#cw; war mention

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Link to me going over what I think is important in the tome can be found here ❤

Now here's where I just dump about my own speculations and how it applies to how I write Danny.

I think it's quite obvious from his tome that his dad was a Vietnam war veteran who came back only to be met with mockery which as far as I know from anecdotal stories was pretty common. And his mother being notably absent from being mentioned despite how much he idolizes his father I think it's fair to say she's dead. I would say she's just not in the picture, but I think he would've ranted about it for a good bit especially with how he talks about the nuclear family.

So Danny grew up in a single parent household with a father who whether it be due to some under-specified mental illness or just because he's just a horrible person wanted his son to be exactly like him. To go to war for stories and metals. To kill other people and see the horrors like he had. With the offhanded mention of drills and boot camps becoming too much during a camping trip one time and Danny killing him, I don't think it's a stretch to say he was abused.

Plus the whole throw away line of: "He just wanted the horror to end. He wanted his life back." Shows that there's something more underlying to him listening to those stories. The stories were the only respite he had from the chaos of his life, he's never had a safe space to just exist and be a kid. He's never had a place to process emotions and violence against others is so normalized to him it only makes sense for him to at the very least act out. Yet he takes it to such an extreme extent.

War stories his father wanted him to follow him in making turn into headlines about his own murders. Him channeling his own trauma and abuse unknowingly into his craft to the point where he feels personally insulted if anyone makes fun of it. Three people making a parody paper drags him back to when he killed his dad in the woods due to the chaos of everything coming to a head. A simple parody is enough to bring back emotions he thought he had crushed and buried a long time ago. Pieces of himself he didn't want to see again.

He bottles them back up, but the ugly human parts of him still remain. He knows a part of him knows that what happened to him growing up wasn't normal. Not just the boot camps, the drills, the screaming about how he has to follow his dad's footsteps be a good boot boy and earn medals he can bring home. Repeating the cycle that his father did before him. Just another soldier returning home from war knowingly they'll never feel the same at home again and everyone will point and laugh, because he's just so weak he can't handle it.

Danny still struggles to separate himself from his dad, constantly living in his shadow, doing what he's been told and what's been berated into him. He's lived so many names and lives that it's hard to find himself, not the ghost, just... Danny. And in modern Robin really does give him this safe space to be himself, just the fucked up little pieces he tries to keep bottled up so no one can see and yet even then he never lets him see them fully. His body is the only thing he can control and he's not going to give it up easily.

And I'm not writing this to give sympathy to him. He is a horrible person and he always will be. Taking war stories and twisting them into "Humans are inherently violent" by going across the country murdering innocent people. The "perfect victim that doesn't deserve to die" as he puts it is so horrible. The way he revels in finding the perfect name, how he's so excited the three people that made fun of him have normal sounding names. The entire time he's killing these people he's not viewing them as human, he's viewing them as headlines.

Things that will be seen and forgotten within the next news cycle. Something simple to fall asleep too, because "Well it couldn't happen to me right?" He views what he does as something positive, a therapy or entertainment to break up suburbia and the mundanity of modern life. The boring 9-5 desk job where they come home to turn on the news or open the paper and see the next tragedy. He knows what angles to twist it in to get politicians talking to the attention is off of him.

I also think it's extremely interesting the kind of mask he chose. A weeping ghost. A weeping face to mock his victims that just so happened to fit a perfect outline he has in his head. "A person that doesn't deserve to die." Something that his readers can get hooked in and he can forget about by the next paycheck.

[shyjusticewarrior]

[Jason and Tim training after Jason got his fear failsafe]

Jason: You're holding back.

Tim: That's what sparring is, Jason.

Jason: When I sparred with Signal he pointed my gun at me.

Duke: It's true.

[vague-humanoid]

@el-shab-hussein

[clefairytea]

Seivarden Vendaai really gives Harry Du Bois a run for his money in the pathetic meow meow race. You meet her lying face down, naked, high and half dead in the snow. As soon as she sobers up she starts crying. The family car hates her. She sobs that she wants to die and the person who saved her life goes “then why don’t you, pussy”. She still finds time amid this to be indignant about being asked to do minor chores. Babygirl.

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

I've been getting a lot of new followers lately so here's a rent lowering gunshot to make sure nobody's coming here expecting boot licking

"don't use mental disorders as insults" includes "narcissist" and "psychopath" and "delusional"

"natives have a right to live in their ancestral land and practice their culture" includes Palestinians AND Jews (and war is bad can we please agree war is bad??)

"you are not immune to propaganda" includes you the person reading this and me the person typing and all types of propaganda and cultural biases it's not just a billboard saying "obey government" it includes growing up thinking that punishment is necessary for justice and the assumption that a modern-looking city isn't in Africa and that tumblr post you didn't think much about before reblogging

"everyone deserves human rights" includes even the worst person you can think of and the people you personally think shouldn't exist

[liauditore]

day 9 of drawing bdubs everyday until secret life ends.

pls excuse the historical accuracy here lol. can't have ethubs without their headbands.

can't find the source of this ref but i thought i'd put it here just in case anyone recognizes it 👍

[yasbeych]

great tip thank u rodimus !! (what other songs should be on this playlist?)

[lmanburgseulogy]

okay but what if poisonous berry bushes were everywhere in l’manburg.

imagine if Tommy spent time learning about the bushes to know what was safe to consume and what would kill you. What if Wilbur didn’t. what if when he got so hungry during the long nights in the war, and there wasn’t another option, he ate them. because there never seemed to be another way. and you just have to let it be even if that way that might take you down with it. but nothing is worse than that incurable hunger for more, for better. the berries weren’t that bad anyway.

what if Wilbur brought the berries back for everyone to eat, and Tommy knew something was wrong with them. but Wilbur was eating them too. something didn’t feel right after that when Wilbur seemed so reckless. he had never seen Wilbur do things like that. he worried if the war had been getting to his brother a bit too much. or maybe things had just always been this way. maybe the wars only changed himself, and the way he notices things.

what if Tommy tried to eat the berries too because he knew Wilbur was just trying to provide for them when he fell short. what if he never wanted his brother to feel guilty. what if he couldn’t help it when Wilbur got so sick during l’manburg. whzt if he got scared he would get sick with it too. guilt truly is an infectious disease

what if wilbur was ill for the rest of his life after that, and so his old home would never really leave him. what if that sharp, bitter sweet taste in his mouth caused him not too eat sometimes because everything begins to taste like poison after you try it. even if it was just once. what about. what about that.

