#(tumblr voice) look at the spoilers. gaze upon them.

[degozarumyu]

Lmao

[peeponastick]

Touch My Soul, Pt. 1

Uchiha Itachi x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.6K

Rating: This will be a NSFW 18+ multi-part fic. Part 1 doesn't have any outright explicit content tho. Part 2 here

cw/tw: SPOILERS, mentions of sexual harassment (Hidan is a skeevy perv), emotional turmoil, angst?, sexual tension (but nothing actually happens sorry to edge y’all), major eye contact, like way too much eye contact reader and itachi are basically eye fucking each other 90% of the fic, dramatic asf I can't help myself im sorry

Idk what im doing This is my first time writing and really being on tumblr in general, please let me know if I missed any tags or if you have any advice!! 

not canon at all (but SPOILERS!!!!) pls humor me, everyone in the Akatsuki is alive and led by Madara/Tobi

Synopsis: Madara, the elusive figurehead of the Akatsuki, is an ambitious yet paranoid man. That’s why he has you, as a security measure, given your secret jutsu that allows you to see into people’s souls to confirm their true intentions. When Itachi Uchiha shows up to join the Akatsuki, what will you see behind his obsidian eyes?

Exhausted. Another cross-country mission with pain in the ass Hidan was just what the doctor ordered for your repressed rage and depression living in basically a wet cave with the rest of these jerks. You tried your best, you really did, to not let any emotions slip through the cracks of your cold facade. Some of them had better qualities than others, but none of your fellow Akatsuki members were people you felt particularly amiable towards.

Most of them viewed you as Madara’s stone-cold right hand, his own personal weapon. He trusted you more than any other member, and that fact alone was enough to instill a certain kind of fear in the hearts of every other Akatsuki member. And you know what, good. The more you kept your distance, the better. 

Though your body ached with fatigue upon returning to headquarters, your senses immediately picked up a foreign energy hanging in the air– a presence. Not ominous per se, but definitely a palpable and strong chakra signature.

Leaving Hidan’s perverted requests to join him for some “one-on-one post-mission relaxation time” behind, you made your way to Madara, the chakra getting stronger the closer you got. 

There he was. 

Your breath hitched as your eyes set on a statuesque man standing across from Madara, his tousled, raven-black hair draped around his stunning face and strong shoulders. A lifetime of stress and hardship left evidence of weariness across his features, and yet his eyes still sparkled with a fierce softness, framed by a set of beautiful, thick lashes.

He was so... pretty. Your eyes dropped down to his lips, then his chest downward as you began to drink him in, feeling flushed with an unfamiliar warm tingling the longer you studied him.

He glanced at you with his penetrating eyes, your cheeks burned at being caught in your lustful admiration. Without a doubt, it was Itachi Uchiha standing next to Madara, a solemn look spread across his delicate face.

You’d seen him in the bingo book before, but all the talk you had heard didn’t compare to standing in the same room as him. It was intriguing, though, for someone with such a reputation, and clearly such immense power, his energy didn’t feel threatening or overbearing to you.

Madara raised a hand to Itachi, finally pulling your gaze away from him, before walking over to you. 

“I’m sure you’ve completed the tasks assigned to you, y/n, correct?” Madara asked rhetorically.

You had never failed him, it was important for you to maintain your position in his eyes. Your usual self would have made a sardonic remark about your disdain for working with Hidan again, how a pet rock would have been just as helpful with none of the sexual harassment. But, with the third party in the room, you simply nodded while maintaining your cold, detached demeanor.

“Good, I have another task for you then,” Madara commanded lowly in his deep, chilling voice, pointing his chin in Itachi’s direction.

“This is y/n,” Madara announced, gesturing in your direction as you followed him towards Itachi.

“She’ll just perform a little security check if you don’t mind, nothing personal. I am interested in your usefulness, but I just like to be sure of who I’m working with, I’m sure you can understand. After all, ‘clan killer’ doesn’t exactly have a trustworthy ring to it, now does it?” Madara taunted.

Itachi’s beautiful, brown eyes glinted with an undetectable emotion before connecting with yours, and again you began feeling the wave of heat washing over you.

What was this?! Some sort of jutsu he was using on you?? No.. my god, had it really been that long since you’d been attracted to someone? 

Snapping out of your embarrassing realization about your pitiful sex life, you cleared your throat as you pulled yourself together to perform your special jutsu. Your specialty was energy and emotions– detecting, reading, transmuting. This made you very handy to Madara, after all, knowing what’s inside someone’s soul makes it much easier to manipulate them and offer them what they want to hear, in exchange for whatever Madara wants or needs.

Your secret jutsu was something you dreaded performing. You were incredibly sensitive and receptive to energy, so oftentimes it would leave you completely drained and horrified— seeing all of the vile things people have done, let happen to others, things people buried and hid deep within themselves. It was a lot to witness and take in, and have to maintain your icy demeanor on top of that, lest Madara begin to question you. 

After weaving the hand signs, you hid the nerves buzzing in your body as you approached Itachi to place your hands on either side of his lean, muscular shoulders and touch your forehead to his. By the power of your jutsu, you were transported into Itachi’s soulscape, where you’d be able to confirm for Madara upon exiting, Itachi’s true intentions and trustworthiness as an Akatsuki member. 

Given what you had heard about Itachi, you braced yourself upon entering his soulscape, but were totally unprepared for what you saw.

Time stopped as you and Itachi stood under an endless blue sky painted with magnificent rolling waves of white clouds. The sound of rushing water caught your attention as you looked behind you to notice you were standing several paces away from the edge of a breathtaking waterfall. The cascading water plummeted down the carved earth into pools of emerald green.

Peace. You felt peace standing in this supposed monster’s soul? Itachi stood silent, his eyes intensely watching you as you began to take in more of your surroundings. You’d never seen or felt anything like this, this energy was so.. pure. 

Taking a moment to gather all the information flooding your senses, you turned to look at Itachi as tears pricked your eyes. Your heart broke as you began to fully understand and feel the weight of what he’d been through– what he’d been forced to do, and how much of a monster he believed he was because of it. You felt a gut-wrenching familiarity that ignited an inferno in your own soul, pulling you to him like a magnet and calling you to embrace him and never let go.

“Itachi, I-” you moved close to him, your mind racing as you tried to process the truth, “I’m so sorry, for everything you’ve been through.” You delicately placed a hand on his cheek while looking deep into his gorgeous eyes. His demeanor softened as the emotions overcame the both of you.

“Y-You know?” he hesitantly asked, almost too scared to believe you were seeing the real him and not judging or looking at him with disgust.

Your brows twinged with sadness as you nodded, “Everything,” you replied, tears streaming down your pink cheeks. 

He placed his large, warm palm over your hand as he searched your eyes for confirmation that this was really real and happening to him. He had always been expected to take on insurmountable tasks, things that made him question morality itself, all alone.

And yet, here you were, seeing him, understanding him, accepting him for who he truly was and not what he had done. The burden of his past finally being shared by an open heart, something he never could’ve imagined he deserved.

You reassured his fears without words, both of you lost in each other’s all-consuming gaze. You had never met before, and yet it felt like your souls had known each other many lifetimes. 

You were standing so close to him, the heat of his flushed skin radiated his intoxicating scent, smelling of old-growth forest and clean musk. Every nerve and fiber of your being was lit aflame as his eyes dropped down to your plump lips. His soulful eyes returned to yours as he moved his other hand to gently push a strand of your silky hair out of your face.

You were entranced by his beauty, slowly blinking as you held eye contact with him, fighting every urge to taste his lips that were mere inches away. He equally was mesmerized by your beauty, his eyes scanned all of your features, trying to take you all in and understand what this all meant, how you came to be the you standing here holding him.

“Who are you?” his deep, gravelly voice purred, a gentle smile lighting up his face. 

Panic overtook you as reality came crashing down, remembering that Madara was waiting in the real world for your answer. Though time operated much differently in your jutsu, Madara would certainly become suspicious if things took too long.

You placed your hands on either side of Itachi’s face as you held him close, a frantic look in your eyes.

“We’re out of time. Come to my room tonight, I’ll explain everything.” You hurriedly released the jutsu, and collected yourself so you could resume your emotionless facade so as to not draw suspicion. 

You turned to face Madara, immediately detecting his impatience, “He passed,” you confirmed, “Sorry for the delay, there was.. a lot there.”

Madara stood silent for a moment before releasing a booming laugh, “Yes, I suppose given our Itachi’s history there would be quite a lot to sift through, y/n.”

He turned to walk past Itachi and beckoned him to follow as he began to discuss his plans for the Akatsuki and, eventually, the world. You stood frozen, body still processing all of the huge waves of  emotions you’d experienced in your jutsu. A pit of anxiety began to form deep in your stomach knowing this fated meeting with Itachi meant it was finally time to begin your plan. To take down Madara and the Akatsuki from within. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

If you read this far, thank you so much I appreciate you!! I hope you liked my first fic ♡ᵎᵎᵎ

[tomatoswup]

Thanks for answering! My ask is gonna contain spoilers for Trigun Maximum. And I'm writing this again cuz tumblr hates me.

Could you write about Vash and his romantic partner reuniting after Wolfwood helps him escape from the Ark? The blanket he's wrapped in is big enough for two and he needs to be held ngl especially after being held for so many months.

Home

warnings/tags: Manga Spoilers,,,angst,,,hurt/comfort,,reunion,, poor Vash :(,,, i think i made this sadder than it was suppose to be,,, I'M SORRY ANON I'M JUST DRAMATIC,,,Vulnerable Vash,,, it's okay reader and vash cry it out together 🥹,,, i was listening to The Cure while writing this i swear i was INFLUENCED.

A/N: ....im so sorry anON NFLKSNLKSNDKNSD,,,, hEARTWRENCHING STUFF I KNOW😭😭😭😭 I'm so sorry on this late request tho!!!! I was everywhere for the past few weeks away from home but I'm slowly getting back into the rhythm of writing again (also recovering from my mini writers block) Oh how the world knows I love writing gut wrenching stuff hehehehe... Enjoy~🫶

There were times you wished life was...normal. Why couldn't you have fallen in love with someone else?

To spare yourself from those sobbing nights, save yourself from breaking your head over a problematic man like him. But those butterflies and baskets of pastries said otherwise to your heart, and the kind nature of his that just brought you in deeper and deeper.

Life was never so simple was it?

You never did like it that way anyways.

And perhaps after spending so much time with him, with them, that it made you stray away from that idea of something "normal" that you had imagined so long ago. When you did, he was always in it.

But no matter who it is, or who had done what, No Man's land spared no mercy for the weak, for the strong, or for those who just simply wanted to love.

And those long days felt like a nightmare you had wanted to wake up from.

7 months since the spiky haired goofball of your boyfriend had danced his way into your kitchen, calling out your name as you couldn't help but chuckle at the way he playfully pranced around, tapping the tops of your shoulders with his fingers.

"Hey you didn't have to wait for me ya' know!" He beamed, a twinkle in his eye as you set food down on the wooden table. "Vash you know I'll always wait for you."

"I knoww~ But I don't deserv-"

"Don't! Say what I think you were gonna say." You huffed out, having brought out a box from the side and putting it on the table "You deserve more than you think. Now cmon, I passed by the bakery and got some pastries and donuts. You said you liked the normal ones right? They were kinda pricy but I still-"

Vash momentarily droned out what you were saying, eyeing the way you moved, the faint blush on your soft cheeks as the heels of your shoes sounded out against the wooden floor boards under your feet.

Caring, smooth, quick.

The corners of his mouth lifted up, smiling from the curious gaze he had given you, eyes crinkling at the edges as he gave himself a playful nod in affirmation before sneaking up behind you.

Muah!

The quick kiss he gave you on the cheek snapped you out of your rambling, as his clothed arms snaked around your waist in a warm embrace.

"Thank you love..."

7 months since you had come back from town, having gotten things you needed, that you stood in the hot, dry sand. With a basket in hand, you looked up at your porch from a bit away. Spotting Wolfwood, you had instinctively raised your hand to greet the priest before holding your voice back. Something was wrong.

Very wrong. And you had a gut feeling it was gonna be a while.

The disheveled and dirtied state he was in and his cross laid out beside him as the knuckles of his cut-up hands were close to knocking on your door before he slowly turned towards you, having heard your steps in the sand.

Onyx eyes full of gloom, regret, and...

Your blood went cold, feeling a knife stab right into your stomach as you just stood there. The realization dawning upon you, eyes slowly widening at the prospective of what had come about of your lover.

May the world please bring him back to you. Please let Knives spare mercy on these two sides of a battlefield that he shared against his brother. The deserts had gone quiet again, your basket laid forgotten in the sand as nights came and gone.

Let Vash come home.

An aching eternity it felt like, some days you went staring at his empty chair at the dinner table, or whenever you helped up on the floating ship, imagining the ghost of a laugh he would let out whenever he saw the residents aboard.

It was tiring, and those restless nights thinking about what his brother was doing to him, those treacherous thoughts were ones you feared.

But the day Milly and Meryl had knocked on your door with the news that Vash was back home, away from The Ark, was one that you would never forget. How could you?

With how you scrambled around the house, you hadn't noticed how fast your legs hauled you over to the ship when you had been close to dry heaving, finally standing in front of one metallic door to the many rooms it held.

He's here!

Vash is back! He's- He's-

You tried to catch your breath, a sweaty hand on your chest as the voices behind the door faintly sounded out, making the depths of your body churn in worry and nervousness.

Shit, maybe you should've given him some time to recover. Did you act a bit too quickly? But after all of these months... You should let him rest-

"Ah!" You squawked out, hastily taking a few steps back as the door swung right open, revealing a tightly bundled up Wolfwood as he stepped out, shutting the door right behind him before shooting you a calm gaze.

"Ya know, I'm surprised you didn't just run right in. Blondie even cleared the room out before you got here." Passing by you, you couldn't help but watch as he began his stride down the hall.

Wait.

"WOLFWOOD!" You called out, making him stop in his tracks as he turned his head to the side.

"Thank you. I don't how to repay y-"

Letting out a big sigh to cut you off, he scratched the side of his head "You ain't repayin' me shit, just get in there already. I'll catch up later.."

What kind of man would Wolfwood be to keep two lovers apart anyways?

'A sinful man I would be...' He pondered for just a moment before leaving you behind, leaving you alone to take his word. And with sweaty palms, you indeed did, putting a hand on the cold metallic door knob, turning and pushing it open.

With cold air hitting the surface of your face, you noted the large coffee table and couches in the room, mugs and plates scattered around as you took a few more steps inside. Signs of life...

"You're okay..." You heard a voice say out, making you whip your head to the right and being met with another blanketed bundle of man sat on the couch. But how couldn't you recognize that soft gaze of blue, the messy blonde hair and pink slippers on his scarred feet? Vash tiredly smiled up at you, tilting his head to the side as he looked you up and down.

God how could he smile after so much?

His pink cheeks had sullen, the purple bags under his eyes prominent as the exhaustion was obvious, but he kept that same kind smile after everything he had gone through.

How?

How?

"You look goo- WOAH!" He gaped out in surprise, quickly throwing his arms wide open to catch your figure as you threw yourself at him and into a tight hug, pushing the both of you guys back onto the olden couch.

And before you knew it, the both of you had cuddled up against each other on said couch as you held Vash's head up against your chest, the pads of your fingers soothing the side of his cheek as you rested your chin on top of his head.

"Oh Vash..." You quivered, trying hold back the tears in your eyes as you felt his arms around your waist tighten, the blanket the two of you had been wrapped in rustling as he brought himself in closer.

The weight on his chest hurt, and it felt so heavy.

"I'm sorry." He choked out as you felt tads of wetness on your shirt, his sobs filling the emptiness of the air as his rough hands gripped the back of your shirt in desperation.

It didn't matter how hot the bare skin of his chest felt under the blanket, nor did it matter if the elbows and knees of his body ached and the spine of his back felt like needles.

You're the closest to comfort and peace he's had in the last 7 months, and he couldn't let you go.

"Don't apologize. I..I don't think you really know how happy I am to have you back." You cried, finally broking down, leaving kisses on the top of his head as he continued to wail against your chest "I would've been so lost..."

'You felt like home.' And you always did. Vash shut his eyes as the two of you stayed entangled together for the next few hours.

Having cried, talked about what had happened in the last 7 months, and the future before drifting off to sleep on the very couch.

Under the blanket of love, did two lovers finally reunite before the tribulations that had occurred and were to come.

"I love you."

//

"I would've been so lost, because you felt like home."

[gottchi-kun]

I am Never Going to Get You Back, Am I?

By: Gottchi (Ao3, Tumblr, YouTube)

Prologue (!!SPOILERS!!)

He struggled to grasp the doorknob, his hands shaking. But this time, Sunny wasn't scared - he was weak. So weak that he had trapped himself in his dreams for four long years before Kel had broken into his house and dragged him out by the collar of his shirt. He felt like he had been beaten down by life, but at least he had managed to defeat Omori. Things had to get better eventually, if not for him, then for Basil. Kel, Aubrey, and Hero deserved to know the truth about Mari's death. As the door opened, Sunny's eyes were empty as he entered the silent room.

Sunny’s voice was hollow and emotionless as he said, "There's something I need to tell you."

Hero was the first to reach Sunny. "It can wait," he said. "It's not important right now."

Sunny stood in silence for a long moment, while everyone else in the room gently tried to persuade him to leave. However, he resisted and remained where he was. He couldn't bring himself to look anyone in the eye, feeling his heart pounding and his newfound confidence slipping away. He reached up and brushed the bandages over his eye, then looked down at the floor with his remaining eye. "Mari, it's my fault."

His friends’ faces paled. "No, Sunny, it was her own choice," Kel tried to console him, but Sunny gently slapped his hand away; he didn't want comfort.

Sunny croaked, “It's my fault. Mari had nothing to do with it." The room fell silent. He struggled to contain his panic as he noticed a glimmer of hope in his own eyes, instead of the usual sadness he felt. His gaze then drifted towards Basil, who appeared troubled even in his unconscious state. Sunny blamed himself for Basil's condition and Mari's death.

