder, pressing your cheek against his. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

Jay lowered his gaze again, watching his hands fidget where they were clasped at his abdomen. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Let a long breath out through his nostrils.

“I look sscary,” he said finally, “like a ssnake.”

“Well, you are part serpentine now,” you hummed casually. You were used to it by now. The others were, too. It was just a fact of life that you had all learned to accept; except Jay, apparently, you realized with a saddened heart.

“People are going to be sscared of me when I try to help them. They’ll think I’m… I’m one of…”

You didn’t let him finish the thought. “People don’t do that anymore, remember? When was the last time someone tried to fight back when you helped them?”

“An old man hit me with hiss walker.”

You suppressed a snort at the memory. Instead, you smiled gently. “That was two weeks ago. Haven’t you noticed that people aren’t scared of you anymore? Just on our last mission, no one batted an eye, even when you took off your mask. Word’s spread that you’re part serpentine; people know this. They aren’t scared of the serpent-ninja.”

Jay’s brows shifted as he thought. You could see his expression soften a little as your words resonated in his head, but there was still doubt. 

“What about the oness who don’t know?”

“Some rock they’d have to be living under. Maybe they’re serpents themselves!” You grinned at the little smirk you got from him. “If they try anything, I’ll beat ‘em up for ya.”

Jay snorted, turning to face you. Still smiling, he planted a quick kiss on your forehead. “Thanks. I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

“You better. No one gets to be mean to my boyfriend for being different.” Then, pecking his face between each word, you added: “Especially (kiss) when (kiss) he (kiss) looks (kiss) so (kiss) cute!”

Jay chuckled, trying to push your face away to no avail. “Okay, okay, enough!”

Things escalated quickly into a play-fight, which ended with you both on the floor, giving up only because your laughter drained your energy. 

You clung to Jay’s side, wrapping your arms around his waist, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder in an attempt to muffle your own giggles. He wrapped his arm around you, his hand resting on the small of your back. Your bodies gradually eased from convulsing laughter to more steady breaths, synchronized perfectly with one another.

Your laughter long gone but your smile still lingering on your lips, you looked up at him. He looked back at you with pure joy in his eyes; no trace of the worry that had plagued him a mere few minutes ago. Now you really beamed. There were few better feelings for you than knowing you had helped your worrywort boyfriend be just a little less anxious. 

You were willing to be patient, listen to him, offer as much reassurance and comfort as he needed. That was why he loved you so immensely. You were the ice pack to his headache, a headache that few people had patience for. But you were special. You, and only you, were the one for him.

“I’m sso glad you’re my girlfriend.”

Thank you for this cute request!! And thank you for reading <33 take care loves!

(divider by saradika)

[strugglingfloralclerk]

Distance |Todoroki Shoto x OC|

Author's Note: I want to thank everyone and anyone who reads my little fics. I put alot of care and thought into this particular chapter and I hope it shows. (If not, always room for improvement.) Todoroki Shoto x OC| College AU| Suggestive themes| Aged up Characters (21-22 of age)| Angst.

Songs considered when writing this: Utada Hikaru-Distance (M-Flow Remix)

P.S- Long italicized portion to signal flashback for characters. Also Retesuwa is a completely fictional island.

Todoroki Shoto wasn't one to overthink. He rationalized-yes. He processed information as best as he could from an objective standpoint. To him it was one or the other. Things either were, or they simply weren't.

Right. Wrong.

Light. Dark.

Fire. Ice.

That wasn't to say he didn't ever overthink. No. That'd be a lie straight from the fires of hell. 

He'd ruminate over his family, his place in the world, and the future. Sometimes, if Mina or Kaminari introduced particularly ugly sounding slang, Todoroki would think of the word with bewilderment days after.

He didn't like to overthink because that meant there wasn't a perfect, neat solution to his issue. Todoroki Shoto didn't like to overthink because it also meant he was in a new and unusual situation.

As of late, Taika Miri was the reason for his overthinking. She was his classmate at first. Close friend and confidant during their sophomore year of university. Now the teleporter took up mental real estate in Todoroki's mind as neither friend nor classmate but as someone so goddamn important to him.

He overthought about her. About them. About what the hell they were doing behind closed doors, in between kisses, and when they were skin to skin. 

Mentally, Todoroki was still on Sunday night- half-awake, half-asleep, and admiring the contrast of their skin even in the dim cover of her dorm room. The warm brown of Taika's against the peachy tone of his. 

Physically though, Todoroki was present with the rest of class 3-A. His body was tight and focused as he sparred against his peers. Sweat rolled down his face by the time training ended. Todoroki pushed himself harder today. He wanted the ache from his muscles to be at the forefront of his thoughts. To have technique and strategy play in his head instead of memories and daydreams of her.

"Are you okay?" Taika's footsteps synched with his as they walked toward the locker rooms. Her voice was breathy, exhausted, and cautious. She pressed the cold surface of her water bottle to the nape of her neck as she attempted to read his expression. 

Typically, she would offer him some water after training, but he blatantly ignored her for three days when she tried to play nice. So now? She was going to be direct.

"Fine." Todoroki marched on.

The teleporter tried again. “If you felt 'fine' then why'd you throw Iida and Tokoyami clear across the training mat?"

For a split second, Taika saw how the neutral line of his lips delicately ticked downward into a ghost frown. There it was-she managed to find the right nerve to hit.

"Taika, I'm fine." Todoroki's tone was clipped, impatient sounding too. His eyes wouldn't meet hers. He couldn't look Taika in the face without remembering how peaceful she looked in her sleep. He couldn't look at her without remembering that soon, his dear friend would be gone for the summer. 

Every summer since he met her, Taika returned home. This time Todoroki felt apprehensive, and he couldn't place why. All he knew was that Taika made him nervous-and she made him overthink.

"'Roki..." Taika lowered her voice, her gaze sharp as she tried her damndest to be patient. Her footsteps slowed down. "We haven't spoken for three days. That's fine with you?"

Heat simmered from Todoroki's skin. His stomach twisted as he looked directly at Taika. "We're only friends. We don't need to talk every day."

He lied.

He lied and the lie tasted bitter.

📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮

Taika was an overthinker. She also over analyzed. That was her default setting-it was neither right or wrong. 

It just was.

Her rich friends coexisted with her broke friends, and she managed to exist between those two categories. Her great Aunt and Uncle raised her, yet she was still considered an orphan on paper. Sometimes good people stole for reasons beyond their control. That was life.

Taika overthought because she needed to know what to do if Uncle passed out at work and Auntie couldn’t answer the call. She over analyzed because with someone like Tanno, consequences could be based on if the man scoffed or if he tightened the grip on his beer bottle while scoffing.

