#because girl you are like kintsugi pottery. the gold holding your pieces together is beautiful

[deargravity]

i don’t want hajun to be mysterious, beautiful and elusive. i want him to see his messy, fractured moments. no more bare minimum details. i need to be acquainted with visceral details of his childhood.

give me 13 year old hajun in japan, alone and confused and still convinced that this whole thing is a ruse and his parents will come get him eventually. i need 14 year old hajun still clinging onto the hope that if he’s good enough and proves himself his parents will take him back. i want 15 year old hajun disabused of all his faith in his parents and realising home is nowhere now, and he is fundamentally unwantable unless he learns to wear the right masks and say the right things. little hajun who had to figure everything out by himself, while knowing his existence made no difference to his parents back home anyway. now it’s his life and the only person to whom it matters is himself.

i wonder if he had a phase where his anger was just like dongha’s — wet, guttural, thrashing, amorphous. when exactly did it take shape into the cold, sharp thing it is today? i want him slowly getting sick of breaking his own heart with his own wanting. i want him meeting allen and experiencing the terror of caring for someone for the first time. i want him falling back on the “vengeance on my parents” narrative because he can’t admit to himself that allen and anne appeared in his life at a time when his walls weren’t fully up yet and now they’re here to stay after he’s so carefully built himself up to avoid abandonment by avoiding intimacy altogether. i want to see him growing up and retreating slowly further and further into himself the more he realises he won’t be able to survive losing allen and anne, i want him disgusted by his own wanting and uncomfortable with himself but so distanced from his own feelings that the only way he can process / experience anything close to it is by antagonising others to create congruent reactions within them just so he knows what it’s like to feel something.

i want him alone in his room and suddenly so crushed by emotion but incapable of identifying them because he never grew up with the tools to define his own experience. maybe that’s also why making music with bae matters to him (since their theme revolves around taking charge of your own narrative). he built himself a sense of self from scratch and still he couldn’t outgrow his childhood fear of being unwanted. yeah he’s sadistic and callous and morally dubious, but he wasn’t born that way. i am asking once again i need the visceral detail. the guts of it. but i may be crazy.

[hawksugarbaby]

Todoroki x reader- Fix you with gold

Angst + Villain reader Au

Quirk: kintsugi- you can manipulate strings of gold hardening it as soon as you need to you can also remelt it.

Crimson lights flooded the bare brick room as you watched from the corner waiting for your dear hero to wake up. Shoto todoroki. You had been well acquainted a few years back. When you haven't been coined as (y/n) (y/ln) the UA traitor but now, well not so much for obvious reasons.

Thankfully, the boy you had once loved more than anything was chained up against a chair with his head hanging low avoiding the glare of the red filter. No no this isn't your boring old yandere simulator storyline. You had no intentions of killing everyone who looked at your dear peppermint boy, you had no of killing him because you loved him that was just absolutely ridiculous... no, you were killing him because he was a hero. But was he really?

Your chair screeched as you pulled it along behind you appearing from your corner and sitting yourself down drinking a lovely tea from a beautiful porcelain cup... well, beauty is subjective. "Good morning shoto" you greeted, your cheery attitude slipping between your grit teeth. Yes, today would be a good day "lovely day, isn't it? For a little chit chat hm?" silence. Once again your response was silence "oh come on my little hero I know you're not dead. Yet" it was a fun game you two had. You would talk, he would not, but all your conversations were rather one-sided and you decided chess was more fun with 2 people. Today was going to be the day you broke him once again.

"Shoto, are you interested in what would happen to you if you keep up this silly game of silence?" you asked and finished off the tea spinning the handle around your index finger. You stood up and launched the cup against the wall fragmenting into small pieces that rained down like drops of blood, he winced knowing that the cup was expensive and not easily found. rich boys and their pottery. "I wonder how easily you shatter compared to a teacup. Shall we find out?"