[odinsblog]

CW rape mention

The new hot take I’m seeing is, “OMG! I can’t believe you’re accusing those nice freedom fighters in Hamas of raping Israeli women. You just believe it so quickly because you’re Islamophobic!”

And I’m like, “HA! Are you truly that gullible?”Islamophobia ain’t got shit to do with it. Know who else’s army used rape as a tool of war? The Russian army in Ukraine and other countries they’ve invaded, the US. army in countries America has invaded, the Japanese army in the countries they invaded, the British army, the French army, the army of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and yes, even the Israeli army in Palestine,… I could go on and on

Employing rape as a weapon of war is something that, unfortunately, routinely happens. So why are we required to believe that Hamas is just so uniquely good and pure that they’re above raping women??

Are there racist Islamophobes who will believe anything bad or unflattering about Muslims? Yes. Does that mean Hamas isn’t guilty of committing war crimes? No.

Anyway, look: this sounds like propaganda very specifically designed to make people be wary of criticizing Hamas. But it’s not Islamophobia, it’s acknowledging what has happened before and very likely happened just recently in Gaza

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again - I want Palestinian freedom. I do not, however, believe that soldiers raping women or killing children and the elderly in cold blood is a necessary part of achieving victory. Stated differently, rape + intentionality killing children is indefensible and inexcusable at all times and under any circumstances, regardless of who is doing it

And finally, let’s not pretend that Israel hasn’t been committing war crimes against Palestinians literally for decades. The IDF is deadass bragging to the world on international media about committing a massive war crime right now, as they are indiscriminately bombing the hell out of hospitals, schools, mosques, children and noncombatant civilian families in Gaza—and Israel is not even giving innocent people anywhere to go. They’ve closed the borders and escape routes. That’s a fucking war crime too

My daily reminders:

TERFs dni

the Holocaust happened

Antisemitism is real

Hamas ≠ Palestine

Israel is an apartheid state

Collective punishment is a war crime

You can support Palestine without being antisemitic

Free Palestine 🇵🇸

[utahliver]

headcannons for tommy perchance?

looks at u with my big audhd eyes /pos

- he loves gardening, and mud. he always plants alliums and other flowers everywhere

- he definitely paints. loved painting with techno. still paints, just not as often (he uses watercolors)

- aroace. im not projecting wym /s

- he still has braces because he never got the chance to get them removed, his mouth is kinda fucked up because of it

- has a lazy eye. again im totally not projecting haha /s

- he REALLY hates when people start counting down. reminds him of war, ghostburs death, exile, etc...

- hates being alone, however he self isolates himself as punishment (🙁)

- he keeps everything people gives him

- really bad hoarding issues (mainly due to exile)

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Re-reading Danny's tome for probably the 4th or 5th time and really paying attention to it while talking with Egg has got me thinking about a lot of things in terms of him and how he acts. Tiny little lines that are easy to miss on my first read throughs that I really paid attention to now that I think say a lot about how and why he acts. Even his dumb little edgy anime monologues. This is just going to be me quoting lines from the tome and talking about them, The full tome can be read here [link]

This got way too long I'll make a second post for how it comes into play for my Danny-

"But the adrenaline wasn’t what he enjoyed the most. No. It was something else. It was… he wasn’t sure what it was… He didn’t want to save the world, or win the Olympics, or travel to a foreign country to see something new and exotic. He just wanted the horror to end. He wanted his life back."

I want to highlight: "He just wanted the horror to end. He wanted his life back." It's thrown out so casually since he continues to praise his fathers stories again after, but... there's something so haunting about that. He wants his life back. We know as much as Danny likes to frame it as his dad killed people for fun, it's pretty obvious his dad is just a Vietnam war vet. With sections like:

"His father wanted him to design stories just like he did. Follow his path. Hunt and murder human beings in the shadows. And he did.

Just not in the way his father had intended.

And now Danny designs better stories. Much better stories. Better because of the setting. Because they could happen anywhere, unlike his father’s stories which took place in what experts called ‘abnormal circumstances’ where scary and gruesome stories were expected."

It's pretty clear Danny's father was preparing for him to follow him in war. And lets be quite honest with what Danny mentions so casually like the boot camps he was put through and waking up at dawn, it's not that far of a stretch to say his home life was abusive. Especially with how Danny's father seems really proud of all the people he's killed if we're taking what Danny says about his father's stories as true. Even today "corporal punishment" is common among people "teaching" their kids, I don't think it's an assumption to say with how much his dad wanted him to be like him that it was used to an extreme.

Yet he still idolizes him. He holds him up as this perfect figure who was better than anyone else and one of his main inspirations.

I also find it really interesting in how none of tome mentions his mother. I think if she walked out or cheated on his father and they got divorced, Danny would've mentioned her since he idolizes his dad so much and yet- nothing. He only talks about his father in this really idolizing way.

"He took a class in anthropology once. And he remembers the heated debates with his teacher who tried to make him believe in this ridiculous theory of the homo sapiens — that humanity was intrinsically curious and intelligent species that evolved toward peace and prosperity with its many civilisations and achievements.

Danny argued the opposite. He argued humans were intrinsic killers—killers that evolved to enslave, acquire, destroy and eventually self-destruct. That the achievements and the civilizations were tools for blood. That the mask of civilization was a façade, a farce, an elaborate design to hide the true face of humanity—the bloody face of horror, as he often liked to call it. The bloody face of horror always found a way to break through the mask. Always. The more we contained and hid the truth, the stronger and more creative it got in breaking free. As if it had a life of its own. A need of its own."

