#also i know clouds end below the top of their cans but i needed to fill that empty space with SOMETHING

[copepods]

sleeping god

[yeyinde]

coorie | John "Soap" MacTavish x f!Reader

He pants against your mouth, and you can feel the stretch of his grin—a languorous, satiated smile like the sunrise in the winter. All dark, endlessly so, and then suddenly— Johnny feels like dusk. The first breach of the morning over the lands; a sleepy haze of light eating into the tenebrose that shrouds everything around you. A steak of ochre, gold, in a world of darkness; the varicoloured smear of pastel clouds breaking over the horizon. 

Being with him is a little bit like cupping the sun in the palm of your hand. 

warnings: soft!Soap, super soft smut, fluff, domestic bliss, two idiots being drunk off of each other; female gendered anatomy, female!reader; very little substance just pure fluff

word count: 4k

notes: coorie is a cuddle in Scots and that's the cutest thing to me. we just have cwtsh. also, you can't look me in the eye and tell me this man ISN'T the little spoon.

The scent of wych elm and smoked cedar fill the back of your throat when you breathe in. The cloying richness tickles your nose; the heft of it is familiar, heady. Your head—fuzzy and thick from sleep—swims with the visceral sense of comfort that settles deep in your lungs when you pull it in. You know this smell. 

(Have a piece of it tucked under your pillow.

Did you see where my shirt went? The one I got from Aubin? I went runnin' in it this mornin', hen. Can't find it anywhere.

Maybe it's in the wash. 

Aye, maybe. 

You shoved it under the one he used, tucked it there for those nights that never seemed to end; when you always found yourself missing him the most.

Your secret to keep.)

You're caught in the middle of sleep and wakefulness; a purgatory where the world does not yet exist outside of the soft sheets dragging over your skin. Torn between the dream you were having that is still within reach (the taste of alder on your tongue, a hand across your pulse), and the cognisance that seeps inside: the birds outside of the window chittering, the cars driving across wet cobblestone, honking in the distance. 

And then—

There is a weight on you that—like the smell— doesn't belong. 

You'd gone to bed alone. Have done so for months now. The only company you keep is just the shirt, whose enticing scent has long since faded. 

You feel it, now. 

A weight. A presence. Something notches on your shoulder, a blunt pressure digging into your neck—a heaviness securing you to the bed, locked over your chest, and across your thighs. 

Your blankets could never be so firm, so warm. 

The dream slips into the recesses of your mind when your eyes crack open. A little sliver. The world bathed in bright gold. 

A rasp of something gritty and sharp scratches over the soft flesh below your shoulder, above the swell of your breast. The graze of it makes you smile. Makes you lull your head to the side until your nose meets wry curls that tickle your lips. 

You breathe him in. Sweat. Aged wood. 

He must have snuck in sometime during the night. 

(Finally, finally—)

The world resumes in pieces. The top of his brown hair under your eyes, his face nestled into the crook of your neck, soft plumes of humid breath on your throat, his grip over your ribs. Thighs tangled together. 

Like this, with your head dazed and spooled with the gossamer of somnolence, you can't begin to know where he ends and you begin. You merge together. A mess of limbs, heavy and thick with the scent of sleep. Warm milk. Honey. 

Johnny sleeps like a child. Always grasping out, reaching for you. He clings to you; body wrapping around yours as if he was trying to merge atoms. 

He might be. Johnny is a cuddler. The kind that sticks to you like glue, and refuses to let go. 

A slow, languid smile curls on your lips. Your arm laid on the pillow he's supposed to be using lifts, and falls gently to the top of his head. Nails rake through the coarse hair, scratching his scalp. His shorn sides are a little longer than you remember it, tufts of hair the same length as your fingernail. He'll need a haircut. 

You follow the trail of his mohawk, sliding down the nape of his neck, the knob of his spine. Real. Solid. 

You'll never tell him, but when he's gone, you often dream of him at night. The sweetness of it carries into the morning where it's ground into pain when you remember he's gone. When your fingers slide through the sheets in search of the man who isn't there, and meet the cold, barren emptiness across from you. 

He never sleeps in his spot, anyway. Always somehow wrapped around you instead. 

But this—

Waking up to the smell of him thick in your nose, the taste of him on your fingertips—it's the closest to heaven you think you'll ever get. 

At your touch, Johnny moans, low and rough. The sound drenched in sleep, and needy. A heat—soft, fluttering—spumes in your belly. The weight of his knee pressing into your hip bone makes you take a sharp, deep breath. 

It's been too long since his skin touched yours. Since the heat of him seeped to your marrow. 

Your nails dance down his spine, relishing the feel of his hard muscles under your palm. Johnny makes another noise—a soft husk, full of sleepy longing—and it goes straight to your core. His body flexes, coiling over you. He snuggles in deeper, as if that was even possible. But you know Johnny. 

Any gap, any space, between your bodies will be sought after and conquered. 

His nose pushes into your pulse point, stubble chafing your skin. The weight of him is solid. Comforting. Johnny's hand curls around your ribs. You melt into his embrace. Soft, gummy. He's sickly sweet—your gruff military man.

His knee stretches when he moves, his hip nudging into you. 

He's naked. You feel the thickness of him twitching against your side. Wetness leaks, dampens your skin. 

You burrow your face into his crown, and catch the scent of gunfire and polymer that clings to the tips of his cropped hair. 

He didn't even shower. Stripped down, sleepy and jetlagged, and slipped into your bed. 

Nails rove over his broad shoulders until you're locked into some parody of a hug. You feel the heft of his bicep beneath your hands. The weight of his burning flesh over your body. Clad in only panties and a loose top, you feel the fever billowing inside of you. 

There is something intimate about waking up next to someone nude. A stark thing that settles in your ribs, clotting in the brackets between them. 

The flavour of vulnerability. Touches of domesticity. It leaks into your marrow, bringing with it something soft and tender. 

Illicit. 

It brims up. Buoying to the surface. A low-grade fever itching under your skin. The blunt press of his hard, leaking cock on your skin is nothing short of enticing. 

Your thighs part as much as they're able to with his weight on you, hand slipping out from under the pillow. You take a moment to run your fingers over his forearm, nestled snugly under your breasts. The weight of him makes your chest flutter. Heart seizing when he squeezes you tight to him. 

The coarse hair of his thigh on your navel feels good under your palm. Muscular. He told you once when he brought you to a football game that he used to play. Still does when he has the time. A group of his old schoolmates on a rare Saturday when everyone is around. 

You can feel it in the thick bulk of him. Years of practice, training. 

But now—

It's in the way. 

His thigh is too thick for you to slip your hand over. 

Your core throbs. The sticky press of his hard cock against you does little to abate the ache growing inside. 

A huff spills from your lips. His hair flutters. Another noise spills from deep within his chest when you push at his leg, trying to slip it down lower so you can sink your fingers into your aching pussy. 

It doesn't work. He tucks himself closer to you, and rocks his hips into yours. 

A wry twist of your lips. At least someone is getting off. 

You try again, wriggling. 

He moves, pulls his hand out from where it's caught between the bed and your chest, running his warm, rough palm over your skin.

The movement makes you pause, hand falling still on his knee. You went to bed late last night, having stayed up watching trashy television until the early hours. He must have snuck in sometime after. 

Your eyes skirt to the clock on the wall. It's barely mid-morning. 

He needs sleep. 

Did you wake him—?

He dips under the hem of your cropped sleep shirt, and cups your breast in his palm. 

"Johnny—," you breathe, just barely a whisper.

He groans low. Flashes fan over your collarbones. "Couldn't wait for me?" 

His accent is thick in the morning, groggy and flooded with sleep. You shiver, hips lifting slightly off the bed. You're stopped, of course, by the weight of him. 

"You took too long," you murmur, panting into his hair. 

He grumbles; the noise reverberates through his chest. "Sorry, bonnie. Got my girl all worked up. Needy for it."

His fingers brush over your nipple. The flash of pleasure makes your toes curl, his name leaves your mouth in a breathless plea. 

"I know, I know…" he husks into your neck. "I'll take care'a ya, bonnie." 

"Wanna make you feel good—"

"Nah, dove. Just be a good girl for me, aye?"

"Johnny—"

His fingers rub your nipple until your peak hardens, pinched softly between his thumb and forefinger. His cock presses into you—little cants of his hip that make you burn for it. 

It's been so long. 

Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulder. "Please, baby, I can't take it—"

His laugh huff across your neck. "Needy little thing."

His thigh slides off your waist before you can snap something back, lips pressing to your pulse. It makes your breath catch when you feel the graze of his warm mouth, his tongue; it laves over your skin, carrying the flash of teeth. A tease, a nip. Between the burn from the stubble, and the soft bites to your skin, your neck will soon be a mosaic of his devotion. 

Your thighs part, desperation pooling inside of you with each brush of his warm, calloused fingers over your nipple. You want it, ache for it—

"Fuck, bonnie." His hips rut into you, cock so hard you think it might bruise your flesh. It leaks prespend over your skin until you're tacky with it. 

Your mouth waters. You wonder if he'll taste of the beach—

Your head lulls, nose nuzzling his crown. "Wanna taste you later, baby. Missed having your cock in my mouth—"

"Steamin' Jesus, bonnie—," it's bitten off in a moan. A desperate rut. His fingers spasm over your breast. "Cannae say shite like that when I haven't had this pretty mouth in months —"

"You should learn to be quicker with the missions then." 

His teeth sink into your neck, and you sputter, thighs snapping shut to stem the deep ache.

Johnny's tongue snakes out, laving over the indents left behind by his teeth. "I come home to you as quickly as I can, bonnie."

Your voice is barely a whisper. "I know." 

He groans into your neck when he moves, his hand slipping out from under his body, and resting on the pillow. His head raises, your eyes meet. Golden honey, rich and thick and full of want, gazes at you from under heavy lids. 

His smile feels like the dawning sun curving over the horizon. A flash of teeth. His forehead drops, presses to yours. Noses brushing. You breathe in him. 

"Hey," he murmurs against your lips, the barest touch. "I missed ya, hen." 

Your hands curl over his shoulders, knees parting to let him closer. A smile, soft and gentle, pulls on the corners of your mouth. "Hiya. Missed you, too."

He ruts into the seam of your thighs, heavy cock sliding over your clothed cunt. "God, bonnie. Thought about ya always. Couldn't get you outta my head." 

"You say that every time you come home."

His head ducks down, muzzling his stubble against your cheek. You feel the press of teeth under your jaw. "An' I mean it every time."

"I'm already gonna fuck you, babe. No need to try and charm me into it," you taunt, nails raking softly down is back. A tickle. A tease. His hips jerk into yours, a groan slipping from his lips. 

"Charm? Oh, bonnie—," his voice is rich caramel, thick and sweet in your ear. "I'm just fuckin' crazy for ya, cariño."

You huff. "Cariño? That's new." 

"Sí, mi corazón." 

Your brows raise. "I love how even when speaking a completely different language, you still sound incredibly Scottish."

"Aye," he nips your chin again. "You can take the Scot out of Scotland, but you can't—"

Your mouth presses to his, catching teeth. "Just shut up and fuck me, already, Johnny."

His mouth captures yours, tongue delving into it with a groan. He tastes of thistle. Your breath comes out in sharp pants against his cheek. 

Your hand slides down his arms, reaching under to tug at your panties. When he feels you move, he laughs low in his throat, lips clumsily glued to yours. 

"Gonna pull 'em to the side for me? That desperate, mi reina?"

"Very," you breathe, eyes lidded and heavy. "I only had my fingers, you know." 

He looks good like this—bathed in the gentle sunlight, sunkissed from his adventure in Mexico—and leaning over you, eyes hungry. Right where he belongs. 

"Yeah?" He rasps, swallowing thickly. His hand follows the path set by your own, fingers curling under your knee. "Was it good, bonnie? Did you fuck yourself senseless and think of me?"

"It was good," you whine, back arching when his cock brushes your wet cunt. The head taps against your clit. "But it wasn't you." 

"Gotta give my girl a proper pounding then, aye?"

"Yes," you hiss, eyes fluttering when he takes his cock in hand, and thrusts it through your drenched folds. "I want it, Johnny."

"Push 'em to the side, bonnie. I need to be in your cunt, now."

Whimpering, your fingers hook on the gusset of your damp panties, pulling them back. Opening yourself for him, and desperate for it. 

"Wanna fuck you proper later on," he rasps, his cock nudging against your cunt. "But I can't wait, dove. Fuck, the things you do to me—"

You're not wet enough for it to be seamless, but it's been months since you felt him split you apart, and the burn, the sting, of him stretching you open all over again makes your toes curl. It rides the edge of indelible pain and pleasure; an amalgam of being both excruciatingly good and too much all at the same time. Overwhelming. Perfect.

Your legs hook on his thighs when he nudges the head of his cock inside of you, opening yourself wider for him to take. 

He breathes out your name on a shuddered rasp that makes your cunt clench, pulsing with the delirious ache of having him within you once more. Hair dampened with sweat, his upper lip is slick when he presses his mouth to you; you taste salt on your tongue when he licks into your mouth. Your hands roam his back when he pushes in deep, flushed against you. 

"Gonna move, coriño;" he slurs into your mouth, eyes fluttering shut. "Can you take it?"

"Give it to me, Johnny."

Before Johnny, you'd never known fucking could be so intense when it's slow; just languid rolls of his hips, his mouth fixed on yours, devouring you. It's not rushed: he isn't fucking you as hard as he can. It's—

Tender. Sweet. 

Johnny fills you deep, the head of his cock nudging something inside of you that has your nails digging into his shoulders, whimpering against his mouth. The slow drag of his cock sliding out of you has your walls singing from the blunt pressure. The torturously deep thrust back in, hips jerking lazily into yours. It all pools together, an endless coil of pleasure that makes you moan, that has you panting into his ear, begging him for more. 

The equinox of it all comes when he rests his forehead back on yours, noses pushed together. There is no space between you—face to face, chest to chest—and he ruts into you like this, his eyes molten suns, nearly blinding, as they gaze at you. 

Johnny makes you melt. Makes your veins pool with liquid bliss, your core tightening with each sharp thrust against your gummy walls, and every slow drag out until only the tip remains. He hits deep, fills you completely, and it's good—it's so good —but it's this you can't get enough of. 

The way he covers your whole body with his, tucked into every corner and crevasse until all you can see and feel is him. He shares your breath; each exhale is his inhale. Eyes fixed on you; dark lashes fluttering when you tighten around him. 

These moments with Johnny make your head spin—a realm carved out where only the two of you exist; where you meld together and become one entity feasting off of the other. 

His cock, heavy and fat inside of your pussy. Your hands running along his back. His mouth sealing over yours, panting deep and ragged until all you can taste and smell is him. Until all you can see is the caramel depths that gaze at you—love in liquid; flecks of affection in gold. His pupils blown wide from pleasure, nearly eclipsing the stunning brecciated hazel. His lids lower, cresting in euphoria.

He's close—you can feel it in the way his thighs tense, his back trembles; in the sloppy way he fucks into you, mouthing along your lips. Lost in a white haze of pleasure, and too drunk on the way you tighten around him to notice. 

Your nails dig into his shoulder blades when his thrusts become choppy, harder. Legs spread wider to take him, ankles crossing over his tailbone. You melt into the sweat-slicked sheets, body liquifying with each snap of his hips. 

His chin rakes over your cheek, stubble grating against the skin. He murmurs apologies into your ear, tongue dipping out to taste the mess he made of you. 

"M'so fuckin' close, hen," he slurs into your temple, the bulk of his upper torso sliding over you. You're trapped under him, forehead pressed into the column of his throat as he bends your knees to your chest. "Fuck—!"

The light catches on the gold chain around his neck. The cross swinging like a pendulum between you. It draws your eye, and fills your chest with a deep spume of inexorable affection. Something so mundane, but so him; a little thing he always carries, keeps with him. A little piece of familiarity after months of loneliness. 

Seeing it outside of just a bittersweet dream brings tears to your eyes. 

You missed him. The heavy cedar scent, the way he kisses you like he can't get enough of the taste, how he clings to you at night, glueing himself to you in a futile effort to merge together into one being, his stupid haircut—

"Fuck," you choke, head full of nothing but him. "I missed you so much—"

"Me, too, hen," he groans into your crown, fucking deep into you. "Fuck, bonnie. I need you to cum for me. Need to feel you cumming on my cock—"

His words congeal inside your core, pleasure rippling from the base of your spine to the tips of your fingers that you bury inside his flesh. The thick heft of him makes you dizzy, makes you feel that tight coil pulling taut with each sloppy thrust he makes against it. 

His body sags into you, head burrowing into your neck. The grind of his pelvis against your clit as you spasm around him, clenching tight as he works you up toward nirvana, rutting deep, and breathing heavy into your collarbones. Glued, once more, to you. 

Johnny holds you steady, firm. His whole body cresting over yours, and keeping you locked to bed. Under him. Sheltered from harm. From the ugliness he keeps at bay. 

My hero, you once whispered to him playfully in a pub when you first met. Coy and teasing and high of the confidence that comes with a gorgeous man looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. You feel it, now, nestled deep inside of your chest. Your hero, finally home. 

It's the soft chants of your name, the choked-out confessional about how much he missed you, thought of you all the way on the opposite side of the globe, and now that he has you, it feels like heaven. How you have Nirvana nestled between your soft thighs, and he can't get enough of it. Of you. He's drunk off the taste. 

It's a slow ascent with Johnny. Never rushed, never hurried. He takes you like he's savouring you, like he'll never have the chance to again. 

(On your first date, he took you hiking.

And years later, it still feels like you're climbing a mountain.)

A slow, lazy incline. A soft, feathery descent. 

"M'goin' crazy fer ya, cariño—," he pushes in deep, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. His voice is shattered, broken. The fractures in his words, the hard roll of his hips pressing down on your clit, all push you over the edge. Head full of that white pleasure that dances in front of your eyes like little galaxies in the cosmos. 

The pulse of your cunt around him makes his hips grind into yours, cock twitching as he spills himself inside of you. A low moan slips from his reddened lips, and he stifles it when he catches your mouth, sharing it with you. 

(It tastes of sugared milk and cinnamon.)

He stays like that for a moment, hips rocking against you as rides himself through, your pussy clenching around him, milking him for everything—every drop. 

Thistle heavy on your tongue, his moan nestled in your throat—it feels a bit like waking up again. A yawning crest into wakefulness. A slow roll into cognisance. 

He pants against your mouth, and you can feel the stretch of his grin—a languorous, satiated smile like the sunrise in the winter. All dark, endlessly so, and then suddenly—

Johnny feels like dusk. The first breach of the morning over the lands; a sleepy haze of light eating into the tenebrose that shrouds everything around you. A steak of ochre, gold, in a world of darkness; the varicoloured smear of pastel clouds breaking over the horizon. 

Being with him is a little bit like cupping the sun in the palm of your hand. 

His eyes slide open—a slow, shuddering roll—and you see morning dew in the whites; golden rays in the hazel. There are shadows, proof of a hard-earned victory, but he is not the type to let it linger. 

(You're not the type to let him.)

Sleepy, dazed from pleasure, he grins again. Nose pressed to yours, heart thundering against your chest. 

"M'not leavin' again for a while, now," he breathes into your lips, nose sliding across yours. He nuzzles his cheek your raw flesh, already scratched from his stubble. His voice is naked bliss when murmurs: "and I intend to stay inside this pretty cunt all day."