“The day of the recital, she wouldn't stop yelling. I tried to run away and take a break, but my hands were already blistered, and I was scared. She suddenly blocked my way, and I couldn't think of anything else. In a moment of panic, I pushed her down the stairs, and she must’ve died on the impact." Sunny paused, not bothering to look at his friend's face, as he recounted the tragic event. “I dragged her to her bed, I thought she needed to rest… She wasn’t breathing.”

The words he had spoken felt easy, he felt fortunate that they were. “Then how did end up strung up like a decoration?” Aubrey said, and seethed. Her face was of contorted rage and sadness, tears fell down her face. Sunny looked at Basil again. All the guilt Basil had felt, what he had seen, it was Sunny’s fault. Everything was his fault. And he couldn’t escape it on his own, he needed someone else to carry their burden with them.

“Basil saw it, he didn’t want me to get in trouble. Basil found the jump rope, and we staged it.” A sharp pain ran across his face. Aubrey had just slapped him. He felt shocked, more so that she had the guts to slap him after he had just been severely injured. He barely looked back up tears welled at the sides of his eyes. But he was happy, and he didn’t want to be. His friends were so sad, but it was over. It had to be over.

Aubrey had run out of the room, Sunny could not see her expression. Hero followed his face contorted into a sob. He looked up, Kel was the only other conscious person left in the room. Sunny couldn’t say anything, he couldn’t muster any more courage than he had. Now it was his friend’s job to muster up their courage. Silent tears dropped from his face. Kel walked past him and exited the room, letting the door slam behind him. The truth was out, his friend’s sadness was the consequence.

“Sunny?”

Upon hearing Basil’s voice, Sunny turned around with tears streaming down his face. “Everything is going to be okay,” Sunny said with a reassuring smile.

“They know?” Basil said gently. Sunny nodded, the smile never fading. They were free, they were finally free. They didn’t have to carry around the guilt anymore. They didn’t have to be scared. Basil looked stunned for a moment, then he too smiled. Tears welled in the side of his eyes, happy tears. Though the immense guilt still lingered he was still able to smile. He stood at Basil’s side, their hands clenching.

But when he looked back up again, he caught a glimpse of something out the window. Omori. He diverted his gaze. He didn’t want to focus on that for now. They spent minutes there, both unmoving. Sunny’s smile had turned into a more genuine one. His dull eyes retook their place. But he was finally feeling something, anything but pure dullness.

[saellefanwork]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕋𝕚𝕞𝕖

Reminder: This Demon Slayer fic is rated Mature (adults only) for canon-typical violence and eventual suggestive or explicit sexual content

Return to Chapters List

Chapter 28: Fated Love

Even the ceaseless flow of time Cannot fray the crimson thread Of our everlasting bond

Author Note: Here it is!!! The final chapter of this story. Wow. What an adventure. That's not completely over yet, since this story will still be uploaded later when I'll be creating artworks for it. I don't know yet if I'll put all of them directly inside the chapters or oustide of them. What do you think? Perhaps I'll also post some bonus chapters with cut scenes will see the light of day in the upcoming months if people are interested :D Thank you for your support! Hope you enjoy the final!

This Epilogue contains major KNY ending spoilers.

Cultural Insight: In contemporary Japanese culture, young women express their feelings on Valentine's Day by presenting chocolates to boys or men they are close to. These chocolates come in two categories: giri-chocos, typically affordable and store-bought, given to male friends and colleagues, and honmei-chocos, more personalized and expensive chocolates reserved for expressing love. White Day follows one month later, when boys or men reciprocate by gifting white chocolate and additional presents to the women who shared their feelings.

Additionnal Tumblr Note: Wowwww sorry Tumblr readers, I forgot to update it here for Valentine's day (it was on my Patreon/Kofi then on AO3/Quotev though XD) Enjoy a late Valentine's day now and here though ;)

Two centuries later

"Tojuro!" a voice urgently hushed. "Psst. Tojuro, hey, wake up before the sensei catches you!"

Sensing someone shaking him, Rengoku Tojuro swiftly opened his eyes, sitting up with alertness. He pushed his chair away noisily, standing upright and facing an invisible interlocutor.

"Sorry for the distraction, Dad. I'll do one hundred drills and clean the dojo as compensation!" he declared loudly.

A profound silence fell upon the classroom, the high school students and their teacher gazing in astonishment at the young man's unexpected interruption. The boy blinked his large eyes, looking around with a perplexed expression. Realizing the situation, he burst into laughter, scratching the back of his head.

"Ha! My apologies, sensei! I thought I was still in practice."

The teacher; who was known for being bad-tempered bordering to violent, glared at him with contempt. “That excuse again, uh…? I’ll show you what it means to slack off during my lecture, Rengoku!” he shouted angrily, breaking his chalk into his hand and throwing it at his student in a gesture of pure rage.

His wrath intensified when the boy effortlessly caught it mid-air.

"Oops! That's dangerous, sensei. Be careful it doesn't slip from your grasp again in the future."

Disregarding his teacher's crimson fury, the teenager walked to the front desk and returned the chalk pieces with a broad innocent smile. His comrades observed him with mouths agape, some finding amusement or even admiration in his unfearful demeanor, others struck by his obliviousness to the situation, and many nervously awaiting the teacher's response.

In the end, another teacher passing by intervened before things escalated, and Tojuro only faced additional chores and an extra assignment for discipline, coupled with abundant threats that his parents would be notified if he ever nodded off during a lesson again.

"You're truly passionate about kendo, Tojuro... to the point of not sleeping enough and dreaming about it in class," his best friend Kamado Sumihiko remarked as they exited the building. "It's admirable, but you should be more careful in school; your grades might suffer, and the teachers will start giving you a hard time."

"It's kind of you to worry, Sumihiko, but I've got it. Hey, do you remember your promise for today?"

"Yes..." sighed his companion. "I'll be attending the kendo session tonight."

"Great! I've got a set ready for you, just as we planned!"

Sumihiko smiled somewhat reluctantly, pondering how he found himself in this predicament. A week ago, the teenager had lost a bet against his best friend—or so Tojuro claimed. In reality, the young Kamado couldn't recall making any bet in the first place. However, the flame-haired boy had insisted so vehemently, narrating the bet's circumstances with such persuasive conviction, that Sumihiko eventually yielded, mostly to put an end to the matter.

Now, Tojuro was bringing him to his family dojo on the outskirts of Setagaya to introduce him to his favorite martial art. Once both were attired in hakama and keikogi, the senior handed the novice a bamboo shinai. As Sumihiko grasped the training weapon, he experienced a peculiar sense of familiarity, despite never having held a similar object before. They were in the middle of the fundamentals when a female voice interrupted them.

Emerging from the girls' changing room, you spotted Tojuro and a burgundy-haired adolescent of the same age, unfamiliar to you. You approached them with a smile, always delighted when you had some time to talk with the sensei's son. He was a bit younger than you, but unlike some boys his age, he wasn’t immature. In fact, he was friendly and enjoyable to converse with, and even his quirky antics looked cute to you. He was a passionate, good-hearted person, and a skilled kendo partner.

"Rengoku-kun! Did you come early to give your friend a tour of the dojo? Will you introduce us?"

"Ha! Senpai! Hello!! This is my best friend, Kamado Sumihiko; he's here to try kendo for the first time! Sumihiko, this is Nagase Himawari-senpai—she’s two years our senior."

You and Sumihiko exchanged warm greetings, an inexplicable sense of familiarity coursing through you despite it being your first encounter. A similar sensation had washed over you when you first met the Rengokus. The newcomer observed you with curiosity. He found you very pretty, but what intrigued him the most was Tojuro's reaction in your presence— he was losing composure, turning scarlet, and suddenly becoming overexcited. He spoke even louder than usual, and his companion winced in pain as his eardrums vibrated.

"Nagase-senpai is extremely skilled!" Tojuro almost shouted to his friend. "She's a regional champion!"

You responded with a casual gesture.

"Japan is full of talented people, and you're certainly one of them, Rengoku-kun. I'm just happy to practice an activity I'm passionate about with excellent partners like you," you said, winking at him. "Ha! Your father just arrived; the class is going to start."

You strolled away towards the gathering spot of the sensei and the rest of the club members. Tojuro stood frozen in place, looking lovestruck after that wink and unexpected compliment. Sumihiko watched him with growing curiosity, not used to seeing him react like this.

"Tojuro... Do you have a crush on your senpai?" he asked.

"Huh?! Is it that obvious?!" responded the boy with a shocked expression, his cheeks ablaze.

"Yes... and if it's a secret, you should speak more quietly... I see now why you're so dedicated to kendo," his friend added, amused.

"Huh?! No, of course not! I don't have such impure motivations! I've always loved kendo! Although, I must admit, it's even more enjoyable since she joined the club a few months ago..."

"Tojuro, Kamado, get over here!" thundered the sensei's voice.

"Scary…," muttered Sumihiko as he obeyed, while Tojuro seemed as cheerful as ever under his father's strict tutelage.

The training session unfolded smoothly, and the young Kamado proved to be a gifted student, just as his best friend had predicted. He found out that he appreciated the practice and the dojo’s atmosphere. Even though he doubted he could ever match Tojuro's fervor and commitment to the sport, the idea of becoming a club member and engaging in regular exercise began to appeal to him. Additionally, this decision would bring satisfaction to his mother, who frequently emphasized the benefits of martial arts for instilling discipline in him. Though, a part of his motivation was also linked to the potential romantic connection between Tojuro and you. He cheered for his friend and wanted to be there as support.

Several weeks transpired without any significant developments between you and Tojuro. Nevertheless, Sumihiko remained convinced of your particular fondness for the young Rengoku among the dojo members, even though determining whether it was romantic interest proved challenging at this stage. The issue lay with Tojuro: despite his typical lively and confident demeanor, he unexplainably lost his composure in your presence outside of training. For instance, when you suggested going somewhere, he readily agreed but consistently dragged someone else along, usually Sumihiko. Conversely, although it was evident he enjoyed spending time with you, he never initiated any plans himself. It was rather perplexing, and Sumihiko eventually brought it to his friend’s attention.

"I don't want her to feel pressured!" Tojuro explained earnestly. "Considering someone as kind and popular as Nagase-senpai, I can only imagine the constant stream of suitors vying for her attention. I wouldn't want to add my own insistent advances to that list. Besides, being the sensei's son, I worry she might feel obligated to accept my invitation. I'd rather let her take the lead in that matter."

"Our senpai is undoubtedly kind, but I believe she's more than capable of expressing a refusal," retorted Sumihiko. "If you never take the initiative, she might think you're not interested, and you could risk losing her interest altogether."

"What?! Really?!" Tojuro asked in a panicked voice.

""Furthermore, it doesn't explain why you don't go unaccompanied when she proposes going out," pointed out his friend.

"T-that’s because..." the other boy struggled to find an excuse, mouth wide open, blinking. No valid argument came to him. It was clear he was simply nervous about being alone with you.

"Next time, try going alone," Sumihiko suggested with a sigh. "I feel like a third wheel anyway when I’m around. Consider it a challenge, alright?"

"Hmm! I'll do that, then!" replied Tojuro, crossing his arms with determination, though fear was evident in his eyes. "Do you have any other advice, Sumihiko-sensei?!"

"I don't know much either," the concerned party defended with an embarrassed look, scratching the back of his head. "I'm just sharing my thoughts... Oh! It's Valentine's Day soon, right? It might be an opportunity to learn more about her feelings."

Tojuro's cheeks deepened in color at the mere mention of Valentine's Day. The event, which typically held little interest for him, had slipped his mind. The prospect of receiving chocolates from you alone was enough to quicken his heartbeat. He realized he needed to show you his affection before then.

In the following weeks, Sumihiko noticed that his friend took his advice to heart, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Tojuro seized every opportunity to suggest outings, even for trivial activities like visiting the vending machine or taking a short walk together. Fortunately, you appeared pleasantly surprised by your kouhai's spontaneous invitations and almost always accepted them when your schedule permitted. The two of you even exchanged numbers, and Tojuro seemed to be on cloud nine for several days, losing focus in class and receiving more scolding from his father and teachers. Thankfully, Tojuro's academic prowess helped cushion the impact on his grades.

Valentine's Day loomed on the horizon, and the tension among high schoolers grew palpable. Amid Tojuro's coping hyperactivity and Yoshiteru's incessant whining, Sumihiko found himself stressed about the upcoming event, even though collecting chocolates or not didn't matter much to him. Unable to keep up with his friends' antics any longer, he eventually advised them to directly ask the girls they liked if they intended to offer them chocolates.

As previously, Tojuro diligently followed Sumihiko's instructions and planned to broach the subject on your next stroll together through the city center, scheduled just a few days before Valentine's Day.

The date itself was delightful. You watched an action movie, delved into manga café, then spend some time in an arcade. At the end of the afternoon, both of you enjoyed crepes while sitting next to each other in a serene park. Despite the numerous opportunities that these activities had presented, Tojuro hadn’t dared to make a move on you once, fearing to make you uncomfortable. With each passing moment, his concern grew, and he started to fret whether he could even muster the courage to bring up the topic of chocolates with you.

"Earth to Rengoku, do you copy?" you playfully asked. He sent you a confused glance. It seemed like you had been talking to him for a while, and he wasn’t paying attention.

“Huh? Oh, sorry, I was deep in thought,” he scratched the back of his head, feeling a bit foolish.

"I was asking if you wanted to run a dojo like your father, Tojuro-kun?"

"Hmm...!" Tojuro crossed his arms, pondering an answer. This pose invoked a pleasant sense of familiarity in you, as if you had always known him to make this gesture, even though it was impossible: you had met a few months ago, almost a year now. "I think I’d rather become a teacher! I’m pretty fond of history, especially historical warfare. Maybe I could teach that. But I still plan to help my father at the dojo alongside my studies and future work, since I’ll probably inherit it someday.

"Being a teacher would suit you well! You have good grades, and you definitely have the charisma and patience for the job. You’re very likeable too. It will be amusing to hear you being called 'Rengoku-sensei.'"

Tojuro blushed. "Thanks. What about you? What would you like to do after your finals?" he inquired curiously.

"I'd like to become an athlete, but my family insists I should have a 'real' job on the side, just in case. I guess I’ll pursue a degree in accounting. That way, I could assist them with their martial arts equipment business while still chasing my dream."

"That's great! Let's give it our all, then!" Tojuro exclaimed, raising his hand for a high-five.

You grinned, meeting his enthusiasm with an energetic clap hands. Your fingers lingered a moment against his, maybe a tad longer than the typical friendly gesture. Or perhaps he was imagining it, because the contact felt too brief when you finally pulled away and stood up.

"Well... I have to go home. Thanks for today; it was fun."

"Thank you very much as well, Nagase-senpai!"

"You don’t have to be so formal with me, especially when we're outside the club. We’re friends now, aren’t we?" you inquired with a sweet smile.

He nodded enthusiastically, delighted to gradually break down the social barriers between you. As you readied yourself to put your bag back on your shoulder, he thought, "She's about to leave. This is my last chance to ask her."

"Nagase-senp-..., Himawari-senpai, are you planning to give me chocolates for Valentine's Day?"

If Sumihiko had been present, he might have facepalmed himself with a weary sigh at such a straightforward query. With an amused smile, you turned to your kouhai, crossing your arms in a teasing pose.

"Maybe… What kind of chocolates would you like, Tojuro-kun?"

Tojuro hadn't anticipated this question. Of course, he yearned honmei choco from you (chocolates for a loved one), but expressing that directly could be awkward if you were planning giri-choco (friendship chocolates). He didn't want to influence your decision.

He grinned and responded, "Whichever your heart desires! I'll gladly accept them, no matter what!"

Now it was your turn to blush intensely at this honest and romantic response. Typically, you were not someone easily thrown off balance.

"I... alright. Um... See you then, Tojuro-kun."

The much-anticipated Valentine's Day finally arrived the following week, and the school was abuzz with excitement. Teachers struggled to maintain order, as students were solely preoccupied by the expectancy of chocolate exchanges and their underlying meanings.

Sumihiko, being well liked by many girls in their school, ended up collecting a lot of giri-chocos. He also stumbled on a honmei choco accompanied by an anonymous love letter in his locker, sparking widespread speculation about the mysterious identity of the secret admirer. Yoshiteru, on the other hand, received only a fistful of giri-chocos, and most were made by his own family, much to his disappointment.

Tojuro, however, was crumbling under a mountain of chocolates. He didn’t refuse any, but when faced with what seemed like honmei gifts, he would take them with a pre-emptive note:

"Thank you very much! I hope these are giri-choco because my heart is already taken!"

In response, the girls hastily claimed they had indeed prepared giri-choco, even if it wasn't the case, eager to avoid an awkward rejection.

At the end of the day, burdened with the numerous sweet offerings tucked into his backpack and clutched in his hands, the young kendoka hurried to the dojo. Since this session was reserved for experienced students, Sumihiko went straight home after school. Already attired in hakama and armor, you greeted the sensei's son with a smile upon his arrival, but your exchange remained brief as training swiftly commenced. After the class concluded, you distributed chocolates to the club members to share, and also presented a box to the sensei, who graciously accepted them, placing them beside the ones his wife had made for him. Tojuro received nothing personal and had minimal interaction with you, as you found yourself engulfed in conversations with seniors eager to discuss upcoming competitions.

Contemplating whether to wait for you, Tojuro ultimately dismissed the idea. After all, you had never confirmed that you would make chocolates for him, and showing that he expected them would be impolite. He finally decided to go back home and bid everyone farewell. Your gaze followed him as he left but you didn't stop him.

Upon reaching his home, Tojuro slumped on his bed. It would be a lie to say that he wasn't disappointed with the day's conclusion, but he refrained from overthinking about the events. The absence of chocolates didn’t necessarily indicate you disliked him; perhaps you had your reasons. Without clear signals from you, though, he knew he would need all his courage to express his feelings directly one day. He held onto the hope that, in case of rejection, you would still be willing to remain his friend.

Somewhat apprehensive, he decided to divert his thoughts by indulging in silly social media videos. After an hour of adorable cat memes, a message that suddenly appeared on his screen made him sit up abruptly.