[....] "His teacher raved about tractors and the Green Revolution, and he raved about tanks and Agent Orange. His teacher pointed to the airplane and all the great opportunities flight brought humanity. And Danny pointed to the bombs. And that was the end of the argument."

"Ten years of blood for every day of peace. That’s what his old man said almost every dawn when he’d drop a penny on his bed to check if it was made properly. Stern as steel. Hard as a rock. Crazy as a loon. But not wrong. Definitely, not wrong."

There's a lot to unpack in these shortened few paragraphs. First: Danny's mindset. He genuinely believes that was he's doing is only a natural progression of humanity, that even if the moral laws humanity gives itself it still finds ways to kill and main each other in horrific ways. He views what he's doing as no different.

Every day of peace paid in ten years of blood as his dad used to say. Yet- he calls "civilized" society a mask. A façade people play out to find some sense of normalcy. Another point is that he does knowledge his dad wasn't normal even though he treats everything they did as normal.

The way he's so confident in that too really shows just how much violence is either normalized to him and has been for a while (really how he treats his fathers war stories is telling enough) and then of course alter in his tome you'll see how he idolizes serial killers. He sees what he's doing as nothing more than another story in the paper, something to break up the monotony of modern life.

Just another murder that'll fade into the background with the rest of the violence that's talked about every day.

"In the hot and humid sedan Danny visualizes slipping the knife through John’s neck and severing the tongue mid-scream—freezing his face in wide, gaping terror. He knows if he visualizes the kill several times it will improve his odds at success. His father taught him that. Taught him to visualize every beat of the design. He assured him it was what made him a medal-winning hunter of human beings. The thing they don’t teach you in killing school."

Another mention of his dad, this time his dad literally telling him how to visualize killing people. His father told him exactly what to do and he jokes about it. All of this is normalized to him. Berated into him so that he'll be something that outlives his father's legacy. I just find it so fascinating.

"He scrunches his fist into a ball, sighs heavily and doesn’t understand the humour. There’s nothing funny about what he does. He provides a kind of misunderstood therapy for those suffering from the madness of suburban living. He makes the citizens of Roseville feel good about their monotonous lives. He gives them respite and relief. He protects the mask of civilization with his mask, and they’re laughing at that. Just like they laughed at his father when he returned."

He doesn't find any humor in what he does, he sees it as a high form of art. A careful story made, planned and designed to scare people yet they're very real. He really believes what he's doing is a good thing or at least he's rationalized it as, but really what I wanted to focus on is that last line: "Just like they laughed at his father when he returned."

More father talk. More of him living in this other mans shadow that he idolizes so much, more references back to Vietnam and how those that went were treated when they came back. They're laughing at him just like they laughed at his father. Everyone is laughing at trauma he's suffered and channeled into his writing and how he acts. They're all laughing at him and he can't stop it. He's lost the little bit of control he has over his actual life.

Not Jed, not any names or lives he's lived before, Danny J*hnson.

"He reaches out and touches a caricature of the one they called The Miner. You don’t laugh at legends… His mouth gapes open. His lips tremble. He hasn’t felt like this in years.

You don’t! Laugh! At legends!

He tries to turn away but his feet are blocks of cement. He feels prickles all over his body as blood courses violently through his veins and something contained begins to stir.

He closes his eyes and counts to ten. He hasn’t improvised since his first design and that didn’t go very well. He has to find his centre."

First of all: Hey! Evan mention in his lore probably, also extremely interesting to include him since his tome is all about cycles of abuse at the hands of his father (including being forced to reenact how his dad killed his mother) and Danny also has issues with his father we just don't know what exactly though we can speculate and I will.

Secondly: This entire passage from the tome is so long and I don't want to copy and paste all of it, but I highly encourage reading it since it's so fascinating just his entire commentary on military propaganda when it comes to the people that are making parodies of him is interesting.

The way just how these people that don't take him or people he idolizes personally is jus... so fascinating. "He hasn't improvised since his first design" aka it brings him back to when he killed his father that he calls rushed and sloppy, too full of emotion that muddied everything.

"He stares up at the wall of parody and takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes and counts down from ten. Then he opens his eyes to see all the warped and ridiculous faces laughing at him." The way he views it as them laughing at him is so funny, but also really gives insight into how seriously he takes his work. It's not a game to him. It's not a fun hobby. It's his life's work.

"Hunting the three stooges in slow motion through the cool, misty arena. And now he yanks the gleaming hunter knife out of a pulpy face rendered completely unrecognisable.

Shit. I must have stabbed him a hundred times in the head.

Danny narrows his gaze on the face but the strobe light plays tricks on him. Makes the face look like his past victims—the faces changing with every blink of light."

"What about Pete? No. Can’t be, Pete. He’s pretty sure he decapitated Pete. It’s not what he intended, but shit happens. He pushed the knife a little too hard. Cut a little too deep. A little too fiercely."

"The last time he improvised a design was with his dad. Bless his soul. He deserved a better design, a much better execution, but he hadn’t realised how much he had bottled up inside. All those training drills and unrealistic expectations to bring back stories and medals pushed him over the edge.

It just came pouring out one night while camping in a way he hadn’t expected. Happens all the time. Every day. To the best. He just didn’t think it could happen to him. And here it is happening again."

It's spoken about further in this same entry, but again I don't want to copy and paste the entire entry, but Danny isn't wearing his mask during this. This isn't the ghost of Roseville doing this. This is Danny's work.

"That’s because The Ghost Face has nothing to do with this. This is something else. There’s no way he’s crediting The Ghost Face with these clumsy yet incredibly satisfying kills."

The ghost is just a character he plays and crafts. These people as much as he'll never admit it, personally insulted him. He's not mad about them mocking the character he plays for night time news and headlines, they were mocking him and everything that was drilled into him from a young age. Every little emotion he though he had gotten rid of a long time ago exploded out and now he's dealing with putting them back inside.

