#if you've read this far into my tags bless you lmao

[picnokinesis]

Hi!

(A mild panic on the topic of: This is not a question, oh god, this is NOT a question. This is a recommendation of a fandom at BEST.)

So I was reading a fic one day and my brain went very quickly in succession:

a) /Oh/, this is the good stuff

b) No wonder you think so, remember spydoc telepathy edition (And you, Taka, are like an ambassador of that land in my mind)

c) Actually many fics from this fandom are like this

d) Do we think…?

So I had two facts:

1. This is a thing someone I have a great respect for would probably enjoy.

2. There was no indication Taka has seen or engaged in the fandom of Pacific Rim. Despite its notoriety in this neck of the woods due to the concept of drifting in particular.

And what I am doing with those facts is telling you this. I think you are great and I think you would like the fics of Pacific Rim. So if you feel like checking it out, it’s very low effort on entrance. Only one movie to see. Or two. Depends who you ask.

Here are two excerpts to judge for yourself. (Is this a spoiler? I know people for whom this would be a spoiler. For me it’s a tester.)

1) What’s a Little B&E Between Friends? By VoiceOfNurse (Part 20, Chapter 1)

No need to reach for the void, when he was so complete, nestled up against the part of Them that was Hermann. 

…safe… 

Newt was aware, in as much as Hermann was aware. It was difficult to separate himself out, when Hermann’s mind was locked around him like a steel trap made of numbers and chalk dust and spite. They were one organism in two parts- four lungs, drawing breath, two hearts beating in time. There was cold, and there was pain, but it was far away. 

There is no room for (masters-monsters-precursors) here. They are (insects-vermin-insignificant) when faced with (memory-language-connection). We are (brilliant-unstoppable-rockstars). We are (music-logic-science). We are (Newt-and-Hermann) and they are nothing. 

2) What’s a Little B&E Between Friends? By VoiceOfNurse (Part 20, Chapter 2)

They were Drifting. Tendo couldn’t quite work out the whys and hows of it, especially now that he was being bitten to within an inch of his fucking life, but he was certain. He’d hurt Hermann by moving too fast, probably jostled the guy’s leg, actually, which was folded weirdly under him with Newt on top, but the closest set of teeth bit him. Newt wasn’t even conscious in the traditional sense of the word, but Hermann was. Hermann was, and apparently Newt’s teeth were available to rectify the situation. Newt’s urges, too, because Tendo didn’t really picture Hermann as a biter. 

HELLO MY FRIEND oh my days I'm SO sorry but I'm laughing so much because this probably happened because tumblr search function is useless but 'no indication' sksksksk, oh my sweet summer child: here's the pacific rim tag on my blog LMAO - or, even better, the entire pacrim au I came up with for s12 of doctor who one time. Also. Also. Buddy. This is so funny, I love you so much. Are you aware that I'm obsessed with the works of one of the biggest Pacific Rim fanfic writers ever? I did, to be fair, literally take their name off my blog description yesterday to replace it with Bloodywood instead, and I'm more on the Stargate Universe side of things these days - but cleanwhiteroom is one of my favourite authors, and I read Designations Congruent with Things before I touched any of their Stargate material. If, my dear anon, you've not heard of cwr, then I really highly recommend their stuff, but I'll add a link below and see if I can dig up the other fic that I really loved from back in the day. Thank you for the fic rec though!! Those excerpts look excellent haha, I shall check that fic out when I get chance because you're absolutely right I love that kind of thing.

(also, absolutely DELIGHTED that you read this sort of stuff and thought of me - that is SUCH an honour oh my days! Like...rancid spydoc telepathy ambassador....what a title, I'm dead chuffed at this haha bless you!)

I think this is just so funny to me because - you couldn't possibly know this, of course, but like you know where I got this from? This love for writing weird, messed up mental connections between people?