"Meet me at the usual park."

The text was from you. As if summoned, Tojuro hurriedly put on his jacket and dashed out of the house. Seated on a swing a few streets away, you noticed him sprinting towards you with a surprised look. Only a few minutes had passed since you sent the notification.

"Wow, you're quick! You didn't even take a moment to answer."

Catching his breath from the run, he inhaled deeply and straightened up, wearing a serious expression. "Yeah... I didn't want to keep you waiting, in case it was important... why did you want to see me...?"

His dedication and earnestness brought a smile to your face. You handed him a small red paper bag, adorned with a golden ribbon.

"Here, I wanted to give you this after kendo practice, but there were too many people, and I didn't want to draw unnecessary attention on us."

Beaming with anticipation, Tojuro accepted the package. Upon opening it, he discovered a heart-shaped box of treats, strongly suggesting that it contained honmei-choco. His heart skipped a beat.

"You can open it and taste them," you invited him. "I'm quite pleased with how they turned out."

Nodding excitedly, he lifted the lid and uncovered beautifully crafted homemade chocolates, adorned with small edible flames— the crest of his family and of the kendo club. Taking a bite, his eyes immediately lit up.

"UMAI!" he exclaimed loudly.

Startled, passersby turned their attention to you. You chuckled, muffling the sound within the sleeve of your jacket.

"I'm glad you like them."

"These are the best chocolates I've ever had," Tojuro assured. "Thank you for making them for me! I'll savor them dearly!"

"You received a lot, though. I saw all the packages you were carrying earlier," you remarked mischievously.

"Perhaps, but I was only waiting for yours!" he replied honestly.

Cheeks aflame, your gaze dropped to your toes out of embarrassment.

"If you liked them that much, I could make them for you again next year," you said bashfully.

Tojuro's smile illuminated the scene, competing with the setting sun. He took one of your hands in his and exclaimed, "If you're okay with it, you can make them for me for the rest of our lives, Himawari. I'll never get tired of them!"

Curious onlookers discreetly observed, drawn by the spectacle of this unusual public declaration. Your already warm cheeks turned crimson, but you couldn't help laughing at his enthusiasm. It looked more like a marriage proposal than a suggestion to go out together. Not that you minded too much, though. Taking his other hand, you leaned closer to him and lightly pecked his cheek, amused by his lovestruck expression when you stepped back.

"Hehe! That’s a deal, then, Tojuro. I challenge you to accept them for that long!"

The End

Modern Era Secret: In their first White Day together, Tojuro presented Himawari with homemade white chocolates and the memoirs of Kyojuro Rengoku, the brother of his ancestor almost ten generations ago. The chocolates were a bit busted, however Himawari loved the writings of the famous swordsman and co-founder of the Flame dojo. She was surprised to find that his wife shared the same name as hers but didn't dwell on it, attributing it to an amusing coincidence.

Thank you for reading to the end! If you liked this fic, consider liking it, commenting, reblogging it and/or subscribing to my page! It always set the flame in my heart ablaze ❤️‍🔥

[ievaxol]

We're in the homestretch of the hard times

(ao3 link >>here<< if you don't want to read on tumblr, spoilers for the manga, ~2k words) ---

It isn’t his Takemichi.

The world tilts a little to the side, off kilter and nauseating when Takemichi meets his gaze without the depth that had been there just a day ago. Chifuyu knows, then, that something isn’t right.

He’s always been perceptive, a good judge of character — perhaps that’s why the pool of people he respects is so small. He’s comfortable with that, though, taking his time to pick and choose the people that he cares about because once he does, Chifuyu Matsuno never lets go.

Baji was there at the forefront, shining bright and bold with fangs bared.

In time, others had proved themselves to him. Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya and Smiley won him over enough that on the rare occasions he has to fall in line behind them rather Baji, it feels right.

And then, crashing through, came Takemichi.

An idiot declaring loudly and openly that he would get to the top of Toman, eyes bright with determination that saw Chifuyu huff in disbelief. A guy like him? Top of Toman? But Chifuyu is good with people and he could tell that Takemichi wasn’t lying, that Takemichi would die to get there — so he offers a hand. A favor for a favor.

In Takemichi he finds a captain to take up the torch for the First Division, so kind that Chifuyu had cried with it when they came back from the battle with Valhalla. Takemichi had cleaned Chifuyu’s busted knuckles, wincing like he was the one hurt as he wrapped them up and doesn’t that explain everything about Takemichi Hanagaki?

After all that, after nestling in and carving a space for himself in Chifuyu’s heart — he’s gone.

Chifuyu can tell.

It sits bitterly in his throat, this knowledge, but he follows him anyway.

Into the depths of hell and back he follows the Takemichi that isn’t his, watches him sigh and grunt and dole out orders that take lives with annoyance pressing down on his brow, like it’s some simple fucking inconvenience.

Toman grows and grows and grows.

Chifuyu picks up Kazutora from prison and doesn’t flinch when he meets his gaze. A victory, given the way his heart beats out of his chest as he looks at Baji’s friend (killer), the way his hands clench around the steering wheel. He hopes that it makes Baji proud.

Kazutora doesn’t thank him, doesn’t speak — Chifuyu gets it. He wouldn’t know what the hell to say either.

Then he meets Naoto, stands tall as Tachibana Hinata’s brother casts his judgment upon him — he, who was there for Takemichi making the order. He, who presents evidence for it, face carefully blank as Takemichi’s voice echoes tinny from the small laptop, dripping with indifference.

The years go on, one after the other.

In the evenings Chifuyu curls up in his bed and remembers the hitching sounds his Takemichi made as he cried for Baji, as he cried for Kazutora and Mikey and all of them. How big his back looked.

These are the only times he allows himself to miss the boy who barged into Toman with not a single shred of sense in his body and tried to save them all.

Until the day his Takemichi returns.

He bumbles through the doorway and whisper-shouts that he has no idea what’s going on, as if the mere presence of him doesn’t make Chifuyu’s heart fucking soar.

It’s too little, too late, but still a comfort.

That he can see Takemichi one last time, can look into the depths of his ocean eyes and drown there rather than think about the cold steel kissing his sweaty forehead, can listen to the hitch in his voice instead of his own panicked pants.

He’s grateful for that much and for the first time in twelve years, he means it when he calls him partner.

A flash of white, a quick prayer, Takemichi crying for him.

Not a bad way to go, all things considered.

Chifuyu knows that Mikey is coming for him. He has known for quite some time now.

So it’s doesn’t surprise him when he hears the soft footsteps following him — Chifuyu has made his peace with it. He turns, face to face with his former commander. In the depths of Mikey’s eyes he sees nothing but darkness.

“Any last words, Chifuyu?”

He imagines that the other version of him that died to Kisaki felt the same sense of loss that Mikey does in this timeline, denied rhyme or reason. One day Takemichi smiles brighter than the fucking sun and the next there is naught but a pale imitation, a farce — it would infuriate him too, not knowing.

“Hanagaki Takemichi —“ Chifuyu starts, feeling like he’s floating a little. He’s not afraid even if he can taste the blood in his mouth already. He smiles, a melancholy thing. “Do you remember him?”

Mikey doesn’t react beyond an inquisitive hum, showing no signs of recognition. But Chifuyu is perceptive and he knows the depths of Mikey’s love, can feel its siren call mingling with his own.

As if Mikey could ever forget Takemitchy.

Not when he loves him so desperately, so helplessly; Chifuyu would know.

He’s the same, after all, forever changed by the knowledge of what Takemichi has done, would do, will do for them all. His partner in crime and stupidity, currently fighting for all their lives.

"He will come looking for you. When he does, it will be as if he travelled through time. It will be the Takemichi you knew — look into his eyes and you'll see. They never lie. Trust me."

The press of a barrel between his eyes feels strangely familiar and Chifuyu has to stifle a laugh; somehow he doesn’t feel like it would amuse Mikey as much as it does him.

No thanks, if he has to go he prefers it to be quick.

It is.

Perhaps it is knowing about the time leap that makes it so he can instantly tell when his memories are being rewritten. Chifuyu drops the bag of animal food he’s holding and vaguely registers it splitting, sending it’s contents skittering over the floor and pooling at his feet like blood — he has to look down to make sure it isn’t.

Takemichi — his Takemichi — is back.

A drop of ink slowly coloring a glass of water is the best way to describe it, the memories shuddering before they reform.

Deaths, erased. Funerals he went to never takes place. Injuries change. Chifuyu tries to recall Draken’s death but it’s mingled up with him triumphantly opening up his new shop, Kazutora’s rage at Toman’s legacy burns bright in his mind before it flickers and settles into a melancholy view of him filling orders at the shop Chifuyu now finds himself working in.

It keeps hitting him, throughout the day. The ink spreads, changes everything and he slowly forgets what things looked like before. Chifuyu closes the shop an hour early and races home with a hand clasped over his mouth, thankful that Kazutora — fuck, since when are they friends? — isn’t there to see him lose it.

Thing is, he’s pretty sure that he’s wired to fall in love with Takemichi in every timeline since they met.

So when he opens the door to his apartment he braces himself for a wedding invitation; things are still a little fuzzy but he figures it’s the logical step. He'll go to Takemichi's wedding, he'll toast to their undying devotion and then he'll go home and toast to his own, idiotic heart.

But there's nothing pinned on the fridge and nothing in his mail and Chifuyu tries not to revel in the relief it brings. 

Two days pass.

Chifuyu still catches the tail-end of memories reforming but not at all like the first day, now it's mostly hazy details that escape him, slipping through his grasp and returning different.

He's best friends with Takemichi in this timeline, he finds — they spend time shooting the shit, watching movies and hanging out like friends would. It's normal for them to hang out, so there's no reason for him to tremble when there's a knock at his door, right? Just because it's his Takemichi this time?

He tries not to think about Mikey. Or what Takemichi will do once he finds out about Mikey, because he will. Through tears and smiles and declarations of love he will get them to spill the truth, eventually.

Then he’ll find a way to go back and save Mikey because that’s who Takemichi is at his core, isn’t that why Chifuyu loves him so fucking much?

On the other side of the door Takemichi looks just as determined as he remembers, blue eyes so, so bright with the flames that have kept him going for this long; predictably, his face crumples the moment he sees Chifuyu and fat tears well up, dripping down his cheeks.

"Welcome back, partner," Chifuyu breathes, which, fuck, he was supposed to play this cool.

"'Fuyu." Takemichi says it like it's a whole sentence, the sweetest sound in the world.

Chifuyu prepares to step aside and let Takemichi in like all the other times, like this isn't in any way heartbreaking or world-shattering. Like he hasn't waited for this at all, like he doesn't want to cry too, like it doesn’t feel like he’s swallowed coal with the way his throat burns.

But Takemichi doesn't move — instead he reaches out and draws Chifuyu in with strong arms, smooths his hands down Chifuyu's back as he holds him tight and wails.

He cries and cries and cries, until Chifuyu bodily drags him inside and somehow manages to shut the door so they can sink to the floor together, a tangled mess of snot and tears.

"Chi—fuu—yuuu," Takemichi draws out the syllables, like a dying gasp.

"Schh, you're going to get me to rack up a hundred complaints." It has no bite to it — Chifuyu would walk through hell for Takemichi. Thinks he has, thinks his body remembers the press of steel between his eyes. For Takemichi.

Takemichi snivels, noses along Chifuyu’s jaw and he stiffens because it’s a dangerous, terrible thing to do to him.

"I'm so glad," Takemichi mutters. "I'm so glad you're alive. Please tell me I'm not a giant dumbass this time — I don't. I don't remember everything yet."

"You're always a dumbass." Takemichi whines, entirely too close to Chifuyu's reddening ear. "But not that kind of dumbass this time around."

He sags with relief at Chifuyu’s words, going limp in his arms. It makes them slide down even further on the floor, until Takemichi half-lays on top of Chifuyu who struggles to support both their weight, bracing himself with a hand and sighing.

His chest feels like it's about to cave in on itself, with the burden of wanting entirely too much.

"You did it, partner." He can't help but turn his head, to nuzzle Takemichi's jet black hair and breathe in the scent of his shitty 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioner. An indulgence he allows himself, a greedy moment he steals and tucks away along the countless aches and bruises he’s resolved to carry for Takemichi.

"We." Takemichi mutters, in a tone of voice that brooks no argument. "We did it."

"Alright," Chifuyu laughs a little, incredulous — how can people love like this every day and not go a little crazy?

He wants to ask about Hina but at the same time not; the same way he wants to rip the band-aid off of the Mikey secret but also take it to his grave.

He knew all along that Takemichi could never belong to him alone.

"Chifuyu?"

He hums in response, hopes Takemichi doesn't notice the crack in it.

"Thank you."

And here is where Takemichi pulls back, re-establishes their boundaries and they spend the night reminiscing, catching up — all while Chifuyu gets to feel like he might die if he doesn't get closer much the same way he feels he might die if he does. Takemichi will tell him what changed in the past, Chifuyu will explain the future until they meet in the middle somewhere.

Except.

It doesn't happen like that.

Instead Takemichi pulls back and places a scarred, calloused hand on Chifuyu's jawline before he leans in, hiccuping still as he presses a wet and messy kiss to Chifuyu's slack mouth.

It tastes of salt and sunshine and Chifuyu thinks he might actually pass away with the way his breath catches and stays in his throat, eyes wide.

"I'm sorry," Takemichi murmurs — sounding not sorry at all. "I might not remember everything, but my body sort of does."

"But. We never —" Chifuyu watches a slow, bright smile bloom on Takemichi's face, unfurling like a present for him alone.

"I know. You don't have to do anything, Chifuyu — I must have fallen in love with you along the way. It's coming back to me, little by little. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, I just —"

Chifuyu swallows the rest of what Takemichi is about to say with a desperate noise.

Their fingers interlace. 

He prays it's enough to keep him this time.

(He knows it isn’t.)

[chaoticrushu]

I posted 29,541 times in 2022

53 posts created (0%)

29,488 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@the-descolada

@selenelawfulgood

@aridotdash

@aspiringwarriorlibrarian

@andthentheywilleatthestars

I tagged 1,137 of my posts in 2022

#ntn spoilers - 138 posts

#kenobi spoilers - 113 posts

#nona the ninth spoilers - 84 posts

#baru cormorant spoilers - 48 posts

#htn spoilers - 48 posts

#acofaf spoilers - 43 posts

#baru cormorant - 38 posts

#the traitor baru cormorant spoilers - 21 posts

#archive - 19 posts

#nona spoilers - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 140 characters

#nona being able to read intimate and intricate details about people's personalities based on the way they move and hold their body to a poin

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Top 5 Cosmere foods?

1) Yolish Instant Niidles

2) Strawberries

3) Chicken

4) Lurnips

5) Womens food (I like sweets)

16 notes - Posted April 2, 2022

#4

“Muire Lo offered a linen napkin for the grapefruit. He’d folded it into a perfect triangle, like a lateen sail. “Our frigate Lapetiare is still in port,” he said, “and will not sail for a week.”

“Oh,” she said, straightening. “Oh.””

I did not add the italicization. Bari literally does an italicized oh when she remembers Aminata's still around.

Aminata x Baru for 2023!

24 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

#3

Rereading The Tyrant Baru Cormorant, and I found this line,

"her smooth, fat-padded stomach bare.", The Tyrant Baru Cormorant, Chapter 8

As a description of Tain Shir. And I love this. This is Tain Shir, the Bane Of Wives, this being of amazing skill and strength who literally every one in these books(AFAIK, might have forgotten someone) is terrified of. She was "born to a red moon and the flash of summer heat lightning", "born out of the light and the sea wind."

Look at this description of her:

The sailors stare at Shir in warrior awe. The scar-streaked hatch of her back, clamped shut over brute muscle. Her pillar-thick legs. Heavy arms and strangler’s hands all limber and loose. Upon her tall torso one of her breasts is cut crosswise by an old and devastating scar. The soft of her gut would disqualify her from the gymnast pageants in Falcrest but she is not a gymnast nor is her work a pageant. The Monster Baru Cormorant, Interlude: RNS Shulane

She's a force of nature in these books, almost a superhero in this book of realism.

And she's got fat! She doesn't have a six pack, she's not made of muscles, she has a "fat-padded" stomach!

I love this so much!

43 notes - Posted February 21, 2022

#2

Seduced by the Ruler’s Gaze: An Indian Perspective on Seth Dickinson’s Masquerade |

79 notes - Posted February 25, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Compiliation of character descriptions in Gideon the ninth

While I did my best to collect as many quotes as I could, I'm sure I missed a few, especially towards the end of the book, when I got distracted by plot. If you have any I missed, put them in the comments, and I'll edit them in. I haven't done HtN yet, but I'll add quotes from there when I get to it as a separate edition

Second House

Combined

"They both affected the same tightly braided hairstyle and abundance of gilt braid, and also the same serious-business expression. They were only distinct because one wore a rapier and the other quite a lot of pips at her collar." - Chapter 18

"Judith is somewhat less completely scrawny than other necromancers on the cast, though she should be less built than Marta is; Judith is imposing, solemn-faced and reflective, Marta is more keen-eyed and restless. I imagined both as Tongan." TM's tumblr

Judith Deutoros

Marta Dyas

"Am intensely dark girl snapped to attention."- Chapter 8

"That was the cavalier in the Cohort uniform, who had a voice as crisp as her collar." - Chapter 11

Third House

Combined

"The first was a rather sulky young man with an air of hair gel and filigree, an ornate rapier at the belt of his buttoned coat. The cavalier. The other two were young women, both blond, though the similarity ended there: one girl was tall and statuesque, with a star-white grin and masses of bright gold curls. The other girl seemed smaller, insubstantial, with a sheet of hair the anaemic colour of canned butter and an equally bloodless smirk. They were actually the same height, Gideon realised; her brain had just deemed that proposition too stupid to credit on first pass. It was as though the second girl were the starved shadow of the first, or the first an illuminated reflection. The boy just looked a bit of a dick." GtN Chapter 7

At the bottom of the stairs, deep in the shadows, Gideon got her first good glimpse of the speakers. The strange twin-scions of the Third House were looking around, attended to by their sulky, slightly bouffant cavalier. Up close, Gideon was more impressed than ever. The golden Third twin was probably the best-looking person she’d ever seen in her life. She was tall and regal, with some radiant, butterfly quality—her shirt was haphazardly tucked into her trousers, which were haphazardly tucked into her boots, but she was all topaz and shine and lustre. Necromancers affected robes in the same way cavaliers affected swords, but she hadn’t tucked her arms into hers, and it was a gauzy, gold-shot, transparent thing floating out around her like wings. There were about five rings on each hand and her earrings would’ve put chandeliers to shame, but she had an air of wild and innocent overdecoration, of having put on the prettiest things in her jewellery box and then forgotten to take them off. Her buttery hair was stuck to her forehead with sweat, and she kept tangling a curl of it in one finger and artlessly letting it go. The second twin was as though the first had been taken to pieces and put back together without any genius. She wore a robe of the same cloth and colour, but on her it was a beautiful shroud on a mummy. The cavalier had lots of hair, an aquiline face, and a self-satisfied little jacket." - Chapter 9

"Coronabeth is massive, taller even than Palamedes, larger-than-life – statuesque, very bright gold hair, golden/bright skin, violet eyes. Ianthe is the same height but gangly and washed out. Skin colour defined heavily in Corona’s case as golden/olive-hued brown/tanned; Ianthe similar, but less radiant/more pallid whatever the case. Both have long hair: Corona’s should be big and bouncy, Ianthe’s flat/sleek.