"Danny smiles. Sorry, I didn’t really get that. You’re gonna have to speak up, buddy. Take a deep breath… enunciate. Come on… you’re so full of fuckin' opinions… I’m sure you have an opinion on how you’d like to be remembered."

How even now that he's done the deed and mocking his victims with headlines, he's still pissed. He's still angry that these people tried to insult him, his fathers, and his life's work.

[shyjusticewarrior]

Jayrose: Rose's Public Sex Kink

[ninjigma]

For 'Of Honor and Force', a Royalty AU Track: 'Second Child, Restless Child' - The Oh Hellos (Spotify / YouTube)

"And here I was, thinking that fighting tooth and nail to survive would finally give me an edge against you."

"Dull your edges, more like."

Quinlan made an exaggerated offended noise, hand grasping at his chest. Fox showed as much sympathy as usual though, and Quinlan didn't have more then a second to be dramatic before he was rapidly blocking quick movements.

Sharp and swift the two danced, feet sliding silently over grass and the sharp noises of metal echoing on the long forgotten ruins. The day was joyous, and Quinlan was thankful for it. He had missed his friend, and between being thrown off a mountain as a form of training and traveling an extra two weeks to get foreign noodles, he had been gone so much longer then he ever cared to be. And he hoped the rare foods would make up for the fact that he knew this time would be even longer still. The inevitable that he would leave, that Quinlan always left.

And he wished the burning in his chest was simply his lungs trying to keep up with the fight.

"And it seems my absence has made your aim a bit…" Quinlan lunged, using his height to Force Fox back rapidly so as not to fall. "Wild."

Fox sneered, and twisted rapidly, the sun bouncing off the sheen of his bare shoulders. "You think way too much of yourself."

"I think of you a lot too." Quinlan had dodged to the side and bowed slightly, hands splayed outward and relaxed even as Fox raised his rapier between them. "My dear prince-"

Fox's angry scoff was lost to the new flurry of movements. Quinlan had pushed enough buttons that their little fight had devolved into something that took a lot more attention, something that left them both beginning to breath heavier, tips of their weapons to scrape and scratch across their exposed torso's. Hair loose and forms tight, wrists twisting and bodies swaying. The grass bent beneath them as neither gave up ground, as they moved together like the currents that carried the storms.

Until Quinlan saw red.

The drip of it as it bubbled up, bright and angry. They had been twisting past each other, and Fox had ducked when Quinlan feigned an upward cut only to then fall low as well. His rapier had pierced the skin, a slash marring across the left side of Fox's chest. A long cut. Red.

In his shock he had hesitated, had hyper focused on that slowed moment his rapier flicked away, scarlet on the tip. He had his eyes on nothing but the wound he had given Fox, the hurt he had inflicted.

And Fox stood back to stance with ne'er a blink, lunged without any time lost, fast to slice Quinlan's sword out of his hand and plant one strong foot to the sternum of his off balanced opponent, flattening him into the ground beneath him.

"What the kriff was that?"

Finally, the knock of the ground chasing his breath away, Quinlan's eyes focused back on Fox's face. On how he was breathing hard, but wore only a look of confusion and annoyance rather then victory. "What?"

Fox huffed, rapier coming to hover just over the right side of Quinlan. "You hesitated. Why did you hesitate? You haven't been going easy on me have you? I swear Vos if you-"

"No no I-," Quinlan's eyes trailed down again. "You're bleeding."

Finally Fox seemed to take notice of the cut. With the iconic raise of one eyebrow his family was know for he flickered his attention to the wound, seemingly expecting it to be a trap perhaps, a distraction. But instead of the pain or anger Quinlan thought would come, the upset at being injured or the panic at the sight, Fox actually laughed. Outright chuffed and even smiled, looking back down to a startled Quinlan.

"Do you stop every time you give an enemy an ouchie?"

"Fox-"

"It is barely even bleeding, for kark's sake. Might scar a bit but-"

"Fox stop. I-"

"No, Quinlan." The rapier's tip lowered against Quinlan's skin, Fox managing to raise his chin even as he stared down hard. "You shut your mouth for once and know that, actually, I am not your dear prince. I am not some fragile thing. I brought the rapiers for a reason, and I am more then aware of the risks, we have been through this plenty of times. I wanted the fight, and it has been so much more fun then putting up with Cody's pointers and Bly's warnings."

Eyes now boring into Quinlan, Fox tilted his head down ever so slightly. "I trust you, even if you are such a fool that I am surprised you haven't gotten yourself killed yet. Got it?"

Quinlan blinked a moment, the silence derived from Fox's tone had been clear and left him in a moment of hesitation before speaking. "Yes sir."

Then that slick smile was back, and Fox was tilting his head like the most clever being in the world. "Besides, that was a pretty good attempt."

Quinlan raised his own brow, but otherwise didn't attempt to move, watching the light through the canopy dance on Fox's face. "Oh? A compliment?"

Fox shook his head, tight lips still smiling. "Pity actually. That is the closest you are ever going to get, shadow boy, and you blew it. Now get back up so I can kick your ass properly this time"

Finally, Quinlan's own smile broke across his face, a new confidence in his friend. The friend who complained about him, sneered at his courting, huffed at his stories. The same friend who came to the ruins every week to look for him despite the months he would never be there, the same friend who would sit with him late enough in the night that his family would be angry with him when he arrived back home, the same friend that he had just cut across the heart of only to receive a smile and an insult.

The same friend that now stepped back and swung the rapier away with such a poise that Quinlan had to simply gaze up a moment in awe from where Fox had laid him so thoroughly flat. That as the prince offered his hand and that sideways smirk, Quinlan once again couldn't believe how lucky he was for any of this. That taking Fox's hand and accepting the help up made his stomach flip in a very different way before once again taking up his rapier and facing Fox squarely.

Beneath the sun and bird song, a canopy of life and story, the prince of the shadows faced the fourth son of Fett and reaffirmed that, no matter what he came against, he would fight to his last breath for just this.

Because Quinlan always came back.