You huff, head listing as you let him smother your cheek and neck in affectionate kisses, nips. "You need a shower. You smell like Price. And sweat."

Teeth to your pulse. "And sex. Your sweet pussy—"

"You need a haircut."

"Thought you wanted me to grow it out."

You pretend to consider, hands sliding from his back to the nape of his neck. "I want something to pull."

"You can." 

"It's too short." 

He's shaking his head, temple knocking into your chin. "Nah, you can still pull. You can steer me later when my face is buried in your—"

"Is that why you came home?" You tease, curling a lock of his hair around your fingers. "Surely there were pretty girls in Mexico."

His head lifts. Rising suns, molten honey, meet yours. "Nah, got the prettiest hen squeezing my cock right now."

"God," you huff, walls fluttering around him with each gentle movement he makes. "You're incorrigible." 

"M'a man starved. Kept away from my girl for too long." 

His words are teasing, but his eyes—

Your breath catches, and stutters in your chest. "Johnny."

"Can't get enough of ya, hen." He confesses, words muttered into your chin. "Don't plan on lettin' you go. Ever."

"You won't ever need to." 

His smile feels like coming home. "You can bet on that."

His hand reaches under the pillow, eyes playful. "Now, about you stealin' my shirts…"

Your cheeks heat when he pulls it out. "How did that get there?"

"You're a cheeky little thing, ain't you?"

You place your hand on his chest, lashes fluttering. Coy. Kittenish. "I just miss you sometimes, is all." 

His eyes are pockets of slate, chiselled deep with a heart-wrenching affection that blisters through you. "Oh, hen."

Open, raw. He descends on you, mouth catching yours. Kissing him is always intense, always—

He pulls away. A flash of teeth. A smirk. 

"But stop taking my good ones at least."

[heliads]

boy; girl; dragon

Hiccup only needs two things. He knows he can rely on both forever.

masterlist

There is a boy, and he has a girl. And also a dragon. 

The order matters. He had the girl first, even if he didn’t know it yet. She didn’t say a word to him about the feeling beating against the bars of her ribs like a dove in a cage, not until he did first. The dragon helped things along, surprisingly. Usually, fire-breathing reptiles can only complicate a situation, but when two young people are soaring through the sky with only the billowing light of the sun and stars around them to bear witness to the truths they have to tell, secrets end up not so secret anymore. Hiccup told you he loved you. You said the same.

The dragon watched, and listened, and waited. It, of course, had known the whole time. Almost everyone did. Tact is a rare occurrence among the Vikings, but the people of Berk could tell that interference in the story of you and him, him and you, would not bode well. You and Hiccup were something different, something special. You didn’t need anyone but each other. And the dragon.

Loving a Viking is dangerous. Loving Hiccup was so far along the line of adventure and risk that even your first kiss felt like throwing off your armor to embrace a knife in your chest. If this was pain, though, it was the loveliest anguish you had ever experienced in your entire life. Falling in love with Hiccup was brilliant, like dragonfire; exhilarating, like tumbling in freefall; unfailing, like the son of a chieftain knowing that he would send his entire village to keep you safe from harm or die trying. Staying in love with him was soft torchlight, quiet mornings, wispy clouds around your temples when he took you up to see the stars. Easy. Perfect. And yours, all yours.

The two of you are together now, sitting side by side on the edge of a cliff. Most of Berk is rocky with occasional splashes of slate blue or chestnut wood to break up the monotonous grey, but tenacious patches of grass have managed to crawl up to the top of the cliffside here, providing you with a threadbare emerald blanket on which you can rest your legs.

A cool wind whistles through the air, toying with your hair and clothes before plunging off the edge of the rock face. You watch it go, taking a few errant leaves with it, and consider the drop down to the sea below you.

“If I fell right now,” you say to Hiccup, “off the side, you would catch me.”

“I would catch you,” he affirms. “Dragon or no dragon.”

“What if I fell too fast and you couldn’t reach me in time?” You ask.

He takes your hand, voice soft and gentle in the early morning. You’ve heard him louder and more assertive when directing the villagers, but you like him best like this, when Hiccup’s peace is only ever meant for you. There is an entirely different young man who exists only when he’s alone with you, a Hiccup that no one will ever know as well as you do. It is a delight to keep the secret of this second, inner boy. It’s a treasure that will only ever be claimed by you, a sparkling spread of gold and jewels captive to one person and one person alone. Not even blood relations can claim that sort of glory.

“There is nowhere you could go that I would not follow,” Hiccup asserts. “Not off the cliff. Not into the sky. I would follow you past the sun, or a hundred thousand lengths in the sea. I would search the world to find you, if I had to, and I would bring you back with me. Always. Do you believe me?”

“I do,” you whisper. “Always.”

“Always,” he repeats, and presses a kiss to your temple.

This is loving Hiccup, then. Always. Always the guarantee of a heart beating in tandem with yours. Always the confidence that you will not be alone in this world of yours, even as it seems to stretch out forever, even as it looms to hide a hundred friends or a thousand enemies. If the odds are with you or against you, you will have Hiccup to guide you through the trials and tribulations of this life of yours. It is written in the stars, and it is sworn by the one you love. No promise could be greater.

The two of you will descend into legend, into myth, into folklore. Never in the world have any two people loved each other more, and never will they again. Every young pair thinks that they could have this, a love to last a lifetime, but you and Hiccup will do them one better and last a thousand more. You could love him in every universe, every incarnation of yourselves, and Hiccup has already promised to be by your side no matter who you two were. Gods, maybe. Heroes or villains. Ordinary lives or glorious ones. All of them will feature the two of you together. Always.

A shadow briefly blots out the sun overhead, a pair of jet-black wings soaring through the early morning skies. As it loops and wheels towards the two of you, its shade flickers across the trees, dappling them with night’s fury even as the sun climbs higher into the sky. It occurs to you that you’d like every day to start and end like this one, for each one of your hours to be filled with this sort of blissful joy. You don’t need riches, you don’t need a legacy. All you need is right here before you. A boy and a girl. And also a dragon.

disney tag list: @blondsauduun, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @avadakadabra93

also tagging @hope92100 bc HICCUP

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[jeannineee]

Solemn

Azriel x Reader

a/n: part two to Rage. This was quickly proofread. There will be def be a part three, I just wanted reader to have a soft moment with Az before she loses her shit on the IC. Requests are open!!

Also, the attention I got on Rage?! Bye. Insane. Love you guys.

warnings: sad Az :(, angry reader, slight nsfw at the end. Probably 18+ tbh.

As soon as Azriel winnowed the two of you home, you stalked towards your bedroom, still trembling with rage.

The wind was howling outside, harsh and unrelenting as it shook the windows. Storm clouds formed overhead, and it wasn’t long before the sound of rain pelting the roof filled your ears.

It was as though the earth itself was reacting to you.

Azriel followed you, so silent you wouldn’t have known he was there, if not for his shadows caressing your hands, your cheeks, in an attempt to calm you.

You turned to him, expression softening as you finally took in his appearance. You’d been so angry earlier, that you hadn’t realized how worn he looked.

“I’m fine,” Azriel whispered as he saw the worry on your face.

“No, you’re not.”

Azriel went silent, trudging past you, and into the master bathroom. He turned the bath faucet on, the water so hot steam began rolling through the space.

“It’s not fair,” you snapped, hands shaking as you began working on the straps of his leathers. “You give them everything. The things you do…” you trailed off, lifting his shirt over his head. “They don’t deserve you.”

Azriel didn’t speak. You didn’t know if it was out of tiredness, or agreement, but he said nothing as you helped him undress. Said nothing as you helped lower him into the bath.

You sat on the side of the tub, biting your cheek as the scalding water made contact with your skin, soaking through your leggings.

Azriel settled himself between your legs, his wings draped over your thighs, spanning outside the tub, and brushing the floor. You placed a kiss on the top of his head. “I love you,” you murmured, before bringing your hands to the back of his neck, massaging away the tension there.

He wouldn’t look at you.

He never could, after spending the day in the Court of Nightmares. He felt he wasn’t worthy of coming back home to you, after all he had done.

Your mate. The other half of your soul. Felt unworthy.

“I love you,” you said again, hands moving along his shoulders, being careful of his wings.

“Look at me,” you urged, tugging on the bond, gently grabbing his jaw, and tilting his head back. “I love you.”

Azriel met your eyes, and returned your tug on the bond with a gentle pull of his own. He was tired. So tired. “I love you,” he breathed, a single tear running down his beautiful face.

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. As you pulled back, you grabbed a wash cloth, and the cedar-scented soap from the side of the tub, lathering it. You brought the cloth to Azriel’s shoulders, cleaning him.

He sat forward, giving you access to his back, his wings. You traced over the black, swirling tattoos that ran down his spine, smiling to yourself at the goosebumps that rose on his tanned skin.

Once you were finished with his back, you hurriedly undressed yourself, climbing into the tub. Before you could protest, Azriel pulled you into his lap, your back flush against his chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I still need to clean the front of you,” you said, breath hitching as Azriel’s lips trailed your neck, your shoulder.

Azriel smiled against your skin—the first smile he’d mustered in a few days. “I have a better plan.”

“Oh? Can you handle it, Az? You seem tired,” you teased gently, placing your hands over his, where they rested over your navel.

Azriel tensed slightly as your fingers traced over his scars, but he didn’t pull away. He placed a kiss below you ear, before replying, “Never too tired for you.”

You turned in his lap, straddling him. Your breath caught in your throat as his hardness pressed against your stomach. You cupped his face in your hands, his stubble prickling your thumbs as you traced his jaw.

Azriel rested his hands on your hips, arching a brow. “You sure you can handle it?” he asked the same question, a small smirk on his face.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Azriel only hummed in response.

So you lifted your hips, settling yourself onto him. Azriel leaned his forehead on yours, sending all of his love and adoration hurtling down the bond as you rode him.

For the first time in weeks, Azriel seemed brighter.

[veinsfullofstars]

✨ May I interest you in some Dedede and Meta Knight as childhood friends? ✨

(ID: Kirby series fanart, Childhood Friends AU, of King Dedede and Meta Knight as kids interacting in various cute and wholesome scenarios, such as coloring, cloud-watching, sparring with sticks, overindulging on sweets, protecting each other from bullies, and more. Design-wise, young Dedede is short and chubby with a smaller beak and three feathers sticking up from the top of his head. He wears a pair of red overalls with gold buttons on the straps and a pocket on the front with a white two-finger peace sign. Young Meta Knight is maskless and similar in appearance to Kirby, save for his yellow eyes, dark blue complexion, and a pair of tiny wings on his back. Additional headcanons and worldbuilding for this AU under the cut. END ID.)

UPDATE 03/11/24: Added a scar to Meta's head. | UPDATE 04/24/24: Touched up a few headcanons below.

Started on 10/09/23, finished on 10/11/23. NOTE: This was originally posted on my deleted account on 10/11/23.

—

-This AU primarily takes place within the Kirby gameverse (with a few superficial elements borrowed from external media), the timeline starting decades before the events of KDL and eventually catching up to and following the main games’ canon (with nods to side games and some unique events added here and there for character flavor). I am trying to stay canon-compliant, but I’m also kinda making things up as I go and changing them as needed, so no promises I won’t just go completely off the rails the more I workshop things, haha.

-I'm mostly going to leave ages nebulous in this AU, but - for clarity's sake - we'll say Dedede and Meta are both the equivalent of 7-to-11 years old here, though they first met a little earlier...

-Meta Knight is just called Meta for now - he won’t earn his title until after he starts his overstars military training with the Galaxy Soldier Army (GSA) in his late teens.

-That hammer belongs to Dedede’s mama - a former pro-wrestler - and will someday be passed down to him (once he’s strong enough to actually pick it up).

-The Star Warriors/GSA inclusion in this AU is more for flavor than any major role. In this version, they are basically an intergalactic military group fighting various forces of evil and providing relief-aid across the universe, their reputation generally positive thanks to a genuine effort on their part to balance acts of war and defense with acts of philanthropy, community assistance, and compassion, well-known enough to reach even distant Popstar. Any known Star Warriors - Sir Arthur, Sir Dragato, Kit Cosmos, etc. - are either long since passed on or retired somewhere outside of the story. Upon learning of the GSA, Meta becomes enamored with their deeds and longs to be a knight himself (not yet aware of the hardships involved in becoming one).

-The kids like to spar for fun in their free time, but on occasion they get proper training from Dedede’s papa - a retired knight with connections to the GSA who’d settled in Dream Land with his wife just before they had their only son. Meta looks up to him with the same admiration he has for the Star Warriors. Dedede, however, doesn’t always see eye-to-eye with his well-meaning but rather strict father.

-Meta is quite shy around people he doesn’t know well. In overwhelming situations, he tends to either shut down and go non-verbal or quietly slip away to recoup. That said, he is much more expressive around those he trusts, listening eagerly and chatting far more than he would otherwise.

-Dedede has an impulsive streak and likes to make wild plans that tend to put him and his buddies in precarious situations (when he can be bothered to actually follow through with them, that is). Meta is often the first to point out the flaws in his plans (if Para Dee doesn’t do it first) but inevitably ends up tagging along anyway, his wariness easily overturned by his curiosity.

-Meta is sometimes bullied by the bigger kids in the village due to his strange appearance and timid nature. Dedede is quick to step in and defend him, usually getting into scraps in the process. It will be a little while before either of them gain the respect of their peers…

[starleska]

welcome to...starleska's f/o round-up 2023! 🥳🥳🥳

below the cut is every single character i've had a crush on in 2023...and there are 30 in total!! 🙈💖 these are given in chronological order of fixation, and they are all new crushes (so re-entering a fixation for a character i've simped for previously doesn't count 😂) now be warned, this is a genuinely unhinged list. they are largely villains. one is a mushroom. one is a vehicle. one is a casino-themed duck-shaped robot. my autism is indiscriminate in the characters it fixates on, and they are all suitably embarrassing 😭💖 without further ado, here we go...

1. James the Red Engine | Thomas the Tank Engine

...shut up 😂💖 at the start of this year i truly lost my mind and fell headfirst into the Thomas the Tank Engine fandom (everyone there is so lovely and creative!!)...and of course, the vain train is my favourite 🙈💖 James is cute okay!! i don't need to justify myself!!! 2. 'Big' Jack Horner | Puss in Boots: The Last Wish

there's no way anyone missed this one - we are quite the tight-knit and dedicated group in the 'Big' Jack Horner fandom 😳💖 come on, look at him...a huge, powerful, obsessive, fancy-bastard collector with an affinity for magic??? he's stunning 🥴💖 i made so many lovely friends through gushing about this horrible man!!! we had so much fun making OCs to ship with him 🙈 one of the most intense fixations i've had all year, and one of the best villains we've seen in years...he is fantastic 🥰 3. Pizzahead | Pizza Tower

i don't know what's in the water of Pizza Tower but it's impossible to be normal about any character you like from that game 🙈💖 of course the evil sentient pizza slice took the top spot, he's so cartoony and ridiculous!!! the amount of power he exerts is also quite the draw 🤭💖 i'm not gonna lie there's a couple other characters from this game i may get into later...we'll see 😉 4. Fingers | Dead End: Paranormal Park

have you heard this guy's voice. can you blame me. deliciously evil fruity monstrosity with supernatural powers? sign me up to whatever sinister scheme Fingers has going on now or in the future 👉👈 he hits a lot of boxes...between the cabaret-style makeup, the posh, dismissive and manipulative personality and the inexplicable Eldritch body, he was always gonna be a crush 🤭 5. M.O.D.O.K. | Marvel

wheeze okay, this was originally a JOKE!!! @thelighttasteslikelasagna sent in this message joking that i look like i'd find M.O.D.O.K. hot, and i was really angry about it for five minutes...and then i discovered the stop-motion cartoon where he's exactly the kind of cringefail malewife villain i enjoy (in the Augustus St. Cloud vein), and the rest is history 🙈💖 definitely one of the silliest crushes i had this year, but he holds a special place in my heart :3c 6. Gargamel | The Smurfs

nah man i was on some serious mental illness at the start of this year 💀 i just can't help it when bad guys are like this, alright!!! Hank Azaria's performance as Gargamel is sooo silly and over-the-top, i couldn't help but love every second he was on screen 🙈💖 Gargamel's just a whole lot of fun!!! who doesn't love a magic-wielding freak hellbent on the destruction of a group of little creatures?? (i cannot and will not be taking any questions at this time 😶) 7. Wally Darling | Welcome Home

my God, the Wally Darling fixation hit the entire Internet like a train 🤭💖 soft-voiced, ambiguously-moraled rizz puppet that he is, how could we not all fall head-over-heels? i have to thank this guy for throwing me headfirst back into fanfic writing, as the whole Welcome Home story really inspired me...not to mention all the lovely folks who wanted to imagine different ways of getting to hold Wally's hand 🥰 hooray for our pretty puppet boy!! 8. Killa Harkan | John Wick: Chapter 4

...yes, i know, it's funny that Killa's the first of two cartoonishly evil German-accented bad guys with sleight of hand tricks and gold teeth on the list this year 😂💖 sitting in the cinema, the second he opened his mouth my partner just turned and stared at me, because they knew. i refuse to apologise for appreciating a really awful bastard - especially one who dresses so sharply 😉 9. Ian Hawke | Alvin and the Chipmunks

yet another member of the 'it started off as a joke...' club 🤭💖 listen, Ian serves!!! we can't resist a smarmy music producer/manage type, can we? Ian's in the same camp as Gargamel for being a deeply evil man whose capacity for doing harm is directed at little creatures. all i'm saying is, he can sign me up for a dodgy deal any day 🥴 10. Myc Cellium | Inside Job

i can't tell if it's my monsterfucker tendencies or my consummate attraction to Brett Gelman but the crass sentient mushroom got me down bad 😭💖 he's just such a menace!! he's got that intoxicating combo of being horribly socially inappropriate and an actual outcast...fellas, Myc was fixation bait for me 😭 11. Klaus Kickenklober | Sing 2

i don't care if you think you're not a furry, someone can and will get you from the Sing franchise, and that is a threat 🙈💖 yesss laugh it up, Star's got another stern and vaguely European cartoon villain added to the list 😂 i just find Klaus so impossibly delightful!!! he'd be a terrible teacher to have in real life, but in fiction, i think i could fix him :3c 12. The Spot | Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse

ohoho, i know you guys were living for The Spot fixation because i remember your reaction to the x Readers 😉 look at him and his incredible design!!! the transformation of The Spot from weak laughable villain to reality-bending monstrosity had me by the throat...and i can't wait to see more of him when the next Spider-Verse drops 👀 13. Mad Mod | Teen Titans

MAD. BLOODY. MOD!!!!! i think our favourite British bastard has to take the crown (literally and figuratively) as my strongest fixation out of the whole of 2023, i lost my mind over this guy. he just consumed my every waking thought!!! 🙈 the style, the voice, the unbelievable engineering skill...Mad Mod is one of those once-in-a-lifetime f/os that you know you'll be obsessed with for a very long time 😳💖 i look back so fondly on those wonderful few months of Mad Mod fandom resurgence, and how that still continues today...here's hoping even more people find out about him and develop their own crushes 😉 shout-out to the lovely @iriso-page who suggested him and Music Meister to me 🙈💖