Now she was an over-estimator too. Only friends-really? Only. Friends. Only? Did he try that shit with her? Todoroki and her were only friends? 

Bakugo wasn't the one who left wildflowers on her desk. Sero never insisted she lean her head on his shoulders on long train rides back to campus. Shinso wasn't constantly asking for her location on night patrols with Mirko. It wasn't Midoriya pinning her against the floor of his dorm room with greedy kisses.  

That was all Todoroki Shoto. In fact, Todoroki was the one who came knocking on her door last Sunday when he couldn't sleep, and all the other times before that.

'Only friends' wasn't right. That didn't matter much, though. With their junior year of university ending in about two months, Taika needed to focus.

Which was why she was wide awake, cold ocean breeze blowing past her face, choppy sea under her, and a mug of coffee held close to her chest for warmth.

"T-this is extreme, d-don't you think?" Ochako's voice anchored Taika to the task at hand, her arms crossed in front of her as she tried to summon warmth from the rest of her body.

Taika offered the brunette her coffee, her eyes tired but aware of the rising tides. "Do you wanna dip into your checking account to pay off library for misplacing a book or you wanna ask your boyfriend for the money?"

"I regret ever telling you about Bakugo-." 

Taika rolled her eyes, "I regret stumbling into you and him. I don't look at the laundry room the same anymore."

Ochako yawned. Too tired to feel shame. The blend of coffee too light and sweet to shock her awake. She huddled closer to the teleporter for heat in the tiny two person boat. 

"Still, do we have to be awake this early?"

Taika had to get used to being up so early-there was a chance she could work at the fishing docks this summer in Retesuwa. If she adjusted her sleep schedule now (thanks to Todoroki now avoiding her like the plague-it should be easy to do), Taika could work the docks in the morning, pick up a shift at any of the hotels for the afternoon, and maybe a shift at Rusty's. 

Taika nodded. "Yes. You owe how much to the library?"

Ochako didn't even want to repeat the amount to Taika, but from one poor girl to another, Ochako knew Taika would find a way to get the money.

The amount made Taika grimace. It was after they caught the fourth fish the sour expression left Taika's face, and she asked Ochako how her internship with Gunhead went this time around. As they reeled in the last catch of the morning, both revealed their plans for summer

Ochako personally didn't understand why Taika thought about  leaving Japan early. Even after Taika helped Ochako sell the fish, the cash in her wallet as they walked back to UA, it weighed on the brunette's mind.

"Why not stay for a week after classes end? Or come back a week before the semester starts?" 

Taika chuckled dryly. In truth, the idea of spending a few days of summer with her friends sounded great. If Ochako asked her about it a week ago, Taika may have sprung for it. 

That suggestion felt like desperation now. As if Taika Miri was desperate that a few more days would flip a switch in Todoroki's mind, and then things would be 'back to normal'.

Colors of the morning broke around Heights Alliance. Soft orange- and cream-colored clouds greeted them back from the docks. The quiet of the dorms broke as Ochako started a fresh pot of coffee. 

"Because the dorms aren't available to me in the summer." Taika explained. "My scholarship doesn't cover any summer stays." 

"Miri, you could stay with me or Tsu or Momo, even." Ochako eagerly poured the scalding brew into a violet mug first before pouring the rest into an orange mug with Best Jeanists’ autograph on it. Ochako wiggled her eyebrows at Taika, a wide smile on her face as she did. "We can do a proper girl’s night out without Iida badgering us about curfew."

Taika sipped her coffee, pretended to think about it for bit in silence, and then defaulted to a comfortable and familiar excuse. "Auntie and Uncle need me. I shouldn't keep them waiting."

She thought on it a bit longer, her Auntie and Uncle definitely wouldn't want her waiting around for nothing either.  Maybe last week Sunday truly was nothing and she was the only one still reminiscing about. She'd hate to admit it, but maybe Taika read Todoroki wrong. 

📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮

One month Ago:

Shoto flinched at first. His head instinctively moved out of the way when the tips of her fingers brushed the gauze wrapping around his head. 

"Shit! Sorry." Miri took a step back, her hands held up and open in immediate surrender. "Maybe you should wait until tomorrow, like Recovery Girl said? It might be better that way?"

"No." He swallowed heavily. The laceration along the left side of his temple should be long healed by now. In fact, Shoto's sure it is. He wanted-no needed-the stitches out now. He needed the gauze off him now. He needed to banish nightmares of tea kettle screams and boiling water tonight. 

Not tomorrow. Tonight. Shoto needed her help too- he trusted her.

"お願いします,ミリ". ("Please, Miri.")

The teleporter sighed, an unsure pout on her lips lingered for a second. Then she sighed again, this time with a mumble. Shoto wasn't exactly sure what Miri said under her breath. It sounded native to her but much too foreign for him. 

All Shoto knew was whatever Miri said, it felt safe. 

"Can you lay your head on my lap, Sho?" Miri took a seat next to him on her bed, her hands still close to her sides. "That could be easier for both of us?"

To her surprise, he does the motion without his usual series of weary questions or push back. To his surprise, she doesn't go straight for the medical wrap right away but allowed him to merely lay his head on top of her thighs. Her fingers slowly and delicately combed his red and white hair until Shoto's jaw unclenched and his breathing evened out.

After the gauze is unwrapped, and the stitches are removed, a calm quiet settles in Shoto's chest. He finally felt like he could think clearly.

"It's not a bigger scar, by the way. Not that it matters." Miri informed him, her finger lightly examining the healed wound.

"What a relief." Shoto held Miri's free hand close to his chest. His heart was sporadic and violent when Miri offered a tired grin.

Todoroki Shoto thanked her once more, then in the safe and calm quiet he claimed her lips like a young sailor thirsty for water. He savored her slowly, and she was more than willing to accept his form of thorough appreciation.

📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮📮

The weeks blew by faster than expected. Only one month remained until summer. Soon, they'd shed their title of university juniors and would return to claim the title of seniors. The remaining days were fleeting and few, like sand passing through one point on an hourglass to the other.

Todoroki stood tall, his muscles tense and sore from the strain of overtraining. The blinking lights  casted perfect shadows over him, it accentuated his already handsome features even in dimness of the club. He didn't want to come out, but Sero insisted and Midoriya urged. Even Momo was excited, stating it would be good for class morale right before finals. 

Todoroki didn't want to come out, but he did because he also didn't trust himself to be alone with his phone. His thumb hovered over Taika's contact icon more times than he'd care to admit over the past few days.

Now she stood across the other end of the club. A relaxed expression on Taika's face as she nodded along in conversation with Mina and Ochako.