It was just supposed to be a lighting test but uhhhhhh... well, you can see for yourself XD

Enjoy!

View early previews and WIPS of this piece and more on my Patreon!

[thatweirdnoise]

sometimes i think about how q!Cellbit is canonically a war veteran

he is also cannibal by canon, which makes me have the hc that f!Cell became a cannibal because during the war he didn't have access to food, and as the bodies piled up everywhere (bringing rats, they needed to get rid of the bodies) the most desperate in his troop decided to eat the dead people

[sanyastraightfrombrain]

Hazbin hotel spoilers As a person who went into Hazbin Hotel while fully expecting to hate it? Episode 4 is a fucking banger: Valentino is written the way I wish Stella was - A horrible person who has an actual personality besides "abuser" while still being a hatesink Husk is now my favorite character hands down The last chorus of "poison" BROKE me "Loser baby". I don't even need to explain. I just hope that Huskerdust won't become canon immediately after this episode. I want to see them as friends first. Dat build up and stuff. The whole "poison" sequence was actually ok for me (note that I'm not in any way familiar with SA, so take this with a big doze of salt) but a warning would've been nice

[ikemenomegas]

Omega!Fukuzawa x Alpha!Reader

Maybe Every After

For the record Fukuzawa is a zaddy and I don't think anyone is going to argue with me on that. But he wasn't always a zaddy! You have to grow up a lot to earn the title and Fukuzawa had a lot of growing up to do even in his thirties.

Meet cute?-

Fukuzawa met the person who would become his Alpha at some stuffy local function he attended because of his status as one of the five greatest swordsmen.

While they hit it off well, commiserating over the oppressive self-congratulatory nature of these kinds of events, it was not love at first sight. Fukuzawa was able to carry on pleasant, engaging conversation with them

Fukuzawa was by turns a little awkward, eccentric, curious, and the sense of duty, justice and good judgment that characterizes his throughout his life permeated the conversation, leaving a lasting impression on you

Fukuzawa's work and his superiors are all top secret, but despite that, he does not try to make himself come off as an enigma and his intentions and ideology are largely transparent, which in the time of the Great War, the first ability war, and with Fukuzawa's position being what it was, was surprising and refreshing

You meet with him a few times as new friends in between whatever it is he does when he's not with you

Some time after those meetings begin would be around the time that he is ordered to begin assassinating war-hawk ministers

You see him change as those assassinations pile up and see him apparently lose the feeling of rightness that was in him when you first met at that party

He disappears soon after resigning his position in this mission, cutting himself off from the world that had descended into the misery and chaos of war, from the deaths he had caused, and from you, the person who had become important when he was still young and full of naive idealism

Meet again-

It's by chance you meet again when he is spending his work hours as a bodyguard.

Or maybe it's not chance. It's a certain circle of people that can afford the services of someone as skilled as Fukuzawa, as much as he tries to keep apart from those kinds of people. His reputation took a hit after he left his government position, although you don't know the circumstances around his departure, but people say it's because he isn't a patriot. The word makes you disappointed. The are parts of every war that are not about patriotism, where blood is no longer spilled for the love of one's country but because there are those who have lost their way.

Reconnecting is hard but maybe because you understand the rumors this way, it is not as hard as it might have been. Fukuzawa Yukichi is loyal, that you have known almost since you met him. He is loyal to the people who walk down the street and do not know him, he is loyal to all the people of the nation who make their way slowly through life alongside him, he is loyal to some ideal of justice that you don't necessarily understand but that you believe in too. You see sometimes the pain that the rumors cause him, but you believe in him, whatever that might mean, and so he lets the pain wash over him and away in the truth of his intact honor

It comes up at some point that you are still not a mated Alpha. There is no one else waiting for you as your tea times meeting with Fukuzawa continue. It just hadn't felt right, somehow, to try and make that kind of connection in the years that have passed. The great war turned everything upside down, including something inside of your good and most principled friend.

One day, he'll tell you about it, about what turned his heart inside out, but that is many years in the future

For now, you're the one who asks him if he wants to meet and restart first

He seems tired and you're surprised that he accepts, but he does. Once. And then twice. And then a third time. And it's almost like it used to be, even though you're both older and a bit more jaded, maybe with a few more hard edges. The meetings extend longer, and become more frequent. It is no longer tea on his days off or when he has time between jobs. There are late night meals after his employer dismisses him and lunches on the occasions he is released early. On one memorable occasion, you find yourself taking an early morning walk through a dew studded garden watching the sun rise pink and cold after a night on which you could not sleep

One thing led to another-

Eventually, Fukuzawa asks you to be his heat partner. It's a bit of a surprise and something that makes you nervous since Fukuzawa effectively ignored you for years.

You had once slept together in what was essentially a platonic way, or perhaps some kind of experiment. It was fine, oddly peaceful, especially at the end when you just passed a bottle of water back and forth, but you'd sort of wordlessly agreed to not do it again

He tells you he's sure though. His heats aren't frequent because he's on suppressants, but they do happen, and this is one of the different things. Fukuzawa seems to want, to have a restlessness that is more apparent to you, lingering beneath the surface

You already suspect it's the loss of purpose, the loss of public reputation somehow which had carried with it its own sense of purpose. He's a famous swordsman, one of the best in the country. Even a tame wolf desires to hunt.

So you spend his breakthrough heats together.

And you remember why the two of you never had sex after the first time. It makes you wonder if you remember the "silent agreement" wrong, or if he remembers it differently, and reminds you why you didn't dwell on it.

It's not earth shattering, the sex that is. It's just heat sex, just making sure he gets off so that he can sleep through the intervals between his body temperature spiking. Except you're in his home, the gauzy curtains drawn, scent patches off, and it's disturbing how clear the memory of the last time overlaps with this one, even after so many years.