Naberius is shorter than both, brown-haired (brown can be light, medium or dark, it’s not defined) and blue-brown hazel eyes. Also has lots of hair, cut short, but sense of pompadour/waves. I imagined all three as Pakeha/white." - TM tumblr

Ianthe

"Pale eyes" GtN chapter 10

Coronabeth

"It was the lovely one; she had the sleeves of her gauzy robe haphazardly rolled up to each golden shoulder and her hair tied back in a tawny cloud"

Naberius terns

"He was not a short young man, but she had half a head on him, and a whole head if you counted her hair." - Chapter 9

"The Third’s main-gauche dagger was as gorgeously wrought as his hair" - GtN chapter 11

"He was about an inch shorter than her, with a frame that had been whipped within an inch of its life into perfectly sculpted muscle. He was narrow shouldered with long, long arms, and she was beginning to believe that he was not simply a douchebag who used lip balm, but a douchebag who used lip balm and had a very long reach." - GtN chapter 11

"The hard moue of his mouth" - GtN chapter 11

See the full post

313 notes - Posted February 20, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[dysfunctionalaliens]

Stephen King, best romance writer ever -Nancy Wheeler

Pairing: Nancy Wheeler x Female Reader

Summary: You can’t keep your eyes off of Nancy as you and the others travel the upside down. Eddie notices and decides to give you a shove, just like any best friend would. Who knew Stephen King was the master of romance?

Warnings: slight slight Angst, Fluff, Humor, a budding love, Eddies potty mouth, Eddie being a wingman, Stephen King’s novels, them ugly bats of the upside down, and slight spoilers to season 4 episode 7 (You’ll know what I mean)

A/N: So I haven’t uploaded on Tumblr in years since I was thirteen, this is my first step back into it. I’m super rusty with this. If my writing style is odd, its just that I’m used to writing on Ao3 and haven’t written like this in years. I’m not used to writing this way/have an odd writing style so apologies in advance! I loved the new season and loved how Nancy looked in it, her outfits were amazing. I’m also figuring out how I want my layout to be so if I switch a-lot of things I apologize. Also! My requests are open so if you enjoyed this, don’t be shy to request anything. 

Word count: 942 words

You scowl as you step over a vine, keeping the mindset of the mentioned ‘Hivemind’ Nancy and Steve mentioned. You ignore the noise of disgust from Eddie behind you as you all march forward.

Unable to look at the repeating sights surrounding you like a looming shadow, you instead let your gaze wonder until it landed on the familiar head of hair that was none other than Nancy Wheeler.

Now you weren’t sure when your feelings for Nancy first started. You thought maybe it started when she smiled at you in the hallways between classes, or maybe when she once sat beside you during lunch and asked about the novel you were reading.

At first you mistook the butterflies in your stomach for dislike towards the girl but after seeing her and Steve Harrington kiss in the hallways one morning, and the staircase of emotions that followed after, you quickly realized what it really was.

You realized it wasn’t hatred, hell it wasn’t even annoyance or distrust. 

It was a crush, a rapidly growing one.

For weeks, you spent hours upon hours laying in your bed trying to wrap your mind around the fact of liking Nancy Wheeler. Anytime you weren’t lounging around thinking about the dark-haired woman, you were instead screaming into your pillow. Screaming about the fact that you would never be with her, that she would never look at you the way she used to look at Steve. Or the way she would look at Jonathan.

“Jesus, trying to burn a hole into Wheeler or what?” Eddie asks, dragging you out of your thoughts.

“I am not!” You denied as you stepped over another vine. The man gives a snort of disbelief at your words. “Anyone can see that you are. Hell those creepy fucking bat things can probably even see you.” Instead of speaking, you instead choose to sharply elbow Eddie who in return does it back.

“I’m simply..observing.” Your voice drops to a whisper as you speak, your eyes finding Nancy’s form once more. 

Eddie followed your gaze for a moment before giving a dramatic groan. “Why don’t you just ask her to hang out. I’m sure Wheeler won't bite- wait she might. Scratch that.” You shake your head in disbelief at the man’s words. 

“Are you Insane? One wrong thing and I'll be the freak of the town- no offense.” Eddie waves a hand at your words, which you take as a sign to continue on your rant. “Last time I checked; she likes boys. Boys like Steve. Boys like Jonathan. Not girls. If I get to close and end up freaking her out, the entire town will flip. She might let me down gently but she might tell someone.” 

For once, Eddie is quiet. So quiet it almost unnerves you. The noises from the upside down surrounding you are almost more comforting than the silent mullet having man. “Eddie?” You dare to ask.

“Punch me later.” You raise an eyebrow at his words. “Pardon me?” You utter in confusion as you watch Eddie motion to give him a moment before awkwardly jogging forward and taping Nancy on the shoulder.

They seem to talk for a moment before Nancy motioned for you to come towards her. Ignoring the sweat beginning to form on your palms from nerves, you almost robotically moved forward until you were walking beside her.

“So, Eddie told me you have something to ask me?” Nancy asks quietly as you both step over a vine. 

For a split moment, the idea of throwing Eddie to the bats of the upside down sounded pleasant. Hell to you, it almost sounded therapeutic in a way. You mentally made the note that if the upside down didn’t get Eddie, you would.

“Uh…Uh…” You cringe at the sound of you fumbling over your words as you feel embarrassment begin to creep up your spine.

“Stephen King! Did you ever read that book I recommended to you?” You ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you rub your hands on your jeans, trying to ease your screaming nerves. 

“I bought it but never got around to it. I assume you have read more of his work since you gave me the recommendation?” She asks, turning her gaze onto you.

“Yeah, I have! I’ve read like Salem’s Lot, Night Shift, The Shining..I’m reading through Cujo at the moment. It’s about this dog and just, I won’t spoil it for you.” Your voice dies down to a whisper as you speak.

Nancy gives a chuckle at your words. You expect her to return her gaze forward but she instead continues to stare at you.

“Do you think..that when this is dealt with, that we could maybe..I don’t know..” She trails off, sounding almost shy.

You stare at her in shock, never expecting to live long enough to see Nancy Wheeler shy.

“We could?” You ask.

“We could rent some of the movies. Family Video might have them and I swear if we watch the movies, you could lend me the books after.” Nancy’s voice was a bit shaky but clear.

“I’d like that.” You whisper to her with a smile.

Nancy mirrors the smile as you both stare at one another, barely reacting in time as you both almost step on a vine.

You both stabilize yourselves before laughing quietly to each other.

“Fuck yeah.” Eddie pumps his fist into the air, watching you two talk among each other while Steve and Robin share a look of confusion. “I did that.”

“Did what?” 

No response followed from Eddie as he instead continued to walk forward

“Eddie what did you do?” 

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence. 

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.” 

Ao3 Link: Here 

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here 

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return. 

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks. 

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo. 

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.” 

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew: 

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious. 

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him. 

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…” 

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat. 

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove. 

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.” 

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—” 

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.” 

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.” 

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—” 

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.” 

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs. 

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk. 

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did. 

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue. 

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—” 

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.” 

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—” 

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.” 

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses. 

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.” 

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot. 

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him. 

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.” 

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached. 

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” 

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore. 

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure. 

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.” 

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head. 

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do. 

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations? 

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability. 

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position. 

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.” 

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.” 

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!” 

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.” 

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova. 

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.” 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current. 

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out. 

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies. 

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight. 

He needed a fucking drink. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs. 

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy. 

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets. 

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools. 

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb. 

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again. 

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more. 

Except… he’d been standing still that time. 

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet. 

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving. 

“What the fu—” 

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later. 

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs. 

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face. 

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots. 

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth. 

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight. 

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue. 

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky. 

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way. 

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them. 

Dynamight was here to get the job done. 

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head. 

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc. 

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him. 

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet. 

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god. 

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch. 

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him. 

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought. 

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze. 

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar. 

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals. 

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again. 

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air. 

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window. 

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then… 

Nothing. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time. 

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes. 

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop. 

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat. 

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place. 

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way. 

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to. 

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled. 

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business. 

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia. 

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite. 

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least. 

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers. 

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst. 

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things. 

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself. 

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. 

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself. 

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good. 

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet. 

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help. 

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful. 

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful. 

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own. 

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone. 

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train. 

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.” 

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief. 

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.” 

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts. 

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking. 

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out. 

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments. 

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes. 

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor. 

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass. 

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms. 

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms. 

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash? 

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs. 

That sounded… closer. 

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky. 

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals. 

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person. 

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth. 

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack. 

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down. 

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air. 

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air. 

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached. 

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street. 

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill. 

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed. 

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it. 

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later. 

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames. 

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene. 

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him. 

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped. 

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window. 

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

[leamy-world]

Reaction to The Devil Judge (spoilers for ep. 9 & 10)

It’s been a while since i’ve last been on tumblr, but i got invested in this drama every week & the fandom’s analyses to not talk about it sometime! (Last time i was hooked, it was with Beyond Evil and i watched it by the time the finale already aired so i didn’t suffer from the weekly wait!)

So here i am, this is mainly self-indulgent with essay-long interpretations of some scenes in a totally random order, but i’d love to interact with whoever reads this if they want to react!

I’m sorry for the potential awkward phrasings, english is not my first language!

- The recap was nicely done and tied everything together, it made me realize so many things happened since the beginning! The repetition didn’t make me skip it, the narration was dynamic & fun.

- The ‘power display’ & threat Yohan showed to Soohyun (by lashing out at Juk Chang and strangling him, as proxy for Soohyun, in front of her while staring at her) were something …! She answered in the same fashion, passing by him saying she will ‘arrest Juk Chang’. I wonder how their next encounters will unfold.

- Many people already pointed this out, but Soohyun’s decision to leave Elijah, a minor, alone in her car (with its doors open, daring to tell her to stay there when she has no other choice anyway) + stop the gang alone and unannounced off duty was irresponsible. Anyways, i wonder if she will interact again with Elijah because they were adorable, i would miss it!

- The conversation between Soohyun & Gaon at his apartment (ep. 10) was interesting on both parts: 

It sounded casual, but Soohyun wanted to see where he stood in the Kang family and make sure he wasn’t in Yohan’s plans (i hope she didn’t seriously mean the ‘weird’ comment about Elijah, it’d be sad since Elijah enjoyed her company!).

Gaon was anxious professor Min told her about their last conversation (i think she’ll talk to him in the next eps). He also indirectly defended the Kangs by associating himself with them (« I’m pretty sure i’m just as weird ») and voiced his concern about Yohan, speaking more to himself than following the conversation at hand. 

When Soohyun changed the subject with the ‘i’m jealous’ bit, maybe it was to brighten the mood with a light-hearted comment, hoping Gaon would follow. And by the look of her pause right after, it seemed she was also expecting GO’s ‘positive’ reaction to her jealousy, giving in to the kind of teasing/flirt they have in their friendship. But deep down, it was also to voice her true unease about Gaon’s involvement with Yohan she had since the beginning and ep. 8. 

It’s obvious to us she meant she was jealous of Yohan. And GO could’ve understood it this way too, since she confessed to him multiple times and her feelings must be known to him (i think he takes it as a ‘joke’ given how many times she confessed and each time when he was crying, so maybe he thought, very reasonably, it was to cheer him up? I also guess he’s too absorbed by his current worries about the Kangs and her potential suspicion, to notice her attempts). 

But instead of that, he’s not in the same line of thoughts at all and picks up on the « rich », musing on what makes one’s existence rich, thinking Soohyun was envying Yohan’s position and life and proving her he’s indeed in a whole different world, empathizing with Yohan. 

She then looked like her face fell, until her eyes lit up again when he was about to admit she was precious to him along with his family.

By the way, this scene picks up right where we were left off in ep. 8, when Gaon tends to his plants:

« - Are you back for good? - Not really. They need some looking after. - You should come back, not drop by. This is where you live. - Someone there needs some taking care of too. - Take care of your own self, please. - What about me? I’m living a shamelessly comfortable life. Soohyun. - Yes? - What are you thinking about? - Nothing. By the way, Gaon … » (i wonder what she was going to say!)

Lost in thoughts, Gaon’s mixed emotions when he said Yohan was not rich (« he’s not rich. If you get to know him, Kang Yohan is really poor. ») were very well depicted by Jinyoung’s acting: the soft voice and the ghost of a smile that convey understanding and endearment, leaning on his counter in a relaxed stance, but also at the same time the stare lost in the space, maybe to all the memories tied to the Kangs and Yohan, and the tension in his left lip corner by the end of his sentence which betray his sadness and empathy with Yohan’s life. After this, when he became aware of Soohyun’s gaze, it’s like his bubble popped. He looked surprised with his eyes widening, and was fidgeting a little, then changed the subject to himself.

And « I have you, Soohyun » sounded truly grateful but also sad and conflicted, GO lets his worries show when she’s gone, maybe wondering if they would be bound to be against each other one day as he continues to side with Yohan, menacing to jeopardize their friendship to the point of no return. In these kinds of stories you expect these kinds of twists, but i grew fond of the cast send help

- I loved how Yohan’s confession to GO about his brother was filmed: the camera faced head-on his pain, slipping unbeknownst to him through the façade he always showed to protect himself. But this time, despite his (late) attempts to dismiss these feelings both for him and Gaon to regain composure (the hand gestures to hide his tears, pretending to be tough with the  « there’s no such things as innocent people », drinking away his sorrow with a bitter laugh that rings hollow), all this façade fades out in front of Gaon literally by being blurred out in the shot, as if he clearly sees his pain through (his silhouette appearing clear-cut between Yohan’s gestures). I know it’s a pretty classic shot but it fit well with this scene. He clenches his jaw in the next shot, moved by Yohan opening up. 

- The dinner scene was really moving …! Especially when you put the colder tones the kitchen had when we first saw Yohan have dinner by himself next to this scene, full of light in contrast! I wonder when the OST playing will be released, it was so beautiful and reminded me of My Mister’s OST (especially Rainbow!). I look forward to the lyrics, because most of the time the OST gives more layers & depth to the story and the characters! (please don’t let it be about Yohan’s budding feeling of a true ‘home’ ;;) I didn’t realize it upon my first watch, but Gaon really took the cutlery hostage, it cracked me up!

- The parallels in this show will be the end of me: Yohan went from the « i’m so sick of this place » (ep. 5) to asking K to drive him « home » with a delighted smile. 

- I liked the parallel of Yohan’s reaction to GO/Sun-Ah sitting in his office chair, impeding on his space (he reminds SA to stay out of it, the first time politely, the second time almost grimacing, his jaw clenched: « Just because you’re the head of the OSC doesn’t mean you can barge in like this (…) So please stop barging in like this. », while he says nothing to GO)

- At the beginning of ep. 10, we have Yohan saying he doesn’t like «  hanging out with people » & by the end of it, Soohyun saying « My childhood’s best friend is hanging out with a rich guy ».

- These two episodes gave more insight and nuance into Sun-Ah’s character, which was very nice ; and also Cha Kyung-Hee’s comeback (and her last confrontation with Sun-Ah!!!!)

- The people following Juk Chang also targeted sexual minorities according to the subs i had, i wonder if it will be addressed again sometime in the drama. 

- I loved Elijah’s « hacking » technique scene, i felt proud too! I always look forward to her scenes (and Kkomi’s too haha)! And her reaching out Gaon’s shoulder for the first time ;;

- The ‘humans lose their minds when they think they’ve lost what they have’ ……… repeated twice by YH ………… It will hit hard and all those lines will come right back at us viewers, but i’m not prepared haha! And also for the ‘if you want revenge, don’t hesitate’, i hope it doesn’t foreshadow a future revenge Gaon will execute without hesitation aaaaaa

Also, what lawyer Ko said about himself in ep. 8 may apply to Yohan’s case by the end, will he atone for what he did someday? (« I’m no longer a lawyer. I’m just a criminal. When all this comes to an end, I’ll pay for what i did. »)

- I really loved Yohan’s efforts to take into consideration both Elijah’s (he refrained himself from acting rashly like the last time she went out and listened to her) and Gaon’s feelings (stopping him from endangering himself recklessly, not forcing him onto the revenge path lest he’d regret it afterwards, and helping him to face the truth rationally). 

- « She’s hungry for affection. No matter how much you hate the world and the people in it, you can never live alone. You always need someone to rely on. As long as you’re a human being. » Many people commented on it, Gaon must speak from his own experience and empathizes with both Elijah and Yohan’s situation. These two episodes showed how Gaon cares for the Kangs more openly, and i live for it! 