14. Control Freak | Teen Titans

sdfgdf okay back on form with the fat dweebs, i know, i know!!!! my ravenous Mad Mod fixation wasn't enough to ignore Control Freak, one of the most delightfully stupid villains in Teen Titans...!!! he hits all my buttons (ha!) and i genuinely think his design and powers are kind of epic. would love to see him utilised in the future 😉 (i am never beating the Discord kitten allegations...) 15. Ken | Barbie

well, this particular blond himbo was quite the surprise!! 🤭💖 i'm not usually the one to go for such a stereotypical hottie, but Ryan Gosling plays Ken as so unhinged and...off for the whole movie, he activated the same neurons which come with the weirdest of my crushes 🙈💖 Ken's a misguided sweetheart and i'd love to help him feel a little bit wanted;;; 16. Buck Ruffler the Duck Shuffler | Toontown: Corporate Clash

fell into the wonderful world of Toontown: Corporate Clash and imprinted on this fucker like...well, like a baby duck 😂💖 is this not the most spectacular design for an original Cog you've ever seen?! i love that Buck is an absolutely scrambled robot with a gambling addiction, and i think he'd be lovely (and hilarious) company 🥰

17. Barnaby | Billie Bust Up

ohhhh yesssss Billie Bust Up caught my attention with this sinister goofball!!!! fancy, flamboyant and very into murder...Barnaby has all the traits for any Tumblr Sexyman, and i cannot wait for the full game to drop so we can see even more of him 👀

18. The Mad Hatter/Jervis Tetch | Batman

Jervis Tetch my beloved!! this has been the year of fancy blonds in top-hats, as well as deeply silly hypnotists, and Jervis kicked off this trend with a bang 🙈💖 i'm a Mad Hatter fan generally but B:TAS Jervis is a special kind of pretty stalker, and that voice is delicious 🥴 thanks to him for kicking off an Alice in Wonderland fixation and for finally getting me into drinking tea...the things we do for our crushes, eh? 🥰 19. Music Meister/Darius Chapel | Batman

and here is the first character played by Neil Patrick Harris who made it onto this year's list!!! 🙈💖 another camp, theatrical Batman villain to add to my collection...gorgeous voice, such an immense sense of style, and wonderfully good fun!! i think more people should get a little obsessed with the Music Meister 😉 20. Buggy the Clown | One Piece

none of you can judge me for this one - i remember all the TikTok edits!!! 😂💖 Buggy is pathetic and so much fun - i wasn't expecting to enjoy him as much as i did!! although my fixation for him may have been short-lived, my love for him certainly isn't 🥰 21. Pat Butcher | BBC Ghosts

ohhhh, every now and again a little sweetheart will get me right in the feelings, and Pat Butcher is added proudly to my f/o collection as the second Yorkshireman (next to Salad Fingers 😭). i just love what an upbeat, lovely man he is!! he's so soft and warm to everyone he meets and tries his best to do everything right by his friends...i'd love to cuddle with him 🥺 22. Josh Levy | The Eltingville Club

a classic return to form with Josh Levy, à la Comic Book Guy and Control Freak...really telling on myself by collecting these horrible greasy nerds who would 100% call me something derogatory if i tried to talk to them 💀 i appreciate every last one of The Eltingville Club but Josh, as a failed writer who remains just as toxic as he was when he was a teen, is my undisputed favourite 🙈💖 23. Swan | Phantom of the Paradise

oh God, reawakening my crush on Paul Williams by discovering Swan damn near killed me!!!! 😭💖 i was so obsessed with this man as a kid and the moment i saw him as Swan in POTP i felt intense attraction and gender envy in equal parts;;;; Swan's whole aesthetic and demeaning, inhuman approach to people is impossibly sensual, and i can't overstate enough how little evil dudes in tinted shades will always get me down bad 🙈💖 24. Kinger | The Amazing Digital Circus

my love for Kinger was such a pleasant surprise!! 🤭💖 sweet, anxious fella that he is, all i want to do is get him out of that digital hellscape and ensure he can wrap up in as many blankets as he likes!!! i love his always-on-the-edge-of-a-breakdown portrayal and am so eager to learn more about him and his backstory 👀 25. Peter Gregory | Silicon Valley

ahhh, kicking it the old-fashioned way by getting extremely invested in the most autistic character on the show (and that's saying something, given the high neurodivergent coding of everyone in Silicon Valley 🙈💖). Peter's style and methods of communication are traits i simply find attractive in real life, and although he sadly wasn't with us long, he absolutely stole the show ✨ 26. 'Action' Jack Barker | Silicon Valley

given my love of nerds it's no shocker that Silicon Valley hit me with two f/os, and 'Action' Jack Barker - the tech-field Colin Robinson - was a surefire entry 😳💖 what is it about these milquetoast men who are so whitebread yet are capable of such terrible things which gets me every time?! Jack is such a fun character and i'm glad we got as much of him as we did 🙈 27. Avery | Pokémon: Sword and Shield

i cannot believe none of you guys told me about Avery, the most amazingly dressed character i've ever seen in the whole of Pokémon 🙈💖 shhhh he is so very pretty and petty and his powers are incredibly cool. i just love everything about him and would delight in helping him develop a real sense of self-esteem, because he does not deserve the dismissal he receives from his family 😭💖 28. Matthew Patel | Scott Pilgrim

oh my God, heart in my MOUTH seeing Matthew Patel get the glow-up villain arc he so desperately deserved!!!!! 😭💖💖💖 Matthew is just the epitome of style and power in Scott Pilgrim Takes Off, and it was so fantastic getting to see him grow as a character and get self-actualised. plus his fight scenes were some of the coolest things i've ever seen. Matthew can i have your number please 🥺 29. The Toymaker | Doctor Who

!!!!!!!!!! i don't know if you guys can tell, but i really love the Toymaker...and even predicted that he'd completely consume my mind months before we got The Giggle 🙈💖 e v e r y t h i n g about him just gets me so bad. his reality-bending, his teasing attitude, his ridiculous accents, his gorgeous costumes, his emotional inconsistency, his tragic backstory...god, if i so much as look at him smiling i melt 🥴💖 characters played by Neil Patrick Harris really get me!! i'm so proud to be modding a server dedicated to the Toymaker now, and have met so many brilliant, wonderful friends through him and falling back into Doctor Who!!! i think we're all going to be brainrotting over him for quite some time 😉💖 30. Dr Mark Fry | Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget

Dr Fry, rushing in at the finish line!!! 🤭 the second my pals saw this guys they were all spamming me, begging me to watch Dawn of the Nugget!!! and ooooh i was noooot prepared for the specific brand of soft creepy genius he is 💖 even if they'd played Dr Fry purely as your run-of-the-mill mad scientist he would've gotten me bad, but they just had to make him equal parts freaky and brilliant with just a touch of arrogance, didn't they?? Melisha scored well 🤤 (also, three whole Yorkshiremen in my collection now!! is it the accent? 😭) aaaaand that's everyone!!! phew, is anyone else out of breath? 🥵 what a wonderful, silly year of fixations this has been 🤭💖 thank you all for being here, brainrotting happily alongside me for some of these characters, and for all the other characters you love!!! i hope 2024 is awesome to you, and that many more fictional characters are around the corner, ready to make you smile 😉

[anonymouspuzzler]

HEY, IT'S A FREAKING ENORMOUS SMILE FOR ME FANCOMIC!! there is a very real chance that if you're new from twitter following me here, you followed me for this!! I don't blame you!! I'm real dang proud of this and it was a true labor of love!!! I have more like this I would like to draw soon, too...

(full transcript slash detailed image descriptions under the cut!)

PAGE 1 The comic title, COOKING, is written at the top of the page in big handwritten bubble-letters colored in pale peach.

Panel one shows Kamal, wearing a brown-and-red striped turtleneck sweater, standing next to Habit, wearing a fluffy teal-blue sweater over a pink button-up and blue jeans. Kamal is lightly grimacing, looking mildly embarrassed and rubbing his right arm with his left hand, while Habit stands with his hands on his hips and a big grin. Kamal: So, um, something that we only realized after we started living together... ...turns out neither of us can cook. Like. At all. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): I can make "spaghetti" (smiley face) Kamal: Yeah that barely counts. (in smaller text) I guess I can't talk, though... I was living off Chinese takeout and hot dogs...

Panel two shows Habit on the left, smiling warmly and holding up Putunia with both hands, who is grinning and holding both fists in the air triumphantly. Kamal is on the bottom right of the panel, shrugging. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): But now we have "Putunia"!! Putunia (shouting): THAT'S ME!!! Kamal: So, uh, we had to figure out the whole "cooking" thing. 'Cause we're the adults here or whatever...?

The third panel is marked with a big handwritten caption of "SO THEY LEARNED TO COOK". Below that, Kamal, left, and Habit, right, are standing wearing frilly aprons - Kamal's yellow with pink-and-red trim and a heart on the chest; Habit's light green with dark green trim and flowers on the chest. Habit is also still holding Putunia in one arm, while the other hand gives a thumbs up. Putunia is smiling with her limbs dangling limply like a kitten. Kamal (in small font): How did you just... have these ready...?

PAGE 2 In the large top panel, Kamal, still wearing the apron, is smiling, wearing red oven mitts with yellow flowers, and holding a blue plate with freshly-cooked samosas that are emitting a cloud of steam. Kamal: I, um, actually ended up calling my mom for advice, and she's been teaching me all her old recipes? I didn't really appreciate her cooking growing up - you know, you're a dumb kid and you just want pizza 'cause all your friends are getting pizza... But now... I dunno, it makes me feel closer to her. Feels like I'm carryin' on something important. And there's something real nice about getting to share a family recipe with people I lo- CARE ABOUT.

The second panel shows Habit leaning in from the right, smiling slightly mischievously and clutching his hands near his face. Putunia is also bursting in from the bottom right, smiling and throwing her fists in the air. Kamal is visibly flustered, sweating and yelling, jostling the plate of samosas. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): I still need to meet your mom!! Kamal (yelling): I- I told you, I'm not ready for that yet!! (in smaller text) Ugh, she keeps bugging me about coming over to meet you two... Putunia (yelling): I WANNA MEET KAMAL-MOM!! KA-MOM!!!!!

PAGE 3 The large top panel shows Habit in his apron, smiling, holding up a wooden spoon in his left hand and a wooden fork in his left. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): I've been learning to do "new things" with my favorite foods!!! (smiley face) "Homemade sauce"!! "Black bean burger"!! "Crabo"- "Crabounara"- "Cbabao"- "Ca"- Fancy spaghetti.

The second panel shows him in the same pose and expression, but now pointing upwards with his left hand. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): Also!!! I

The next panel abruptly cuts to a nervous-looking shadow-Habit, with an equally-nervous looking Kamal (no longer wearing the apron) peeking in from the right side of hte frame. Habit: um

PAGE 4 The large top panel shows Habit smiling nervously, looking more subdued than normal, lightly scratching his chin with his right pointer finger. Kamal, smiling proudly, is hugging onto his left arm. Habit (with a normal speech pattern): I... so, for a long time, I didn't even want to look at food from... where I grew up. Too many bad associations for me, yes? But, now that I'm in a better place, I'm trying to reconnect in ways that feel safe for me. Food has been a nice way to do that. Lets me build new memories to replace bad ones. Kamal: Proud of ya, big guy

The next panel shows Habit back to his usual bubbly self, smiling, wearing the flower-patterned oven-mitts and holding up a plate with a Medovik cake (a type of Russian honey cake) topped with berries. IN the background, Kamal and Putunia both stare at the cake, Kamal visibly drooling, Putunia with stars in her eyes. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): The baking is "ESPECIALLY GOOD"!!! Today I made "Медови́к" ("Medovik" in Russian script)!!! Kamal (in small text): it looks so good... Putunia (in small text): CAKE!!!!!!

The final panel cuts to Kamal drawn from the chest-up, looking slightly sheepish and scratching his chin. Kamal: Um, so that's the other thing we've discovered through all this. It turns out, uh...

PAGE 5 The top panel shows Kamal (left), Putunia (center), and Habit (right) all sitting at a table with a yellow-and-red checkered tablecloth, eating the Medovik cake. Kamal, with a sheepish expression, is leaning forward with his elbows on the table, right arm resting down and left raising a fork to his mouth, with a plate with a slice of cake to his right. Putunia is pumping her right fist and raising the left, holding a fork with some cake on it, into the air triumphantly, shouting with delight. Habit is resting his head in his hands with both elbows on the table, looking delighted, a slice of cake and a fork to his left. The cake itself, with a cake-serving knife to the left side, is in the center of the table. Kamal: ...we... all have a giant sweet tooth... (in smaller text) Oh my god I feel like such a hypocrite... Putunia (in small text): YUMMY!!!!!! Habit (in small text; misspelled Habitspeak): Isn't it?? Isn't it??

The next two panels cut in close on Kamal and Habit, from roughly the chest-up, as they both eat. Kamal is chewing with a guilty expression, holding his fork near his chest, while Kamal is smiling and lifting a bite of cake to his mouth with a fork held delicately in his right hand. Kamal: How did this happen?? We are literally both dentists?? Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): "You" are. "I" don't have to worry about that anymore

The next panel shows Kamal grimacing, gesturing with his fork, while Habit chews with a smug grin. Kamal: Yeah, not how that works. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): Plus I brush my teeth 4 to 60 times per day so they are "perfect" Kamal: Also not how that works. (in smaller text) Please talk to your therapist about that I worry about you

The next panel cuts to Putunia, on the right, shoving her empty plate towards Kamal with a determined expression. Kamal stares back with one eyebrow raised. Putunia (shouting): I WANT MORE CAKE!!! Kamal: Uh huh. And what do we say about that? Putunia (shouting): MORE CAKE PLEASE??

The final panel shows Kamal, on the left, slicing into the cake, while Putunia to the right watches with a smile and her plate held up. Habit comes up behind her, also holding out his empty plate and watching with a smile. Habit (in misspelled Habitspeak): Kamal me too Kamal (smiley face) Kamal: Well, if you're both having seconds...

PAGE 6 The final page has a full-page panel illustration. Kamal, grimacing with his hands on his hips, is looking down at a messy sink full of dirty cooking implements. Behind him, Habit, scratching his chin, looks away sheepishly while Putunia to his right cheers, hands in the air. Kamal: Okay, now which of us is gonna be the adult who does the dishes Habit: not it Putunia (shouting): NOT IT!!! Kamal: oh my god

[depression-napping]

(Sorry this is much later than I expected to post!)

Ok everyone we did it, we went to Artnia and ate the Vincent pasta and it was beautiful

Full review of Artnia below the cut ❤️

For those curious, Artnia is an official Square Enix Cafe in the middle of Shinjuku that looks like an egg. It’s a bit quieter and smaller than the Square Enix Cafe in Akihabara.

Making a Reservation

You can make a reservation if you live in Japan and have a Square Enix account, but if you don’t, there may be a few spots available for walk ins. It’s recommended to go early, when they open at 11am, to make a walk in reservation. Also, try weekdays for better luck (we went on a Monday). We dropped in at around 12pm and there was space available at 5pm, so we took it right away. They also stop serving food after 7pm I believe, but you can still order drinks.

While it is helpful to know enough Japanese to comfortably make an order, the staff is helpful, friendly, and speak sufficient English. Lots of foreigners visit because it’s a Square Enix cafe, so Japanese isn’t necessarily required.

When you walk in, you can go to the register and tell them you do not have a reservation, but want to ask if they have any space available for that day. If they do they will give you a ticket for an available time and you can come back if it’s later in the day. You can reserve for up to 4 people but you may have better luck for 1 or 2 guests only.

Note that their primary clientele is local Japanese residents, so they do not have an English menu. If you need to, you can use Google Translate’s camera function to better understand what you’re ordering. Not all ingredients are listed, so take caution if you have special dietary needs.

The FFVII Rebirth Menu is time limited and split into 2 parts. The menu items with the yellow triangles say “prior period” and ended on 4/4, so you can’t order them anymore. The ones with the green triangles say “later period” and are available from 4/5 thru 5/10. Blue corners are available throughout the duration of the event (they’re notably Cloud/Sephiroth themed of course).

But what about the pasta

Ok so on to the important part! You already know what I ordered.

Here’s the menu item description:

ヴィンセントデュアルパスタ

二色のパスタでヴィンセントの持つ二面性を表現しました。スパイシーなアラビアータと濃厚なイカスミパスタをご堪能ください。

Vincent Dual Pasta

“A two-color pasta represents the dual faceted nature that Vincent has. Please enjoy* this spicy arrabbiata and rich** squid-ink pasta.”

(*ご堪能ください　go-tannou kudasai means “please enjoy” but it also means “please feel free to satisfy yourself/to have your fill of…” I’m just gonna let ya’ll fill in the blanks on that one 😘)

( ** 濃厚 noukou (rich in taste) can also be translated as passionate hahaha)

I need to talk about the Squid-ink pasta first. It can only be described as bougie AF. Squid ink is already kind of extra. But I think it had frickin saffron ??? And edible gold leaf on top???? And I am fairly certain that in addition to like, a tiny sprinkling of Parmesan (this is obligatory for any remotely Italian meal) there was like, tiny black caviar?????

Saffron?? Caviar??? Edible gold leaf????

If you ever wondered whether Vincent would spoil the heck out of you, the answer is yes. Yes, he would. Only the best with our man ❤️

Squid ink aside, the more standard arrabbiata was also nice. As a pescatarian, I was nervous it would have meat in it, as a lot of spaghetti dishes in Japan generally contain meat. Luckily it seemed to be vegetable-based, there was like a single zucchini or eggplant slice in there somewhere 😂 (Personally, I think a meat-free option suits him better. It’s like, slightly more compassionate than straight up bolognese or something).

Arrabbiata is made with tomatoes, garlic, olive oil, and dried chili. (He pretends to be a vampire so he can get free garlic, guys) It also means “angry” in Italian (or spiciness pushed to excess). This is Square Enix basically telling you they know he is the hottest FFVII character. He’s not just hot. He’s spicy.

Ok but. Was it actually spicy? No, thankfully. Except for wasabi, Japanese cooking tends to be on the milder side anyway—but it did come with some chili peppers as a garnish, in case you want the full experience, lol.

Speaking of garnishes, what is that green thing in the middle?

It’s rosemary.

WAIT LET ME GOOGLE SOMETHING REAL QUICK

…

Oh lord did the people coming up with this concept do their research:

“Rosemary is the symbol of remembrance, friendship and love and was thus used in wedding ceremonies.” (It also has historical links to the Virgin Mary.)

That’s not just a random herb. That’s the most important part. Like?????????????? Is anyone else ok????? I’m glad I didn’t look this up in the cafe or I would have started ugly crying.

The Bottom Line

So was it good? Actually, yes! Artnia is a higher-end themed cafe than most (a lot of them get a bad rap for having barely edible food while overly relying on the fan aspects to carry the cafe). As a themed item it was close to perfect. The thought and care that went into this particular menu was apparent. I really appreciated that.

Also, this was super affordable as a meal. The yen is ¥0.66 = $1 right now, so this was under $10 😭 Caviar, saffron, squid ink and gold leaf for under $10? Seriously what the heck.

(Bonus, here is a terrible photo of the only Vincent decoration I could find in the store haha. It was kind of holographic?? And attached to the bar counter so I had to squat down to take a photo with my very old phone camera. Still made my heart go dokidoki)

The other items on the special menu were also really good! Husband ordered the “Cloud Black Omelette Rice” and he said it was some of the best omuraisu he had in Japan so far. Granted we are not the biggest consumers of omuraisu, but that has to count for something. We also tried the Cait Sith Mog Box drink (REALLY good, if you like Black Sesame) and the Gold Saucer Protein Juice (highly doubt it had any protein but it was a refreshing orange juice based drink).