It's like being in the middle of a monsoon storm, pressure and torn leaves, and summer heat and all. And while you thrust into his wanting body, he watches you. The heat-haze is obvious and his eyes are half-lidded in the associated exhaustion, but he tracks you when you lean back to swipe the back of your hand over your forehead and there's something hungry in his gaze when he looks down to where you're connected

You remember the first time and how intrigued you'd been by this particular mannerism of his, how he keeps his eyes open. He had been watchful and curious even as you'd laughed with him over your shared fumblings. His gaze had been heavy and consuming when he'd shown his aikido skills, at your request, and tumbled you from over him to pin you to the floor.

This time there's a lot more kissing because if you're close to his face, you don't have to see his eyes, but the way Fukuzawa opens his mouth for you with trust like you've been doing this for years makes the strategy nearly futile.

You have to work right after that first heat tapers off so he's still in his nest when you're putting on your shoes, weekend duffel in your hands.

It's late afternoon going on evening so the apartment is dark. His hair is splayed out on a pillow. You're satisfied though that he has pre-made meals in the fridge and you've changed out most of his nest bedding so he can rest in a clean spot after you've gone. Fukuzawa's not saying anything, watching while you rub a sore spot on your neck, which makes him smirk. You're convinced this will be another scenario just like last time where you don't talk about it, when he speaks up, stopping your hand on the doorknob. "Same in three months?" he asked instead. Despite the stab of apprehension, you smiled. "Same in three months," and left to catch a flight.

You don't let it get quite that long before you contact him again. You don't see him, but you text him and he texts back, which is at least a relief that he's not going to vanish again into whatever new twilight he inhabits.

It's the same in three months, apart from the weather outside. His eyes, blue like steel and watching you while you bring him over the edge, the sense of being in the eye of a summer storm, that feeling of trusting familiarity when you lick into his mouth and catch the sound he makes when you crook your fingers inside him. It's the same how it's only his response that changes when you kiss him later and are more gentle about it, running your teeth against his jaw before going to cradling his head and kissing the corner of his mouth.

There's laundry in the machine and porridge on the stove. Fukuzawa's heat had settled sometime in the very early hours of the morning and the two of you were more or less clothed for the first time in days. Fukuzawa was however leaning in the door, watching you put shredded seaweed, pickled plums, and katsuo tronçons on small plates already laid out on a tray. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, watching him almost lazily watch you. But, you paused in using a pair of chopsticks to pluck out a single ginko nut from a narrow jar. There was something almost tense in his posture. He was barely out of the thick of heat and you could see the faint tremble in his wrist before he folded his arms to hide it. You checked the pot with the still yet-to-boil rice and then ducked under his jaw to brush your nose against the scent gland there. The way he shivered, still sensitive, was almost enough to make you feel bad. "You should go lie down," you murmured, smiling in apology, "I'll bring the tray over." He hesitated, but then nodded. Something pulled at you behind your navel, similar to that familiar sensation when you had worked him through the heat. Only this time, out of the haze, you followed it and followed Fukuzawa to his nest. Its fresh linens were soft and sweet smelling as you guided him into it. He sighed when he was lying down again, a long exhale that gave nothing away. He was just watching. You tucked a blanket over his hips and let your hand linger a touch too long, feeling like you were falling into his eyes. He made no sound when you pulled away and did not return until the meal was ready. Although you did stand in the doorway he had just vacated, leaning so you could see Fukuzawa, loosely tied deep blue and light grey layers of his yukata falling half open as he rolled over to keep you within line of sight. He ate every bite of food, still maintaining that tense, anticipatory silence. You didn't remember this from the first time. His gaze only flickered from the tray and your hands to your eyes when you accidentally let out an encouraging rumble as he ate and immediately felt heat flash up your neck, mortified. The corner of his mouth twitched as he brought his chopsticks to his lips and nibbled at a bit of fish. You've read romance books, once or twice, seen the pervasive tropes pop up in just about every drama, imported or otherwise. People talk about finding someone that you feel you've known your whole life as something magical. No one talks about how unsettling it can be, how it could get all consuming all too quickly. It's disturbing in some way, the way you can sense the ease with which that could push into entitlement, envy, or just an endless fall. That is why after the first time you and Fukuzawa Yukichi had slept together, passing a bottle of water back and forth after and watching the rim indent into one another's lips when you took a mouthful, throats flexing to swallow, you had never spoken of the event again. You had never invited it happening again, and up until now neither had he. There's something at the bottom of that drop. There's always a hard landing. Somewhere. It felt too easy, being with him. You had fallen in as friends harder than this, feeling out the edges of one anothers' code and ethics, where you could push boundaries into asking about personal and professional interests. Although you never touch them, you knew where one anothers' cracks were.

Just as you never asked him directly about the things he had done in the war, about his suddenly cold reception among the circle you'd met in, he never asked you how you really felt about those people. He never asked if your heart too had broken somewhere during the Great Ability War. The stifling feeling of knowing both too much and too little about someone who trusted you far too much for what you knew suddenly stole all the moisture from your throat. A sip of tea helped, but Fukuzawa's posture had gone back to that waiting. Master swordsman: master at reading any opponent. You told yourself heavily that you were perfectly willing to continue being his heat partner, at least until the way you two distinctly did not push boundaries bored him. He had a competitive spirit to a point. There were goalposts that only he could see, standards to which others were not often held. Stagnancy had never quite suited him. Stillness did. Was that what was at the bottom? Was it the stagnant life of saying nothing and doing nothing and keeping a status quo? Or was it blissful stillness, knowing nothing would catch you and nothing needed to?

It takes almost a year for either of you to bring it up and it's only at the cusp of realizing this is becoming an unhealthy new normal that it happens. It is still incredibly difficult to broach the fact that the physical intimacy makes you feel like strangers but every conversation in between makes you feel like you could get to know him forever.

It's around this time you finally start to really talk. You know how you can know someone for ages, and even be really close to them, but there are long stretches of time where you don't talk about anything important because you're afraid of making the other person do emotional labor for you, and you don't know if they'll mind? That's the first year Fukuzawa and his Alpha have after he comes back.