Her eyes purposefully avoided his, and Todoroki knew it. His skin burned with frustrated confusion. Was she really going to leave early this year without telling him? Really? He had to find out from Sero and Kaminari that she was leaving soon. 

Finally, Taika walked away from Mina and Ochako. He moved. One leg in front of the other, through the large crowd of dancing bodies, spilled alcohol, and disembodied laughter until he reached her.

"Where are you going?" 

Taika went rigid at the all too familiar voice that reverberated out the alleyway behind the club. She removed the unlit joint from her mouth. "Nowhere."

Todoroki narrowed his eyes at her, his feet erasing any distance between them.  "You said you quit."

"I said I'd stop until the semester was over." Brown eyes stared blankly at the dark brick wall in front of her rather than the meet his gaze. Her fingers absentmindedly toying with the lighter in her hand. "The semester is practically over."

A sharp pang rippled through Todoroki's chest. "I guess you're right."

Taika brought the still unlit joint back to her lips. The sound of her lighter clicking with failure to ignite echoed between them. Deep down, Taika Miri wondered why out of all nights her trusty old lighter decided to die. Her eyes slowly slid over to the right. 

Sure enough the young man with dual toned hair stood close by her. And sure enough, he silently obliged. A flame bloomed between Todoroki's middle and pointer finger. He held onto her gaze and brought the flames closer.

Taika leaned in slightly, she took a measured drag. Her heart skipped in her chest for a moment. She didn't get him. How could he be so removed and disinterested one day then considerate and attentive at the drop of a hat.

"So..." Todoroki started out evenly as he finally had her attention. "Why did I have to find out from Sero and Kaminari you're leaving early? When were you going to tell me?"

Without missing a beat, Taika leaned on the alley wall behind her, removed the rolled herb from her mouth, and replied in the best HR tone she could mimic. A fake smile plastered on her face. 

"We're only friends. We don't need to talk every day. " She took another drag. " Right, rich boy?"

Todoroki's Adams apple bobbed slowly as he processed those words. He took a step toward her. The flames on his fingers died down at will as his frustration with the clever teleporter grew. "Cute. Now when were you going to tell me you were leaving early?"

"You're smart. You would have figured it out." Taika arched an eyebrow up, a mix of curiosity and smugness in her eyes as she saw Todoroki's jaw clench ever so slightly. 

Truthfully, she had no clue about what Sero or Kaminari said. Ochako enlisted Mina to persuade Taika to stay for a mini vacation. That's what the three young ladies chatted about at the bar.  Though, Taika wasn't going to let Todoroki know that just yet.

She flicked the ashes from the joint downward and away from Todoroki's designer shoes. "Besides I leave for home every summer, it's not a surprise to anyone."

He huffed, exasperated. "How early are you leaving?" 

"Why does it matter?"

"Miri, can you just..." He took another step closer. A strategic one. His right hand landed on the wall next to her face. He could smell the sweet floral hints of her perfume. 

"Can I what, Shoto?" She didn't shrink away from him, even as his body shielded hers partially. Her eyes searched his for an answer.  

Todoroki sighed softly. Something inside him snapped under those brown, sharp eyes. "ちゃんと話しましょうか?"

His words rang clearly in her ears: "Can we talk properly, please?" Taika mumbled under her breath, smoke lacing her words as she exhaled away from him. Words native to her, but foreign to him. 

Yet, he found comfort in the unfamiliar vowels that rolled off her tongue. Taika could feel the heavy sincerity as he lingered. Honesty radiated from his skin much like heat or frost.  She was always a sucker for that. Especially when it came from him...But Taika Miri was her Auntie's niece-she wasn't and shouldn't give in to the handsome hero in training so easily.

"Why have you been so distant?" Taika put out the joint, her heart steady now despite feeling heavy. She wanted clarity, a reason for his sudden change toward her.

A few seconds of uncomfortable, nerve wrecking silence passed. Taika felt her heart drop to her pit, she took a shallow breath in.  May as well get this over with, Taika thought as she braced herself.

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked, shoulders tensed, and hands hidden between the wall and her back. Her throat felt tight. "That Sunday awhile back?"

Todoroki's heart jolted; it shocked him how easily Taika knew what consumed his conscience. "It is about that day. No, Miri, you didn't do anything wrong." 

He was direct and firm in his answer back, and Taika always appreciated that about Todoroki. Still, she wanted more than that.

"So, what's your deal then." Taika frowned. "Why are you being weird?"

"I don't like you leaving for the summer." Todoroki admitted, a certain grit in his voice. His whole body went taut-he finally got a good look at her. He could have reached out and grabbed her because of how stunning Taika looked tonight. He had to be better than that.  

His voice was low and smooth. "Especially after how close we've been this year. I like where we are. I don't know if it'll be the same when you go back home this summer."

"Miri," Todoroki huffed. "I don't want this to fade when you go, and now you're leaving early." 

Taika's frown dropped, her heart thundered fast and loud in her ears. "I was thinking about leaving early. I haven’t bought my tickets yet, Shoto."

His brows furrowed as one corner of his tipped downward. "Well, that is not what Sero and Kaminari told me."

Taika filled in the blanks for Todoroki, and it all boiled down to Ochako and Mina wanting her to stay a week longer after finals. How Sero and Kaminari got their information was beyond Taika.

Tension in Todoroki's body eased, his hand reached for hers. Their fingers immediately intertwined. The music pulsated even outside the club; the weight of their miscommunication dissolved as Todoroki pulled Taika in even closer toward him with her waist. In return, Taika leaned into his chest, the familiar scent of sandalwood engulfed her. 

Neither one said sorry, neither one offered up a solution, and yet everything mended between them. A promise is made, however, as well as a warning.

"Ignore me like that again, Shoto, and I swear-." Taika started.

"I won't, Miri. Trust me." He finished. His eyes darted down to Taika's plush lips. Then before he knew it, his lips brushed against hers. 

Taika's hands wrapped Todoroki's neck-she embraced him, and welcomed the kiss. Their tongues danced, hands traveled up and down their muscles, grabbing and squeezing ardently. Their bodies pressed close together as the kiss deepened.

All the space and distance that accumulated in their time apart eroded by touch in one night. Tomorrow would be Sunday again, and Todoroki and Taika were right where they needed to be.

[heart-like-a-haunted-house]

A Roleplay Post From My Previous Blog.

Shifting in my seat, the desire for physical comfort felt pointless in the face of such unrelenting emotional pain. My hip reverberated with what could only be described as a bone-shattering pop in the joint. Usually this would bring about a shared empathetic ribbing. But now, the familiar sound only attracted your forlorn eyes.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired.”