You put your finger on his chin and forced his head up to look at you. His mismatched eyes bore into you with sadness "I used to love you" he whispered. You let go of him and maniacal laugh erupted from inside you which bounced off the walls into his ears "Shoto you still love me. You want me to change my ways and go back to the way I was, maybe join you as your sidekick hm?" he looked at you his eyes wide with the kindling of hope "WELL NEWSFLASH HERO I never was that girl. I was a lie, a book wrote and edited to suit you" you watched as the hope dwindled away the kindles blowing out in the icy wind of your words you leaned down to his ear and whispered "everything you saw in me was an illusion. I could never be a hero, do you know why? Because heroes aren't real"

you stood back up stretching your arms behind your back a Cheshire smile graced your face. "you still have so much time to join me sho, no ones coming to find you, dearest" you sat back down on your chair leaning forward on your hand "you're a villain (y/n) there isn't a way in hell you could convince me to come to your side" you bit the inside of your cheek and pushed yourself off the chair and walking up to him, your face barely inches apart. You kicked his chair over, flicking a butterfly knife out holding it close to his neck "NO. I'M THE GOOD GUY HERE I-IM THE GOOD ONE. YOUR NO HERO I'M CLOSER TO A HERO THAN YOU'LL EVER BE" you spat while he struggled on his back like a helpless tortoise. You were in the right of course you were. Heroes aren't real anymore just read the news the hierarchy was crumbling and the ones who were at the top had the furthest to fall.

No one needs saviours anymore. "Your insane (y/n) your sick please just let me help you" you hated it when they told you that "SHUT UP. I'M NOT I'M NOT I'M NOT. I'M NORMAL. YOU'RE THE SICK ONE YOU KNOW WHY" you pushed the knife up drawing pinpricks of blood that trickled to the floor slowly "because you crave to feed a hunger you cannot satisfy. You want to save as many people as possible, lock up all the villains yes?" he couldn't look away from the intense expression that hadn't left your face since he told you you were a villain "what happens when you lock up the villains hm? When you run out of people to save? Who runs wild through the city then? You pump out heroes every day leaving less and less for you and between you and me it looks like your going to run out of us soon" you pulled the knife back and todoroki released the breath stored up. Now he looked at it, you weren't wrong? What would happen when the villains disappeared. The heroes that were supposed to make people feel safe no matter what had struck fear into the hearts of every civilian in the world, no one dared to steal, to murder, to light their fires across the country for them to trace back to a warehouse in the middle of the wood?

No, he couldn't be thinking about that. He was a hero through and through you wouldn't change his mind with a petty butterfly knife. You scoffed at his pathetic state squirming under you and stood up pulling his chair back up along with you "you're still so handsome shoto, it really would be the biggest shame to ruin you" you sighed remembering a time when you truly wanted to be with him no matter what. But your ideologies just weren't compatible. "Do you know what happens when you mix bleach and rubbing alcohol?" you pulled a bottle of anti-septic out of your pocket and slipped a white cloth down from your sleeve to your hand "no answer? Or are you being ignorant again" he pursed his lips keeping his words sealed in the front of his mouth "fine. Let me show you." you poured the anti-septic on the cloth and walked up to the gorgeous boy in front of you stooping down "last chance my love" he looked at the wall and you groaned in annoyance. You forced the cloth in front of his mouth and nose and smiled sweetly "you make chloroform"

Day 2

Well, it turns out yesterday wasn't the day. But he was getting close you could feel it, you would take a slightly softer approach today there was another name for this, manipulation. "Morning shoto, are you feeling chatty today?" he looked up from his chair quickly when you entered. Despite what others thought, you weren't completely heartless, you would bring him food and water, and for a hostage, it was pretty good food. Maybe it was the remnants of your love that made you treat him differently. You unlocked his chains and passed him his plate. He knew there was no chance of escape, he had tried and failed a hundred times, he couldn't use his quirk in this room, and you were waiting around every corner when he tried to run.