- Give me that domestic scene where Gaon plays cards with YH, the nanny and Elijah! And also more K and lawyer Ko scenes!

- Jinjoo’s and Gaon’s intervention in the trial were gold! And Satie’s Gnossiennes rearrangement playing in the background during Juk Chang’s speech, it’s the cherry on the cake haha

- By the way, there was also an arrangement of Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto no. 2 during the first charity event Yohan went with Jinjoo in the earlier episodes, it was also beautiful!

- GO’s Awkward Smile. I have no words, it is now forever imprinted on my mind.

Have a nice week and take care!

[jawritter]

30 Minutes In Heaven

Summary: Your life, like many hunters before you, was cut short. You had no idea at the time the Fates that were at play in the universe were really those of dick angles and egotistical assholes with massive god complexes. And you also had no idea that they were really the reason you lost your life, and you had no idea why… Until around 30 minutes after you made it to Heaven.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader (Y/N), Jack Kline

Warnings: SPN SERIES FINALE SPOILERS!!!! IF YOU LIVE UNDER A ROCK AND HAVE NOT SEEN IT YET DO NOT READ THIS FIC!!! Brief use of Christian biblical text at the beginning as a reference. Language I’m sure, because hello, it’s me. Slight angst, mentions of character death all over the place, past, present, and upcoming. Some fluff. I don’t want to give too much away.

Word Count: 2722

A Huge fucking thank you to @miss-nerd95​ for Betaing this fic!! You’re a lifesaver!!

A/N: Okay, this was a fic I started before the Series ending, then when it ended I dropped it like a hot object because I just couldn’t finish it, and struggled with the fact that I could easily tie in the canon Dean Winchester ending. Then one of my Patreons requested an ending that placed the reader, Dean’s soul mate, given to him once he made it to Heaven to give Dean the happy ending he deserved, well that’s when I decided to go back and finish it, give Dean and the reader a reunion over there. I was originally going to just post this to Patreon, but I feel like we ALL needed this, so I’m going to be posting it to tumblr and wattpad as well! I hope you all enjoy this one, as it was a bitch to write I’m not gonna lie.

**MASTERLIST**   **BECOME A PATREON**

2 Peter 3:8 Says But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. 

You had never known  the gravity of that one verse of scripture from your time on earth. It was the only thing that resounded to be true in all that you had experienced once you had made it to Heaven. There was no way of truly knowing exactly how long in earth time you had been here, but something deep down in your heart knew that it had been a very, very long time. You would venture to say it had been close to ten years, but again you couldn’t be sure. 

For you, it had only felt like 30 minutes. 

In that 30 minutes a whole lot of things had taken place. You hadn’t even gotten settled into your little cubicle here before the place began to shake. Then talks of falling angels and power flickering were happening. There were whispers of new gods and old gods, there were whispers of the devil and his death. There were whispers of all manner of things as you stood with your head to the wall of your childhood bedroom. 

One name you kept hearing was Dean. 

Dean Winchester. 

You had been a hunter in your former life, and you had heard of the Winchesters before. Part of you wanted desperately to know what was happening on earth, what could Dean Winchester have done to literally cause Heaven to quake? 

You had tried to find a means of escape, but you seemed trapped in this room, no matter how much you tried to find a way out. 

Then before you even had time to panic, another rumble shook Heaven, and people were saying something about a 'darkness' that had befallen of old. A darkness that had overtaken Dean. That were the longest five minutes of your life. The angels talked of the righteous man that had once shed blood in hell now bathed in it on earth to save the world. 

Over and over again you would catch snippets of stories, passing and confusing glimpses, while you remained trapped behind the all too familiar walls of your prison cell. 

You screamed and pounded, but it all went ignored until a sudden bright light consumed you, almost blinding you completely. 

The next thing you knew, you were standing in a little cabin type of house. One you had always dreamed of having-one you had always hoped for but were never foolish enough to believe you could have due to your lifestyle, right down to the stone fireplace in the corner of the little living room that oozed warmth, and the bookshelf that lined around that, upon closer inspection, had many of your favorite books. 

There were birds chirping outside the windows, and the sun was shining. There were beautiful mountains off in the distance, and for the first time a profound calmness fell on you. You didn’t have time to ponder your sudden release from your prison before a voice behind you made you turn on the spot, old hunter instincts kicking in like they had never left. 

“Hello,” it said, and you turned to find a young boy in a white jacket standing with his hand raised in an almost alien-like greeting and a warm smile on his face. 

“Um-hi,” you responded, slowly taking a step back, more than weary of everything, for it could be an angel or even a demon in this place. 

“Oh, don’t be afraid of me. I’m Jack, Jack Kline,” he said, settling himself against the arm of the old leather couch in the living area of the cabin. 

You had heard whispers of his name before too, but knew very little of him aside from the fact that he seemed to be in the same circles with the Winchesters. His name had been whispered a lot amongst the angels passing down what you could only assume was a hallway by the small room you were trapped in. 

“What do you want?” you questioned him defensively, looking around for anything you could use in case you had to defend yourself against, uh-whatever he was. 

Jack nonchalantly clasped his hands together in front of his lap. Looking around the little cabin fondly, almost like a proud decorator would look at his finished product before his eyes traveled back to your own. 

“This place is cozy, it’s perfect, it’s everything you and he deserves,” he said, grinning at you in an almost childlike manner. It was confusing, and you wanted to run, but for some reason you held your ground. 

“I asked what do you want?” you asked again, and this time Jack nodded before meeting your gaze knowingly. 

“You have no idea who you are, do you?” he asked, the same kind smile on his face. 

You said nothing, just waited there ,watching him for any sudden movements. Jack stood and made his way around the cabin, and looked outside the window next to you, admiring the scenery around with innocent wonder you had forgotten could even exist. 

“You were cheated out of life, Y/N Y/L/N. You were cheated out of a lot of good things you were meant for. You were killed before your time because my grandfather was angry with Dean and couldn’t control him, so he took you away from him before he could ever even have you. In doing so, he took away Dean’s only chance to have any happiness or peace while on Earth.”

Jack turned to face you while you froze up, him seemingly unfazed while you tried to make sense of this riddle he was giving you. Sensing your confusion, Jack gave you a moment before finally speaking again. 

“Do you remember how you died, Y/N?” he asked, and you tried to. It was all really hard to remember. You knew you had been on a hunt that was supposed to be a simple Salt and Burn, but since the Winchesters had opened up the gates of hell a few years back, it wasn’t always what it appeared, just like it wasn’t that time. It was a trap set up by demons, and while you couldn’t remember the pain you went through, or the details of your death, you know that they had been your end game. 

“Chuck sent those Demons to kill you so that Dean would never meet you in this life, and he intended to keep you locked away here forever so you two couldn't get together even in heaven. You were Dean’s soulmate, see. A rare and beautiful thing in the cruel world my grandfather built. You would have grounded Dean, given him a family of his own, a reason to fight against the darkness that he never should have been forced to take on in the first place. If you would have been his, the way you were intended to be, then Dean would never have become a Demon, he would have never had to let go of Lisa or even go to her in the first place, and he wouldn’t be on his way into a warehouse right now to die alone with his brother as witness on a crude piece of rebar.”

Your eyes widened as you struggled to keep up with what this teenager was telling you. You were Dean Winchester’s soulmate, and this Chuck had you killed so that you would never meet him. There was supposed to be no tears in Heaven, or at least that’s what you were always told, but you could feel them slipping down your cheeks as images of what could have been flashed before your mind, no doubt controlled by  whatever power Jack had. 

Images of a little boy in Dean’s arms, images of sensual touches, passionate filled moments, images of yourself and Dean old and sitting on a porch in a rocking chair with your grandchildren played in the yard with a dog that Dean called Miracle. It was all stolen from you. It would never be yours, you were robbed of this man and the life you could have shared together, it was earth shattering. 

“What happened to his Chuck?” you asked, sudden fear gripping you that he would find you free of your prison, and destroy you utterly. 

“Dean defeated him, he’s cursed to live life alone and die as a lowly human. I promise you, it’s more than what he deserves.”

Jack made his way to the front door of the cabin, opening it and stepping out on the porch, leading you to sit down on one of the old wooden rocking chairs, as he took a seat next to you. “He should be here any moment now,” Jack said, smiling at you before looking down the long dirt road almost longingly. 

“What happens when he gets here?” you asked him, following his line of sight, your heart already longing for a man you never knew you missed. 

“He gets to have the heaven he deserves, with you.” 

The ground underneath you seemed to rumble lowly, and Jack’s smile widened as he stood from his perch in the chair next to you before looking at you excitedly. 

“He’s here, Dean’s home,” he said, giving you a smile before stepping out into the open driveway, looking back over his shoulder before yelling at you, “Wait here!” and disappearing on the spot. Leaving you alone with birds singing happily, and your heart pounding in your chest. Images of what should have been still fresh in your mind, and for some reason no doubt at all that he’d be happy to see you here, a reassurance residing in your soul you never understood until now, but knew it was meant to be there all the same.

“Come home to me, Dean,” you whispered to the passing wind, settling down to wait on the man that had saved the world, and now was finally ready to lay down his weary, war beaten heart in the hands of the one person he always longed for, but was forced to do without, you.

Dean’s POV: 

“Right here!” Sam said from the passenger seat of the Impala as Dean turned the wheel into a driveway of what looked like the perfect little farmhouse in the middle of a beautiful clearing not far from where his parents little place was nestled. 

As soon as Dean put Baby in park Sam threw the passenger door open, the front door of the house opening to reveal Jess in a long white dress. Dean had a hard time suppressing the smile as he watched his little brother run into the arms of the woman he had always loved. He was finally home. Sammy was finally happy, and that made him more happy and at peace than he ever thought would be possible. Dean waived to his little brother before he and Jess disappeared inside his new home, leaving Dean alone yet again in the Impala. 

This place, it was almost perfect, but even still Dean felt like a vagabond. Putting Baby in drive he made his way down the road a little ways back to where he’d started, Bobby no longer sitting on the porch, but he was sure he could hear him and Ellen laughing just off in the distance as he killed the engine. 

Everyone had their place, but Dean. Dean didn’t have a home or a long lost love waiting for him, and he felt something he thought he wasn’t supposed to ever feel again in Heaven. He felt lonely. 

“Hey Dean,” Jack’s voice cut into the fog of his self pity, and Dean spun in the driver's seat to find Jack smiling at him in the back, a smile breaking over Dean’s weather beaten features, revealing the eye crinkles deep in his sun kissed skin that Jack had missed seeing, and didn’t get to see nearly enough while they were both on Earth.

“Jack! You’ve done a great job man! This place is everything anyone could dream of, you and Cas really outdid yourselves.” 

Dean’s gaze locked with the boy in life he’d hated almost to the point of death, and all he could find now was utter and complete peace staring back at him, and he wondered if he would get to the place where he could feel the same peace everyone else seemed to feel.

“Dean, glad you finally made it,” Jack said, leaning forward in the seat and looking around to the road and pointing for Dean to drive up the gravel path hidden in the trees. Dean did so without question, putting his beloved Baby in drive, and pushing onward until a little cabin tucked away in the hallow appeared just in sight. You were sitting on the porch, watching, as if you were waiting for him, and as he turned to Jack in confusion Jack just smiled as he once did when he tried to give Dean his first Christmas present, only more deep and with more pride. 

“I don’t remember her,” Dean murmured, turning back to look at you as you were  standing up slowly and making your way to lean against the rough cut railing of the porch, eyes tracing over Dean’s cars almost fondly. 

“That’s because you never got to meet her while you were alive. She was stolen from you Dean, long before you ever got the chance to find true happiness.” 

Dean’s face contorted with confusion, but Jack simply placed his fingers to Dean’s forehead lightly, showing him all the things that could have been, and should have been, but never were, just like he did to you. When Jack was done, one giant tear rolled down Dean's face as he uttered the only thing he could have thought would possibly have been able to take something so precious away from him, so willingly. “Chuck.” 

Jack nodded  and looked back at you where you were waiting for Dean to finally get out of the car. 

“This, Dean, this is the Heaven you deserve. This is home. This is peace. You did good Dean, and now it’s time for you to have everything without any terms or conditions.”

Dean’s eyes traced over your features and his heart swelled in his chest. He could feel it, the magnetic pull, the piece of him that was always missing beckoning to him to come home and lay his weary soul to rest. “Y/N,” he murmured before looking back at Jack. “How do I know her name?” he asked. Jack just smiled, looking into Dean’s eyes knowingly.

“Go home Dean, she’s been waiting for you for a long time.” With that Jack disappeared, leaving Dean alone in the car. 

Slowly, Dean pushed the door open, and his eyes met yours as a smile spread across your face. He was perfect. He was everything you had missed and didn’t know you needed. He completed you.

You were the deepest piece of his soul that he had always missed, you were the reason his heart was beating now, and had always been the reason he got up and fought every day to get to the rest that he had found now. You were home, his home. 

Dean placed a large hand to the side of your face as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close to him, and brushed your hair away from your face. His green eyes bore into your own with more emotion and love than you had ever felt in your life. There was no darkness there. There was no hurt, or self loathing, there was no weight of the world, there was no more fight and heartache. There was nothing but love and resounding peace that would last for the ages. 

“I’m sorry I took so long, sweetheart,” Dean said, his lips brushing yours as you melted into his hold, humming at the warmth of his breath against your skin. 

“S’Okay Dean,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders as the two of you just held each other there in your little piece of Heaven. You finally had all you’d ever need. Dean had you, and your warrior was finally home.

Forever Tags: 

@deandreamernp​

@forgetthisbull​

@miraclesoflove​

@deanwanddamons​​​ 

@rvgrsbrns​​ 

@chevyharvelle​​ 

@onethirstyunicorn​​ 

@i-love-superhero​​ 

@lyss-dw79​ 

@magssteenkamp​ 

@lemondropirwin​ 

@squirrelnotsam​ 

@hobby27​ 

@spnbaby-67​  

@mrsjenniferwinchester​ 

@defenderrosetyler​ 

@screechingartisancashbailiff​ 

@thecreatiivecorner​  

@vicmc624​ 

@busy-bee-angel-misska​ 

@justanotherwinchester​

@brilovesdeanwinchester​

@idksupernatural​

@lyarr24​ 

@amandamdiehl​ 

@miraclesoflove​ 

 @emoryhemsworth​ 

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel​ 

@softsebastian 

@tatted-trina6​

@anaelsbrunette​ 

@hayleeharling​   

@flamencodiva​ 

@coldmuffinbanditshoe​ 

@dirty-pan-goblin​ 

@itmejado​ 

@supernatural3002​ 

@teresa-67​ 

@thoughts-and-funnies​ 

@hearteyes-j2​

@miss-nerd95​ 

@writers-whirlwind​

@peaches007​

Jensen and Dean’s Babes

@msmarvelouswinchester​

@akshi8278​

@love-jackles-37-blog​

@supernatural-bellawinchester​

[mushroom-cartel--writing]

begrudging (love-)blindness

Summary: You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru & Reader, Gojo Satoru/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc.)

Personally, I think this is hot garbage in terms of structure and pacing (it’s loosely all strung together is what I’m saying, but I just needed to get it off my chest before I wrote anything else. Yet... I guess I had fun? Yeah. I did!

There's spoilers from the manga mixed with headcanon.

I still hate spacing and formatting on Tumblr, it sucks. Please, please, please, this is for your own good, click the AO3 link, this fic is such an eyesore on this platform.

|||

There’s a tug at your chest, sending you hurtling backwards and into something hard. A wall. Tiles. Smooth.

The heavens and the earth view one another through a layer of haze of light at night.

There are thousands of people gathering, their footsteps thundering echoes in your ears. Their chatter is a constant hum in the air. It stinks of sweat.

(“The train will be arriving soon. Please stand behind the yellow line—”)

You sigh.

“Dammit, Satoru! A little warning would be nice,” you hiss to the man. You hear him whisper something back but his voice is swallowed up by the crowds and then he, too, is consumed.

You feel him wander farther away from you; not left with much choice, you follow him. And down, down, down you go.

You pause when there’s an invisible wall blocking your path of his own making. “Hey!!” you shout, starting to scream expletives at him from the top of his lungs and he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds pass. The people, these poor, clueless civilians who just want to go home for the night are like sardines in a can, their bodies pushing and shoving. For space. For air. Requiring neither, you phase through the wall and the remaining levels to catch up to him, the thoughts going through your head solely focused on figuring out why he has let you out. He wouldn’t do something like this without warning you beforehand.

Why now? What now?

You pull out from the shadowed cracks of the feeble curtain set up along the fifth floor underground, suddenly feeling a heaviness you hardly ever experience. You run a cursory swipe over his teeth; the blood in the air is fresh, there are more civilians down here than up above, more sardine-ing (their presence is fading away, the above platforms’ panicked din becomes extinguished, it’s ghastly quiet, a moment frozen in time), but no Satoru. Not physically.

He loves you, you know. (You don’t understand though… Why?)

It’s a burden, draining you of what vigour is left in your soul, barely just clinging on to this plane itself.

His love is a curse in itself, really.

"I don't want you to see me hurt," he had said often, back when you were children, oblivious to the power of those words until you got older.

What they meant.

What they did—to him and you.

Still as the wind, you stand together, hands brushing up against each other's, your fingers infected with poison where his is not; the calloused skin and scars shared between you weaving a tale for the ages that will never be told.

You’re both nineteen at heart but certainly not in spirit.

You lean against him, completely unseen, waiting for him to flick his finger back.

Waiting for him to obliterate the first person he thought he could trust outside.

He doesn’t. You disappear for another time, expectant.

His love is a burden and you're not sure where you would be without it.

If he hadn't looked your way, would you be the same person you are today?

It's frightening, these thoughts of yours, but he usually chases them off when he senses them bubbling to the surface. (You want him to be annoyed.) A casual grin and stance, a flick of his wrist, a rush of wind by your side, then the phantom pressure is gone, yes, gone, however—it's never banished completely. It never can be.

You don't remember the colour of his eyes but there's a memory of you claiming they looked like marbles, buried somewhere (somehow), in the back of your mind. Like the marbles you'd smash glass bottles to obtain, their fizzy contents only drained seconds beforehand; stubby, sticky, small fingers sorting through the shards, squashing ants in the process.