“You’re hardly sleeping and your whole body is tense, no matter how hard you try to relax?” you extrapolated, knowing the details of my hidden discomfort all too well.

Turning my gaze away, I caught the tear before it could streak across my cheek. “Pretty much.”

“Did you try those muscle relaxers yet?”

“No,” I admitted shakily, “I’m not sure which is worse. The sleeping nightmares, or the waking ones.”

“I know, I have them, too.” You sighed, rising from the couch and moving to unbuckle the clips holding my feet in place on the pedals.

“Vicky, I don’t want to get out of my chair-”

“You may not want to, but your body needs the rest. And just humor me here. I’m merisable , you’re merisable, and misery loves couch company,” you concluded, lifting me from the seat, and tucking me into the sofa cushions. These instances were also commonly adorned with laughter, but instead fell flat against the deadpan of heartache.

Sitting beside me, there was a shared silence, manifested in a staring contest with the opposite wall. This rumination was made more bearable by said company. At least this loneliness wasn’t being felt alone.

Suddenly struck by a long-forgotten memory, I reached for the plush blanket draped across the armrest of the couch. Shaking it out, I stretched the fluffy fabric across our laps.

You looked to me then, wordlessly questioning the act.

I shrugged, “My mom always use to say that any problem could be more easily solved while wrapped in a blanket.” I smiled wearily, “I took that advice once as a kid… Beat the boss in a video game I was playing that afternoon. Thought maybe it would give us that same luck.”

It was nice to see you smile, nice to hear another laugh despite the hardship. “At this point, I’ll try anything.”

The smiles disappeared as quickly as they had come though, hesitant words now suspended in the air. “You’re right. We have to get Negan out of there.”

“Yeah, but how? Rick would never let us inside the gates again.”

“He would if we confirm his accusations,” I whispered.

Your eyes went wide, and you shifted toward me, lowering your voice to match mine. “Shit, I wasn’t expecting an actual plan.”

“All those sleepless nights give way to plotting and scheming, I guess,” I said, caught somewhere between teasing and truth.

“Okay then, let me in on it already.”

“We act as living proof of every negative opinion Rick has about Negan. Tell him Negan kept us as prisoners once we arrived here, that their whole conversation about you and I coming here to live happily ever after was just a ploy, bait for Negan’s control over Alexandria. We tell Rick that we overheard talk of a hidden outpost harboring more Saviors, put together right before Negan was captured. We grovel in the extreme, beg as though we narrowly escaped with our lives, plead for forgiveness. Anything we have to say, as long as it puts us back in that house, and closer to Negan. Rick hasn’t seen us since the day we left, we should use that to our advantage.”

“But how do we even know they’re keeping Negan in the community?” you finally broke in.

“You know the weird cellar that was always locked?” I trailed off.

Realization dawned then, “You think they’re keeping him that close?”

“I do. Think about it, Rick views Negan as nothing more than a trophy of his heroism at this point. He’s gonna keep that close to the cuff, wouldn’t you say?”

“Fuck. So, we’d be in this for… The long con, then?”

I nodded, trying to gauge your reaction. “If everything went to plan, the longer we built trust before trying to break Negan out, the better… Yes.”

You went silent, looking again to the grey wall. My eyes, however, remained on your profile, nerves buzzing in the quiet.

“I’m scared to ask what you’re thinking, ” I confessed.

Looking at me once more, a smile played on your lips. “I’m wondering if I should applaud your cunning genius, or fear it.” You threw an arm around me then, pulling inward for a hug.

Negan: "No, Simon. I told you, I'm staying put until the ladies are tip-top, understand?"

(...)

"No shit I'm stressed! Now, hurry back with the the med supplies. Alyssa's fever spiked again, and Vicky thinks we may have a bun in the oven. So, patience is not the name of the fucking game today. Are we clear?"

[warmhorizonss]

Thought about writing a chapter that takes place between Warm Horizons chapter 9 and 10 - but would be published as its own fic because it takes place in the alternate ending (also cause the writing in the published Warm Horizons is janky and I don't want to do revisions again). So I'll publish the WIP version here. 🤠

(Warm Horizons is a mech preg fic about Swindle and Lockdown. Please take note that it is mech preg played very straight, and taken very seriously!)

Shuffling through the hallway of his home, Lockdown ruminated on his current predicament - which really wasn't all that bad, all things considered. Sure, he was about 7 million years old, was due to pop out a pair of twins any day now, and was carrying perhaps a bit too much weight than he would've preferred on his back and hips - but things always could've been worse.

While giving up everything he'd ever worked for and known to shack up on a Decepticon outpost wasn't exactly what he had in mind for the future, Lockdown had always considered himself an adaptable mech. Although this new, quiet, domestic sort of life was quite the adjustment for adjustment, it was still the best course of action for both him and his twins. In New Kaon, there was always enough fuel to go around, reliable enough medical care, and a sense of safety that Lockdown had seldom seen since his youth.

No longer were there long nights spent sleeping cold and alone in whatever shelter Lockdown could scrounge together on a job, or cycles upon cycles spent drifting away through space while on the run - there was instead a safe, warm, and secure home that waited for him each night. Most importantly, though, there was somewhere stable and nurturing to raise his twins. It would’ve been easy for Lockdown by himself to survive out in the vast galaxy - but for two sparklings, there was nowhere that was going to be safer than the home Swindle and Lockdown had built here for them.

On that subject, Lockdown also had grown more and more comfortable with his partner’s company over the past solar cycle. While sharing such close quarters with Swindle had driven the bounty hunter nuts initially, he'd come to be quite accustomed to the salesmech's presence. Whether it be his warm, rich laughter, or his bright, cheerful smile, Lockdown found it so easy to just put his guard down around him - to just allow himself to hold and be held in that mech's strong arms. 

It was almost too easy, really.

Sometimes, Lockdown thought about somebody - or something, even - taking away his new life from him. When he listened to Swindle’s warm rich laughter while they recounted the events of the work day over dinner, or when they would sway and dance together in the kitchen, his processor would sneak slivers of intrusive thoughts into his thought process. What would happen if Swindle sold him out to any of these younger, hungrier bounty hunters in the galaxy while he was on the edge of helplessness? What would happen if Lockdown just pulled the trigger, and took the hit out on when Swindle was at his most open and vulnerable in their bed?