"You know what I really don't understand shoto?" you wandered around the ruby room admiring the walls that kept him inside "when I first met you you said you despised your father and you would go against him in every way possible" he ceased eating at the mention of his father his appetite suddenly lost in the crowd of emotions "so why even become a hero. Why did you not run off? be the opposite of what he ever told you to be?" you were getting there you could feel it ripping through the air. He was lost, and confused? Who did he want to be? Certainly not anything like his father? Why did he ever want to be a hero? To save children who had to bear what he bore, why should he care for them if no hero ever cared for him "as I see it your father is worse than ever is he not? He lost Touya, he can't find you, he's wearing fuyumi and natsuo away desperate to have his perfect creation. Wouldn't now be the best time to join me sho" the plate hit the floor splitting apart just like his own sanity. Here we go. This would be so fun.

You sat cross-legged on the floor in front of him and picked up the pieces of the broken plate stacking them in your hand "you've heard of kintsugi I assume?" of course he had he grew up with everything, he nodded hesitantly his dual coloured fringe hanging in front of his eye as he leaned over watching you intently. You started laying the pieces of the plate out like a jigsaw fitting them together perfectly "if you just took my offer sho..." you started pushing the pieces together and lines of gold brushed over the old cracks, you lifted up the plate and put it on his lap "I could fix you up with gold" you whispered he gulped and traced his finger over the gold that welded the plate making it better than before. "We could get to know each other again. Love each other REALLY love each other shoto please I'm begging you" you really hated playing the broken lover card especially to someone you truly did love, and of course, you wanted to know him all over again but the begging really was a chore you had to fake so much emotion.

"I-i missed you (y/n) I really did I want you to come back to me the way you were before. Don't do this please" he begged. He knew this was it. He couldn't hang on any longer he had missed you for so long he couldn't stand being away from you again and ... you were right! Why should he strive to be a hero when none had ever cared for him when he was almost dead, beaten up by his own father who had the audacity to call himself a hero. He was nothing more than the creature to be puppeteered by Viktor Frankenstein. "THIS IS ME. can't you see that shoto this is who I am? The way I was before was fictional I tailored for you" you brushed your hand across his scarred cheek and brushed his hair out of his face "but you could know me, you could love me like this, couldn't you. You just need to join my side."

he looked at you, taking in your details for the first time in 4 years. You're (e/c) orbs didn't even try to attempt hiding the craziness behind them, the way your grin had a sadistic twist that could make any god coil in fear, your (h/l) (h/c) that was matted and bloody, the way the red light mimicked the bloodlust radiating off of you, yet he could still find comfort in it. "I want to know you," he said in his low monotone voice. The breaking point. You were his breaking point. "Let's get to know each other then hm?"

[wingardium-letmefuckyou]

Like The Stars Miss The Sun In The Morning Sky (Mitsuhide x MC)

Summary: The irony is that sometimes when you are afraid to lose someone, you lose them exactly because of that...

Words: 1498

Warnings: break up, anxiety, but there is a happy ending

Notes:

These are going to be the longest notes I've ever written at the start of a fic... I had the honour to meet a man who reminded me lot of Ikesen's Mitsuhide. He was a wonderful, intelligent man who lived by his own principles and a delightful tease who could hypnotize me with his voice alone. He was so generous with his affections. He was also someone who worked so hard, who gave everything he had to help others at the expense of himself, his mental and physical health and his freetime. Sounds a lot like Mitsuhide no? I also had the honour to date him for a while and he made my life so much more interesting, wonderful and magical. But we do not live in an otome game and real life is shit sometimes. As if starting to date during a pandemic wasn't hard enough already there is also the fact that we're both damaged humans. I'm not an MC in a game and I have my fears, insecurities and past trauma's and I make mistakes. And neither is he a perfect love interest in a game, he's just as human as I am and he makes mistakes too. So yeah, this is me writing about my own heartbreak, about dealing with the pain and guilt of losing someone you were so afraid to lose. Because it hurts like hell, waking up every morning and realizing you (both) screwed up and someone you hold so dear is no longer part of your life. So if Mitsuhide feels a bit out of character, you know why.