Those very same fingers, now, haven't changed a bit, save for the chipped nails and whatnot duress they’ve sustained throughout his life.

You use them to push the blindfold up to his forehead, taking in the surrounding sights.

Why now? The fact that you can feel them, his fingers and everything else—that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.

You breathe, inflating the faux lungs.

Finally, you see it. The reason why you’re walking and talking and fully corporeal.

You gulp at the living corpse, its stitches wonky and fresh. Cerebrospinal fluid spills from its face in fat droplets and lands upon the clothes of a dead man. Disgusting.

“So I was right in the end,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else. “You’re not Suguru.”

(Satoru owes you a thousand yen. You told him to burn the body immediately. Or, you know, the usual. But what’d he do instead? He went and passed it off to a third party! Man, why’d that old hag have to kick the bucket so soon… If she was still around she’d probably kick Satoru’s dumb ass for trying to be decent.)

“How are you free?” Not-Suguru asks.

The real Suguru wouldn’t ask about your appearance. He would make a comment about how the temperature has dropped and burrow into his collar. He wouldn’t question things.

The real Suguru never acknowledged you, but he knew there was something in the corner of his eye that took the image of his friend and laughed alongside them when they pulled their antics during missions.

The real Suguru is gone.

Who the hell knows where Shouko is.

Yeah. A little warning would have been nice. Real fucking nice.

There’s a cube with a dozen eyes between the two of you, the crater on the ground betrays its unassuming weight. Satoru’s muted presence, a shrunken pearl of light, emanates from the cube.

Not-Suguru follows your line of sight to it.

Giving him an answer would be a waste of your time.

You can’t, they say.

Young master, please, don’t go there, implores the servants and guards.

The elders, his grandmother especially, tell him not to enter the storehouse tucked away in the garden behind an avenue of camellia trees because that’s something they’ll discuss when he’s older.

He doesn’t listen to them, the curiosity of a three-year-old child cannot be satisfied by mere words. (“Let this be known,” the gardener says in his defense, one cold summer’s day. It is raining outside. His grandmother shoots the only person in the compound that doesn’t treat him like a blind fool with a withering glare. He does not see them again until—)

What’s in the storehouse?

A library of cursed objects? Spiritual remnants, artefacts, texts, poisons, weapons?

Maybe the mummified corpse of an ancestor whom they keep around to ward off evil?

Perhaps a curse, frozen in time forevermore?

Maybe it’s nothing and the adults are all in on some kind of elaborate hoax, he figures. Mm, yeah. Sounds about right. No one else knows about the storehouse.

It’s old and earthen. Wild plants curl the walls to one side and splotches of moss grow on the tiled roof. Where the sun hits least is pristine. Clean. He wonders if that’s where the wards are placed, out of sight, out of mind.

Oh.

Standing in the entrance of the open door with bare feet, at the threshold of the aged structure, fulfilling his desire, he learns why they wanted him to remain ignorant.

It’s a child. (A human…? This whole situation is off.) A kid his age. He can’t tell whether or not they’re older or younger. They might be a bit taller, though.

No, he wants to shout, this can’t be it! He stomps his foot. That’s cliché! Boring, boring, boring! Again, he strikes the ground. Ugh, whatever—

A sigh escapes the emaciated figure sitting in the darkness, hunched over themself against the wall of the bare storehouse.

“Ah, my f̶̥̍r̵̝͐̏i̷̳end,” they start, softly. “M̶̹̦͒y̸͍̮̋̚ f̸͉̓̋r̴͇̦̕ǐ̴̦͇e̵̫͠n̷̢͉̅̓ḍ̸̅, my very dear, old friend. You have returned.

“My e̷̳̭̿y̶͈͂e̷͔̭̎͘s̴̭̄̊, have you come to give them back? Ask for several others?

“I have waited for you, as promised. Come. Closer. Please. I do not know how long has passed since I last gazed upon your visage. Do not be afraid.

“I no longer lust for flesh as fervently as before, I will not ask of y̸͖͔̒o̵̳̍u̵͍̘̓ ą̴͕̈́n̵̫̓d̸̛̳͛ y̵̻͑̎o̵̖̥͒͌ų̴͋̐r̵̦̩̓s a sacrifice to please me.”

Their voice is garbled, the resemblance to a broken radio off-pitch jarring his reaction time, a music box opened underwater gurgling, ghosts beat to the rhythm of the blood in his ears and titter buried mysteries.

In the corner of his eyes distant stars burn, galaxies explode to life and die repeatedly, the vast cosmos is shredded apart. Universes are swallowed whole. The plane he stands upon bends to the will of the one whose gifts he uses carelessly to play the role of a deity and dictate the balance of the world.

People have said [they] reflect the very heavens.

His faith wanes.

.

a trio of ragtag orphans,

escapees, survivors and starved,

on the verge of being

no better than beasts,

happen upon a traveller taking respite from the winding roads.

a foreigner no doubt

they guess from the strange hued garb;

rest, everyone around these parts,

they know comes not

easy to scum, scoundrels, sinners and

deceivers alike.

.

.

.

mad ones, rushing to death

—without protection i must add—

oh my darling children, you are!

consume my flesh,

defend those unseeing,

purge the blight

and you shall witness

my return before long, indeed?!

.

They do not move and neither does he.

What he assumes to be their head tilts ever so to the side, gauging him, this fool of a boy trespassing on their domain. This part of the garden, the little boy realises too late, is theirs.

This, the storehouse and now him.

(—the gardener finds him sprawled out on his back come dusk. They help him to his feet and dust him off, the sparkle in his eyes an unusual occurrence; they ask their precious young master what happened and he points them in the direction of the doors sealed shut.

“I took a peek inside,” he lies. Children are supposed to do that, right?

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” The gardener knows he’s a bad liar.

“Good. Now come.” They lead him away from the path of the camellias. “Lady Mitsue has been beside herself over you, mister.”

His grandmother hasn’t. She probably knows what he has done and will instruct him to feed the council what they want to hear. My son was too soft, she asserts before and after every meeting with those windbags.

You have to do better.

And his father is dead, so only time will tell who’s right.)

He starts having weird dreams (memories?) several days later.

Trying to ignore them doesn’t work.

Every waking moment is subject to gore.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his own eyes out while he trains.

In the world beneath his eyelids, there are shadowy figures claiming it best he is blinded and locked away and fed what no other soul could hope to consume without issue. And just as they force open his jaw—every night, every time—he wakes up.

Satoru doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

One day, he dreams of years of living without sunlight causing you to screw your not-eyes shut and look away upon the opening of a door into your domain. When you recover, you turn to the door, the emotion of curiosity tugging for your attention out of the myriad of beings you’ve eaten.

Standing at the threshold, ethereal, desperate and short of breath, is a young man. In his arms is a woman, his wife, you presume. They’re stark shades of white, binary stars of a celestial system long dead.

You smile, recognising them in an instant. “Ah, my old friends, children of my children’s children a dozen times over, tell me, what is it you wish for?”

“My wife and our child,” says the man, “please, I beg of you, save them!”

Oh? A healing? It’s been quite some time since that was last requested of you.

You skitter to the pair’s side and shut the door gently behind them, ushering them further in.

You click your not-tongue at the woman’s state, wondering why no one thought to come to you earlier. If they did, the price they’d have to pay would be much less than what you’re about to tell the man. Humans are such prideful creatures, Satoru knows this, but he can’t help but feel tense as you instruct the man to lay the woman down and state your cost.

First, he opens his mouth. Then it shuts. Opens. Shuts. The man regards his dear wife with something Satoru has never seen before in the eyes of those around him.

His reply?

“I accept—”

A harsh smack to the head disrupts the memory; he looks up, unsurprised to meet his grandmother’s gaze, wrinkled eyes so very much like his own piercing his soul.

“Being distracted in the middle of a fight is unbecoming of you, boy,” she says. “What seems to be the matter?”

He can’t tell her.

He stays silent.

“Satoru.” She raises her hand, fingers crossed, indicating the void’s opening. “We Gojou pride ourselves on our ability to adapt. That is why, in fact, I say my son was too soft. He could not accept that he would lose my daughter-in-law and the child she carried in her womb to common illness. He could not accept that it was impossible to cheat death. He could not accept the position he was placed in. And for that, he died and of the aforementioned two, only you lived. Do you understand?”

No. He doesn’t want to understand.

What is adaptation if they’ve yet to rid themselves of and bow down to your constant presence? Is that not their most fatal flaw?

You eat them.

One life in exchange for another; you told his father it was the only way.

You were given the corpse of his mother a hundred days after his birth by the elders.

Every Gojou after death, you grind their bones between your teeth and their flesh rots at the bottom of your belly. Their soulful essence fights for dominance against the forces of the innumerable curses the clans feeds you—the hate, the sentiment, the sheer bursts of techniques and mighty powers clashing, click, click, click—you embody and absorb the aftermath of each childish scuffle, playing the bored jailer adjudicator. Corpses, tools, objects, energy and flesh. It’s how you’ve lived for so long without light or human thought to taint you: the jujutsu world’s dirty little secret, waste disposal.

You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

He loves you for that one reason.

A means to an end, forever.

(The boy, a few days shy of his fourth birthday and inauguration, does not know what love is. He thinks he does, having read the definition in a dictionary in order to familiarise you with modern speech, but love is not a word to be thrown around lightly the way he does.)

“I do,” he lies again, this time, to himself. “I understand everything.”

His sight is black.

He pushes back against the current, against instinct telling him to relinquish control and reaches forward for the dream that he was ripped from.

Your true form towers over his mother’s prone form, dripping ichor and the fluid of loose entrails all over. His father stays seated even when you lift an arm to draw blood, the man facing you without a trace of fear.

“I accept—but on the condition that my child receives your protection.”

“My p̶̹̽r̴̽ͅo̵̠͐ť̷̬e̶̺̊c̶̻̒t̷̙͑i̵̮̓o̶̱n̷̖͂?” Do they not teach the younger generations what that entails?

“Yes. My ancestors wrote that you were a benevolent being in a past life. That you were a kind-hearted human who accidentally drank poison before being found and buried alive, condemned and reviled, forcing you to become what you are now. Does that still not hold true?” His father’s face is hopeful.

It doesn’t. But who are you to tell him that? That ‘benevolent being’ never existed in the first place. You’ve always been this.

The vivisepulture part was true, but the beginning? Debatable. Your memories of ‘being human’ are foggy; you’re not sure if they’re real or someone else’s. Satoru’s is the clearest thus far because you abide within him. And he’s young, there’s little to garner.

What other nonsense has been made truth in the time you have withdrawn from the world?

He wants to go down that rabbit hole.

You grab the cube and run, warping reality in your wake.

You are many things.

Alive, you are first; secondly a parent, a teacher and a friend; cursed thrice times over; quarter something-something or rather by this point; and last, your hollowness complements the damned hallowed.

You are Gojou Satoru but not.

His skin peels off in delicate scales from the speed you’re going.

The first and last time you puppeteer his body, Satoru invokes his father’s contract with you for the second time in his life.

Like the first occurrence, it happens by accident.

(The first occurrence is a stain on your memory.

Mitsue looked her grandson in the eye and tasked him with a futile quest, one that would decide the future headship of their clan. You personally thought such practices outdated but you held his tongue and grit his teeth, faking laughter for the audience they had.

She reminded you too much of your youngest, both in the way she cobbled herself together and how she suspended time long enough to catch a glimpse of you hunched beside him, flickering in and out of her void domain with the ease of a toddler climbing free of their crib.

Beautiful and deadly.

He nearly died.)

He is unaware of the finer details, but where his consciousness ends at getting a scalpel to head, it rouses again with him standing before the man who has the blood of Satoru’s friends on his hands and left him to bleed out undecapitated.

On a high from escaping Izanami’s clutches, he sprouts math and whatever nonsense off the top of his head and ragdolls up, down, across and through the air.

He feels like a being higher than the gods. Doesn’t mean he is, though.

He’s barely in control.

Violent swashes of red and blue fill the sky. He sees beyond his opponent rising from the earth the heavens condemning his breaching unto their space.

“Hey, stranger, did you know purple was her favourite colour?”

“Whose?”

|

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“You are Satoru, right?”

“Yessssss?”

“You… you’ve got a bit of…” Suguru gestures vaguely around the lower half of his face.

“Oh.” You rub the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and see it come back tinged pink. The drying drool on his sleeves is used to rub the rest of the blood away. “Thanks.”

“Have you found her?”

“Amanai? Her body?” Suguru flinches. Your gaze is drawn to the cultists clapping. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “I feel like killing these people. Should we?”

“Why?”

“I’m still h̸͓̟͐u̴̦͗n̴͇͈̅͛g̵͔̒̕ŗ̴͕͂͘y̸͚͍͘͘.” Two wasn’t even a snack.

“I’m angry that we failed too. But we can’t do anything now, it’s out of our hands.”

|

Several days later finds him back at the entrance of the storehouse, none the worse for wear.

In the shadow of the building grows a lone weed.

“It’s changed.”

“Of course it has.”

“Will I end up like them?”

“Yes.”

[haberdashing]

A Humble Abode

Jon and Martin learn the backstory behind Daisy’s Scottish safehouse. Inspired by this tumblr post (spoilers).

on AO3

“You must be Nancy’s boy then?”

It was Jon and Martin’s fourth visit to the village... well, technically Martin’s fourth and Jon’s third, as Jon had opted to skip the second go-around; he’d worried that he’d stick out like a sore thumb, even more than Martin alone would in a town as small as this one where new people didn’t exactly show up every day. Given that the villager (a middle-aged woman with gentle eyes whose name Jon didn’t know) was looking up at Martin as she asked the question, though, Martin’s presence evidently hadn’t gone unremarked upon either.

Jon glanced over at Martin, had his gaze returned before Martin looked back at the woman who’d asked the question and broke into a soft, shaky laugh.

“What gave it away?”

The woman didn’t so much as blink an eye. “You’ve been coming from her house, haven’t you? Well, her old house, the one up on the hill, though I assume now...”

Her speech trailed off, but Martin didn’t hesitate to pick up the missing pieces.

“It’s ours now, yeah.” Martin’s hand brushed against Jon’s when he said the word ours. “Though it’s been, er, a bit of a difficult ride to get that far. I don’t know how much she told all of you... did she ever- ever mention me, by chance?”

Jon looked over at Martin again, but this time Martin’s gaze remained focused on his current conversation partner instead of him.

The woman shook her head. “Only in passing. Your mother was always a very private person, especially when it came to her family life, what brought her up here in the first place... I wouldn’t take it personally.”

“Honestly, it’s good to hear we had something in common there, at least.” Another laugh from Martin, this one a bit fuller, a bit more genuine. “The name’s Martin, by the way, and this is Jon. Now, if you don’t mind...?”

“Oh sure, sure, don’t let me keep you. And I’m Sandy; it’s nice to meet you, Martin and Jon.”

It wasn’t until after they finished getting groceries, when the two of them were far enough along on their walk home that they weren’t risking being overheard, that Jon and Martin discussed the matter.

Jon hadn’t been expecting Martin to speak up before he could get around to it, truth be told, but Martin plunged ahead anyway at the first sign of a lull in the conversation.

“So who the hell is Nancy?”

Jon blinked a couple times in surprise before realizing what Martin was referring to. “Your mother, apparently.”

“I promise you, my mother never lived in the Scottish Highlands, of all places.”

“That’s not what you told Sandy.”

“Well, no, I wasn’t going to... hang on, did you actually think I was telling the truth there?”

Jon didn’t say anything, but the way his face heated up said enough for him.

“I just figured playing along was better than the alternative! Do you really want people asking why two strangers are suddenly living in ‘Nancy’s house’?”

“Well, no, but- ‘did she ever mention me?’“

“Yeah, I wanted to know if I needed to- to go by a fake name or something, to make sure I kept the story straight! Not... Christ, Jon, you’re ridiculous.”

Jon waved his hands in the air in protest. “I’m ridiculous?”

“We’re both ridiculous, if that makes you feel any better.”

It didn’t, really, but Martin grabbed Jon’s hand as he spoke, and that did make Jon feel better, at least a small bit.

They walked for a moment in silence before Martin spoke up again, his tone a bit more solemn than before.

“I don’t suppose ‘Nancy’ is just the name Daisy used when buying the house, and that woman happens to be really bad at guessing ages?”

Jon snorted at the mental image of Daisy being assumed to be Martin’s mother, though his heart wasn’t really in it, not now that the knowledge of the truth was starting to trickle in. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“So we’re- we’re living in a dead woman’s house, then, is it?” Martin gestured up at the house in question, which wasn’t all that far off now.

“I mean, when you think about it, most houses have been a dead person’s house at some point in time. Especially around here.”

“Not what I meant, and you know it.” There was no real fire in Martin’s voice, despite the protesting words.

“...fair enough.”

“Did- did Daisy really kill some sweet old woman named Nancy, er-”

“Houlihan.” Jon hadn’t meant to speak, really, not out loud, not so Martin could hear, but evidently his voice traveled enough for Martin to make out that he had spoken, because Martin was looking back at him with a strange expression on his face.

“Sorry?”

“That was her name- her, her full name. Nancy Houlihan.”

“...right.” Martin wrinkled his nose a bit. “Forgot you can just- Know things like that sometimes.”

“Sometimes even when I didn’t ask to Know in the first place.” Jon’s laugh was a bitter one, and he shook his head a little as the two kept walking.

“So did Daisy really kill sweet old Nancy Houlihan just to get herself a new safehouse?”

The information was coming whether Jon wanted it or not now, pictures as well as words, some more directly related than others: a few seconds of Daisy and Nancy fighting, then the amount of times Nancy left her house between the hours of midnight and dawn, then an old photograph of Nancy with her arm around her teenage son (whose only resemblance to Martin lay in his freckles), then the date that the two fought and that said date was the night of a full moon...

“I don’t think Daisy did it just to get the safehouse. I think that was just... a bit of a bonus.”