It would be all too easy to collect the price on his head, Lockdown thought. All Lockdown would have to do was just snuff the light out of those optics in his sleep. There would be no chase, nor would there be thrill. Nobody was here in the house to stop him, after all. If he simply took Swindle’s scatter blaster laying under the bed, or even just his own prosthesis sitting beside their bed, while the other mech slept peacefully, it could all be over. A swift and brutal ending to this new chapter they’d started writing together -

Lockdown's trail of thought was cut off with a howl of pain as a sudden, stabbing, and painful contraction gripped his frame. The bounty hunter cursed as his knees buckled under him, and he fell against the wall - managing to catch himself just before he fell to the ground. Forcing himself to just keep breathing steadily and slowly as he waited for the pain in his middle to subside, the old bounty hunter gave reassuring strokes up and down his bump to hopefully put the pair of sparklings inside at ease.

[stripedtabbycat]

finished the hitchhiker's guide books! final thoughts:

totally get what adams meant by being in a bad place when he wrote the last book because whoof that ending. that said i think if this is the final book it's not entirely unfitting to have it end with this kind of nihilism with jokes. at times like these all you can do is laugh

however it is especially jarring when the second-to-last book is almost unusually optimistic and lighthearted. book 4 is almost something like a breather episode in the midst of all the "everything happens so much" of the rest of the series.

book 4 contains a chapter ruminating on the fact that if you write a character who does not show any particular interest in sex or romance, readers will respond to them by basically saying "wtf is this guy's deal?" and be unable to get their minds off the subject. if you don't care about that and skip to the end as suggested, though, aroace arthur dent can still win

that said i actually do really like fenchurch and her and arthur's relationship. it was really sweet and i'm sad she doesn't get to show up again. i wasn't expecting to be invested in the romance plot in this book but it was good!

adams miiiight be one of those male authors who doesn't really know what to do with his female characters, as evidenced by trillian not getting much of anything to do in the first two books and kind of completely changing her characterization during her appearances in the last few. i like her saving the day in book 3 and i think she's probably the most interesting in book 5, with the two converging versions of herself and all, even though she also doesn't get much to do after a certain point.

i also like random. she's a surprisingly well-written teenager for her relatively small page time and i also wish we got to spend more time with her. sadly we will never have a sixth book so we can't (yeah, i am of the opinion that officially published fanfics written after the literal death of the author don't count)

"young zaphod plays it safe" was a fun story to tide one over between installments but when i finished i was feeling like there was some kind of point i wasn't getting. turns out that point was that the clone that was sent to earth who was dangerous because they could be allowed to get away with anything was implied to be ronald reagan and this was much more explicit in earlier versions

given the author's open admission of rewriting canon in every version and the books often contradicting each other (not too blatantly as far as i could tell though), it's probably true that there are multiple canon reasons for why the earth was destroyed. i think they can all be true at once even within one canon.

the humor remains very consistently good throughout the series, with ever-prescient bits about technological inefficiency and politics. my hot take is that the guide mk. ii is like previously reliable search engines pushing ai shit as "the future"

i'm realizing my version of the books is probably the us edition because of the use of "belgium" instead of "fuck" in book 3. does anyone know why they were required to censor this because as far as i know you were absolutely allowed to swear in books in the 1980s. yes the belgium bit is funny but i was not previously aware of any mpaa-like censorship guidelines in publishing back then. each subsequent book has i think one uncensored f-bomb ("does he not, to put it in a nutshell, fuck?" being particularly memorable) so whatever it was they got over it. apparently

i think some people on here would be very taken with the idea of someone on whom it is perpetually raining not because the rain gods hate them but because the rain loves them, and who has become an actual rain god because of this

i also wonder if the world had become more open to believing in unnatural phenomena such as the above after the near-apocalypse resulted in our world merging with a parallel one, but i may be overthinking a series that runs on jokes

[fighterbound]

[ shoulder ]  –  for the sender’s muse to place a hand on the receiver’s shoulder to comfort them, or stop them. (but like, apprehensively, from sakura to sasuke)

He's seated against the window, twirling a blade beneath the table as he looks around the dim restaurant. Naruto wanted to hold a -- he rolls his eyes -- reunion dinner between him and the rest of team seven.

He didn't see the point, they didn't even last a year. The blade keeps weaving between this fingers. He told Naruto it would be a waste of time. Undeterred as always, Naruto barreled on with this plan on his. There's no old days to go back to for them.

The only person that wants him around is Naruto. Sakura and Kakashi? Those bridges were burned at different points in his life, multiple times. He's not stupid to think Sakura or Kakashi want much to do anything with him. It's for Naruto, that's the only reason they'll bother to show up. As for his replacement? Who cares about him.

Still he's here, the first one because Naruto must be running late. The longer he sits ruminating in his thoughts, the more he stews on predicting how this will all go down. Simply put, it's going to be a shit show. Why stay for that? If he leaves, no-one will ever know he showed up. He'll send Naruto a hawk, telling him he had to go. Take care of some other shit that happily took him out of Konoha.

He slips his kunai back in his leg holster. Slides his foot to push himself up, until a hand lands on his shoulder. It's almost too light to notice at first, but the light squeeze that follows after catches his attention. Turning to look over his shoulder, eyes narrowed to glare the skin off--

They widen. Surprised, caught off guard.

"Sakura." Quickly his stoic mask returns as his eyes narrow again. How long has she been here? He doesn't ask, instead he drags his gaze to meet hers. Seeking for an answer there, but it's then he realizes he can't leave like he intended. Would she tell Naruto? Or try to protect him? That's assuming she knew he was leaving. Did she? Why else reach for him? Was her touch a warning or simply to make him aware?

His lips press into a grim line, and only part to expel a soft sigh. He takes his seat again. Propping his chin with his fist, he watches her.

"No-one else is here."

the  intimacy  of  hands / @fightaers

[mars-ipan]

thinking abt ocd komaeda. gonna put my thoughts under the cut 👍 some spoilers so beware

i recently saw a post (don’t remember who by, very sorry v_v) saying that while the headcanon that komaeda has ocd makes sense at a glance, it doesn’t really “work” because ocd relies on irrational fears, and for komaeda the fear that something horrible is going to happen is very very founded due to his luck. and like. hard agree on the “komaeda’s fears are rational in his situation,” but i don’t think this makes it impossible for him to have ocd. (NOTE: i have nothing against the mentioned post or the person who made it, it’s genuinely a very good point. zero hard feelings <3)

for komaeda, i don’t think the irrationality lies in the fact that he is afraid. it makes complete sense for him to be afraid. instead, the irrationality lies in the thought that there’s anything he can do to prevent future disasters. because of his luck cycle, it’s pretty understandable that komaeda would obsess over whatever the next bout of “bad luck” may be, but at the end of the day he isn’t in control of his luck cycle.