Plus, for every drink you order, you get a random free character coaster. Check my next post to see who I got ❤️

The special menu is ongoing until Friday, May 10! If a trip to Tokyo is in the cards for you, as an FFVII fan, I do recommend making a trip to Artnia ❤️

EDIT: I lied there is *one* Vincent figure on display and like two tiny pieces of merch (which I will post later, tumblr doesn’t like me rn)

[clementine-writes-things]

The Girl In The Woods pt.2 - V.Z

Summary: It's been some time since y/n and Victor first met, nearing around 3 months. During that time, the two of them had seen each other again 12 times. It wasn't much, but they still enjoyed their time together. One morning, Victor stops by again.

@killingboredom (i started writing this almost immediately after they commented they'd wanna be tagged in part 2! so, enjoy!)

Content Warning: Explicit language, mentions of death, fluff, knife, gun, Victor being a scary hitman and y/n being a sweet girl who can make him comfortable, think about the tiny fish that attach to sharks. They both help each other out :3 that's how these two are.

Songs For Inspo:

Soldier, Poet, King - The Oh Hellos

Call It Fate, Call It Karma - The Strokes

Heaven - I Monster

Good Looking - Suki Waterhouse (I know this song is about loss and realizing you weren't meant for each other, but the upbeat tempo fits the fanfic, so that's why I used it.)

Swan Lake - Tchaikovsky (im not writing out the whole thing u guys know what song it is stfu <3 also this song is SO Victor Zsasz coded...)

(bro I saw this gif while listening to end part of Swan Lake and I got chills...this gif doesn't rlly play a role in this fanfic im just using it cuz it made me get goosebumps...)

Read Below Cut

Y/n stood in the garden behind their cottage, a low cobblestone wall surrounding it. Moss covered the stones, the dark green patches soaked in the dew from the early morning rain. The clouds had parted just a little while ago, sun shining down and illuminating the woods. Mourning doves were cooing, their melancholy chirps echoing in the woods. Y/n sighed softly, closing her eyes as she took in the comforting warmth of the sun. They got down on their knees, the overall shorts they wore caused her exposed legs to get slightly covered with dirt. Pulling up the sleeves of her light brown shirt, she reached down and pulled up a carrot from the ground. Smiling, y/n placed it in the basket beside her.

"Need some help with that?" A voice asked.

Y/n turned around, a wide smile spreading on their face. She stood up, brushing dirt off their knees. She walked over to him, wrapping their arms around him. He chuckled lightly, hugging her back and using his gloved hand to pat y/n on the shoulder softly. The girl pulled away, giving him a simple nod.

"That would be very nice, Victor." She responded.

The two of them walked over toward the basket, getting back down on the ground. Victor pulled up his sleeves as well, his muscles flexing as he started to pull carrots out. Y/n giggled, touching him on the shoulder to get his attention. He looked over towards her.

"Pull them out more gently, we don't want the tops to rip off. It'll make them harder to get out of the ground." She said.

Victor nodded, smiling awkwardly. He looked back towards the vegetables, seeing that there was only one left. Digging a little under, he grabbed the top and pulled softly. When it yanked out, he smiled. The whole carrot was intact, which he was proud of. Placing it in the basket y/n had, he stood back up. Y/n did the same, dusting her legs off once again before grabbing the basket of various vegetables.

"I didn't expect to see you again so soon." She said, walking out of the garden.

He followed her, cracking his neck as he rolled it around. His eyes squinted as the sun peered out from behind a tree and shone on him. Using his hand, he covered over his eyes at an angle so he could block the sun. The two of them stepped inside the cottage.

"Well, it's hard to keep away. The scenery is just absolutely breathtaking. What can I say?" He smirked, removing his shoes as he began to close the door behind him.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure that's why you came. Would you mind keeping the door open? It's pretty warm today, I'd like a nice breeze to blow in here." She asked.

"Okie doke. You want the windows open too?" He asked.

"Oh, yes please. Thank you, Victor."

He pushed open the front door gently, getting blinded by the sun once again. Squinting, he moved to the windows around the cottage. Opening every one of them, he took a look at the scenery around him when he poked his head out. There was a pond not too far from y/n cottage that he would sometimes see duck in. Sadly, there were none today. When he finished opening the windows he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Hey, y/n."

"Yes, Victor?" She asked, placing the basket of carrots down as she sat at the table.

He looked at her, face void of emotion. His eyes were heavy, thoughts racing behind them. Y/n tilted her head, unsure of what was going on. Victor sighed, pulling out a packet from the pocket of his pants. He slid it across the table.

"What's thi-"

Y/n looked down at the table, covering her mouth. She giggled, grabbing the packet quickly. Victor tried to hide the smile that was spreading on his face. He cleared his throat, tapping his fingers on the table nonchalantly.

"Sunflower seeds? Victor..." Y/n trailed.

"Yeah well, I know you wanted some. And, I was doing a hit on this guy who had a garden. I saw he had those so I figured I'd take some." He said, looking out the window.

"Oh, well, that's slightly disturbing. But, I still appreciate it nonetheless!" She cheered.

"It was no big deal." He stated.

Y/n smiled, standing up from her seat. She walked over to him, bending over slightly. Victor looked towards her, confused as to what she was doing. However, his eyes widened when she pressed her lips against his forehead. A blush spread over his cheeks which he quickly fought away.

"You're cute, for a hitman..." She joked.

"I'm not cute, but thanks." He said monotone.

"Hm, what about handsome?" She asked.

Victor chuckled, tracing circles onto the wooden table. Y/n watched him through batting eyelashes. She crouched down, knees on the floor as she rested her arms on the table. Y/n rested her chin on her hands, tilting her head sideways to look at him. He looked at her.

"What about charming, hm? Attractive? Devilishly ensnaring?" She suggested.

"Why don't you keep complimenting me, maybe you'll find the right word soon enough." He grinned.

"I think I'm out of words. I don't have a thesaurus on me." She teased.

"Well, that's a shame. I was enjoying those compliments from your pretty mouth."

Y/n blushed, her face slowly turning bright red. Victor chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. She giggled softly, looking up at him through he hair that hung in her face. He watched as she slowly stood up in front of him. Straightening his posture, turned the chair slightly so he was facing her straight on.

"What are you looking at?" She teased, running a hand through her hair.

"You." He answered simply.

Y/n, already blushing, smiling shyly and looked towards the ground. Victor grinned, leaning forwards and grabbing her hand. Gently, he pulled her closer to him. With his other hand, he brought it up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

"I can't help but look at you, y/n."

"Victor..." She sighed.

"Hm?"

"Can you move your guns?" She asked, pointing at his holster.

Smiling, he removed his holster and placed it on the table. The guns clunked against the wood. Y/n watched as he pulled out a knife too, placing it on the table as well. He gave y/n a soft smile, teeth slightly showing.

"Do they scare you?" He asked.

"No. They were just in my way..." She said.

Victor's eyes widened slightly as y/n crawled onto his lap. Her legs straddled both sides of him. He had a grin on his face, y/n blushing above him. Pulling his gloves off, he placed them on the table. He reached up, cupping y/n's face with his hands. He sighed softly, looking into her eyes.

"You're so warm." He commented.

"You're so cold." She replied.

Victor looked down at her lips, glancing back up into her eyes. Y/n shifted in his lap, causing him to grunt quietly. He rubbed her cheek with his thumb.

"You do realize I'm a criminal, right? A notorious hitman? A sadist?" He asked, pulling down her bottom lip with his thumb.

"Yes, I do."

"Then why aren't you scared of me?" He asked.

"Because I know you won't hurt me. You love me too much to do that to me. And I love you too." She stated simply.

"What makes you think I love you?"

Y/n placed a hand on his chest, looking him in the eyes. She smiled softly, playing with the buttons of his shirt. Victor watched her as she did this, his heart rate accelerating.

"Well, if I'm wrong, then tell me I'm wrong."

Victor looked her in the eyes, one of his hands trailing to the small of her back. The other hand cupped her face gently. He mumbled under his breath, pulling her in slowly. Victor placed his lips against hers, eyes closing. Y/n placed her hands on his shoulders, giving her stability as she kissed him. Pulling away, hummed, an extremely subtle smile on his face.

"You're right. I do love you..." He sighed.

"Look at that, Mr. Zsasz has fallen for a girl..." Y/n teased.

Victor sat up quickly, grabbing y/n by their thighs. He placed them on the kitchen table, making sure to move the basket of carrots out of the way. Y/n blushed as he stood in between her legs, wrapping them around his waist.

"And look at this, y/n has fallen for a sadistic hitman..." He mocked.

"And I couldn't be happier." She said.

Victor leaned in, gently kissing her once again. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug. Y/n hid her face into the crook of his neck, kissing it lightly. Victor chuckled, holding the back of her head with his hand. He kissed the side of her head as he mumbled something into her ear.

"Me neither..."

~

[luke-o-lophus]

Sleep is for the Weak

Summary : You're overworking yourself, Marc is less than happy about it

Warnings: None really. Fluffy and indulgent

Once you get there, Marc Spector is a romantic. Sure, getting there is an easy way to say it. It's months upon months of treading carefully, bated breaths, careful propositions. Tears, shouting, apologies. But once you get there it's like when an airplane has finally zoomed into the sky and the pressure of the take-off has left your chest. You are left floating in the clouds.

Your mind does feel like it's floating somewhere, when you're pulled back to reality by disapproving clicks from Marc's tongue. You blink, vision bleary. What happened? Marc is holding you up, his arm hooked under yours. You're standing near the doorway of your bedroom, and he's staring down at you, looking less than pleased. "When will you listen that you need to take it easy", he grunts, dragging the both of you towards the bed. Your feet shuffle unsteadily but you hold yourself up the best you can, already sensing the lecture coming your direction. "I was gonna get here", you whine when he finally releases his hold, leaving you to plop atop the bed. "Don't even", he huffs, pulling out a set of your night clothes from the wardrobe and dropping them on your lap. "Maaarc", you whine. "I just need to finish this one last bit of work, I swear, it won't take..."

"Baby", he halts your rambling. "It's three in the morning, you passed out at your desk." Your eyes snap to the clock, mouth open. A flush of embarrassment crawls up your neck. Your embarrassment refuses to let you look at him; you obstinately thumb the edge of the nightgown he'd given you. You weren't anything if not stubborn. But you were also burned out, severely so. "This isn't healthy, hun. And it's me saying that", Marc adds with a chuckle, dropping to his knees before you. He combs some loose locks from the side of your face, tracing sleep lines on your cheek from passing out on your documents. You are visibly pouting, clearly not happy with the conversation. "You're gonna do well. Trust me", he seals it in with a soft peck on your forehead.

"I have been neglecting you for ages", you mumble out suddenly. Marc falters, then cautiously tilts up your face. You look ashamed, remorseful. Not a look he likes on you. "You're busy, baby. I understand. God knows I have done worse", he answers honestly. "But this isn't what this is about, I swear. I want you to rest, I don't wanna see you fall sick." A small smile fights its way onto your lips then, and you tug him up to coax him into sitting beside you. Nestling comfortable into his side, you press a soft kiss to his neck. "Am sorry, still", you say. He opens his mouth to protest but you shake your head, looping your arms around his elbow and nuzzling into his side. "Say what", you hum. "We sleep now, and when we wake up tomorrow, first thing we deal with that bit" Marc cocks his brow at that suggestion, taking the rumpled clothing from your hands and watching you slip the nightdress on. Tossing them in the hamper, he settles in bed beside you, but not before pulling up the blanket to cover you fully, tucking the end below your feet just how you like it. He kisses the top of your head when he settles in, whispering,"I like the sound of that"

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Dear stranger (Donna)”

Donna Beneviento x Reader (gif ©noxdivina)

cw :: smoking || mentions of self-h#rm || scars || unhealthy coping mechanisms’ more like it || height place phenomenon

howdy this gay is back in time for pride month (not really) just a little comfort fic i wrote for myself really. hugs from donna is not a want but a need rn 😭

─────────────────────

The cigarette smoke is bitter, leaving a pleasant burn on the back of your throat as you take a deep inhale. For a while, you hold your breath, allowing the chemicals to spread through your lungs before puffing it out of your lips eventually. Your neck, meanwhile, is bared to the sky, eyes lazily roaming over grey clouds of varying shades.

A mindless fingertip is tracing the silver lines along the length of your forearm. Another drag of the cigarette brings a chuckle to your lips, and the sound is dry and deprecating even to your own ears. Smoking is an awful habit, that you fully understand. But at the same time, it is undeniably cathartic. It was either that or a blade to the flesh. In no way do you wish to die, although you would not terribly mind dying. You cannot deny however that you do revel in the sensation of blood blooming on your skin, and in pain, you find euphoria.

With another hearty inhale, the cigarette bud slips through your fingers to be reunited with its fellow friends that have already met their untimely demise beneath your well-worn boots. You are tired, so so tired. Tired of the strangers that call themselves your family, tired of yourself for being so emotionally weak, for actively ruining yourself under the guise of release, tired for your mother’s stead for she has to listen to her brother and sister nitpicking about her daughter on top of handling incessant chores.

In this god-forsaken world, you have learnt that no one else can be as caring and tolerating as your parents, and you appreciate them for it. At least, your parents are endlessly loving which in itself is a luxury that not everyone can afford. You love them, oh how you love them, but you also hate yourself, for their only child ends up being a damaged goods.

At the moment, you do not have a clue where in the world you are, having wandered wherever your feet have been carrying you. A glance around reveals nothing much obscured as it is by thick fog. There is a rush of water somewhere below, and you conclude you must be standing atop a cliff with a waterfall. Sighing, you kick the cigarette buds off the edge, and it looks tempting, liberating: the way they plummet down the misty abyss. A sudden urge to throw yourself off the cliff comes with a vengeance, and it does not help that nicotine has you slightly tipsy, the world around you spinning as you wobble on your legs.

And then, before you know it, you are being pulled into a body, held close to a chest by an encirclement of arms around your back. A delightful aroma journeys up your nose as soon as your cheek collides with black fabric. It is soft to the touch, and smells faintly of tea that is quickly overshadowed by a soothing blend of jasmine and sandalwood. You cannot help but steal a generous inhale. The smoothness of jasmine certainly is a lovely complement to the spiciness of sandalwood.

“Don’t, please. I can’t let you.”

The soft spoken words are uttered by a voice that is charmingly deep, carried to you by a gentle breeze that tickles your exposed nape. A hint of desperation is discernible in her quiet murmur, and the gentleness of it wildly contracts with the cage of arms whose tightness around you becomes nearly unbearable. It is oddly calming, freeing despite the confinement, and the realisation is as much a relief as it is a surprise.

What you have been needing after all is to be embraced, to be comforted, to feel wanted, and how ironic it is that your salvation is found within the arms of a stranger. No questions are asked. You find no strangeness in her actions. Nor does your mind feel stable enough to deem it necessary to compose yourself. The dam breaks, and you fall apart. Burying your face in the chest of this black-cladded stranger while hugging her close to yourself, you cry, oh how you cry, loud, miserable sobs spilling forth your lips as you grab fistful of her dress.

When the body in your arms tenses in an uncomfortable way, you are too far gone to notice, and so too when the arms around your body suddenly lose their bravado. Regardless of the hesitation, you are met with no hands that are forcing you away from her. Only after a moment or two when your tears do not cease does a kind hand find the crown of your head.

Tentatively, placatingly, gentle fingers stroke your hair. You adjust in the hold of your salvation only to be met with even more dark fabric. Through a haze of tears, you regard the veiled woman with curiosity, occasional bouts of hiccuping sobs accompanying your otherwise silent scrutiny.

“You-”

A calloused pad of a thumb that gingerly follows a tear track elicits a sigh from you, and then, the same palm is cradling your cheek, the coolness of which is desirable against your feverish skin. Along with a flex of her fingers on your back, the veil goes aflutter right beneath where her nose is supposed to be when you decide to rest your chin between the junction of her collarbones. No sooner does the hand on your cheek go to cover your eyes than you go boneless in her arms. Your nose meanwhile is tickled by a saccharinely sweet scent that smells both floral and vaguely herbal.

And then, you blink.

And suddenly, the world goes dark.

─────────────────────

[dearlymrme]

Hi! For the prompts list, could you do 131 with Papa Secondo? I love the idea of him being really soft with his partner when he’s in private (or when he’s high because let’s be real he steals primos stash after a long day of papa-ing), and I think it’s a great prompt for some fun and funky Papa Pitbull content

Thank you for the ask! It was absolutely fun to write. We need more soft Secondo. I have only been high and felt serious effects twice. The first time, it made me feel so comfortable, and the sensation that my whole skin was wrapping me in a warm hug. The second time was from vaping and gave me uncontrollable laughter to the point my stomach was cramping, and I got five minute abs.

Cherry Poppers (Secondo x Reader)

Secondo x Reader || Recreational Drug Use || Age Difference || Daddy Kink || Innocence Kink || WC: 3031

His brothers call him a cradle robber, but neither of them are much better. Primo's wife is thirty years younger than him, and Terzo's current lover is twenty below. Your age doesn't matter much to him, but it does play a part. It's also about the fact that you are very inexperienced. Your friends had called you a prude, you didn't drink, you didn't party, you didn't even jaywalk, brought up by your mother to be afraid of damn near everything that was fun, that was wild and 'outrageous'.

You had realized that you lived your life under a gaslighter and got away. You needed a place to stay to get your life in order, support from people that would encourage you to live. You made new friends, and while you may not have made satanic vows yet, you certainly threw away your old ones. Then you met him. Your innocent but charismatic and eager sense to behold everything labeled 'evil' is what attracted him. Despite being the most inexperienced little swimmer of the church, you toed the water, liked how it felt, and wanted to swim.

You just needed someone to catch you when you jumped into the deep end.

And he was more than eager to be those arms.

He popped your cherry in more ways than one. Alcohol, dancing, sex, and now drugs.

The bed was comfortable, apparently one of the comfiest you had ever been on. He can only imagine the look of confusion of his brothers' faces when they enter their rooms to see all their pillows missing. Said foisted pillows were stacked as a mountain behind him, supporting you both nearly upright but conforming enough to let you relax and sink in them.

He had told you to get comfortable. You had quickly toed off your shoes, removed your borrowed hoodie, which practically ate you, and all but fell on your face into the nest, sighing in bliss. He then brought out the entertainment of the day. A small bong, marble in pattern with rich brown and cream colors, and already loaded.

You stared at the piece with wide but eager eyes. Sat up and then leaned against his side. He chuckled as you made grabby hands and then gently took the glass from him. He then waved the lighter in your face, snatching it out of reach when you tried to take it.

"Never used one before?" He asked, knowing full well you haven't.

"No. But you're gonna help me, right?" He nods and then lets you take the green Bic lighter before tapping his finger gently at the loaded dish.

"Press the lighter to it and let the smoke gather until I say when." He instructs. You swallow your excitement and try not to grin like an over eager kid before doing as he told you.

Now, you watch as a cloud forms inside the glass bowel. He gauges carefully, taking in your fascinated and excited expression as you watch the glass fog.

"That's enough." He taps your knee. "Now, seal your mouth over the top and breathe it in." You do as he instructs and lock your lips around the smooth glass opening and breathe. He bites his lip, picturing your lips wrapped around something else.