“Then why would she go after-”

“Do you really want to know?”

Maybe there was something in Jon’s eyes, a weariness showing from the knowledge being poured into him against his will, but just staring at Martin for a moment was enough to get him to back off a bit, hands raised above his head.

“No, not- not really. Just... I guess it explains some things? And leads to more questions, too. Like-”

Martin opened the front door and the two of them began putting away their groceries, but the conversation continued just the same.

“I always kind of wondered why this place was so... cozy? It really doesn’t seem like Daisy’s style, you know?”

Jon shook his head, his laugh genuine as he added, “It’s really not.”

“So I guess this must all be Nancy’s style, then, but I’ve never seen any- any old photos, or papers with her name on them-”

“Daisy burned them all. Didn’t want any way to trace the home back to its former occupant.”

“That makes sense, I suppose...suppose we should be glad she didn’t think to ask the villagers, eh?”

“Hmm?”

“Or she’d have to, what, burn them too? Just a big bonfire of everybody who knew about Nancy Houlihan?”

Martin’s tone was light, joking. Jon wasn’t so sure Daisy destroying everybody in her path was proper humorous material. He didn’t speak up, but his silence spoke volumes in and of itself.

“I guess it’s a good thing it worked out this way, so we’d have somewhere to go, at least. And somewhere so nice, too. Thanks, Nancy, I guess.”

Jon nodded, echoing the words with a bit more solemnity than Martin had put into them. “Thank you, Nancy Houlihan.”

[buckybarnesbingo]

BBB Week 6 Roundup!

Little bit late, Mod Meg was on vacay over the weekend.

Title: Cute Quaterbacks Collaborator(s): Tori/samandbucky Link: AO3 Square: B4 - Sharing Clothes Rating: Teen Ship(s): Steve/Tony Major tags/warnings: AU, School, Fake Relationship, Protective!Bucky Summary: Steve and Bucky grew up as childhood best friends and are now roommates in college. Bucky dares Steve to bring a date to one of his upcoming football games after Steve suggests he could date anyone he wanted to. Enter Tony Stark. Word count: 1767

------------------------------------------

Title: The Curse Collaborator(s): Tori/samandbucky Link: AO3 Square: K4 - Kiss Rating: Teen Ship(s): Bucky/Clint Major tags/warnings: Fluff, Established Relationship, Magic, Curses Summary: Clint gets hit during an alien attack with some dark magic, Bucky and Steve can't wake him, so they go to the only person they know who can undo the curse: Stephen Strange. Word count: 1364

------------------------------------------

Title: A Regular Harry Houdini Collaborator(s): Bird Link: AO3 Square: K4 - Prisoners/Captives Together Rating: Teen Ship(s): Sam/Bucky Major tags/warnings: Minor Episode 5 Spoilers, Post-The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Captured, First Kiss Summary: “You know, if Steve kissed me in the middle of an escape attempt, he would bring it up after,” Sam said. “I thought we weren’t talking about Steve,” Bucky grunted, closing his eyes. “I’m going to take a nap.” “I can’t believe you’re pretending to take a nap right now.” “I’m 106, Sam. I’m allowed to fall asleep whenever I want.” Word count: 1365

------------------------------------------

Title: K5 Card B096 Soulbond Collaborator(s): Rufferto Link: Tumblr Square: K5 - High Fantasy, Curses, Shiny Sword Steve Rating: Teen Ship(s): Stucky Major tags/warnings: Fantasy Warrior Bucky, Curses, Art, Sword Steve Summary: When Bucky went off to war Steve was cursed into a sword. Bucky managed to find him because they share a bond but he's cursed. Bucky now carries Steve into battle wherever he goes looking for a way to have Steve at his side again. This was done on Hot Press Water Color Paper with Windsor & Newton and Arteza paints. I don’t much like the scan, there’s something always lost when a watercolor image is scanned but I will try some other time to get a better photo of it. Word count: none it is art.

------------------------------------------

Title: Benevolent Overlord Collaborator(s): IndigoNight Link: AO3 Square: K1 - Bucky Bear Rating: Gen Ship(s): Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers Major tags/warnings: Fluff, PTSD, Codependency, Alpine the Cat Summary: “Hi,” Bucky says, wincing a little at how hoarse and rough his voice sounds from disuse. The kitten just hisses at him again, huge green eyes narrowed into slits. “Yeah, I get it,” he agrees with a grimace and a commiserating nod. Word count: 4921

------------------------------------------

Title: I'm James Buchanan Barnes Collaborator(s): e_hytes Link: Tumblr Square: C2 - Art Style: Black and White Rating: Gen Ship(s): No pairing/ship Major tags/warnings: #buckybarnes #wintersoldier #jamesbuchananbarnes #mcu Summary: A drawing of Bucky/Winter Soldier black and white Word count: N/A

------------------------------------------

Title: Someone Like You Collaborator(s): Nicnac Link: AO3 Square: C4 - Prison Rating: Mature Ship(s): Bucky/Reader Major tags/warnings: Enemies, Uneasy Allies, Hydra Agent Reader, Negotiations Summary: Taken from their SHIELD prison cell, the reader finds themself alone with The Winter Soldier negotiating for their life. Word count: 2693

------------------------------------------

Title: Sambucky Incorrect Quotes Collaborator(s): snowstark Link: Tumblr Square: U2 - Partner-In-Crime Rating: Teen Ship(s): Sam/Bucky Major tags/warnings: Enemies to lovers vibe, Humour Summary: “Bucky, we tried things your way already.” “No we didn’t.” “I did it in my head and it didn’t work.” Word count: N/A

------------------------------------------

Title: darling, you’re the one i want in paper rings Collaborator(s): cyanica Link: AO3 Square: C5 - teasing Rating: Gen Ship(s): steve/bucky Major tags/warnings: first time, demisexuality, period-typical homophobia, fluff, friends to lovers Summary: "Okay, I don't know why I’ve never – you know!” Bucky said after a moment, a soft laugh spilling from his lips – something so genuine and bashful, that Steve wasn’t so sure what to make of. “You're just – you're the only one I've ever had eyes for. You're the only one I’ve ever wanted.” Or, whatever deity had constructed the fragmented pieces of their souls together, they were made of the same smithereens, and Steve was sure he had known that as a child, holding Bucky’s slightly larger hand and accepting that they were of the same love, without even knowing what such a concept was. Word count: 1630

------------------------------------------

Title: Unexpected Alliances - Chapter 4 Collaborator(s): PoliZ Link: AO3 Square: C5 - Lending a Hand Rating: Mature Ship(s): Stucky Major tags/warnings: Fantasy AU, enemies to friends/lovers, referenced/implied torture Summary: Buckthorn’s refusal to use his fae magic to support his captor’s cause has left him battered and broken; when he is given a dangerous shifter as his cellmate, they overcome their differences to become allies and perhaps something more. Chapter 4: Upon reaching the shifters’ camp, Buckthorn meets another of Stephen’s companions who seems to have a chip on his shoulder when it comes to fae folk. Word count: 1034

------------------------------------------

Title: A Story Told in Flesh, Chapter 3: Together In Dreams Collaborator(s): ChrissiHR Link: AO3 Square: B2 - Rocket Racoon Rating: Explicit Ship(s): Bucky x Darcy x Steve Major tags/warnings: Big Swingin’ Dick!Steve, smut, nsfw, dream sex, sex positive Summary: Bucky and Darcy get massages and discuss Aesir medical treatments; Darcy has an erotic dream about Bucky & Steve. Word count: 1270

------------------------------------------

Title: Written In The Scars (On My Heart) Collaborator(s): IndigoNight Link: AO3 Square: K5 - Just Do It Rating: Explicit Ship(s): Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Major tags/warnings: Past Rape/Non-con, In Heat (but not A/B/O) Masturbation, Sex Toys, Mildly Dubious Consent, Body Worship, Self Body Worship, Rimming, Fuck Or Die (sort of), Porn with Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Inability to Orgasm, Body Image, Reference to Past Medical Experimentation, Self-Lubrication, Touch-Starved, Touch-Averse Summary: He swallows hard, struggling with himself one last time and losing. “I need your help,” he manages to whisper, voice cracking. The air in the room immediately changes. The wound up tension drains out of Steve, his posture and voice going soft. “Sure, Buck,” he says, cautiously moving back toward him. Bucky can’t move, his arms locked tight around his knees, and he can’t lift his gaze higher than Steve’s knees either. Steve pauses when he’s still a few feet away, squatting down and angling his head in an effort to see Bucky’s face through the curtain of his hair. “Anything. What do you need?” It’s everything Bucky can do to hold still, every cell in his body vibrating with the need to throw himself into Steve’s arms. He opens his mouth, but his throat sticks and he has to swallow again before he can force the words out. Slowly, by sheer force of will, he drags his gaze up to meet Steve’s eyes. “I need you to fuck me.” Word count: 41k

------------------------------------------

Title: Acceptance is the first part of Healing Collaborator(s): Laevateinn Link: AO3 Square: C4 - Denial Rating: Teen Ship(s): N/A Major tags/warnings: 1e3 : Power Broker, TFATWS coda, TW for : implied sexual abuse/assault, dissociation, PTSD, flashbacks, Angst, hopeful(ish) ending Summary: "You good ?" Wilson asks him, after he fought against eight men. "You okay ?" Wilson asks him, when they get to Sharon’s house. "You hurt ?" Wilson asks him, when they get out of the car. Yes, Wilson. All good. Now if the guy could shut up and carry on, that'd be great. Why would he be "not fine" anyway ? It's not as if anything that happened that day hasn't happened before. Word count: 906

------------------------------------------

Title: The Maze Stumbler (Moodboard) Collaborator(s): Turtles Link: Tumblr Square: B3 - Labyrinth Rating: Teen Ship(s): Darcy Lewis & Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Major tags/warnings: Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Thor, Cocktail, Labyrinth Summary: Something, something, Thor spikes the punch at the party and they all decide to re enact the Maze Runner… or something like that. Sam and Bucky wake up in the middle of a maze, nothing but Darcy’s voice in their ear giving them directions and critiquing their methodology Word count: N/A

------------------------------------------

Title: The Maze Stumbler (Fic) Collaborator(s): Turtles Link: AO3 Square: C1 - Stranded Rating: Teen Ship(s): Darcy Lewis & Bucky Barnes & Sam Wilson Major tags/warnings: Thor's Asgardian Booze, a labyrinth, Dubious Timeline, Everybody Lives, Crack Summary: Don’t drink Thor’s Asgardian booze. Ever. Word count: 1657

------------------------------------------

Title: 5 Times Steve Received Plums from Natasha or Sam and the 1 Time Steve Realized the Plums weren’t from Them Collaborator(s): Girl_Back_There Link: AO3 Square: K5 - Bucky/Steve Rating: Teen Ship(s): Bucky/Steve Major tags/warnings: 5 + 1, Bucky and his Plums, Angst and Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug Summary: Steve keeps finding plums in his hotel rooms or his bag. He thinks it is Natasha or Sam trying to be a good friend by making sure he is eating and keeping up his energy in the search for Bucky. Each plum he finds reminds him of Bucky growing up in pre-WWII New York. The times they would give each other a plum as a way of saying “I’m sorry” or “I love you.” Word count: 2998

------------------------------------------

Title: Faith and Desire and the Swing of Your Hips Collaborator(s): IndigoNight Link: AO3 Square: U2 - French Kiss Rating: Explicit Ship(s): Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes Major tags/warnings: Crossdressing, Nonbinary Steve Rogers, Oral Sex, Body Dysphoria, Gender Exploration, Supportive Flirting Summary: “You look gorgeous, doll,” he drawls, dragging up as much of old Brooklyn as he can to infuse into the words. Steve startles, even though the doorway and Bucky in it are clearly reflected behind him in the mirror. Steve’s eyes flick to him and away again, his face going pink from the tips of his ears and spreading all the way down to his chest. He fidgets with his skirt, hands smoothing over the folds of it self consciously. “It looks a little silly,” he mutters, chewing on his already chapped lower lip. Word count: 5470

------------------------------------------

Title: Stay Collaborator(s): Bird/plutosrose Link: AO3 Square: C3 - Free Square Rating: Explicit Ship(s): Sam/Bucky Major tags/warnings: Post-Canon, First Time Summary: “So, are you keeping the outfit?” Word count: 1919

------------------------------------------

Title: It's Not a Miracle You Need Collaborator(s): UisceOneLove Link: AO3 Square: Y3 - At a Crossroads Rating: Teen Ship(s): James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Major tags/warnings: Post-Endgame, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hopeful Ending Summary: Sitting out on the dock of Tony's lakehouse while the others slept, Steve thought about where he was expected to go from here. It's a good thing Bucky's around to help him see where that can be. Word count: 1584

[blue-lions-baby]

Blinded by Love (Dimitri x F!Reader) Ch. 1

(a/n) hi i'm like practically dead at this point LMAO i've got like 3 finals this week and i want to cRY

i'm sorry for my absence. i honestly didn't realize how much time has passed until it suddenly hit me that i hadn't visited tumblr in a *hot minute.*

instead of posting this colossal fic as one whole entry, i wanted to split it up into smaller chapters (~1000 words each?) so you can take the story in smaller bites and not have a whole ass meal every time you sit down and read my stuff. plus, this might help with my posting schedule-- i think working on and posting smaller chapters would be a much better method compared to writing one big fic.

doesthatmakesenseiamsotiredpLEASE

anyways, without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter of Blinded by Love! as always, no spoilers :)

also, it’s been a hot minute since i wrote anything remotely creative please bare with me as i get back into it ok that’s it thanks bye

~*~

"Is everyone ready?" Byleth stared deeply into the exuberant eyes of her Lions; their bright, starving hues were hungry, aching for the exhilarating taste of battle. Dimitri, barely managing to contain his excitement, nodded resolutely.

"Yes, Professor."

"Very good," Byleth spread the torn map on a desk and motioned for everyone to gather around, "we are being dispatched to a village not far from the monastery. Some bandits have grown unruly as of late and have begun tormenting the villagers. The Church is sending us to get rid of them."

They pointed to a particular spot on the map and proceeded to explain the roads you all would take to get to the relatively out-of-the-way village. As they were doing that, Byleth quickly and succinctly explained the strategies the Lions would be deploying, as well as last-minute shopping lists.

"Before we leave, we should resupply on vulneraries and whatnot." Byleth gazed around the room; seafoam greens met (E/C) hues. "(F/N), can you and Dimitri take care of this please?"

Snickers bounced around the room as you and Dimitri adopted the same flustered expression. You reached out and silently took the scraggly piece of paper in your hand as you felt the prince's antsy presence accompany you from behind.

"Any questions?" Byleth looked at their bushy-tailed Lions again. "Be smart out there. Safety should come naturally."

Byleth, with a wave of their hand, dismissed their students.

"We'll be leaving in about an hour, so be sure you're fully prepared by then."

"Yes, Professor!" Everyone scurried out of the classroom (not without a few jabs prodded into Dimitri's side and a couple of knowing, teasing glances cast your way). Dimitri, after making sure enough rosiness dissipated from his cheeks, cleared his throat and slowly tapped you on your shoulder. The royal watched as your entire body seemingly glitched into the fifth dimension before turning around to meet his wavering gaze.

"I-- uh," the blonde stiffly cleared his throat, dedicating way too much brainpower to simply hold your gaze. "We should... um... t-the supplies--."

"Y-Yes." You squeaked, crumpling the shopping list closer to your racing heart. You and Dimitri's eyes scurried to the scuff marks on the stone floor, absolutely immobilized. Byleth, with a loud 'ahem,' subdued the sparks fluttering between you and the prince; you both spun around to your instructor and bowed hastily.

"Our deepest apologies, Professor!"

"We'll be heading out now!"

As Byleth watched the backs of their students scurry out of their classroom, they chuckled.

"How cute."

♠ ♥ ♣ ----------------------------------------------------------- ♣ ♥ ♠

"Hm... I think this should be enough vulneraries. What do you think, Your Highness?"

"(F/N), please. I've told you plenty of times to just call me Dimitri." The prince smiled warmly at you before glancing at the somewhat copious amount of vulneraries messily amassed in your arms. "I think this should be enough. It is just a routine bandit culling, after all."

"That's true... And, I feel like I'm being-- I don't know-- disrespectful? If I call you by your name. I feel it's only proper for me to address you by your title." You countered as Dimitri took a majority of the vulneraries in his strong arms.

"Nonsense. I want you to address me by my name," he coughed and looked away, "o-only if you are comfortable though. If you truly desire to address me by my title only, then that is fine as well."

"Oh, no! I just-- I thought-- are you... really sure it's okay for me to call you by your name?"

"Of course!"

"O-Okay... Dimitri." You smiled, color dabbling your cheeks. Dimitri almost dropped all the vulneraries watching your delicate fingers tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "I have to admit, it feels kind of... strange saying your name."

"...oh." Dimitri's lips, still cast upward, did not match the downtrodden expression the rest of his features bore. Realizing your egregious choice of words, you let out a cry of surprise.

"I-I'm sorry! I didn't mean it like that!" You bowed. "It felt strange because I wasn't used to it! But... I like it. I like saying your name, Dimitri."

The extinguished look in his eyes instantly flared up with life and excitement.

"R-Really?!"

A lighthearted laugh escaped you; Dimitri's grin grew wider at the natural melody in your voice.

"Yes! Dimitriii.~ Dimitriii.~"

The prince's sides had begun to ache from all the laughing; he buried his burning face in the pile of vulneraries.

"I love hearing you say my name..." He muttered, his voice muffled by the sacks of medicinal herbs.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"N-Nothing important. Let's head back, shall we?"

"Mmkay!" As you cheerily skipped through the marketplace with the prince at your side, a glimmer from one of the stalls caught your eye. Your feet froze mid-air and your boots made a loud clonk as you fell back down to earth. Dimitri, surprised at the sudden shift in mood, looked up at you worriedly.

"(F/N)? Is everything all right?"

When he looked over, you and all the vulneraries you were carrying had essentially disappeared from existence. Dimitri, his heart throbbing a quickening pulse in his temples, spun to and fro in the middle of the street, growing more and more panicked at your continued absence.