of course, the idea that horrible things are going to happen to him and the people he loves and there’s nothing he can do about it is… well, hopeless, to put it mildly, so i find it very likely that komaeda, on some level, chooses to place responsibility onto himself to make it easier to cope with. it’s sort of a survivor’s guilt thing— if bad things happen because he fails to stop them, then that means he can fix it. he’s able to stop them, he just has to do it right. THIS is where the obsessive-compulsive behavior comes in.

whenever something goes wrong around komaeda, he immediately blames himself. he apologizes over and over, insisting that Everything Is His Fault even if there’s no direct link between him and the scenario. interestingly enough, his distress seems amplified in mundane situations, rather than extreme ones. there’s several possible reasons for this, and it’s likely that multiple are true, but i think small mishaps freak him out more in part because they make him feel helpless. if he can’t stop something this simple from happening, how will he ever stop the really dangerous events?

komaeda’s fear manifests in several anxiety symptoms. avoidance, panic attacks, rumination, intrusive thoughts (<- big OCD symptom) and the like. i don’t think it’d at all be an exaggeration to include compulsive behavior in this list. of course, we start to leave the realm of analysis and enter the world of headcanon with this, but komaeda responding to his stressors with compulsions makes a lot of sense to me. they’re a way for him to feel like he’s in control, at least a little. i like to imagine the laughing he often does in times of distress is compulsive— he Has to laugh, otherwise he’ll be scared Forever, and everyone will hate him, he Needs to laugh, to try to lighten the mood, etc etc. i could see him compulsively self-isolating, too. it wouldn’t surprise me if he limited the time he spends around others to a certain number of minutes, or something along those lines. there’s lots of little things he does in canon that could easily be interpreted as compulsions, and it isn’t hard to start adding your own to the mix, either.

i think you could also make a pretty strong argument for komaeda experiencing some form of moral OCD as well. he clearly views himself as inherently lesser in every way, including his thought process. he regularly dismisses his own thoughts because he sees them as worthless. i think it would make a lot of sense if he struggles with intrusive thoughts and views them as "proof" of this concept. not to mention, every time komaeda is in a tense environment, he assumes it is his fault. "did i say something wrong again?" is one of his go-to phrases. of course, this is due in part to his social struggles tied to his FTD-- his frontal lobe is deteriorating, so his impulse control and inhibitions are lowered. it makes sense that someone aware of this would be worried about saying the wrong thing. but komaeda is ALWAYS worried about saying the wrong thing, to the point of assuming it is always his fault if a social situation turns awkward, even if he wasn't to blame. it's easy to imagine this fear reaching the level of obsession-- there's always the risk of saying something Wrong, something Bad, and once he does everyone will hate him, because they'll know that he is Wrong, he is Bad, and nobody will ever love or accept him because He Won't Deserve It. the compulsions he relies on to cope with this obsessive fear are laced all throughout his speech patterns. it's his constant, unrelenting negative self-talk, downplaying of his strengths, and immediate dismissal of his own ideas. if he presents himself as Wrong and Bad, then the people around him won't forget it, and they won't be as upset with him for being Wrong and Bad because it's what they expect. of course, komaeda does generally try to get along with his classmates, especially in the prologue/chapter 1, but even then he speaks poorly of himself and downplays himself. i imagine he's more intense about it post-chapter 1 because of how people responded to him. his initial disclaimers Weren't Enough, so now he Has to add More so that people Know, because if they don't Know they might Like him and then they'll Stay and get Hurt and it'll be His Fault, and if he doesn't at least warn people that he is Wrong and Bad then he'll be even worse.

plus, of course, there's the hypothesis that FTD and OCD are actually connected. compulsive behavior shows up as an early symptom of behavioral variant frontotemporal dementia (the variant that i most strongly associate with him due to his several behavioral symptoms and struggles), and while it's not yet clear if this is related to OCD or an impulse-control disorder, i think when combined with komaeda's prevalent and unrelenting anxiety he could definitely hit the diagnostic markers. personally, i tend to imagine he began experiencing OCD symptoms at a young age due to his trauma, but this potential connection could be considered the "cause" of his OCD symptoms or an amplifier of a pre-existing disorder. maybe he was predisposed and the FTD triggered it! who's to say? it's hard to know for sure because we don't see much of komaeda's childhood beyond stories he tells, so we don't know how long he's been this way.

at the end of the day, komaeda doesn't canonically have OCD, so there will be no definitive "proof" of it. plus, i'm of the belief that headcanons don't always need to 100% line up with canon. rule of fun. not to mention, psychiatry is not an objective science at all, and is more about using words to identify groups of symptoms/perceptions. a diagnosis is not a concrete thing. ALL THAT SAID, i like looking into why i have certain opinions and komaeda having/not having ocd is a particularly fun one to explore. i'd like to remind everyone that this is a lighthearted post and i am not trying to say that anyone HAS to have this headcanon, nor do i want to encourage anyone to be negative to those who don't. i just like having these discussions :) ok that's all peace and love on planet komaeda

[par4disee]

♠︎ 𝐋𝐄𝐒 | zuko x fem!reader

♠︎ warning(s) | italic and bold is song lyrics, i used the lyrics based on what i wrote kinda so it’s not perfectly in order…. multiple scenarios based off the lyrics cus i didn’t know how else to use this song w this 😭. idrk what else to add 

baby, you're the baddest. baby, you're the baddest girl, and

nobody else matters. nobody else matters girl, and

we’re kissin in the bathroom, kissin in the bathroom girl, and

i hope nobody catch us; but i kinda hope they catch us, anyways.

ZUKO and you were together, it was something that the gaang wasn’t aware of, keeping your relationship on the low was your idea, he didn’t really mind but he wanted to be able to show you off to everyone, but he respected your wishes.

the two of you were in a tent together, lips locked as you two desperate sought out for more. his hands were on your waist, keeping you in place as he kissed you roughly. something about the tent being unzipped and the wind blowing the fabric back and fourth, opening and closing it gave him a thrill.

the kiss broke and the two of you caught your breaths, his forehead pressed against yours. he leaned in, and right before he closed the gap between the both of you again he muttered a small “no one’s gonna catch us if you keep quiet”

when he pressed his lips against yours again, he bit your bottom lip, and when you gasped at the sudden action he slipped his tongue back into your mouth (sneaky little bitch 🤬🤬). your two hands finding a place on his face, cupping it and pulling it even closer than it already was. one of his hands was resting on your hip, the other on your waist. his tongue tangles with yours in an endless dance. 

his only concern right now was you, the front of the tent still moving back and fourth with the wind, god he hoped somebody could walk in on the two of you like this. the thought alone made him feral. 

it was times like these— times like these that melted all his insecurities away. but not even this could make them go away for good. 

im a mess; that don't rhyme with shit, it's just true

don't bring your girlfriend here, it's just you

when I'm depressed you're someone I run to

it was night time, and you heard some rustling outside, so you stepped out of the room, you and your friends were hiding in the fire lords palace, somewhere zuko claimed ‘nobody would think to look’. 

when you stepped out, you saw zuko on the balcony, staring up in the sky with an empty look on his face. he was lost in thought. you walked over to him, and looked up at him

“you okay?” your voice was soft, and comforting. your tone was always one of pure adoration when you spoke to him. he looked back at you, not a word left his mouth, instead he opted for an embrace. leaning down to embrace your body, he buried his face into the crook of your neck, he was bothered. 

you returned the hug without any hesitation, your concern for him only growing. you started rubbing his back softly and comfortingly, your other hand on his head, running your fingers through his hair. 

you were his escape from reality. his comfort and weak spot. he couldn’t imagine a life without you besides him. and he knew you’d always be there for him. but what he didn’t understand was why.