He acknowledges that you've done things rather in reverse order, as far as the typical trajectory of reconnecting with friends goes. You start to date, more or less, making time to see one another every week or every other week as your schedules allow.

It's a bit strange, to suddenly realize the ways in which you both have changed. Fukuzawa is as principled as ever, but he's unmoored now, without the ties he severed to the military police and the mission it brought. You are somewhat more stable, older and more settled into your own career, but heavier in your soul, sadder. Yokohama is reviving, black towers and tidy apartment buildings rising on the horizon, but it took too much to get here, too much blood before the nation sickened of it.

Fukuzawa won't let you court him.

You're in one of the old cafes that survived all the conscriptions. The owner's son moves around with a tray and a flour dusted apron and the atmosphere is oddly cheerful, despite the recently terrible weather. The last of the summer storms are making a good showing this year and it's limited the places you and Fukuzawa can go. Museums, restaurants, the occasional wander around a particularly well constructed public part of an office building - usually places near your work or his.

You'd tried other things, shopping for food or clothes and paying maybe too much attention to his preferences. You'd tried things like flower viewing or afternoons trying wagashi in specialty shops. While Fukuzawa had seemed to enjoy them and settled easily into the traditional etiquette sometimes called for in these places, he never acknowledged that these might be early attempts at courting.

When you spent time in his apartment he let you scent items in his nest while lounging around or before his heats. If he was at the little rooftop house you were living in, he would sometimes choose one pillow or blanket to curl around and carefully leave it on your spot on the couch when he left.

You looked at him over the rim of your mug and one of his brows went up. When you said nothing, he looked away, tracking the movements of people on the street.

You still partner him when his heat hits, but the sex is worse, as far as that unsettlingly settled intimacy goes. It's wonderful, he's wonderful. Sex itself is not that interesting as a rule, and you're both too aware of the delicacy of the situation to attempt anything like adding toys during his heat or a simple scene to the build up or cool down. But every time after, you want to stay longer.

Fukuzawa shifts his nest, ever so slightly because he is picky about it, but enough so that he can always see you as you move about his home when you need to get food or nesting materials for him, so that you don't have to anxiously flit between the stove and the door in order to sate the need to know that he is safe and comfortable in the aftermath.

You think it's going to end, that the pained distance Fukuzawa now puts between himself and the world is going to pull taught against the growing need to be around one another, to care beyond the dedication of a close intimate friendship.

Everyone can see it-

And then he accidentally adopts a super genius.

This is one of the funnier things that's ever happened to your friend since you've known him and you make sure he knows you think so once or twice.

Once Ranpo is secure in his place as Fukuzawa's ward a few years later, you come up with a way to let Ranpo know he's the best thing to ever happen to your mate and also that you will never ever get tired of imagining the look of shock you know took over Fukuzawa's face when all four and a half feet of teenage whoop-ass came banging through the door of that office.

But that's years from now.

Ranpo peers up at you when you meet Fukuzawa for lunch and a film a week after he's started tagging along with your friend

The boy isn't very tall, but he's got a maturity to his features that you chalk up to either the orphan thing or the child genius thing. He had taken one look at you, seated at the back of the restaurant away from the windows, and it felt like someone crowding into your space even while he touched neither you nor Fukuzawa. You are perhaps overly sensitive of other people's attention. It's another thing that makes being with Fukuzawa comfortable somehow. He's observant, but not oppressive with what he does with that information. Only the second time you'd met he'd helped extricate you from an incredibly uncomfortable conversation with a junior minister in the local commerce department. Now the kid looks at you and at Fukuzawa and pouts impressively. "You're single." He says it like an accusation and an assignment and you could almost laugh at Fukuzawa's wide eyed expression if it weren't for everyone three tables deep around you staring. You raise an eyebrow at him. "He's allowed to be single," you chide, reminding yourself that you are talking to a child still. It's a bit funny, you admit, smiling when the boy glares at you. The waitress comes over when you beckon, bringing tea for Fukuzawa and a sweet layered sort of beverage for the kid. Fukuzawa had told you about the boy's obvious sweet tooth and even though he huffs at you, he takes the tall glass eagerly, poking a straw through the layers. "Does it bother you?" You can't help it. Fukuzawa had said the child was a genius, observant to the point of misunderstanding, his incredible intelligence looping in on itself and making the rest of the world occasionally incomprehensible. It seems unlikely for a child to hold the kind of incredibly conservative prejudice that says omegas should be mated, but he seems put out. Ranpo sulks behind a menu before saying, "I'm never wrong." The meal is quiet, and gradually people stop looking at your table. Fukuzawa excuses himself on the walk to the theater to purchase something from a convenience store. It's there you lean up against the mouth of an alley and look down at the kid. He's really short, you worry someone isn't feeding him enough and the realize that Fukuzawa is going to be that someone. "We're not together," you said. Ranpo looks up at you, clearly still sulking. "You don't have to lie to me," he says, but he sounds a little uncertain. "We're not together in the way you would understand it," you say, "or the way most people understand." Ranpo sees your emotions in your eyes, and suddenly wishes he didn't understand. Your gaze is filled with longing, but he doesn't know how you can't see it's for something you already have. Almost. "He's ashamed of something," Ranpo says quietly. You hunched over a little. "I know. Adults are often ashamed of a lot of things though." He looks at you and wonders what you're ashamed of. "You should probably ask him about this one. He's not very good at saying what he means, but most adults aren't." You're laughing when Fukuzawa reappears.

To everyone's surprise, he actually sits through the movie, happily demolishing the little fortune you'd bought him in caramel popcorn and boxed candies, even if he complains about figuring out the plot five minutes in when you leave

Ranpo doesn't parent trap you two exactly, he doesn't have quite that level of interest in involving himself, but Fukuzawa is good to him, and he sees you often and you are good to him too. Neither of you always understand what he understands, but you show him kindness without ulterior motive, you try and show him how to safely exist around other people.