Pacific Rim fanfiction HAHAHAHAHA

(and, later SGU - but I mean, mostly just cleanwhiteroom tbh. I was 16yo and I imprinted okay. But there were also other fics too, and they had an influence. Guh, Newt/Hermann post-drift fics are PEAK man)

Okay but actually let me tell you the story of how I got into pacrim because I think it's hilarious. So most people get into fandoms by like, yknow. Watching the film, reading the book, seeing the show, etc. I mean, how else would you do it? I'll tell you how. I was pottering about on deviantArt, back in the the grand old year of - oh, it must have been 2014. 2015? Something like that. Anyway, I stumbled across some Newt and Hermann fanart, and I didn't know the fandom but I was intrigued and REALLY liked the artstyle (I think the artist was feriowind?) - anyway I went on their profile and was MORE intrigued when I found they'd done some gorgeous cover art for THIS FIC, which got me so curious that I decided to read it. Without having watched the film. What I did was: read the plot summary on wikipedia, watched a couple of newt and hermann fanvids/clips (LIKE THIS ONE) so I could see them/hear their voices right, and then just blitz on through the fic with google images open in another tab so I could google thing like 'the shatterdome' and 'the LOCCENT pacific rim' and stuff like that for visual reference SKKSSK. Damn this is a throwback, I'm having a great time. ANYWAY. Read the fic. Loved it. Read the sequel. LOVED IT. Started looking for more fanart and stuff like that - and found a bunch of people kept on mentioning this fic called Designations Congruent with Things. Searched it up, found it on ao3, read the first 6 chapters and it almost melted my brain LMAO so I stopped. Then I couldn't stop thinking about it and I came back to it and oh my days. Oh my days. It fully rewrote my brain and DAMN I was obsessed. By this point I was vibrating in place at the mere thought of actually SEEING THE FILM, YKNOW. The film I'd read hundreds of thousands of words of fanfic about. Anyway, my friend who got secret santa for me that year literally had the easiest job on the planet HAHAHAHA so I watched it on Christmas Day and it was so so funny because like. You probably are aware of how much damn lore this film has. Like I knew the names of most of the jaegers that aren't even mentioned in the movie, I knew about Caitlin Lightcap and Sergio D'onofrio, but I had NO IDEA what was extended canon and what was fanon and what was actually. Y'know. In the film. So when I watched it I was like BUT WHERE'S LIGHTCAP for most of it HAHAHAH, but yeah it was great. SO GREAT. Guh I love the concept of the drift SO SO MUCH it's absolutely fascinating and just. AHH!! So so good.

Anyway. Absolutely losing it, bless. Sorry this is all over the place, I'm very tired but my goodness. Yes. Talk to me about drift bonds any day of the week, I'm here for it. If you want cleanwhiteroom fics, you can find them here. I linked the other one above, but there were a couple of others I read too...like I read a LOT of fics, and this was before I had an ao3 account rip so I don't have it in my fic reading history. There was one called Occam's Razor that I read a lot of, but I don't think I finished it. OH but I also liked this one (that i thought I found but it turned out to be the wrong one, am looking again now lol), from after Pacific Rim 2!! Which, as a film, I mostly consider to just be like. A fanfic with an exceptionally high budget ksksksks so yknow. I don't hate it because I don't consider it canon as much as I consider anything outside the original film canon. ANYWAY LOVE YOU

[angeart]

ask game 12 &13!

yayy more questions! okay i'll start with 13 because it's simpler:

13.Any segment of your work that made you cry while writing it? (because it moved you deeply)

so. i cry easily. but i don't tend to cry while writing, i think? i don't have the greatest memory, so i can't be sure. i remember one time i cried while writing hmtb, but it wasn't because i was moved deeply jcnbjk (it was actually a mellow scene and i just. unexpectedly triggered an unpleasant memory, oops.)

in a way, i think it's easier to get emotional while working on RPs, actually. i might've cried at those in the past, mmh.

now, if you asked me when did i get anxious while writing. that's a whole another thing. i do deal with a lot of heavy emotions in writing, and, yeah. anyway, the answer is yesterday. (hmtb grian is doing perfectly well wdym-) (i had to stop writing after 8 sentences and take a break everything's fine-)

12.Funniest comment you've ever gotten in a piece of work?

this is a fun one! i don't think i have a favourite, i'm not the best with putting things on a scale and deciding that's the most this or that. add my bad memory into the mix, and about a year of writing a multichapter fic, and- well. but! i dug through and made a small collection of comments that amuse me! (there were many more, but i'm trying not to swarm you completely.)

i cannot tell you how much i appreciate and value the comments i get. i read every single one, and they matter a lot! they help me immensely and i am insanely grateful for them. <33

anyway, the collection of comments that make me giggle is under the line!