(i skipped hella of the song like i said i would cus i had zero ideas for the lyrics.)

you ain't see me at the show, i was super great

hotel penthouse, go on let it ruminate

city never sleeps, so I guess I'm never slept on

did everything I could, then I kept going.

zuko had been down lately. like REALLY down. he’d space out more than usual, he was worried about something. he was worrying about something. and it was taking up all his energy. any time he wasn’t fighting or training aang he’d kinda just stare off, deep in thought. something was wrong. very wrong.

you scooted closer to your boyfriend, on the saddle(-thingy idk wtf it is) on appa as he flew. you put a hand to zukos cheek, moving his face to look at you, a concerned look on your face, when he saw it he just turned his face away from you. he felt bad that he was making you worry. but he couldn’t help it. these thoughts flooded his mind. ‘she’ll find someone better.’ ‘what if i’m not good enough?’ ‘i don’t deserve someone like her.’ ‘what if—‘

“zuko.” your voice was stern, loud enough only for him to hear, it was a way of telling him to tell you what was going on. but instead of telling you like he usually did, he just shook his head. he wasn’t gonna tell you, not now atleast. you understood that much. so you just put one of your hands on his comfortingly, trying to do all that you can to help him.

ooh, girl, i wanna know; are you ready to cry? cause im no good, no good

ooh, girl, I wanna try; im an awful guy and I'm always away

and I'm tryin to say, im a piece of shit; believe in this, I'm tellin' you

cause we barely knew, what we had: im not that bad, the fun we had

oh, oh.

the avatar had finally defeated firelord ozai, andit was almost time for zuko to be crowned the new firelord. but one thought stuck in his head

‘what if she’s still thinking about my past actions?’

he was afraid. but he masked his fear with happiness the second you popped up behind him. that same concerned look on your face. “are u gonna tell me what’s up or keep up this ‘nothings wrong’ act of yours, zuko?” 

you asked him in a tone that let him know you were serious. and so he just sighed. it was impossible for him to keep anything from you for this long. so he just began to speak.

“listen, i’m not a good person, y/n. i’ve done so much and caused so much pain to you and your tribe. i’m not gonna have a lot of time for you when i’m the firelord. i want to try for you. i do, but im just always thinking about the possibility of you finding someone better. i promise i’m trying, y/n.”

when he opened up to you, you took his face in your hands, and started to speak softly, “zuko. you aren’t the same person you were a year ago. i know you’ve changed. and i love you for that, there’s no possibility of me ‘finding someone better’ because i’m not looking for something better than what we have. i love you and our relationship, nothing could get in the way of that. ever.”

your words gave his mind peace, and he embraced you tightly after, leaning down to press his lips against yours softly. his hold on you was tight, to him it felt like if he let go, you’d fade away. but you weren’t going anywhere. not without him atleast. he leaned down and whispered a small “thank you.” before pressing his lips onto yours once more.

this is so ass i cant.

© 𝓟𝓐𝓡4𝓓𝓘𝓢𝓔𝓔 — . all rights reserved. do not plagiarize or steal works. ✧ ִֶָ ، !

[cavalierious-whim]

It's unusual for Alhaitham to suck Kaveh off.

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It’s for the rent, is an easy excuse if Kaveh is the one on his knees with his mouth around Alhaitham’s cock. 

It makes less sense if Kaveh’s the one pressed against the wall with Alhaitham knelt before him instead, face pressed into his groin. 

A hand skitters along his thigh, knuckles dragging a sweet touch over the skin there that belies Alhaitham’s typical personality. A kiss to the crease there, where his leg meets his thigh. Kaveh struggles to stand, his trousers still hooked around his calves, tangled in both his thoughts and clothing. 

Alhaitham shouldn’t look good like this. He shouldn’t be watching him with a ruddy, half-lidded gaze, eyelashes so long that they ghost his face with every slow blink. Infuriating. Alhaitham fucks a lot of things up but this sort of nonsense makes it feel like their arrangement isn’t just that, but rather, something more. Something that, maybe, he can dream of. 

Kaveh pets his hair, fingers sliding through thick, coarse strands. “Haitham,” he murmurs. 

Alhaitham looks up at him again. A small smirk, like he knows Kaveh’s putty underneath his touch. This time his kiss hits near the base of his cock, then he licks down the entire length as if it’s a normal thing for him to do.

Kaveh’s head snaps back, slamming against the door. He moans, loudly, unable to hide it behind a cleverly placed hand.

Maybe it’s a study. Alhaitham’s a scholarly man and he tends to put his theories into action instead of ruminating about them on paper. That must be it with the way that he holds Kaveh’s cock in his hand and how he cradles his balls in the other. 

“Hey,” says Kaveh, pulling his face by the hair. 

Alhaitham’s gaze tips up. “Yes?”

“What—” Kaveh swallows as his voice cracks, “—are you doing?”

“I would think it obvious,” says Alhaitham, sweeping his thumb across the tip of his dick. When he pulls it away, a tacky line of precome chases. Alhaitham’s eyes dart to it. He watches the way that the viscous line drips. Then, he leans forward for a taste.

“Wait—”

Alhaitham does. Another flick of his gaze. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Kaveh’s desperate cry is immediate enough to be embarrassing. He’s flushed red to the chest, he’s sure, tense against the door.

Alhaitham watches with a sharp and calculating gaze. He dips forward again, weighing Kaveh’s cock in his hand, observing it like it’s a fine specimen. Kaveh should hate the scrutiny, but he doesn’t, not if it means that Alhaitham keeps this up. 

His tongue slips out and lips the tip of Kaveh’s cock. He seals his mouth around the head, sucking. Testing the waters. Teasing him, judging by the way his hand slides down the shaft, fingertips dancing over heated flesh. Kaveh isn’t sure if Alhaitham’s done this before, but it’s clear that he watches when Kaveh’s the one swallowing cock.