Fukuzawa is asked to be a bodyguard for Mori Ougai and something about engaging with that man, even though he can't tell you about the job itself, makes him tell you, in a desperate whisper under the moonlight, that it was him who assassinated the war hawk ministers during the peace debates. It's him who is bloodying his blade for something he hopes will be better, even if it turns his stomach, even if it means he doesn't know who he is anymore.

"I know who you are." Fukuzawa tenses in your arms, and you think frantically that you have certainly made a mistake. But you don't take it back. You don't want to. You do know who he is, your friend. You know how lonely what he's done has made him. Only you didn't know what he had done. Now that you know, it doesn't seem to matter. It's distant, the way all bloody things are distant when you don't see them. You've never had all that fond a feeling towards the wealthy people that profit from the abject misery of others. All the hunger and desperation in the world are distant, abstract concepts to them. Why should their deaths not mean the same to you? Of course, you can't say this to your friend, your sometimes lover, lying in your arms. The moonlight drops over his cheeks, turning them pale. His eyes are closed for once, his face turned into your neck, as though he is afraid of what he will see in your eyes. You understand it was not simply one or two storybook villains. There is no human in the world who has done only bad their entire life. Fukuzawa was not prone to exaggeration, even if drama appealed to him. It seems likely he meant it literally when he speaks of wading through blood to put an end to those who whipped up the populace into a frenzy, who wanted for the death never to end. "I know." You stroke your thumb near the corner of his eye, brushing your cheek to his brow, pressing a chaste kiss to the curve of his cheek. "Honor doesn't always mean doing the honorable thing," you say softly. "It means making difficult choices. You regret having to make it, but do you regret the outcome?" He is quiet for a long time. You know he hasn't fallen back asleep, despite the languid warmth between your bodies. He's quiet for long enough that your heart rate returns to normal and you rub your knuckles up and down his back. An occasional burst of deep, faint purring lets you know this is at least appreciated, if not necessarily something he thinks he deserves. You've taken to sleeping together at this point. The mounting danger as different organizations wage new war across the city drives you both to it. Besides, it is simply easier to manage an antsy teenager if you're in the same place, wherever that might be, rather than passing him back and forth like the result of some amicable divorce as you both work to keep him safe and out of the hands of those who would use his intelligence. "No," he says, as you knew he would. "There is nothing to be attained in the way of peace by letting war simply continue until each side is beaten into exhaustion. Withdrawing with our strength intact is the only thing that would save the nation and its people." He says it like he's said it to himself many times. He goes nearly limp in your embrace, pliant as he nudges against you until your forehead is pressed to his. You wonder though- "Is this the first time you've said it out loud?" "What I did is a secret few are aware of." "But the investigations..." "They won't find me," he said, but you felt a shiver go through him, felt gooseflesh rise on his arms. If they did, it could open the possibility for those people to be made martyrs. It was natural for him to be afraid. "They won't," you said lightly. You didn't know what you could do to make that true, but some things needed to be said aloud. "If they catch me, I'll face whatever is decided," he said quietly. "But I won't get caught." "You saved a lot of lives." He sighed. "I know." You rubbed slow circles over the middle of his back. "The sword isn't meant to be used like that. They had lives, families, I-" he swallowed "-I ended that. I enjoyed it. And I have to live with that." His eyelashes too were silvered in the moonlight. "You have to live with it," you agreed, even as he flinched, "but you don't have to punish yourself for it every time you live." You pretend not to feel the wetness on your clothing as Fukuzawa shudders into your collar.

Forever love-

You're truly together and officially courting by the time the Agency is three years old, which is the first more calm year since the Agency opened. Turns out opening a business is a huge pain in the behind and that an ability user Agency with less than half a dozen workers, two of whom are genius teenagers who have totally reasonable problems with authority, is an even bigger pain.

By the time the Agency is four years old, you're mated to Fukuzawa, your mark on his shoulder and his on yours. Ranpo grouches something terrible that the two of you could only get your shit together before he turned eighteen, but he's not a legal adult yet, so you get to officially be one of his guardians for at least a few years. Yosano thinks Ranpo is being ridiculous, but she gives you the biggest bouquet of flowers for your and Fukuzawa's home and insists on choosing the restaurant where you all celebrate.

It's been a very long road. You've known Fukuzawa Yukichi for almost thirteen years, an unexpected friend you made in your adult years now your mate. Now someone who you feel, finally, you've started to earn the feeling you've know them all your life, even though you're still learning about him.

He takes you to his home near Osaka, to his family home on Kyushu. He meets your parents, who consider him a bit quiet, but very dutiful. You meet Natsume-sensei, once, and receive his very feline brand of approval and a quiet gift after your official mating. Fukuzawa takes you back to places he particularly enjoyed during those failed months of courting him. You spend season after season getting to know him, pushing boundaries, debating over philosophies, arguing over interior decorating, agreeing over meals.

Your mate, your partner, a soulmate if you have ever believed such a thing, let alone that it would come to you. You're watching white strands of hair like starlight shoot through his natural grey. The wrinkles around his eyes are deepening. It takes him longer to get up from bed than it used to. His silences are longer, but so are the times when he just looks at you, looks and looks like he can never get his fill. His voice is still strong, but you can feel that layer of age crackling under it. And you love him.

You love the man he has grown into, the one who can bear the weight of hard choices placed upon his shoulders, the one who can bear happily having people who work alongside him. You love his patience with Ranpo and his encouragement of Akiko. You love how he holds his hand out for you if you fall behind on your walks, or how he comes to you and stands close enough for his scent to wrap around you while you point out some small natural beauty.

Love can be horribly consuming, it can stagnate where it was once immediately comfortable or grow jealous at its own ease, unsure if it is charm or affection that ties you together. It can grow desperate and possessive. There are still things that can be so hard to say, old things that left old wounds that are still hard to talk about, but there's something to be said for age and wisdom.

Things aren't perfect, love should not be perfect, and something in you delights in knowing that with Fukuzawa it will always be incomplete. Things will not grow still, there will never be a moment there is nothing to know about him. You have grown into yourselves, the both of you, and this is the love you will grow old with.