I did give the story a happy ending, because it's a story and while real life doesn't always have a happy ending I felt like the story still deserved one. Let's spread more happiness and love in these horrible times. I hope that one day I get to the point where MC is stronger because of what happened to her, that would be a great happy ending for me. Slowly, step by step I'm getting there. And who knows... maybe... one day...

It was in that moment, when their gazes met and the universe shifted just a little and everything felt right and good and wonderful, that she realized she needed Mitsuhide in her life. And for a while, a blissful while, he was. Until he wasn’t. Neither and both were to blame, although she would blame herself for a very long time, letting the guilt eat at her heart and soul like a slow poison. Never really sure where she stood with Mitsuhide, she had grown insecure and anxious that one day he would leave her, slipping through her fingers. How ironic really, how her fear of losing him had led to exactly that. She had never meant what she said, never meant to sound ungrateful, never meant to blame him for her own insecurities. All she wanted to hear was that they were okay, that the fox was hers just as she was his. Fear can make you a monster, clawing its way out in venomous words while all the monster wants is to be soothed with love and reassurance.

And so she found herself as she was now, sobbing into Hideyoshi’s shoulder, hot tears burning a path on her cheeks. “I... I lost him...,” was all she managed to choke out. Hideyoshi was drawing soothing circles on her back, for once clueless about what to do to make his favourite chatelaine feel better. It was devastating to see her like that, curling up in herself in a futile attempt to keep the shards of her broken heart together.

Days went by and her heart stayed broken. She wanted to explain to Mitsuhide what had happened and make things right again. They could talk this out and continue their story, of that she was sure. If only he would let her. But Mitsuhide was in the middle of an important mission for Nobunaga, barely having hours left to spare to eat or sleep, let alone to listen to a scared and insecure girl. She would have to wait.

And wait she did. She would run into him at the castle from time to time, her eyes meeting his and longing for the familiarity of the way he had looked at her when they had been lovers. One day, she tried to stop him in the hallway, wanting nothing more than to simply ask him how he was doing. The question was well meant, she did still worry for him and his well being but for the first time in her life she saw panic in his eyes while he tried his hardest to get away from her as swiftly as possible. Needles went through her soul. The embers of hopefulness that had been smouldering brightly inside her diminished slowly as time went by and she started to realize that Mitsuhide had no intention of actually giving her a chance. The pieces of her heart that had been salvaged together with the glue of a fool's hope shattered again.

The other warlords did everything they could to distract her and make her happy. Masamune cooked all her favourites, Mitsunari was his sweetest and kindest self, Ieyasu let her pet Wasabi, Sasuke visited her more often and brought little trinkets, Nobunaga even shared his secret stash of konpeito with her. Hideyoshi, her dear best friend, was always there to listen to her and lend her his shoulder. Letting her speak out when her brain was running in circles, letting her cry when the pain was too much to keep inside. She felt like Mitsuhide had taken part of her soul, leaving her incomplete. Oh and she missed him… She longed for his teasing, for the ways he could make her shake with laughter and smile with glee. She yearned to hear him read stories to her like he used to, immersing himself in the act like a true performer. She wished she could tell him about her day and all the mundane things that happened to her and hear him do the same in return. She just wanted to hear his voice, that voice she had grown to love so much.

Time passed by, day by day and somehow she got accustomed to the feeling of constantly drowning. She was tired, so tired, but with the support of her friends she kept paddling, her head barely above the water. Until one day she found that she could swim. Not long or far but for just a moment the movements came easily and she went forward. The next day she tried again and she went forward and then the following day she did the same. Some days were easier than others, the water calm and gentle. Other days she could barely manage, feeling like she was trying to swim through a storm. But she kept trying, day after day. The mornings hurt the most, waking up when her heart and mind were at their most raw and vulnerable and realizing that Mitsuhide was no longer part of her life. But every morning she shouldered through, determined to face the day with courage and grace.

The warlords were relieved to see her ease into herself again, to see her smile and genuinely enjoy her life. Yes, she would indeed never be the same again but while she shone with a different light now, it was just as beautiful as it used to be. Like true kintsugi pottery, the gold that filled the scars in her soul made her who she was. Broken but mended and more stunning than before. She was human and perfectly imperfect.