“Wait.”

“Are you complaining?” Alhaitham kisses the tip, too soft, too caring. Those dangerous eyes flutter up and Kaveh’s heart stutters in his chest, thump-thump, out of beat, trying to find to steady itself because dreaming of something more is far too dangerous.

“I just—” A pause. “Why?”

Alhaitham has the gall to laugh, a short sound breathed against Kaveh’s cock. “Because I want to,” he says simply. “And I know that you want this too.”

He cannot fathom how much. It’s hard enough pretending that all of this is a means to an end, that every time Kaveh bends over in the bed, it’s just to pay for his board. But even there, Alhaitham is kind. Gentle when he presses Kaveh into the sheets and opens him up on those long, dextrous fingers. 

Still. It can’t be. Not for the same reasons. It’s the heat of the moment. 

Alhaitham is hot and cold around him; sweet in the sheets but short everywhere else. Clipped words and far-off glances that graze right over him. Unless Kaveh is underneath his hands, he might as well be furniture in the corner of the room.

“What’s with that look?” 

It takes a moment for Kaveh to realize that Alhaitham’s asked him a question. He still holds his cock, stroking it softly, but he looks up at Kaveh with a questioning gaze. 

“What about that look?” The one Alhaitham is giving him back, lustful and aroused, tinged with the edges of something else. 

A soft snort. An incredulous look as Alhaitham’s gaze tips away, turning back to Kaveh’s length. “So blind,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re rather self-serving when it comes down to it.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“I’m the one on my knees, this time.” He nuzzles Kaveh’s cock. Nips the base of it, lips sliding over the length of him back to the head. “I choose to do this because I want.”

“Want what?” Kaveh can’t help but ask. The question hangs in the air, thick and heady like their arousal. 

Alhaitham doesn’t say anything, he just swallows his cock down right into the back of his throat. Kaveh gasps. His fingers curl into his hair and pull tight, trying to tug him off, but Alhaitham refuses to relent. Nails dig into the meat of Kaveh’s thighs, carving divots into the sleek muscle there.

Kaveh’s hips buck forward. He can’t help it. Alhaitham’s mouth is searing hot around him. His tongue slides along the underside, tracing the vein there. 

“Haitham.” Kaveh’s cry is broken and raspy. Alhaitham sinks too far, unpracticed, choking slightly. “Ease off,” murmurs Kaveh, guiding his head back.

It’s sinful, how Alhaitham looks at him, pupils blown wide and nostrils flaring. I want, he’d said earlier. Not wants to, he just wants. Pleasure bleeds through Kaveh’s chest and he cups Alhaitham’s cheek, thumbing across the high arch of it.

“Slower,” he says, pressing the tip of his cock back to Alhaitham’s mouth. His lips part easily, eagerly. Alhaitham hums softly as Kaveh’s length slides into his mouth. “There’s—that’s—yes.”

Alhaitham moans, low, divinely, his throat vibrating as Kaveh’s cock sits snugly in it. Kaveh sighs as his head tips back, knocking against the door. He can’t look. He shouldn’t. But he does, taking in the sight of Alhaitham before him. He shifts, knees cracking against the cold ground, bobbing his head along his length, sucking him dry.

“Gods,” Kaveh hisses. He brushes Alhaitham’s hair back, fingers ghosting through the strands, scratching at his scalp. “Haitham, I’m going to come. If you don’t stop, I’m going to—”

Alhaitham pulls him closer by the thighs. Doubles his efforts as he suckles his cock, his tongue working both wonders and nightmares. Oh, he’s studied. All those nights spent watching Kaveh work his own dick have not only paid off, they’ve come to haunt with a vengeance. 

His mouth, hot and slick. A hand moves to cup Kaveh’s balls, tugging at them slightly. A finger slips back further, tracing his hole. Alhaitham’s hips shift, showing off the tented front of his trousers as he whines around Kaveh’s cock

I want.

Kaveh pulls out of his mouth just in time, spilling all over Alhaitham’s face. Alhaitham’s tongue darts out, tracing his lips, and Kaveh just watches as he swallows a bite. A hand to his face to wipe away the rest, Kaveh’s spend coating his fingers as he rubs them together. 

Alhaitham stands, boxing Kaveh in against the door. He kisses him, the salty tang of Kaveh’s come coating his tongue, and Kaveh swallows it down all the same. They don’t do this, they don’t kiss. Fuck, yes, but never—

Kaveh’s head is tipped back. “I want you,” says Alhaitham then, against his mouth, as if it isn’t obvious in the heavily charged air. A hand curls around Kaveh’s ass, fingers dipping between his cheeks to smear his come over his hole. “Kaveh, please.”

He’s never asked. Alhaitham expects, never requests, but this time, he whispers the soft beg into the crook of his neck. 

“Yeah,” says Kaveh, petting his hair. His fingers yank it back, just this side of rough. Alhaitham’s cheeks are pink and his eyes are glasses. His erection is pressed against Kaveh’s hip, twitching, begging for release. 

This time, when they fall into the bed, it’s with hushed and heated praise, and more begging. This time, Kaveh lets Alhaitham fuck him face-to-face, and they cling together in a way that’s fresh and new. Things have shifted. Alhaitham decided he needed more and asked, and Kaveh gives in so readily because it’s been years he’s wanted this. 

Kaveh watches Alhaitham melt into the sheets, arching up into every roll of his hips. “Fuck,” he curses, his cock sinking in balls deep until it’s nestled deep in Kaveh’s guts. His end comes swiftly too, just like Kaveh when he spilled in his mouth earlier. Feelings are pesky things that often breed trouble, but there are no complaints as Alhaitham’s thrusts become ragged and lose their rhythm so easily. 

They both moan when Alhaitham tips over the edge, filling Kaveh to the brim until his come leaks around his length. 

Kaveh breathes heavily, holding himself up with a hand pressed against his chest. “What—” Was that? He wants to ask even though he already knows the answer. 

“Kaveh,” whispers Alhaitham. 

“I’m here.” Kaveh dips forward and presses their foreheads together, and they just hang there like that as the air settles. 

No more words, just the gentle scrap of Alhaitham’s nails as they scratch down his back. He pulls Kaveh close to rest against his chest, and Kaveh nearly falls asleep listening to his heart. Thump-thump, a solid and steady beat, unlike the silted mess of his own. 

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” 

Kaveh blinks at the sound of Alhaitham’s voice, nodding against his sweaty skin. The kiss on his brow is the last thing he remembers, but it’s nice and grounding. Kaveh dreams of it once he’s pulled right under.