The smoke is hard on your lungs, causing a strain that you can't help but cough through it. A cloud of smoke leaves your mouth as you hack.

"Sorry." You choke, embarrassed. Secondo gives a chuckle from beside you, taking the glass from your hands.

"That's alright, ciliegia. Cough it out." He guides, and you try to breathe through it, but it's more a wheeze before it catches in the back of your throat again and you cough again.

He loads it up again. Letting the smoke gather much longer than you did before inhaling deeply. He doesn't cough, though, and you're impressed because it feels like there's something scratching the inside of your lungs.

He blows out a steady stream, and you settle into his side as he leans back against the pillows and lets his head loll. He hums, already a little high, and he feels his body practically turn into liquid as he enjoys the warmth.

"Now, we wait." One of his arms slings over your shoulder. He's casually dressed down, one of his off days, and of course, he spends it with you. He's not wearing his gloves again, and you shudder at the memory of his soft hands trailing down between your thighs, not but a week ago.

You're not the only one thinking about it. Being able to feel your skin against his has his dick quickly stirring against his slacks, and he takes a deep breath through his mouth. Ah, it was that kind of trip.

"Damn brother. I see how it is. Give us the commercial and keep the good shit for yourself."

"You nicked from Primo?" You ask and he huffed.

"He's not going to miss it. Old fart probably won't even notice until it's too late. Besides, who do you think he's growing it for in the first place? Us."

"Us specifically or like, the royal us?" He waves a hand.

"Doesn't matter. It's serving its purpose." He snickers. "For the good of the church." You laugh at his little cheer and lay your head against him. Content and very comfortable all of a sudden.

You run your hand over the bedsheets, and it kind of tickles. The duvet is embroidered with a very ugly gaudy but fancy pattern, clashes yet matches the room so well. Tracing it and catching on the fancy stitching causes your hands to tingle, and you lift one to look over it, and then you slowly begin to rub your fingers together.

It's almost as if you could feel your fingerprints. But your fingertips are just a part of your skin. You're just feeling your skin. The realization that, no, it's not your fingerprints. You just have skin. It seems to be the funniest thing in the world to you because you start to giggle and can't seem to stop.

"I think it might be kicking in." He chuckles and leans over to place a kiss on your forehead. You hum, further sinking into his side as it feels like his whole body has just opened up and enveloped you in a hug, or is that just your skin?

You're high. That's funny. You giggle again. It's funny just knowing you're high and that that's what is responsible for the giggles. Why is this so funny? It's funny that it's funny. You snicker and start to laugh again.

Secondo is now laughing with you and turns your head to place another kiss on your forehead and then leans down to kiss you on your mouth.

What an interesting feeling, his lips gliding against yours. You ruin it by breaking into another fit of giggles.

"It's good, right?" He smiles, earning a very enthusiastic nod. Then he simply stares at you, smiling joyously. It's a good look on him. You're so used to the hard glare and strong lines on his face, but he looks so young when he smiles. He's still staring. You're in the midst of breathing between bouts of girly laughter and looking him deep into his mismatched eyes.

"What?" You ask him, and his smile grows.

He breaks apart loudly and leads kisses behind your ear before nipping on your lobe gently. It sends a spark down below to your naval and has you huffing in quickly building arousal.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just enjoying the view." He takes advantage of your pause between fits of tittering to capture your mouth again, and this time, you moan into the kiss. His tongue his hot and heavy in your mouth as you attempt to slowly explore it. His kisses are always passionate, always letting you feel your way into what's comfortable and then gracefully leads you into something amazing.

Then you snort as his words finally hit you, and you push him lightly on the shoulder. He playfully attempts to bite your hand, snatching it up as you try to get away and laying kisses on your fingers. They tickle, too.

"Wanna try something?" He asks

"Always if it's with you." Now you're laughing at your own cheesiness.

He reached for bong again and took a deep hit. The water gurgling breaks through the room. It's starting to stink, a combination between the weed and his natural spicy smell. It's not a bad scent, but it'll definitely be stuck to you and your clothes for the rest of the day.

Then Secondo grabs you by your jaw and leans in close. You've seen this in movies. As he blows the smoke in your face, you breathe it in, eyes shining as your lungs complain. You turn away to cough again and hum as it serves to make your head feel heavier and your body hotter.

Secondo drags you back again by your chin and captures you're lips once more. This time you're taking change and he happily allows it. It's still a little clumsy and he knows that's because of the weed, you're a fast learner, you went from 'never kissed a man' to professional in a matter of weeks with his practice.

You hand skims his inner thigh, bumping right up against his cock and he's quickly reminded of just how damn hot this is. Getting you high and taking advantage of you had been the plan of the day but he hadn't accounted on it having this much effect on him.

He mentally grumbles another 'fuck you' to his older brother and breaks the kiss with a loud smack. He hisses against your chin, baring his teeth and grabs your hand as it skirts his knee.

"I'm so hard right now." He admits and then presses your hand directly against his aching dick, straining against the inner seam of his pants.

You murmur his words back to him in a daze and dare to look down at the indent of his cock in his jeans. At the sight, your core tightens and you press your thighs together.

"Can I sit on it?" You ask him because if it feels this good from just him touching you, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if he was fucking you. You're already wet, the drug has you practically leaking, you can feel the slickness between your folds just from shifting your legs. The action sending spark of arousal further through you and your stroke Secondo's cock through his pants, wrapping your hand around the indention and giving a firm squeeze.

He groans, not expecting you to take charge, and his cock jumps against your palm.

You suddenly feel achingly empty.

"Yeah? You wanna sit on Daddy's cock?" He rephrases the question in a way that has your breath hitch and butterflies fluttering in your chest from his use of the word. Yeah, you want that. Absolutely. The longer you go empty the more desperate you suddenly feel for it. Your pussy clenches on nothing in desire for something. You nod dumbly as your hands go from gripping his dick to fumbling with his button and zipper.

He happily helps you, and together, you pull out your prize. Released from tight constraint of his pants, Secondo gives a grunt of relief and wraps a hand around his member, giving it a firm squeeze. It's flushed an angry red and already dribbling with precum.

He snickers as you thumb at the head for a moment, fascinated by the feeling of wet against your finger. Then you're distracted by the heat of his dick, hot, smooth, and soft the skin is. You trace your hands down to tangle with his thick pubic hair before throwing your leg over his and hovering in his lap. He lifts your skirt, watching as you part your underwear to the side and carefully line his cock up with your entrance.

You sink low enough to pop the head inside of you and have to bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from crying out how good it feels. Just that small amount has your legs quivering and cunt spasming. You can feel every bit of the bridge between his head and his shaft. It's hot, fascinating at how it feels hotter outside your cunt as your combined heats just melt into one, kinda like what you're doing now.

Secondo hisses between his teeth, hands grabbing at your thighs, but he makes no move to lower you. He has no intention of rushing you. He wants you to experience every bit of this at your own comfortable pace. He needs something to hold, though. If he doesn't have something to at least dig his nails into, he's going to lose his mind.

He blows out steadily through his mouth, nearly whistling before he takes in your appearance. You're flushed, your eyes are puffy and red from the smoke, and transfixed on where your bodies are joined, even though a small amount. You look so cute like this. Trusting him to take care of you, to hold back while you adjust, to help you through the dark water as you figure out how to swim amongst the sharks.

It makes his head spin, the amount of control he has over you. He pushed the first drink into your hand and then more as he helped you figure out what you had a taste for. He helped you let loose, weave and grind your hips against his as he taught you how to dance to that naughty stripper's music, and the again slowly move to something more casual in his office later that night. He's the one that pulled your cute little panties down around your ankles and ate you out for thirty minutes, stretched you out for ten, and then fucked you slow and carefully for what felt like an eternity.

He's getting high from more than just the weed. You were as good as a drug.

"Come on. I thought you wanted to sit on it."

Oh yeah. You did say that.

In one fluid and smooth drop, you take him fully . You croak a low gasp because it's tight with no prior preparation, but you're slick enough and wanton enough that it goes in easy. Your body all but welcomes the sudden fullness, the way your cunt starts to envelope around his prick, smooth skin that feels molten hot against the wet walls of your pussy.

"Fuuuuck. You're so tight." Secondo grunts as you force him to immediately bottom out. His balls, already tight, pressed against the slopes of your ass.

"So full." You describe, almost caught in a dream and press your hand to your lower stomach. You must be imagining it, but you could swear you feel a bump from his cock inside of you.

You reach up and wrap your arms around him, resting your head on his shoulder and just feeling for a moment. Secondo seems to understand this and returns your hug, running his hands up and down your back in soothing motions. It tickles, bursts goosebumps all over your body, and makes you take in tranquil breath.

"Can I move, ciliegia?" He asks you, and you nod before he rolls back against the pillows, bringing you with him as he props his knees up and starts to move.

He gyrates his hips with a meticulous rhythm, a slow ride, he's in no hurry.

You feel absolutely wrecked from the inside out and it was good he was taking charge at the moment because you can barely function properly right now, lost in the sensations of his cock dragging back and forth against your walls. Then he rubs his cockhead direction into your g-spot and you sob in pleasure.

"Shh, it's alright, piccola. Just hold onto me. Hold onto Daddy." Secondo licks his lips and takes in deep breaths, trying as hard as he can to make this last. "I'm gonna take good care of you."

The weed enhances everything. You feel as hot as an oven. He palms your ass and snickers. A literal cake fresh out of the oven. Shit, now he's the one laughing at his own joke.

You want to weep by how stimulated you feel. And when he suddenly starts to laugh, it resonates deep inside your chest while you par him with soft mumbles and whines of pleasure. He dares to thrust, just once, and your body immediately locks up on him as he plucks an intense and long-lived orgasm from you.

It crashes, tearing softly through your stomach and spreading from your limbs and curling your toes. You've never felt one like it before. It's like a movie in slow motion. Secondo grunts, as though pained, and for a moment, you thought you had tightened hard enough around him to injure him.

"Hurt you?" You mumble, brained. Secondo spits another laugh and shakes his head. He sucks in a breath, tenses, and lets out a rattled groan. He hugs you close, so close. Then he arches, tugging you as firmly to his chest as he can. His lips press gentle but firm kisses to your shoulders, nosing your shirt out of the way so he can touch skin.

He stops, and you feel it. You feel his dick jumping inside of you, hard throbs in uneven time as he shoots rope after rope of cum into your soppy wet cunt, directly into your womb. You sigh in bliss and rub your hand over your lower stomach, imaging what it must look like, having his load burning white into the pinks of your cunt.

You sit together like this for a moment, Secondo's eyes half shut as he enjoys your heat for as long as comfortable. Eventually, he's going to have to pull out, but for right now, this is paradise. You then press your lips to his ear and tell him something that's only so damn funny because of how much he considers it.

"We should fuck high as often as possible."

[writingquestionsanswered]

I have a problem where my ending feels very rushed. Not plot wise, I feel like I've foreshadowed everything properly and it doesn't come out of nowhere, but I feel the pace of my scenes is too fast.

I can't really slow it down with exposition, though, since the environment is familiar already, and the senses are already there too. Dialogue is also not an option, since my character has selective mutism (which in this scene means he can't talk at all).

Do you have any tips on how I could slow the pacing without dialogue or repeating myself in descriptions?

Ending Feels Rushed

Stories can't be about nothing. The reader doesn't want to read page after page of your character waking up, brushing their teeth, eating breakfast, going to school, coming home... Stories need to have a conflict, either internal or external or both, and the end of your story (the last 20% or so) is when that conflict is finally resolved.

If you've gotten to the last 20% of your story and there's nothing new, unusual, or interesting to describe to the reader, I think I would question whether you've done the work of coming up with an interesting plot and conflict. Are you just writing about your character waking up in the same place and doing the same thing for the umpteenth time? If there's a conflict being resolved--which as I said, there should be--that should offer plenty of new sensory and emotional data to be internally processed and externally resolved, which should give you plenty of fodder for exposition.

Also, most environments go through changes over a 24-hour period. At the very least, both indoor and outdoor environments are changed by natural and artificial lighting changes throughout the day. Weather also affects the way an environment looks. Animal and people traffic ebbs and flows throughout the day. Weather and time of day can affect water levels and appearance of bodies of water. Sounds can change, too, depending on time of day and weather, and what's going on. So, even the most seemingly unchanging environment should have some subtle changes like these that you can describe. And, ideally, you want to create a picture that matches the mood of whatever is happening in your story.

If your character is wrestling with a dark and grim internal conflict, you can create an ambience that reflects that. It can be a gloomy day with low light that makes the character's room dim. There could be a leak in the ceiling due to rain. Maybe the character had to walk through mud and sludge to get home, and the smell of that mud and sludge is coming off their boots by the door. Their neighbors in other flats are cooped up because of the weather, so the people next door or upstairs are having a loud argument. All of these things create an unpleasant ambience which gives you plenty to describe and also helps to heighten the tension created by your character's grim internal conflict. But let's say your character has a sudden epiphany and knows what they need to do to resolve the conflict. So they do it. And everything's okay! The rain stops, the clouds lift, the room brightens as the sun peeks out from behind the clouds. The neighbors stop fighting and there's laughter as one plays a bouncy tune on their piano. Your character opens the window and fresh, petrichor-scented air breezes in along with the scent of apple blossoms from the street below. A short amount of time, a change in the weather, and a change in the lighting had a profound impact on this environment, not only creating an ambience that compliments the scene, but giving you something new to describe and for your character to observe and process.

I hope that helps!

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[rays-of-fire-and-ice]

Horizons

Hitsuhina Gift Exchange 2022

Prompt: a song inspired creation

Rating: K+/General with some mature themes and mentions of violence/blood

Setting: A few days after the end of the TYBW arc, but there are flashbacks, two set before the main story, one between the end of the Fake Karakura Town and the beginning of the Lost Agent arcs. Basically, any scenes in italics are set in the past.

Synopsis: During the first days of reconstruction, Hitsugaya and Hinamori decide to visit the Junrinan. Along the way, Hitsugaya comes to realisation.

AN: @rainfestive, thank you for this prompt! I must admit, I had the basic idea for this fic before the gift exchange, but this prompt got me listening to music, and several songs helped inspire the completed story. The main songs that provided inspiration were I Was Born for This by Austin Wintory, Catharsis by Vishal Naidu & Dan Caine, and My Universe by Coldplay x BTS. The other songs included: She Lit a Fire by Lord Huron, compassion from the BLEACH ost, Snowfield from the Clannad ost, and going home from the BLEACH ost.

I wanted create a fic that conveyed the same softness that your fanart does, and I’ve hopefully succeeded in doing that (well, this fic actually has a pretty angsty start, but it does get fluffy I promise!). In a way, this is a spiritual prequel to It’s Been a While, but honestly, this was meant to be it’s own thing, so feel free to consider the two stories linked or not. Also:

I know it’s stated that the Seireitei needed reconstruction after the Quincy War, but there’s nothing concrete about whether the Rukongai was also badly damaged or not. However, for the sake of this story, sections of it were and need to be reconstructed.

A kokeshi doll is a traditional Japanese toy. The Rukongai seems to have traditional Japanese toys (like spinning tops, which Toshiro used to play with), so I figured they likely have this kind of toy there too.

Hasukappu is the Japanese name given to blue honeysuckle.

Also, I may or may not have been inspired by @canariie's fic trepidation at one point (for those who have read it, you’ll know it when you see it).

I hope you, Rain, and everyone else enjoy this!

__________________________________

Toshiro doesn’t flinch at the blast of freezing wind. The bare branches above and below him rattle, and the first snow falls from the dark grey clouds over the Junrinan in erratic spirals.

Only a few souls wonder the streets and alleyways of the first district, keeping their heads low and wearing multiple layers against the wind. Most souls can’t withstand the cold at this time of the day, with most choosing to stay indoors around a fire. The orange glow emitting from within most houses is bright against the still dark morning.

He again wonders what the lives of those inside is like. Are they still asleep or waking up? Do they all sit around the fire as they eat breakfast? Did they have anything they worked towards? Did any of them feel alone or different from the rest?

He shakes his head; the train of thought is useless to follow.

As the dawn mist gradually thins, he gets a better view of the whole Junrinan and the second district. A slice of the sunrise manages to peak through the clouds and he raises his hand to shade his eyes. Some of the houses in its way are bathed in a yellow-pink glow and the snow on their roofs glimmers.

Below, a soul treads into the light's path cast over one of the Junrinan's main streets. A girl, from what Toshiro can tell, wrapped up in a blanket that almost touches the ground. She avoids the growing piles of snow gathering on the sides of the road and her breaths fog in the air. Her strides are purposeful, enough to go against the harsh wind and cold. Why would she be out at this time? Was she going to go into the forests and find some firewood? Or food? She wouldn't need the main road for either of those things. She could be a new soul, left to her own devices to find a place to stay.

Toshiro shakes his head again; another useless train of thought.

At the growing tension in his chest, he begins to climb down the tree. He tells himself it’s because he needs to get back to Granny, she’d be awake soon. If he were honest with himself, it was because if the girl were to look to her right, there’s a good chance she’d spot him, and possibility of that makes him uncomfortable.

___________________________________

The kokeshi doll rolls away from Toshiro’s foot. He watches it tumble over chips of debris until it bounces off the ruins of the house it likely belonged to. Unlike many of the buildings surrounding it, this one still had most of its roof intact. One of its walls was obliterated, lying in chunks splayed out across the ground, with various broken and torn housewares scattered amongst remains.

Toshiro steps over the wreckage and stays bent over after he picks up the toy, shading it from the late afternoon sun. Paint had scratched off in various places and there’s a small chunk gone from the top of the head, but it’s otherwise remarkably in good condition compared to the other objects scattered about.

He hears Rangiku’s footsteps coming towards him before she calls out. “Captain, we have an update on assessment for the thirteenth district!”

Toshiro rises as his lieutenant nears. “Go on.”

It’s like almost every other report he’s received: buildings completely leveled or caved in, some souls have injuries being tended to by the squadron sent by Fourth Division, but thankfully no casualties for this one. He can’t say the same for this district.

As Rangiku continues to give the details, his gaze involuntarily wonders to the souls a short distance over her shoulder. There’s about twenty of them all underneath a temporary shelter, all in various states of disarray. They’d been given fresh clothes, and behind them, some of his unseated officers are preparing food rations. They watch as the Shinigami comb through the remains of their homes, and the only thing stopping them from joining in are the seated officers keeping them from interfering in the assessment. A few officers remain silent, the rest are trying to offer comfort or reassurances, but they’re falling on deaf ears.

Toshiro’s brow furrows deeper when he spots a young boy, his dark hair in whipped in all directions and wearing a clean yukata. The boy had been staring at him with widened eyes. At being caught, his shoulders rise and he’s quick to shift his gaze to the ruined house the doll belonged to. At his crumbling expression, Toshiro knows this was once his home, and the toy is his.

It's not the first time he has seen that kind of expression in the last week, nor will it be the last. All the lives of the souls here are forever changed, and he doesn’t blame the resentment he sees in some of them. He’d been up at the Palace, had tried to stop as much debris as he could from falling on to the Soul Society, but he couldn't stop all of it.

“Sir?”

Toshiro blinks and is quick to bring his attention back to Rangiku. “Thank you for the update, Matsumoto. Send…No, ask the assessment team to return to here and help with distributing resources. When you’ve done that, bring back whatever written reports you’ve completed to here. We'll finish for the day after the food rations have been given out.” When Rangiku doesn’t leave, he fully turns to her. “Was there anything else?”