She has stopped counting how long ago it was that she had last seen or heard Mitsuhide. While a small part of her would always long for him, he was no longer in the forefront of her mind, the pain no longer consuming her every waking moment. She cherishes the peacefulness of being able to concentrate on her hobbies and herself, to feel like she is living again. With utmost concentration she pulls needle and thread through the fabric of the kimono she’s making and almost misses the sound of the door sliding open. It is only when she looks up that she realizes who is standing in her room, her breath hitching in her throat.

 “Mitsuhide…”

 He kneels in front of her and while she used to pray for this moment in the past, she now feels oddly calm. No fear, no anxiety, just the certainty that whatever happens next she can handle.

 “What are you doing here?”

 “I… I miss you.”

 Mitsuhide looks at her, his golden eyes meeting her own. She can spot no lies in them, no deceit or teasing, only honesty and an open vulnerability.

 “You left me alone for a long time. No closure, no chance to work things out.”

 It’s an observation she makes, not an accusation. While it had hurt and cost her a lot to get where she now was, she could never bring herself to hate him or even be angry. That was not her way.

 “I know and I am sorry. I was afraid, afraid of the intensity of your love. Afraid that I could never answer it, that you would always love me more than I love you. Afraid that one day you would realize that and see that you deserved better.”

 The words baffle her. How would one start to measure love anyways?

 “You literally ran away from me when I tried to simply talk to you. Why?”

 She needs answers, needs to ask the questions that kept her mind burning for so long even if they do no longer.

 “Because it was so hard to stay away from you and if I had stopped to talk to you, if I had dared to look at you then I would not have been able to resist you.”

 Mitsuhide looks at his knees, at his trembling hands resting upon his legs. Then he looks at her again and he sees her, sees her for who she truly is. A phoenix risen from the flames.

 “I didn’t realize it at the time. I just thought I was too busy and that you would only give me trouble. I believed I had no time to help you or be what I thought I had to be for you. I was a fool, you never needed my help to begin with. I see now that I was wrong, I know that I wasn’t running from you, I was running from myself.”

 “Oh Mitsuhide... “

 Her hand reaches out tentatively to rest upon his own, the warmth of her skin seeping into his. She is no longer the same woman, no longer the frightened mouse that succumbed to anxiety. She is more, she is stronger. And she finally feels that she is capable of truly loving Mitsuhide, unconditionally and unafraid.

His eyes meet hers again and the universe shifts just a little and everything feels right and good and wonderful.

[what-is-sibling-test]

from 'RittenhouseTL' for all things Timeless https://ift.tt/2pMvPjG via Istudy world

kintsugi

Because I just watched the episode and I have Emotions. Mostly Wyatt introspection with some Lyatt and Wyatt/Jessica (Jyatt?) Also for my ladies @sweetestinthegale, @jonathansnowflakes, @wedlakeserenities, and @lucys-preston.

There’s a Japanese art called kintsugi. The point of it is to restore broken pottery, to take pieces and weld them back together with gold. With lacquer, with silver, with platinum dust, with things to fill the cracks and make them shine. To treat the breaks and the damage as the history of an object, to make it more beautiful for its fractures, to not try to disguise it, but celebrate it. The shattered edges become the most fragile and lovely part.

Wyatt Logan has always thought this sounds like bullshit.

Breakage is not beautiful, and damage cannot be undone. He grew up in a Texas double-wide with a father who liked to hit. The dishes were always broken and nothing precious would last very long. He got a model Millennium Falcon when he was ten, saved up his miserly allowance for months, put it together carefully with glue and toothpicks, and his father smashed it that night. Wyatt still remembers the taste of the tears choked in his throat as he picked up the plastic bits and tried to see if there was enough left to salvage.

(There wasn’t. There never was.)