"Excuse me, how much is this?"

Dimitri's head had never whipped around so fast.

"Ah, you got a good eye, lass! Bought this from a fella off the coasts of Brigid. 'Posed to bring you good luck, he said." The merchant's gnarly voice had a distinct ring that overpowered the rest of the bustling marketplace.

"It's so pretty..." Breathed a response.

After a crowd of people on his right dissolved, Dimitri found your vulnerary-laden form stooped over a table flooded with jewelry and glittery accessories. He breathed out, thanking the Goddess as he felt years subtracted from his life slowly be added back on. He hurriedly made his way to your side and glanced around the vast treasures laid out for sale. The merchant threw his head back and roared in glee.

"Indeed, indeed! One of my best finds, I tell ya. A true beauty."

Your (E/C) eyes shimmered brighter than any jewel Dimitri had ever seen as they excitedly landed on his placid blues.

"Dimitri, look! Isn't it gorgeous?"

"Er... Which one? They're all quite lovely." Dimitri politely smiled and nodded his head at the merchant, who puffed his chest out with pride.

"That one!" You motioned with your chin, pointing your lips at a particular brooch. Upon closer inspection, the mound of metal quickly took on the shape of a lion. The simple sheen of silver contrasted nicely with the array of crystalline colors surrounding it. The artisan's mastery over fine metalwork translated beautifully into the gorgeous detailing in the mane and face of the feline; a permanent roar was etched onto the refined ore, its eyes ablaze with ferocity and vivacity. It stood majestically on its hind legs, seemingly ready to jump into the fray of a battle that will never come. A jewel the shade of bright blue skies was incrested in its paws; the radiant glitter of the gem sailed across its surface like clouds on a cool spring day.

"It... is quite breathtaking." Hummed the prince. "How much is it?"

"10,000 Gold!" The merchant smiled widely, more holes than teeth in his mouth.

"T-Ten--?!" You stumbled backward, the spell that the brooch had put you under snapping like a strained thread.

"Yup yup! But for a fine lass like ya, I'll cut it down to... hm... Let's say 7,500. Deal?"

"That's... still a lot..." You looked despondently at the brooch, the luminous blue darkening as a storm approached. The merchant frowned.

"Sorry, lass. Can't go lower than that. I'd be sellin' at a loss past that price."

"T-That's okay... Um, I think I'll stop by another time. Let's go, Dimitri..."

Without waiting for a response, you turned on your heels and sulked away, your shoulders hunched forward and your head hung low. Dimitri's heart splintered into pieces as he watched your form slowly homogenize with the crowd. With a small nod (and a few moments reserved for the neat pile of vulneraries he built at his feet), Dimitri whipped out a pouch that clanged a tune that would make any merchant's heart sing.

"Can I still make good on that previous offer?"

[spicyswords-inc]

A Nightmare Turned to Dream - a kiralfonse ficlet

A/N: uwu I don’t normally post much fanfiction... but gosh darn it after that Book IV finale in Heroes I needed to put metaphorical pen to metaphorical paper. 

Be warned that this contains MEGA spoilers for the Book IV finale in FE:Heroes. If you’re worried you might get spoiled, close tumblr, go play the chapter and then come back (or don’t I’m not your mom).

Anyways, a quick shoutout to my pal @eelkonig for giving this baby a once over. I don’t know what I’d do without you!

The fic’s below the cut! Enjoy!

Kiran woke with a start and jolted into an upright position. Their hands, which had been desperately gripping the horn that would return them home, were now gripping the soft sheets that had been covering their prone form. Kiran took a moment to slowly rub their thumbs against the downy fabric as the rest of their senses gradually came to. They slowly turned their head to take in their surroundings. It appeared that they were back in their room at the castle. Their room was sparse but convenient, only containing the necessities: the bed on which they lay, a small desk to lay their maps and tactical journals, and a small wardrobe that held several replicas of their signature cloak. 

Kiran slowly swung their legs over the edge of their bed to tentatively touch the cobblestone floor with their feet. When their limbs didn’t seem to show signs of sinking beneath the sturdy surface any time soon, Kiran released a breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding. 

“That’s a good sign,” they muttered to themselves as they grabbed their boots, which had been laid on the floor at the foot of the bed. They tugged their hood a little more over their face as they gave their room another onceover before leaving. As soon as they stepped into the hallway, they heard a voice from behind that stopped them in their tracks. A voice they’d thought they’d never hear again.

“Oh, Kiran!” Alfonse exclaimed as he continued towards Kiran. “I am glad to see you finally awake! You had me worried.”

All Kiran could do was stare blankly. ‘Can I actually trust this to be real? Is he really…?

Alfonse blinked. “...Is something wrong? What is this blank expression you have?”

Before Kiran could reply, Commander Anna came from behind Kiran to join them. “Excellent. Now we’re all awake again, with Kiran back!” the red-headed commander exclaimed as she smiled towards their tactician. 

Alfonse took note of Kiran’s still blank-looking expression and tried his best to catch their gaze. “So do you not remember anything either?” 

Kiran feigned ignorance and shook their head no. If they’d all forgotten, there was no reason for them to share the details of the nightmare they’d just experienced. 

“Let me explain what I can,” Alfonse began. “All of us slept for three days and three nights. And suddenly, now, we all woke up, one by one.” The prince rubbed the back of his neck nervously when Kiran’s expression continued to not change. “You were the last of use to wake, following just after Sharena.”

The princess in question yawned loudly and stretched her arms towards the ceiling as she appeared from around the corner and walked in their general direction. “Whew! That was a great nap…” Sharena mumbled absently to herself. When she spotted her compatriots in discussion, she quickly rushed to close the scant distance between them. “Oh, good morning!”

Alfonse and Anna nodded their greetings while Kiran continued to stare and take everything in.

“It seems like we were all sleeping for quite a while, weren’t we?” The princess brought a finger to her lip and her expression turned inquisitive. “Why did we all fall asleep, though?” she wondered aloud as she closed her eyes thoughtfully. “It feels like I had a really long dream, but the details are...gone!” Seemingly unconcerned, Sharena simply shrugged and erupted into a bright smile. “Oh well! I’m sure we have nothing to worry about. We should focus on the time we lost to our nap! Time to get out there and take today’s missions by storm!”

Sharena’s boundless optimism was so contagious that Kiran found they were finally able to crack a smile. Some of the tension they’d been holding in their shoulders dissipated as Alfonse inquired about the schedule for the day. As the quartet went about actually performing the errands expected of them throughout the day, Kiran found themself gradually relaxing with each passing moment. They found comfort in the familiar routine: overseeing training, going over strategy, checking in on the heroes, and so on.

When it came time to patrol the perimeter of the castle, Alfonse had swiftly volunteered to join Kiran when they’d asked the Order of Heroes as a collective. Normally such enthusiasm would’ve made Kiran blush; they still weren’t quite sure what their feelings involving Alfonse were. But when they thought back to the sight of Alfonse’s unconscious, prone form, and Freyja’s declaration that Alfonse, because he had cheated death, had been erased from existence, they… they… 

“Kiran?”

A warm, strong hand wrapped around theirs brought them back to the present. Kiran blinked as Alfonse tried to peer beneath their hood and meet their gaze. Kiran instinctually used their other hand to pull their hood lower across their face.

“I-I’m sorry if that was too forward,” Alfonse stammered as he turned to face away from the summoner. “It was just… you’d started to slow down. And when you stopped walking besides me entirely I… well I…”

“It’s okay,” Kiran reaffirmed, squeezing the hand still holding theirs. “Sorry about that. I guess I got lost in thought…” Their voice trailed off as they glanced towards Alfonse, whose head turned to gaze at them once again at the same time. It took a moment for them to realize just how corny that must have looked, but when realization finally hit the pair found themselves glancing in opposite directions yet again.

Kiran willed their heart to settle, bringing their free hand to rest against their chest as they steadied their breathing. The duo stood together in silence still holding hands for what felt like forever. Kiran felt Alfonse adjust his posture slightly beside them. Chancing a glance his direction, it looked as though Alfonse had something to ask. But his voice caught in his throat as his sister and Commander Anna bounded towards them. The duo immediately ceased contact and tried to nonchalantly move their hands away from the other.

“There you two are!” Anna exclaimed exasperatedly. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you two.”

“My apologies,” said Alfonse, stepping towards the two women before him. “Are we needed for something?”

“Why else would we search for you?” Sharena quipped before groaning quickly. “Anyways, that’s not what’s important right now. What’s important is that Loki has been spotted just outside the forest. And she has units with her.”

No more words needed to be said as the small group jumped into action. As they all but sprinted towards the forest, Alfonse briefly glanced towards the summoner running just behind him. He’d been just about to ask them if they were okay. He’d noticed just how out of it they’d seemed since earlier that morning.

‘I suppose that will just have to wait.’ Alfonse thought despondently to himself as he returned his gaze forward. ‘They’re probably fine.’

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh, hello. Lovely weather, isn’t it?” Loki cooed, twirling a loose strand of her magenta hair around her finger as she shot the Order of Heroes a disparaging look. “How have you been? Well, I hope.”

“Skip the pleasantries, Loki,” Anna spat as she stepped forwards. “What have you done this time?”

Loki’s face feigned shock as she brought her free hand to cover her mouth. “Me? I haven’t done a thing. If you want someone to blame… well…” The witch’s lips upturned into a devilish grin. “I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.” Loki’s gaze scanned across their group a moment. When her eyes descended upon Kiran, her eyes widened with acknowledgement. “...Ah! Forgive my rudeness. Welcome back, Kiran!”

Kiran’s eyes grew wide as Loki stared them down. They gulped reflexively but did their best to otherwise hide their discomfort. 

“Did you have a pleasant dream?”

Kiran’s breath hitched in their throat as images of the nightmare they’d just returned from flashed in their mind. Without a second thought, Kiran surged forward and aimed Breidablik at Loki.

“Kiran!” Alfonse shouted as he immediately chased after them. Sharena and Anna quickly shared a glance before joining their comrades in rushing the enemy. 

The battle didn’t last long. The team had worked together long enough that dispatching their foes was mere child's play. Alfonse, Sharena, and Anna expertly faced against the nameless axe, sword, and lance lackeys respectively while Kiran and Loki exchanged blows with each other. As soon as Loki noticed her debilitated henchmen, the sorceress clicked her tongue disdainfully before disappearing with a snap of her fingers.

Sharena fumed as she ran towards where Loki had been moments ago. “She’s gone… again! We’ll never get close enough to capture her!” Sharena sighed while her posture deflated slightly. “Gone...again… Huh.”

“What is it, Sharena?” Alfonse asked as he walked forward. He spared Kiran a quick glance before returning his full attention to his sister.

“I feel like… Something is familiar about this.” Sharena hooked a finger thoughtfully over her chin. “Is it deja vu, or is it something from a dream?” The young princess paused and glanced towards the ground. “But… what dream would it have been?”

Alfonse didn’t miss the way Kiran flinched at the word “dream” from the corner of his eye. “Are you all right, Sharena? Are you still half-asleep?”

Sharena’s gaze was still downwards when she noticed something on the ground in front of her. “...Oh!” she chirped, kneeling to the ground to scoop something into her hands. Kiran held back a choked gasp as Sharena produced a familiar looking flower crown. “A chain of flowers? Why… Where did I…” Sharena’s hands started to tremble slightly. “Why am I suddenly...so sad? These flowers are breaking my heart, and I… I…” She sniffled slightly. Alfonse turned and watched as Kiran seemed to do the same.

Anna awkwardly cleared her throat. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve just received a report you’ll want to hear, Princess Sharena. It seems a childhood friend of yours has just arrived for an unannounced visit… Ah, speaking of, there she is-”

The small group of friends turned in tandem towards where Anna had pointed.

“Ah!” Sharena squeaked as a head of blonde hair similar to hers came into view.

Hot tears streamed down Kiran’s face as Sharena’s friend, who so closely resembled Peony, appeared to the summoner that way, wings, floral attire, and all. Kiran couldn’t be too sure the person in front of her was actually a ljosalfar, but at that point it didn’t matter. Kiran was barely able to choke back their cry as their emotions overtook them and they crumpled to the ground. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Kiran’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing they noticed was how their eyelashes fluttered against material similar to their cloak. Eyes slowly coming into focus, Kiran then took stock of how their surroundings continued to shift around them even though they felt no ground beneath their feet. When they made to straighten their posture it was then that they felt their chest flush against someone’s back and hands that weren’t theirs wrapped beneath their thighs.

“Oh thank goodness,” Kiran heard Alfonse breathe as the prince continued to give them a piggyback ride. “I was already assuming the worst when you’d crumbled to the ground like that.”

Heat rose onto Kiran’s cheeks as they hid their face from the rest of the world by leaning their forehead against the back of Alfonse’s neck. “Sorry,” they muttered quietly, utterly embarrassed. 

“It’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Alfonse reassured as he stepped inside the castle. He paused for just a moment to shift and more comfortably accommodate Kiran’s weight before continuing towards their room. Kiran took a moment to look up and take note of their route; from the looks of it, it appeared Alfonse had the foresight to not go through the main doors of the castle but instead take a side entrance. Kiran felt a wave of gratitude wash over them; they didn’t want to even think about all the looks they would’ve gotten. Their lips quirked into the faintest of smiles as they returned their forehead to rest against the back of Alfonse’s neck. 

The pair continued in comfortable silence all the way back to Kiran’s room. As soon as Alfonse had reached their door, Kiran took that moment to shift their legs from Alfonse’s hold and return to a standing position. Alfonse watched as the summoner stared at their door handle but made no move to open it.

“...Are you okay?” Alfonse asked quietly, though he already had an inkling to what Kiran’s answer was. 

When the summoner slowly turned to face him, the young prince felt a sharp pain in his chest. Their eyes, which he hardly ever saw appear from beneath their hood, were visibly rimmed with unshed tears while their nose was scrunched and their lower lip quivered. 

Without thinking, Alfonse reached over Kiran, grabbed the door handle, and quietly ushered them inside before just as quietly shutting the door behind them. Kiran desperately covered their face with their hands to choke back any sniffles and sobs. Their tears soaked into their gloves for only a moment until familiar hands grabbed theirs to gently lower them. 

“Hey-”

Kiran suddenly removed their hands from Alfonse’s to quickly grab the edge of their hood and pull it further over their face again. Despite the attempt to hide their tears, their body still shuddered as their cries became harder and harder to hold back.

Alfonse waited a moment before trying to act again. The last thing he wanted to do was make Kiran uncomfortable. He just couldn’t stand to see them this way. Chest briefly filling with bated breath, Alfonse opted to take a seat on the edge of Kiran’s bed before trying anything.

“Kiran,” Alfonse tried again, his voice only slightly raising in volume. All he received in the form of acknowledgement was the sight of Kiran’s posture straightening ever so slightly. “...What happened?” he asked faintly. All Kiran could do was shake their head in response, their tears now spilling past their hood to drip onto the floor.

“Are you okay?”

Kiran shook their head again.

Alfonse bit back a sigh. He’d never seen Kiran look so despondent. “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Kiran looked up just enough to lock eyes with the prince in front of them, their eyes peeking from beneath their hood. Then their resolve crumbled. Unable to hold back their grief and anguish any longer, Kiran slowly approached Alfonse with outstretched arms. Alfonse wasted no time in returning the embrace. He brought one hand to rest against the back of Kiran’s hooded head while the other pulled Kiran’s form flush against his. Kiran, in turn, draped their arms over Alfonse’s shoulders and shoved their face against his shoulder. Alfonse felt every tear, gasp, and shudder as Kiran wailed into his shoulder. All Alfonse could do in the way of comfort was reassuringly rub their back as Kiran let out the emotions they’d been bottling up. 

“I-I thought you were dead!” Kiran blubbered into his shoulder. “I thought I’d killed you! I th-thought you were gone, and that it was all my fault!”

Alfonse moved the hand that had cupped the back of Kiran’s head to grasp one of their hands. “I’m right here, though,” he reminded gently. He tightened his grip around their hand. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

When Kiran returned his grip with a similar squeeze, Alfonse felt a burst of confidence as he quickly leaned forward and chanced a kiss against Kiran’s hooded brow. The prince felt the summoner in his arms stiffen and immediately worried that he’d gone too far.

“I’m sorry, was that too-”

“No!” Kiran immediately interjected. Both parties erupted into equal amounts of blush as the silence that surrounded the room began to envelope them. Thankfully, the silence they shared wasn’t tense or anxious. The two simply relaxed and reveled in the other’s company as they continued to embrace the other.

Alfonse had no idea how long they remained in each other’s arms. But when he felt Kiran’s breath steadily even out and then deepen, he didn’t try to hide his smile. Moving as smoothly as possible so that he wouldn’t wake his summoner, Alfonse quickly scooped Kiran into a bridal carry before just as quickly laying them down on their bed. Alfonse made sure to gently remove Kiran’s boots from their person before carefully covering them with their sheets.

He took in the sight for just a moment. He’d never seen so many sides of Kiran. The Kiran he was familiar with was the calm, calculated tactician that held together the Order of Heroes. Alfonse couldn’t think of a time he’d seen Kiran scared, upset, or vulnerable. Though he’d never wish the feelings Kiran had shared upon anyone, it was relieving for Alfonse to see. It made Kiran more… human.

“What am I even thinking? Of course they’re human,” Alfonse whispered to himself, turning to leave Kiran. A hand wrapped around his stopped him in his tracks. Alfonse looked back and saw a barely awake Kiran holding onto their hand like it was the only thing they knew to do.

“Please don’t leave,” Kiran whispered, a shudder passing through their spine.

Alfonse complied and lowered to a kneel beside them. He made sure to move in a way that allowed their hands to stay connected. “Alright. But just until you fall asleep.”

“‘Kay,” they responded sleepily before closing their eyes again.

Alfonse waited for the grip around his hand to loosen sufficiently before painstakingly removing his hand to return it to his side. Something told him that this wouldn’t be the last time he’d do this for Kiran. Alfonse smiled as he took in Kiran’s peaceful slumbering form one last time. It wasn’t as though he minded.