Perhaps she’s caught off guard by the way he speaks; in other circumstances he’d be more relaxed with his tone and his choice of words, but it didn’t feel right to be anything other than direct and authoritative right now.

“Captain…” Rangiku purses her lips. It’s only then he notices how frazzled her hair is, it’s so out of character for her. But then, it was hard to be one’s self in the aftermath of something this destructive. Toshiro waits, and it’s a moment later when whatever hesitation she has disappears.

“Everything’s been set up here," she says. "After the assessment team comes back, we’ll have enough to keep things under control.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You should take a break. You’ve been up since dawn and haven’t stopped once all day, or even all of yesterday for that matter.”

He half expected her concern - the bags under his eyes become more apparent each day – and she hadn’t been the only one. Some of his seated officer, though they tried to hide it, showed their concern yesterday and this morning. It came out in the small smiles they give him and the over enthusiasm they have to some tasks he assigns, as if to assure him they are more than capable and that he can rest easy. But he sees the way their shoulders weigh down, the hardness or sorrow in their eyes when they think he isn’t looking. “I’ll rest once all the assessments are completed.”

She glances at the doll in his hand. Something about it makes her sigh. “You always tell others to know their limits, but never yourself.”

“I know my limits,” he responds curtly. “You don’t have to --”

“Yo, Captain Hitsugaya!”

Both swerve in the direction of Shinji’s call. Several officers from the Fifth Division approach, and in the middle of them are their captain and Momo. The latter doesn’t notice either of them, too preoccupied with giving instructions to her surrounding subordinates, but the former waves at them.

Toshiro tucks the doll away into his sleeve. “What’s he doing here?” he wonders under his breath.

With their impending argument interrupted, Rangiku smiles. “They have jurisdiction for the district next door. They might just be passing by.”

Whatever Momo instructed her subordinates to do, half march off down a nearby alleyway while the others remain. It’s then she spots them and gestures for her officers to wait.

“Afternoon you two,” Shinji greets.

Momo comes over to them, but unlike Shinji, her grin doesn’t reach her eyes. “Hello Rangiku-san, Hitsug – I mean, Captain Hitsugaya.”

Toshiro would voice his surprise that she actually called him by his title, but this isn’t the time or place. “Doing assessment for the west ninth district I assume?” he asks Shinji.

“Just finished it actually.”

“Then are you here to discuss the proposal for repairs in north districts twenty through to twenty-five?”

Shinji’s grin wobbles and he raises a brow. “Geez, ain’t that a bit early? Pretty sure Head Captain said we didn’t need to get to work on that until two months in at the latest. Are you ahead of schedule already?”

“No, just planning.”

“Well, regardless, we ain’t here for that. We’re actually on our way back to the Seireitei to write up assessment reports for districts nine and ten. However, I think Hinamori and I are feeling a little generous and have some time to spare. Did you guys need any help here?”

“We were going to offer help regardless,” Momo quickly adds.

Toshiro folds his arms. “Thank you for the offer, but we don’t need-”

“I think we’ll take you up on that!”

For the first time since returning from the Palace, Toshiro breaks the authoritative air he’d been putting on, blinking up at his lieutenant in bewilderment. “Matsumoto?”

Rangiku keeps going as if she hadn’t noticed the change in his demeanor. “See, I need to go get the assessment team from the thirteenth district and also pick up some reports, and the Captain needs to take a break.”

“Wha? I don’t-”

“Everything here is mostly set up, and we’d ask our third seat to watch over things, but he’s with the assessment team. So, we just need someone to watch over our officers while we’re both away.”

“We need no such thing!” Toshiro looks to his fellow captain. “I don’t need a break, Matsumoto is speaking out of turn.”

Rangiku gives an indignant huff while Shinji lists his head to the side. “Well, when was the last time you took a break?” he asks.

“It’s not necessary, I can still oversee things here. As is, I assume you’ll need to write up those reports as soon as you get back, so don’t let us keep you.”

Shinji’s eyes narrow, but before he can speak up, Momo steps forward. “A-Actually, Captain, weren’t you saying we should take a break before we start on those reports? I was going to ask if I could walk to the Junrinan. I know it’s not one of the damaged districts, but there’s some friends I need to visit.”

Shinji blinks at his lieutenant’s interruption, but with the rising tension diffused, he nods. “Fine by me, just make sure you’re back in an hour for the reports.”

“Of course.” Then to Toshiro, with a renewed, softer smile. “Perhaps you’d like to join me, Captain Hitsugaya? I know you feel responsible for what’s happening here, but there’s someone you’ve wanted to see, right?”

Likely unintentionally, her words make guilt flare up in him. He’d wanted to go see Granny as soon as he’d arrived back in the Seireitei. What had become of the Junrinan? Was she all right? He’d sprint to there if he could, but duty bound him to the Seireitei. He barely contained his relief when he heard in the report the next day it was one of fifteen higher level districts that hadn’t been damaged during the war. He couldn’t visit her until the assessment is completed, but it didn’t stop the urge to drop everything and visit her.

“Can imagine you’d have friends you wanna see, yeah?” Shinji remarks. “I’ve told my subordinates to take their breaks to go visit anyone they need to in the Rukongai, and I’m sure you’ve told others to do the same in your division.” He shrugs. “I reckon us captains can grant ourselves the same if things are under control in our jurisdictions, and you’ve clearly got that going on here.”

“Hirako…”

“Besides, I owe you for saving Hinamori and I back up at the Palace. She told me about what happened after I got knocked out.”

He glances at his childhood friend, who gives a rueful roll of her eyes and a shrug.

“I didn’t just enter that battle to save you two,” he clarifies.

“I know, but regardless, you saved us from being crushed by that giant. So, least I can do is help you out a little while we’ve still got the time to.”

“That’s actually a good point,” Rangiku adds. “This’ll be the best opportunity you have. You know that once we get into the repairs, we’ll have even less free time.”

Toshiro isn’t sure what he hates more: that he’s made others worry or that his resolve is waning. He wants to argue back, but then Momo fixes him with that gaze – the one that’s half pleading and half concerned – and he’s useless to dismiss it.

He unfolds his arms with a huff. “Fine, I’ll only be gone for an hour.” Rangiku gasps with a grin, but he stops her from saying anything with a sharp gaze. “If anything happens, you send a Hell Butterfly right away. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Shinji’s own grin returns. “Well, it’s settled. I’ll stick around here until Matsumoto returns, then head back to Fifth. Take good care of my lieutenant, yeah? She's been working a lot lately."

Momo shakes her head, exasperated. "Honestly, sir."

Toshiro rolls his eyes. "She's capable of doing that herself."

With a chuckle, Shinji jerks his chin at Rangiku as he half turns away. “Mind giving me an overview of what’s going on here before you run off?”

Rangiku nods and joins him as he returns to his waiting officers.

Toshiro watches them go, but his attention is drawn away when Momo comes to his side. It’s just the two of them now, and the thought makes him nervous for some reason.

“Shall we go, Hitsugaya-kun?” she asks.

“Already dropping the title, are we?” he half grumbles.

“Sorry, force of habit.”

“You don’t look one bit sorry.” With a sigh, he goes to lead the way. “I guess the quickest route would be…”

A jostle in his sleeve stops him. Without thinking, he sticks his hand into his uniform. How had he forgotten about it?

Momo tilts her head when he faces the group of souls under the shelter. “What’s wrong?”

The child stares at them, had probably watched the entire exchange from before. He bites his lip at being caught a second time.

No, they can’t leave just yet. He hates to ask her to do anything for him, but this is better suited for someone like her.

Toshiro digs his hand into his sleeve. “I was going to ask Matsumoto to do this before she left, but I may need you to do it instead.”

Momo raises both brows; it’s a rare occurrence for him to ask her for anything. “What is it?”

Toshiro holds out the doll. “Can you give this to him?” he requests, tipping his head at the boy. “I think it’s his.”

She glances at the child, then at the remains of his house over her shoulder. “Why don’t you do it?”

“It’d be better coming from you.”

Her hand hovers over his for several beats, but she surprises him when she rolls his fingers over the doll. “You’re the one who found it, you should give it back to him.”

Why? The question must show on his face, because she lets out a weak chuckle. “It’ll be okay.”

She doesn’t elaborate further, but they need to get a move on, and he won’t push her to do this. Taking a deep inhale in, he approaches the crowd, and slows his steps once he’s within a few meters of the boy. The child is trying to decide whether to cower away or stand his ground as he approaches.

To calm him, Toshiro holds the doll out before he comes to a stop. “I’m guessing this is yours.”

As if expecting this to be a trick, the boy hesitates. A woman comes up behind the child and rests a protective hand on his shoulder while bowing.

“I’m sorry about my son, Captain,” she says, her voice on the brink of quivering. “He didn’t mean to stare.”

Toshiro shakes his head and gestures for her to rise. “It’s fine.”

Reassured by his mother’s presence, the boy takes the toy back. The moment he touches it, his anxiety starts to ease. He examines the faults in it, seemingly forgetting a high-ranking Shinigami stands before him. He fingers the dent in the top, and fights a disappointed frown from forming. Something about it tugs at Toshiro, and squats down to the child’s height, capturing his gaze once more.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t stop this,” he says. “It will be a long time before you have a house again, but we're working to make sure it'll be sooner rather than later." He points to the toy. "Hang on to that in the meantime, don’t let it go. There will come a day when you can get others to join it.”

Heat rises up the back of his neck as he senses the eyes of all the residents on him. Most are surprised, others are skeptical. To have a Shinigami admit fault and apologise is a rare thing; they’re viewed as too prideful or out of touch or secretive to do such a thing by most district residents. If only they knew what they’d been like when the Quincy invaded, the fear and determination his officers showed. For a moment, Toshiro allows the thought to roam in his mind before he banishes it.

He stands and gives a bow with his head. “If any of you need basic supplies, my officers will assist.”

He tries to turn and stride as naturally as he can back to Momo, resisting the urge to spin on his heel and rush down the forest path they’re going to take to the Junrinan. A new wave of heat rushes up to his cheeks, but this time it’s because of the tender smile Momo gives him when he approaches.

___________________________________

Toshiro scowls at the cracked rooftiles next to his foot. A few pieces had dislodged, revealing the wooden rafters beneath. “Going to have to replace those,” he mutters. “How long have they been like that?”

He stares at them for several heartbeats before going a few feet further up the roof. Once he reaches the top, he sits on ridge, takes in a long breath, and leans back with closed eyes. It’s the first moment of quiet he’s had in a whole month.

However, as if to remind him of where he should really be, the wind lifts up the ends of his haori behind him. Opening his eyes, he rests his elbows on his knees and picks at the new addition to his uniform. Despite being a relatively light garment, it still feels heavy to wear. He never considered himself to be the type to indulge in metaphors or analogies, but there might be something to say for the weight of the job weighing down on ones shoulders. With a sigh, he lifts his gaze.

He’s not sure where his inclination to go to high places came from, nor does he understand why he continues to make it a habit. Somehow, it felt right to climb tree and sit in their branches as a child, and then to perch himself on his old home’s rooftop. The latter he can chalk up to feeling protective of Granny, believing that having a vantage point to see everyone and everything ensured he could warn her of anything; but the former, he still can't figure out why he did it. A part of him always wanted to watch over everything, and being above everything somehow felt right. The tallest height he'd gotten to was in a tree in the Jurinan forests, and it allowed him to see all the way to the tenth district.

Now, he’s on the tallest building in the Tenth Division, and it gives him a view of the Seireitei all the way to the Eastern Gate. There was a time where he was on the other side of that gate, and the Seiretei was just a part of the horizon he looked out towards. It strange to think he has ended up on the other side, and to feel less lonely than he was when he was outside of it.

He distracts himself from the thought by watching the Shinigami out and about. Most are on the ground, weaving their way between buildings, not in any rush to get where they need to. Some have stopped in courtyards and gardens, gathering in groups for training or lunch. Not too far away, the instructions of his third seat reach his ears, his voice coming from one of the dojos.

Others are on the balconies and verandas, coming and going, but he doubles back when he spots Momo and Aizen. They’re two small figures in the distance, but he can make out that they're walking on the second floor balcony of Ninth Division’s main barracks, talking about something that makes Momo smile.

Toshiro rolls his eyes. Even from all the way up here, her feelings towards her captain are obvious, and Aizen is probably too polite to bring it up. He finds himself lingering on that thought, but he doesn’t understand why he’d care.

She’s his oldest friend, and he cares about her wellbeing. That’s as far as it went.

He shakes his head, shoving the thought aside. As is, in this new role, he’ll see her even less, and he tries to ignore the tiny pang at the thought. He’s never known how to keep friends, and when Momo found a goal all those decades ago, they’d drifted apart. Now that they each have a goal, it won’t surprise him if they drift even further.

_________________________________________

“Hasukappu grows here?”

Toshiro says nothing as Momo fawns over the vegetation. They’d been walking on the path through the undergrowth for a few minutes when she spotted the hasukappu plants. It’s the happiest he’s seen her since they got back to the Seireitei, and he fears speaking up will break it.

“For some reason, I always thought it was just in the south and north districts. I could make a jam out of these!” Momo goes to pick one of the dark blue fruits but stops. “Ah, maybe not, actually. The locals probably come to harvest these, right? Like we used to in the Junrinan.”

He gestures to the several shrubs chock full of the fruit. “Likely, but it won’t hurt if you pick some, there will be plenty left. Besides, these look they’ve just been growing in the wild, and the animals probably eat them too.”

Momo looks up and down the uneven line of shrubbery. Eventually, she plucks one off a stem. “Maybe just fifteen of them. It probably won’t be enough to make jam, but maybe some candies.”

He watches her pick the fruit off the shrubs and piles them into cloth bag she kept in her uniform, and it occurs to him that with the exception of the rustling of the branches and leaves from the occasional gust wind, it’s quiet. Life is vibrant here, from the lush green grass lined on either side of the dirt path to the small animals that scurry or fly away when they hear them coming. The greenery around them hadn’t been touched by the war, as if frozen in time.

However, it’s in quiet moments like this – mostly before he’s about to go to sleep - that his mind buzzes with everything he hasn’t yet done. Did he truly have the right to be here in the peaceful quiet while the souls in the Rukongai were waiting for their homes to be rebuilt?

“There, that should do it.” Momo tucks the cloth bag back into her uniform. She starts walking again without looking back at him. “The Junrinan is twenty minutes from here, right?”

Snapping out of his thoughts, Toshiro follows her. “Yes.”

He stays behind her as they head up an incline. Her gait is not what it used to be; in the months after her recovery at Fourth Division, she’s had a more subdued walk, the weight of everything weighing her down. In the few months before the Quincy invasion, she walked as if lighter than air, like how she used to before Aizen’s betrayal. Now, there’s a heaviness in each step, but her shoulders are high, determined.

It begs him to ask, “How have you been?”

Momo looks over at him. “As well as I can be. It’s been busy, of course. We’ve completed assessment for half of the districts under our jurisdiction. We’ve been lucky most have more injured than dead, but even so…” She sighs. “The truth is I haven’t had moments rest myself until now.”

 “Dummy!”

“I could say the same for you, couldn’t I?” It’s not an accusation, but an almost resigned fact she knew all too well about him. At his rueful silence, she gives him an uneasy smile. “We have to do so much right now, but we haven’t had the time to do it all. Captain Hirako makes sure everyone has something to do, that we all carry the load of everything. I’m sure you’re the same, but you…you also tend to take on too much, Hitsugaya-kun.”

“It’s because I can.”

The corners of her lips fall. “I think everyone’s struggling to rest right now. We need to put these repairs first, of course, but we also need to take time to rest.” She turns to look ahead “Hopefully things will quiet down soon.”

They both know that is a pipedream. It’s already been estimated the reconstruction of the Rukongai will take over three years to complete, and the Seireitei’s even longer.

This was a bad idea. She did this to him, made him lower whatever walls he builds and rethink what his priorities should be. What should he focus on first? The living or the dead? The survivors or the officers who gave their lives? He’d almost lost count of how many had been cremated or buried, but he has that number clear in his mind every time he gets ready for the day.

There’s a low swaying branch in their way. She holds it aside for Toshiro as she asks, “What about you, Hitsugaya-kun? Have you not been sleeping well?”

He almost touches the bags under his eyes. “I’ve been sleeping enough. Something just woke me up last night.”

“What was it?”

“A dream.”

“Do remember what it was about?”

“…Not really.”

It only comes to him in bits and pieces, but his dreams of when he wasn’t in control of his body shake him to the core every time. Glimpses of Yumichika and Ikkaku come, and the voice of the Quincy who had forced her blood into him echoes in each. He needn’t burden Momo or anyone else with those dreams, everyone has enough on their minds as is.

Realising he isn’t going to elaborate; Momo drops the subject. “What about progress with damage assessment?”

“We have five districts left to assess, then reconstruction will begin next week.”

“So you are ahead of schedule!”

 “Only by a day.”

“It’s still amazing progress.”

They trek down a short incline, which flattens out to the banks for a creek. The path continues on the other side.

“Is there a way across?” Momo asks, taking a wary step towards the stream.

“It’s normally okay to jump over it, the water is running quicker than I remember.”

“It might be because of the rain from yesterday. There was a lot, more than Twelfth predicted.” She says something under her breath, but Toshiro can make out, “You could’ve probably gauged it better.”

Rather than shown he heard her, Toshiro assesses, looking from one end of the creek to the other. “There.” He points to a section several feet away, the two sides closer than any other party near them.

“When was the last time you were here?” she asks as they make their way.

It takes him a moment to recall. “When I’d been promoted to seventh seat.”

“For a mission, I’m guessing?”

“Investigating Hollow activity in the region.”

Those seem like simpler times now, quaint even. He’d known Hollows attacks, had seen a few fellow Shinigami die to them. For some reason, he didn’t think he’d go on to see much more death or destruction in his life.

“That would’ve been about thirty years ago,” Momo muses. “It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long. Time really flew by, huh?”

When they reach the edge of the creek, Toshiro holds up a hand before Momo can make a move. “I’ll go first.”

She gives a bemused chuckle. At his deepening frown, she explains, “This reminds me of what you used to do when we were children. Whenever we’d have to cross a gap, you always insisted on going first.”

He lets out a wordless grumble as he recalls those moments. “I was always the better jumper, and you always got nervous about making big jumps. In case you fell, someone had to be on the other side.”

She gives him a mock offended 'humph'. “And you think that’ll be the case here too?”

Toshiro goes to argue back, but an idea comes to him. Without warning, he whips away from her and runs for the creek before leaping over the water. When he lands in a crouch on the other side, he smirks at her while he rises. “Prove otherwise.”

Momo’s surprise gives way to a haughty smirk. Playfully, she sets up to run, stretching one leg behind her and raising her arms to her sides. His smirk widens, and an amused chuckle almost makes it to his lips. More than that though, he can’t help his protective instincts. He’s ready to dash forward and catch her in case she slips. Without thinking, he moves closer to his side’s edge and even raises his hand for her to grab on to.

She shakes her head. “No need.”

And with that, she runs to the creek. With a small cry of exertion, she leaps over the water. Her arms cartwheel through the air, and her hair flies behind her. She goes higher than he did, her feet well and truly avoiding the water, even the small droplets that splash up from hitting any rocks in the water’s way.