Then it was the broken cars, the jigsaw of disassembled engines, his cut fingers picking through grease and bolts, putting it back together because his dad wouldn’t let him come home until they were done. Tightening the wrench and turning the screws. Broken things, broken toys, broken plates, broken homes, broken boys. Tried to break his father’s beer bottles once, take away the one thing the bastard loved the most, and only sliced his hand to the bone.

Then it was the drug-smuggling, the runs across the border late at night, people out of their mind on cocaine, slumped against the wall of some no-account Juarez alleyway, and Wyatt’s the one coming there, white boy with the nice car, and he’s the one who keeps feeding the beast and surviving everything that kills the rest of them, because he’s too much a cuss to die. He’s barely an inch away from breaking himself. Drinks, gets suspended from school, misses his prom, all that’s left for him is the obituary in the paper when he takes a turn too fast and crashes his car – broken, the only real way to end –

And then he steals his dad’s car and drives it into a lake, and comes out of the cold water like baptism, and goes into a little church down some dusty Texas lane, collapses into the pew, and cries until he can’t breathe, and changes.

(So he thinks.)

Then there’s the determination to go straight. There’s enlisting in the Army, and there’s meeting Jessica, and there’s throwing himself into everything, he has to do this now, he can’t waste it, he has to be good now, he has to be good, he has to be good. Takes all the responsibility and volunteers for all the missions and sees more broken things, more broken people, a little girl in Fallujah who will cry for nights on end in his head because the IED has gone off and she’s missing both her legs. Buddies twisted and maimed, healthy young men turned into hollow-eyed cripples, Wyatt slapping them on the arm and telling them they still look great, he’d never know, he’d never know. You cannot escape broken things in the Army. They surround you, inexorable. They are all your friends.

(The rest come home with flags on their coffins, and sometimes that doesn’t sound so bad.)

There’s Jessica, and they love each other, but they fight. Wyatt drinks, is jealous, and holds grudges. He takes the opportunity of his missions to duck out of really talking to her. They are the closest thing to best that either of them has been, and yet, Jessica comes from a broken home too, dad walked out on her mom (lucky her, Wyatt thinks, lucky her) and they’re two scared kids who cling together, who try so hard, who love, who love –

And then Jessica’s gone too, and it just doesn’t matter a fucking fuck at all.

Until then, until now, until Lucy Preston.

Wyatt’s ignored it for… forever, because of course. But Lucy is brave, and she’s beautiful, and she’s just part of him, her and Rufus, a way to fit into the empty spaces of him that have stood vacant for years like crumbling temples. She is Lucy, she has cracks upon cracks, her life is a lie, and yet she’s still out there standing up. It makes her more, somehow. It makes her shine.

It’s looking at her as she sings in that white dress – it even has the veins of gold, the broken pieces patched back together – to a roomful of people in 1941 Hollywood but it might as well be just them, that Wyatt Logan believes in kintsugi.

It’s Lucy’s laugh and smile by Hedy Lamarr’s pool, and then it’s her arms around his neck, and it’s them falling into the bed, it’s the taste of her mouth and the feel of her against him and the stars are burning and falling and this is it, he can breathe and it doesn’t hurt. It fizzes and echoes through his veins like champagne and thunder, and his hands on her and hers on him and god, and god, he can’t stop wishing that they met like normal people. Not in the middle of this fight for eternity, in a battle that takes no days off, no hours, where all of time has been made irrelevant. Where you can’t stop and can’t remember what’s come before or behind, and he’s dreaming, he’s dreaming, he’s –

(He’s dreaming. He has to be dreaming.)

Because it’s a bar and it’s Jessica and she’s alive and she’s breathing on her own and she turns to him, and she stares, and of course he’s rushing forward, he’s grasping hold of her, he’s stunned – she lets him hug her, doesn’t respond, too shocked even as he has to be – this, now, Wyatt tells himself. This is what matters. This is what he will fight for. The real broken edges, his chance to mend them properly, the one thing he’s been stepping into that godforsaken time machine for, over and over – he will believe that there is more than the brokenness now. He sees the kintsugi now. He will. He does.

(In his head, Lucy sings.)