He stumbles back, almost losing his footing as he tries to give her space. She lands on her feet with a loud ‘thump’, half crouched and hands raised in front of her. She doesn’t move from her exaggerated pose, looking as if she were about to sit back into a chair.

They snort at the same time. They look at each other, surprised that the other reacted. Then, as if a flood gate opened, they laugh. Momo almost doubles over, straightening enough to rest her hands on her knees, while Toshiro smacks a hand over his mouth, trying and failing to cover up his laughter.

“What was that?” he asks.

“I don’t know!” she chortles. “I think I got competitive and tried to jump higher than you!”

“That wasn’t the point!”

“But I did it! Both landing and getting higher than you!”

By the time their laughter dies down, his stomach aches. When was the last time he’d laughed so hard, and why over something so silly and small? Maybe he was losing his mind, but if that were the case, at least he isn’t the only one.

They smile at each other while they try to catch their breath. Aside from the one she gave him before they started their trek, it’s the most genuine smiles he’s seen from her in a while, and for a moment he allows himself to be deluded with the idea that just as she can lower his internal walls, he can do the same for her too. In this moment she isn’t the dutiful, hard-working lieutenant, but the girl who always dragged him out on adventures and got easily riled up.

But that silence creeps back in, making his smile fall. What was he doing? He couldn’t be like this, not when he had houses and the Seireitei to rebuild, the dead to bury and mourn for. At her faltering smile, he knows she thinks the same, and he wishes it wasn’t the case. After everything she went through, guilt should be the last thing she suffers from.

He takes a few tentative strides back towards where the path resumes. “Let’s keep going, it’ll be dark soon.”

When he doesn’t hear her follow, he looks over his shoulder. Her head bowed, it’s clear she’s lost in thought. With a bit more authority in his voice, he says, “Come on, Hinamori.”

She flinches and raises her head. “Sorry, it’s just…” His heart aches at her sad smile. “I think this and before with the hasukappu, they’re both the first time in a while that I haven’t discussed or thought about the reconstruction efforts. I know it was my idea to go visit Obaa-san and the others, but I just wanted to check on them. I didn’t think I’d get distracted from everything that’s happening.”

She’s on the edge of an unnecessary apology, and he chooses to nip it in the bud. “I know. We’re only fifteen minutes away, so let’s keep going.”

She gives a shallow nod and joins him.

This really had been a bad idea.

_________________________________________

“I figured you’d be somewhere like here.”

Toshiro almost drops his denreishikai and whips his head over his shoulder.

Isshin stands only a few meters away, his hands in his pockets. Mercifully, if he noticed Toshiro’s near fumble, he doesn’t show it. At the same time however, he half wishes he could punch the smirk off his former captain’s face. However, he’s rendered speechless, and none of the many questions he had always wanted to ask him come to mind now. He suddenly understands what humans meant when they see ‘a ghost from the past’.

“Matsumoto said you were in the area,” Isshin explains. “I bumped into her this morning.”

It might explain why she and Orihime hadn’t returned before Toshiro decided to take a walk an hour ago. He calms with a low exhale. “What the heck are you doing here?”

Isshin’s smirk drops a fraction, and he walks over to him. Toshiro can imagine the question could be taken in more than one way, but Isshin chooses to go for the most obvious one. “I wasn’t out looking for you, just decided to go for a walk.” He steps over the road guard, but keeps a meter distance between them. “I forgot to ask Matsumoto how long you’ve been here.”

Toshiro glares at his denreishinkai. “Is that really any of your concern anymore?”

What’s left of Isshin’s smirk vanishes. “I may not be a captain anymore, but can I can still sense Hollows. There’s been a bit more than usual since Aizen’s defeat from what I can tell. Kuchiki Rukia’s replacement can only do so much, I guess.”

It was strange to hear Isshin discuss Shinigami business when he no longer is one. It’s even stranger to see him up close after all these decades. Toshiro closes his phone. “We’re only here for today, and leaving tonight.”

In the silence, Isshin does nothing except shift his gaze ahead, while Toshiro can’t lift his own from the ground. It’s not the first time he and Rangiku have seen their old captain; during their first time in Karakura Town, they’d spotted him from afar as he walked out of his clinic, but neither of them chose to interact. He and Rangiku reasoned this new life of his had been his choice, but it didn't stop the question he wanted to ask itching to get answered. Perhaps, though, it had also been in part because neither wanted to confront him in a situation like this. What’s he supposed to do?

A part of him wants to run away, to pretend this encounter never happened. But he stays, paralyzed by…obligation. A fragment of his days as a third seat while serving under the man next to him.

Isshin leans against the road guard. “It’s a nice view, huh?”

The view in question was of the west of Karakura Town, bathed in the orange light of the sunset. On the street below, cars and people are still out and about, and the streetlights are starting to flicker on. In a small way, it reminds Toshiro of his days watching the Junrinan from up in the trees.

“You always had a knack for finding good views from high places,” Isshin continues. “I remember you used to climb on the barracks’ roofs. Never understood why, until I got up there and saw what you were looking at.”

Toshiro clenches his jaw as memories of those times flash in his mind. Isshin lecturing him from the ground, then usually ending up on the roof with him, continuing to lecture him until he saw the view. Somehow, it’d end up with Toshiro eventually chastising his captain for skipping out on his duties and trying to get him to climb down.

What resolve he had to stop things from bubbling over erodes. “You’ve always been reckless. You left without warning. You left the division to me.” Then, more icily. “Why?”

Isshin is silent as he turns his gaze back to him. He’s solemn but there’s a resolve there, one Toshiro knew all too well. When Isshin committed to something, he did so with all of his heart, with every ounce of determination within him; Toshiro couldn’t help but be reminded of it when he saw the same in Ichigo sometimes. It’s that determination that made them both reckless, fearless even.

“I had every intention of returning to the Soul Society, but it wasn’t that simple,” Isshin explains. “Masaki, my wife, needed my help. She risked her life to save mine when I was attacked in Naruki City. I owed her my life and I wouldn’t turn my back on her. To save her from death, I had to give up my Shinigami abilities.”

Of all the explanations and theories Toshiro had come up with in the past decade, a scenario like that had never come to mind. Now, it seems like the most obvious reason, because at his core, his captain was always committed saving lives, especially those he owed a debt to. Regardless,to think someone could sway his former captain in such a way, to make him give up everything he ever knew. He’d abandoned his Shinigami status and old life to be with her, to start a family with her. Anger and sympathy war within Toshiro, but he, frustratingly, can’t decide which emotion should win out.

Isshin smiles and the fire in his eyes softens. “It seems foolish, I know, but it wasn’t long after I started living as a human that I realized Masaki was my center. Even if I hadn’t lost my powers, it’d be hard to pull out of orbit of someone I'd come to care about as much as her and try to return to who I was before I met her.”

Toshiro barely manages to hold back a snide snort. “Since when did you become poetic?”

Isshin chuckles. “You’ll get it when you find someone you feel the same way about. They’ll become your sun, the center of your universe.” He sighs through his nose. “Although, I think you can understand it already, on some level.”

Toshiro watches the sun touch the horizon and says nothing, afraid of indulging whatever musing Isshin has.

His mind wonders to Momo, to their days in the Junrinan. It always did when he came to this spot at this time. How many sunsets had he watched with her? When had they stopped doing that? Not long after she left for the Academy, he remembers. The last time was on her break during her third year. It wasn't something he missed until she had been in denial about Aizen's true self.

How is she right now? Was her new captain treating her well? He'd had reservations about coming on a day trip because of the latter, but they'd agreed to speak once he returned. It'll be the first time he's seen her since his failure at the fake Karakura Town. He still can't let go of the guilt from that event, has wondered if he's worthy enough yet to face her again. Another part of him, the one that pushed him to finally see her again, knew he couldn't keep going without seeing her.

He imagines the Isshin he knew, risking his life for a human who risked her life to save his, and he knew that foolhardy determination, that feeling of owing one he had a debt to, would’ve guided him to who he is today. He can’t say he doesn’t relate on some level. Hadn’t he almost done the same for Momo? More than once over the last two years, he’d abandoned his principles when she was in danger, and knew without a second thought he would risk his life for hers.

With some agitation, he inwardly admits his old captain still knows him too well.

“It sounds like the division is doing well.”

“…What did Matsumoto tell you?”

“That you two are handling everything, that there’s no need for me to come back even if I wanted to. I’m not surprised, though. I knew regardless of whether you became captain or not, or if Matsumoto would stay on as lieutenant, the division was in good hands with you two being a part of it.”

Toshiro wants to shove away the sentimental ache in his chest. There was a time where he was ready to round on his former captain and interrogate him, believing no matter his reasons he would never forgive him. Now…he’s just tired. He has no energy left to hate the man for abandoning them, and his reasoning he can, frustratingly or thankfully, relate to.

So instead, he remarks, “I’m surprised Matsumoto didn’t knock you over.”

Isshin grins. “She almost did, but Inoue-san stopped her.”

_______________________________________

The sky is dyed various shades of yellow and orange, and the shadows of trees fall away as they reach highest point of the path. Below, beyond the foliage and five minutes away is the Junrinan, alive with lights and souls, just small dots, wondering the streets. Momo now trails a few feet behind him; neither have spoken a word in the last ten minutes.

A wind blows through, and without thinking, Toshiro follows its direction and looks to his left. The sun is gradually descending to the horizon, but below it…

He stops mid step. Something in him falls, making him go slack in the shoulders and the air freeze in his lungs.

In his peripheral, Momo makes a confused sound before she too follows his gaze. “Oh…” She raises a hand to her chest.

Districts one through to twenty-five for the north and west are sprawled out beneath them. The ones affected by the war are obvious: buildings completely leveled or almost gone, nature upturned and ground scarred, ruins of the palace standing out like a sore thumb. Unlike the districts around them, their lights are fewer and far between, small fires meant to keep groups of souls warm in their temporary shelters. Smoke trails twirls up into the sky, toward where the Palace wreckage had come from and ruined their homes.

Seeing it all together, it makes him grit his teeth against the growing tightness around his heart. Is he failing them? The souls in the Rukongai and the officer who gave their lives. He knows how the former think of him, but the latter, he dreads to wonder how they would view him right now.

He’s startled by a sob. Peering over to Momo, she smacks a hand over mouth, eyes wide in alarm and rimmed with tears.

“Hi--Hinamori?” he says, unknowingly taking a step towards her.

She’s quick to wipe away the tears that escape. “I-I…I’m sorry. Now’s not the time for any of this. It’s one thing to hear about how many districts were affected, but seeing it all t-together, just seeing it all, it’s…” She bites her lip, but it doesn’t stop another tear from falling. “I know we can make it through this and help everyone in the Rukongai, but it’s still…it’s hard to go through all of it to get there. But I have no right to cry now, not when they’re suffering more than us. I’ll cry when I can finally bury those who gave their lives, but until then, I have to focus on restoring everything, right?”

For a brief moment, the world blurs around him, and she is the only thing in focus. With almost stumbling steps, he goes to her, as if being drawn to her by an invisible force; even if he wanted break away, he couldn’t.

There’s hardly any gap between them, their faces close enough that he came make out the faint, small scar on the side of her forehead; from an injury she got while up at the Palace. He’s almost lost her more than once, and he recalls the worry in the back of his mind during the war that she could perish to the Quincy. A small part of him still chastises himself for not being able to prevent her from being injured, but that was the reality of war and combat, and he thanks whatever forces drive this world that it hadn’t been worse.

He surprises both of them when he cups her cheeks and wipes away a tear with his thumb. In the stunned silence his thoughts race, but not with work or guilt.

Perhaps because of all she had gone through in the last two years, he can’t stand to see her cry anymore. Her heart had been wounded; she had put her trust like everyone else in an illusion once. She’d been in denial, had asked him to he unthinkable in sparing a traitor’s life, but she had come to accept everything, now has clearer eyes. Gone is some of her naivety, and in it’s place is a girl who knows better, who even after all her grief and heartache, still reaches out a hand to help and guide.

As the shock wears off, he’s quick to pull away. “S-Sorry.”

“I-It’s okay” she says, still stunned.

Her tears have vanished and a faint pink colors the tops of her cheeks. Perhaps she waits for an explanation, but he has none. She had done the same for him when they were younger, wiping away his tears and leaving him shocked by the gentle gesture, but this feels different. It was to comfort her, but also for something else…

However, the image of the boy from eighth district comes to mind, and it reminds him that he doesn’t know how to comfort others. He spots the boy’s district, off to the far left. That child is a little older than he was before he went to the Academy. Toshiro wonders if he got to live the life he’d always imagined himself having, away from war and violence and grief. Now the latter had come, in the destruction of his home and his district. And what had Toshiro done? Given him a toy back and told him the same thing his officers would’ve already said. It's pathetic.

“It would have been better if you had spoken to that child.” When she says nothing, he folds his arms into his sleeves and elaborates. “Residents need hope in times like this. It is not something I inspire in others.”

“That’s not true,” she responds immediately, and with such a tenderness he’s forced to meet her gaze. She closes the gap between them again with two strides, her eyes wide and emphatic, and it takes him aback.

“I’ve learned that hope doesn’t always come in kind words,” she continues. “Sometimes it comes in an apology, or in a promise to do better, whether it’s to yourself or to someone else.” Her eyes mist again, and her smile returns. “Sometimes it’s just knowing you have a friend there. I have you, Captain Hirako, Abarai-kun, Kira-kun, Rangiku-san, Hisagi-kun, and Nanao-san. I’m incredibly lucky to have you all.”

She points to the Rukongai. “Not everyone down there has someone, I know, but I believe they can find friends and family, just like we all did. In times like this, it’s amazing the connections one can make. I’ve seen it in my districts, how they help each other and give each other hope. We can contribute to that, you contribute to that by vowing to rebuild their homes, by them shelter and food, by giving them back possessions that mean something to them.”

She rests a hand on his forearm, and he brings his hands out of his sleeves. For the first time since they reconciled, she takes his hand in hers. “You’ve been there for me for decades, and I didn’t truly realise it until Captain Ai—I mean, Aizen Sosuke – betrayed us. I’m truly grateful that you still consider me a friend, that we can still talk and share things together. You…You give me hope, Hitsugaya-kun, and I’m certain I’m not the only one.”

The sunlight has turned her eyes to amber, bright like the embers of the element she wields. Her hair shines, almost golden, as if it were made of wisps of the sun. Her skin glows, and there isn’t a single shadow in her soft smile.

It’s the first time he’s considered her beautiful.

Her appearance has never been a major concern of his, unless she was sick or injured. At times he thought she was cute when she smiled or got excited, or could admire something she had done with her hair. Why did he view her differently now? Had the sunlight been just right? Had this moment of vulnerability made him see a different side to her?

But she’s the same. She’s one of the only people he knows who even while sobbing in despair can still have hope for the future, and one of the few who can still think of others while struggling with her own demons. Others would mistake her for being weak, but he only saw strength. He wants to protect her from threats beyond her control, but she’s more than capable of taking on most things, whether it was with tears in her eyes or an angry furrow in her brow or a smile on her lips. She held out a hand to anyone, sometimes to a fault, sometimes to a benefit.

In this world of violence and war and grief, they only have each other, and he has her still. She held on, for him and for other Shinigami, because she’s strong and kind and his friend.

His heart swells, and it dawns on him.

Oh…

He lets out a shuddered breath and bows his head. The revelation crashes over him like a wave, rendering him mute and tightening his chest painfully.

He loves her.

Momo says his name, uncertain. When he doesn’t respond,she tries to search his eyes. Had he always adored her earnestness? When did her will and wish to understand him become so endearing? It’s almost too much. He prays that somehow his thoughts aren't conveyed in his gaze.

She releases his hand, and he almost reaches out to take it back. “Did I say something wrong?” she asks.

“No,” he manages to murmur, “no, you didn’t.”

He knew his feelings towards her had shifted over the decades, and when she had been on the brink of death the first time, he knew they were something deeper than he’d thought. But love? This is how it felt; it’s as light as air, freeing and special, but somehow keeping him grounded and with the power to make his heart ache or race.

Is this what Isshin spoke of when he said someone could become your center?

Why did a realisation like this have to come at this time? He had enough on his mind, and now this. It should he the most important thing to him, but the repair and the dead are foremost on his mind. But somehow, it doesn't feel like a burden or another weight on his shoulder like he expects. If anything, it's inexplicably lifted some of that weight off. He can't stay focused on this, he'll need to unpack this later.

“I’m tired.” He can sense it’s not enough of an answer for her, so with some push back from the side of him that always keeps his innermost thoughts from being voiced, he adds, “I never knew you thought of me that way.”

She gives a weak chuckle. “I must admit, I didn’t think I would say that, it’s a little embarrassing, b-but it’s true.”

“…Thank you.”

“And you too, Shiro-chan. I didn’t know you thought about me that way either.”

Ah, he had more or less admitted she inspired hope, hadn’t he? A fresh blush starts to rise up to his cheeks, but he’s quick to tread away from her and continue down the path. “We’re not going to make it back in time to Hirako or Matsumoto, but we might as well continue to the Junrinan.”

She comes up to his side, smile rueful. “I suppose so, yes.”

“…It’s as you said, though, we need to put these repairs first, but we also need to take time to rest.” Again he fights that reserved part of himself to continue. “Sometimes that can include visiting someone or laughing a little or...being a little late to something." He almost cringes, it goes against his principal of always being punctual. "Regardless, it shouldn’t feel like you don’t have the right to rest.”

Her smile widens to a grin, and she takes his hands again. Unlike last time, a pulse runs up his arm like a lighting bolt and straight to his chest. Being in love is going to take some getting used to.

“I never thought I’d see the day you’d admit that rest can include laughing,” she says. “It’s hard in time like this to feel like you deserve rest, but it’s true. It’s like Captain Hirako told me once: ‘If you don’t rest, you can’t help anyone’.”

“I don’t know about that, but it is important.”

She giggles, and it’s one of the most soothing sounds he’s heard since the war ended. “It can look like friends helping each other too.”

_______________________

The girl stands beneath a bare tree, clad in her multiple layers, her back to him, and staring at the silhouette of the Seiretei through the mist. Just in front of her is the only alleyway that leads back to his house. Toshiro curses himself for not having turned off the main path sooner, but he hadn’t noticed the girl until he got this close.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he treads soundlessly to the other side of the path, into the cover of shadows. However, in his way all along the path’s side is snow, and the crunch of his footsteps will surely alert the girl of his presence. Perhaps she will be too caught up in her mind though, she hadn’t even noticed the ring of a chime from the house behind her or the budged when the wind grew stronger.

Needing to get home, he risks it, walking on the snow to the alleyway and keeping his head low. Something makes him tilt his head a fraction back to her as he moves along. Now closer, he can tell she’s around his age. Only a few souls were ever out in this cold, and all of them had been adults. She’s an oddity in that regard, and in coming out at this time. It’s the third time he’s seen her, and not once had he spotted her in the Junrinan at any other hour – then again, the district is packed with souls, he’d be lucky sometimes if he sees the same shopkeeper three behind the counter more than three times in the same month.

The wind catches on his scarf, causing the end to fly out of the shadows. He looks away from her and hurries his footsteps while trying to catch his scarf.

“Oh!”

Toshiro cringes at being caught. Despite his mind telling him to make a run for it, he’s stuck, as if the cold had frozen him on the spot. Without thinking, he looks back to the girl. Her wide eyes are brown, almost the same colour as her hair.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,” she asks, her words muffled slightly by the scarf covering her mouth. "What’re you doing out?"

“I could ask you the same thing,” he retorts without thinking.

She blinks, taken aback by his answer. After a moment, she shrugs. “I get up early.”

“And go outside?”

“Yeah, there isn’t much to do inside when everyone’s asleep.” She turns on her heel back to the silhouette of the Seireitei. "It's also the only time I get to see this clearly too, even with all the mist and snow."

With her attention diverted, he can make a getaway. He goes to, but she speaks up again.

"Have you ever been in there?" she asks.

The question is so preposterous he can't help but snark back, "As if they'd ever let any of us wonder in there."

"Oh, so it's just Shinigami then?"

He raises a brow. "You're new around here or something?"

She nods. "I arrived two weeks ago. I'm still learning everything." She tugs the scarf over her mouth down, showing her bright red cheeks and a wide smile. He's bewildered by the latter; aside from Granny, no one had ever smiled at him before.

"I'm Hinamori Momo by the way," she says.

She waits for him to reciprocate, but he wonders further into the shadows. Perhaps she was only being friendly to him because didn't know who he was or because, more likely, she can't make out his from over there.

Her smile dims at his reaction. "Ah, sorry. I guess I just came out and spoke to you without warning. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

The light of the sunrise faintly pierces through the clouds, shining through the alleyways and making the snow dully glimmer. She'll surely see him more clearly now

"Your hair is so white!"

He scowls and rubs a hand through his spikes without realising. "What about it?"

"Ah, sorry! It's just that I've never seen hair like your before. It's like the snow."

It's about the nicest thing anyone has ever said about his appearance and he isn't sure how to take it. Furthermore, it seems no one hadn't told her about him. It would only be a matter of time before she finds out, but maybe, for even a day, for even just this hour, he could talk with another who didn't judge him for his appearance or the apparent coldness he gave off.

He steps out from the shadows and on to the main street. In half a grumble, he introduces himself. "Hitsugaya Toshiro."

She tilts her head, but then it hits her. "Oh, that's your name." Her smile returns anew. "It's nice to meet you."

With introductions out of the way, he isn't sure where to take this.

He looks to the Seireitei, feeling nothing towards it, but right now, the world only has the two of them looking at the horizon, and it makes him feel something that's as light and boundless as snow.

_______________________

Toshiro comes to a stop before he ascends the stairs to Granny’s house. He takes in the structure of it, from the roof to the ground, thankful it remains standing. He knocks on the front door, and when she doesn’t answer, he wonders to the back.

She sits on the veranda, cup of tea in hand and a bowl at her side. It’s a peaceful image, one he almost doesn’t want to disturb. She doesn’t notice him at first, too lost in thought, but she perks up as he nears.

She abandons her tea, nearly stumbles trying to meet him halfway. He rushes forward, fearing she’ll fall. “Wait, Baa-chan!”

Her voice is weak when she finally speaks. “Toshiro…you’re…” She raises her hands, cupping his face between them. Tears form in the corners of her eyes, and her lips keep twitching between a frown and a relieved smile.

“I’m okay,” he reassures, voice raspy. “Hinamori is here too, she’s just visiting Ayumi and Tatsukichi.”

She brings him into a hug. “Welcome home.”

And that does it. Biting back a sob, he hugs her back. Relief floods through him, and the weight of his duties momentarily lifts away. He will go back and do everything he can for ever soul affected, to ensure they can have a home like this again.He will remember the dead, will ensure their families are looked after and to visit every shrine to pay his respects and his gratefulness to them.

It's a minute later when she ushers him into her house and brews a fresh pot of tea. He answers all of her worried questions, and she reassure him he is doing his best everything he had to do.

Momo joins them later, grinning as she hugs Granny and then as Granny prepares her a tea.

He can't look away from her, his heart beating faster whenever she looks to him and swelling when she laughs or smiles. To know he loves her, to finally have a name for the feelings he's had towards her, has changed him.

And maybe it had come to him now because in it’s own way, whether he ever confessed to her or not, knowing how he feels about her was hope. He can feel for her anew, could continue to live by her side with a new view of who she is.

[knightfeared]

Are there any AU’s you’d like to explore but haven’t had the chance to yet?

Hoo boy . . . hmm . . . alright so off the top of my head, for muses? What comes to mind are the AUs I developed for BALLISTER, SQUALL, CHRIS & JAYCE. A lot of these I have built with others, & for future reference, I will jump usually on any chance to build a verse / au with someone and grow invested if it’s offered my way. I thrive off creating things & when I have someone to bounce ideas off & know they’re just as invested I go extra feral. Either way, buckle in, I’m going to try gushing a bit more on these below. The only reason I haven’t dug into them more as of late is fatigue on my end irl & other hyperfixations luring my attention, but they will always hold my entire heart with what’s been made for them so far.

I. BALLISTER BOLDHEART ( … ) In an AU developed lovingly with @ambrosius-goldenlion, we call it the Nemesis AU, yes that link leads to the tag if you’d like to look through it! Basically! It’s an AU where Ambrosius leans into the lies the Director feeds him & his & Bal’s dynamic overall starts to mirror their comic counterparts a lot more closely. It is a darker verse, one where Ballister lashes out, leans into his perceived Villain role a lot more readily if only out of spite, but also tries his best to clear his name without Goldenloin’s aid.

Think messy break up, but way worse because your ex is trying to quite literally kill you & wholeheartedly believes you’re a monster in human skin. Its description is . . . Butchered in how I’m describing it, but honestly, I highly urge people interested in it to poke Mako cause they pour so much love & care into it, & how they’ve put time into exploring, theorizing & building their HCS for Amb in that verse hurt my soul but inspire me & blow me away.

II. SQUALL LEONHART ( … ) For Squall, I actually have a handful of AU’s I’d love to do more with! One on Discord rn, I am building up with @wayfaringnobody & @myristicisms for a zombie apocalypse au with Zack & Roxas with Squall where it’s a lot of found family mixed in with angst through trying to survive in a harsh world.

For another with him, I have a few lovely AU’s made again with Mako over at @defiant-ex-soldiers for a werewolf AU with Squall & Cloud, & another one where they’re both forced to marry & are the respective leaders of their nations needing to band together in the face of war coming both their ways.

Another is our beloved Ghost AU that has Squall acting as a wandering spirit tethered to his griever pendant. Unable to move on, he relies on Cloud’s help in unraveling the mystery behind his death so he can move on & stop haunting his home.

Another is one I’m building up with @reveromantique’s Seifer, more for their verse with Seifer holding Sorceress abilities & Squall steps up to try helping him anchor & control those flaring abilities. It leads to Knighting & a bunch of other fun angsty goodness but so far those two have been stabbing me right in the heart with each reply.

Either way, I’d love to poke more at these. There’s even a few KH ones like Leon’s Nobody verse too, I just have trouble trying to poke people to get things started for it or how to flesh it out more then what I have so far 😔

III. CHRIS REDFIELD ( … ) I just talked to friends on Disco about this—- LEGIT— but I do have a Rogue Agent verse for Chris I’d absolutely love to explore more of. Basically he decides to go rogue from the BSAA & slips into More mercenary work, striking vigilante Justice in his own way in taking down cropping up bio-research facilities that tackle things similar to Umbrella/Tricell/Neo-Umbrella research.

He’s realized post RE5/RE6 that nothing will change if left as they are now, things will continue in a long cycle unless he takes initiative to take out the threats before they have a chance to strike out. He also realizes that the government seems to be peddling a lot of incidents or brushing them under the rug, hence his more vicious, angry nature in this verse. Also a very early awakening to realizing the BSAA is no better than those companies they try to stop, building their own collection of bioweapons. He basically just takes his fight against Bioterrorism & turns it into a one man war.

IIII. JAYCE TALIS ( … ) ALL I HAVE TO SAY IS I HAVE SEEN ART FOR JAYCE & VIK BEING SWAPPED VIA ZAUN!JAYCE & PILTOVER!VIKTOR & SWIRLING THOUGHTS ON HOW TO DO A THING WITH THAT HAVE NOT LEFT ME—

*♡ Munday Meme ♡. 📨

[uzumaki-rebellion]

Preview! “Shadowed Beneath Our Hand”

A little sneak peek! Getting new stuff prepped in time for the “Wakanda Forever” premiere. This will be out at the end of the month.

C.W.: NSFW. 18+. Smut.

Summary:

King M’Baku, leader of the Jabari tribe high in the mountains overlooking Wakanda, has a lot on his mind lately. His beloved wife and confidante Ayomide is expecting twins in two months, adding a total of nine children to his growing brood. He is also licking his wounds after losing Challenge Day and a chance to take over the lands beneath him. When a Jabari fisherman arrives at the palace with a catch he was least expecting to pull out of a river, M’Baku is thrust into a position he never thought he would find himself in: Decider of the fate of Wakanda.

"The ladies on my elbow ain't for the show Every madame on my team is a top general, oh Got to be ready for war, war Should they get into my door, door? Get 'em, we'll get 'em, I know that we'll get 'em Cause I lived through this shit before, oh

I'm a Classic Man You can be mean when you look this clean I'm a Classic Man Calling on me like a young OG I'm a Classic Man Your needs get met by the street, elegant old fashioned man Yeah baby I'm a Classic Man"

Jidenna – "Classic Man"

M'Baku Òkè of the Jabari tribe slumped down low on his throne, rubbing the injured knuckles of his left hand. Swollen and still bruised, he grimaced from the pain radiating all across his massive body. More than anything, the biggest ache he nursed was his shattered ego. None of his royal attendants made eye contact, fearing his mood. Even his most trusted guards avoided stirring up his wrath over the public defeat at the hands of the Panther Tribe's new king, T'Challa Udaku.

He stepped his solid frame down from the throne, shaking his thick thighs as he ambled behind the royal seat and looked down through the glass floor. A giant gorilla carved out of the mountain held part of the palace above the clouds and he gazed into the cloud-laden abyss below. Hidden underneath was Wakanda, the land that could've been his. How bold he had been to show up! No Jabari king had ever come down the mountain for centuries, but M'Baku had the urge to flex his might for his people. The Panther tribe moved too recklessly before the death of King T'Chaka and M'Baku was set on smashing their endless hereditary rule by snatching the throne away and returning the whole of Wakanda back to the traditions they once held before vibranium took over their culture.

Ah, there!

An opening in the clouds gave M'Baku a peek at the tops of Warrior Falls. The place of his crushing defeat. He sighed. Only the great God, Hanuman, knew why he could not beat the spoiled prince. The moment M'Baku held T'Challa's waist in a powerful hold and bashed his face bloody with the gorilla mask, the Jabari king knew he'd won the fight. The prince was no match in stature or strength, and yet somehow, under the gaze of Hanuman, Bast, Sekhmet, and the ancestors, Prince T'Challa claimed his throne, rendering M'Baku a failure before his people.

His council of elders chastised him for wanting to go down the mountain in the first place. His beloved wife, Ayomide, warned him about seeking a foothold in the world below them. Her belly stretched with two of his babies resting inside of her womb and she fussed at him for daring to mingle with the flatlanders.

"You are a fool to go there," Ayomide grumbled at him.

Lying on their warm bed deep inside of their mountain chamber, M'Baku rubbed her stomach and cooed gentle words to their twins who gave up kicking their Mama's insides to get her attention. Ayomide glared at him with blistering heat behind her eyes. She had the nature of a goddess and the beauty of a darkening sunset. The woman also carried the wisdom of the elders he admired in his council, and he often conferred with her before making any decisions for their people. He stroked the skin of her arm and stared into her dark, flashing eyes.

"It is time they witness the might of the Jabari," M'Baku proclaimed.

"Why get mixed up with those people? They are not worthy of our security and happiness if we take over ruling them. We are too different," she lamented.

"There is a new day coming, my love. I should be the one to lead it."

In his mind, M'Baku wanted to lay Wakanda at his wife's feet. She endured an eighth pregnancy carrying two children this time, and her patience was not what it used to be with him. He was even made to use concubines to pleasure himself because she refused to make love to him with his mind on humbling T'Challa and the Wakandans. Inside their bedchamber, he lifted a lover chosen by her, up and down on his tree trunk thighs, parting the wet folds of pliant pussy as she reclined next to him, watching the interaction and guiding the other woman on what to do to please him.

The girth of his dick wore out the concubine, and she whimpered with glassy eyes, staring at his wife while he thrust up into her, his heavy balls slapping against her ass. M'Baku allowed the woman to rest on his broad chest and he leaned over to kiss Ayomide, but his wife turned her head away playfully and squeezed her full breasts for him to keep his arousal going. He preferred to make love to her, spooning behind her and plunging into her slick, engorged heat while rubbing on her burgeoning belly. He could cum so fast just from rocking into her wide backside for five or six shallow strokes. She punished him instead by giving him one of her trusted concubines. Ayomide indulged in lovemaking with other women that they often shared. However, since her latest pregnancy, he only wanted her to himself. Talks of facing T'Challa cooled her ardor, and she sent him her favorite women to play with.

Alas, T'Challa humbled him before the world. Ayomide would probably put him out of her bed and cut off her women for him out of spite.

M'Baku concentrated on the sun dropping lower on the horizon. He spread out his large hand, letting it cover a portion of the Wakandan territory that should've been his at that moment. It cast a shadow on the glass, reflecting his meaty fingers back to him. From his position, he embraced the sensation of floating on the clouds above the world. Such a tiny-looking nation from where he perched hidden behind his hand, so high in the heavens. Yes… heaven. Eluigwe. That's what the Jabarilands were. Wakanda, no matter how technically advanced and powerful they were, couldn't compare to the mountain of heaven that cast shadows over them.

M'Baku balled his hand into a fist. He was still the Jabari king. He was still the leader of a mighty nation. Another snow cloud drifted across the vast swathe of mountain sky, and the first gentle flakes of fresh snow fell to add more powdery layers to the accumulated inches that arrived after his humiliating defeat.

"Eze M'Baku…"

The timid voice of a male attendant broke into his reverie. M'Baku turned and Nebechi, his favorite throne room assistant, held his hands up in deference.

"What is it?" M'Baku said.

"My Eze, your wife, Eze Nwaanyi Ayomide, is here to see you."

Nebechi stood with downcast eyes, his bulky body just as large as M'Baku.

"Tell her I am busy," M'Baku said, turning back toward the window, watching the snow flurries increase.

"You will do no such thing."

Ayomide's voice startled him. M'Baku cut his eyes at Nebechi for not warning him that the Eze Nwaanyi, queen, was already there. He waved an agitated hand at Nebechi, and the man scooted away quickly.

The queen stood near his throne with two female attendants and her personal consort, Ijemma. M'Baku could not tear his eyes away from his wife. The glow of her pregnancy made her seem otherworldly. Nubian knots were twisted and decorated with moonstone crystals with hints of blue deep inside the alabaster color. A long robe made of reddish-brown antelope hide and decorated with a fluffy fur collar protected Ayomide and their babies as she moved around the cooler parts of the palace and her treks outside. He noticed the melting flakes of snow glistening around her shoulders. The other women had on coarse leather coats and furry boots decorated with dark glass beads.

M'Baku lumbered his body over to Ayomide and held her outstretched hands. He kissed her cheeks, then her lips with passionate affection. Her demeanor was pleasant and for once since his return from Wakanda days before, she smiled at him. He leaned over and kissed her consort on the cheek, and Ijemma bowed to him.

"You have graced me with a smile, my love. Am I forgiven?" M'Baku asked.

Ayomide smirked, then rubbed her belly with tender hands.

"You are the king of kings, my husband. I cannot stay cross with you forever, so I came to spoil you with my affections. Ijemma is here with me, so we can all spend some time together. I can pamper you and she will please you in my place."

"The babies are being difficult today?" M'Baku asked.

She sensed the disappointment in his voice. He wanted to pleasure her alone and make up for his rash decision to fight on challenge day.

"There is some discomfort. When there are two instead of one, things exhaust me faster," Ayomide said.

"My Eze, M'Baku, if you wish for me to not share your bed with you and the queen tonight, I can come another time when you need me," Ijemma said.

"Whatever the queen wants, I will do," M'Baku said, staring at Ayomide with longing and lust.

"How you like to be with me… with all of this astounds me," Ayomide said, palming her belly with exaggeration.

M'Baku nuzzled his beard against her face, his fluffy lips seeking her lush mouth.

"Easy, my love," Ayomide said, catching her breath after he released her lips.

"Come, you shouldn't be on your feet much longer. I'll take you to our bedchamber and we can get you comfortable," M'Baku said, cradling her hand.

"Two more months and they will be here, and I can have my body back to myself," Ayomide teased.

"Eze M'Baku!"

Otito, his lead guard, ran into the throne room, shaking snow from his wide shoulders. His leather and furs showed everyone that the snowdrift had stayed for the evening. His fur boots were packed with icy whiteness. Out of breath, Otito waved toward the entrance.

"A fisherman found a body down below and brought it here," Otito rushed out.

"Someone drowned in the waters?" Ayomide asked.

Otito shook his head and M'Baku became worried. Otito was not one to act flustered and excited about anything.

"Please, come see for yourself!" Otito said.

M'Baku followed his guard out of the throne room. Three more guards waited just outside of the door, their faces displaying bewilderment.

"All this for a body fished out of the river?" M'Baku barked.

Ayomide and her women followed him and M'Baku kept a gentle hand over hers, not walking too fast to exhaust her. They moved through the wide halls and made their way to the palace entrance, which was in the shape of a giant gorilla head. More guards stood at the palace entrance with the snowfall covering their bodies.

"Eze M'Baku!"

A young Jabari fisherman with a strong back and strong features lugged a heavy sled behind him. Instead of cold fish caught for him to sell at the market, a body covered in snow and thick furs rested on it.

"I found him. He washed up on shore. He may be dead…."

The fisherman explained his situation, but M'Baku pulled back the furs.

"Glory to Hanuman," M'Baku huffed out.

There, in the falling snow, covered in patches of crystalline ice, with bruised flesh and a fresh stab wound on his side, laid the King of Wakanda, T'Challa Udaku.

"Is he dead?" Ayomide asked.

"Take the queen inside, now!" M'Baku ordered.

Ayomide's attendants and consort ushered his wife back through the gorilla head. M'Baku towered over the young fisherman.

"Tell no one you found him," M'Baku said.

The fisherman nodded. M'Baku's mind spun in a thousand directions. How did this happen to T'Challa? The great Jabari king himself had only fought him a few days ago. Was he assassinated?

M'Baku reached down and touched the new king's skin. Frozen and hard like the ice he floated in before the fisherman pulled him out. The Jabari king quickly covered T'Challa's body.

"Take him to my Hall of Meditation. Let's see if we can save him," M'Baku commanded.

The king's guards took the sled away from the fisherman and pulled it east toward his private spiritual retreat.

"Go with them. They will return your sled and furs, and remember," M'Baku pointed a threatening finger at the man, "not a word to anyone."

The fisherman held up his hands in deference and scurried away, tugging down on his coat to keep the snow from freezing him more. A cold sensation chillier than the snow crept over M'Baku. If T'Challa was near death, and put that way on purpose, who was leading Wakanda? The girl child, Shuri? Ramonda? M'Baku stomped his way through two feet of snow to the Hall of Meditation. T'Challa probably wouldn't make it through the night. He would worry about Wakanda later.

Hope you enjoyed the preview!