♥ please, consider this a love letter to all the commenters. ♥

Chocolate_Cake_Enthusiast on Chapter 3 of Elegy: ANGE UOU ARE THE SINGULAR SOURCE OF MY ANGST AND DEPRESSION (…) POOR GRIAN HE BETTER BE ALRIGHT OTHERWISE I WILL CHUCK A TENNIS BALL AT MY TOE

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ghostpi on Chapter 7 of hmtb: TIS BUT A FLESH WOUND.

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Eucalypta on Chapter 18 of hmtb: I forgot this had a ship tag so I was reading all previous chapters like: "what deep soulmates they are! Wait … Thats a bit gay. Well sometimes platonic love goes very dee- No thats definitely gay… What were the tags again?"

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Tiand on Chapter 21 of hmtb: So- uh- Where can I send my therapy bill?

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wimrow on Chapter 26 of hmtb: WOOOOO I DONT FEWL LIKE SOBBING WITJ THIS CHAPTER!!!!!! (this will absolutely change later on won’t it)

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genderfluid_bitch on Chapter 29: *does a little jig* THE BABIES ARE HURTING AGAIN

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Amabsis on Chapter 30 of hmtb: “Grian, are you okay?” NOBODY IS OKAY IMPULSESV!!!

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Chat on Chapter 31 of hmtb: THATS A BRILLIANT WAY TO END A CHAPTER BUT OH MY FUCKERY ARE YOU CRUEL FOR IT.

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peskytimes on Chapter 39 of hmtb: everytime i read this fic my mental state gets worse <33 /pos

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Alcea_42 on Chapter 42 of hmtb: so sometimes 42 doesn't solve everything-

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Holly_Loves_Reading on Chapter 46 of hmtb: Oh my god they’re so cute! Not even a little bit healthy, but so cute!

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Pidgey05 on Chapter 47 of hmtb: Omg 200k words of pain and now finnally some fluff T^T it was so beautiful thank you author, for this gift 🤣

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SongbirdQuela on Chapter 48 of hmtb: Everything’s going so well! Oh jee wiz I hope nothing goes incredibly wrong, boy would that be a rollercoaster, oh golly I can’t wait to see absolutely none of the characters doing anything self destructive!

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Heartpaw on Chapter 48 of hmtb: “Did you two have a romp?” Says you. Your the one not wearing you own pants. Are you sure YOU didn’t have a romp

--

also have a kiss collection of you guys going insane <33

The_Pesky_Crow on Chapter 28 of hmtb: 12 Chapters from now, in a land far far away, the Grain kisses the Scar

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Linkito on Chapter 41 of hmtb: I absolutely cannot believe that I binged this FORTY ONE chapter fic of A HUNDRED AND SIXTY THOUSAND WORDS and these idiots haven't kissed. Unbelievable. You're taking slow burn to a whole new level bless you and also I hate you LMAO

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Bones_exe on Chapter 44 of hmtb: I'm going to be a crinkly old man by the time these two smooch huh?

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Chocolate_Cake_Enthusiast on Chapter 44 of hmtb: JUST KISS ALREADY. PLEASE. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. PLEASE JUST KISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Xanadu:Wynter on Chapter 45 of hmtb: PLEASE JUST ONE KISS

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Bioluminescence on Chapter 45 of hmtb: I THOUGHT THEY WERE GOING TO KISS I WAS HOLDING MY BREATH AND THEN THEY DIDN'T this is honestly so predictable of you though smh

--

and some bonus screenshot stuff <3 (first two from elegy, the rest is hmtb)

(in the one below you can see a beautiful duality of comments /pos)

i hope that was fun. i had fun putting this together <3

love you guys!!

----- questions from >>this ask game<<

[rise-above-the-grave]

beware stained glass shards

for @dekusmynamecryingsmygame​. you said angst was fine, so uhhhh have some mf-ing erasermic angst I guess. please note that a) I am brand new to this fandom and am still figuring out headcanons and characterizations. hopefully I didn’t screw anything up too bad in that regard...but if I did, please at least be gentle in your critique :’)... b) I wrote this in...about 4 hours, all completely after midnight. it’s not gonna be my best work :/ but I did my best! and I wanted to get this up asap so you could see and read it sooner rather than later.

tw for: canon-typical injuries, hospitals (and everything that goes along with hospitals like doctors, nurses, surgeries, etc.), some implied (it’s only implied!! and it’s super duper uber vague) nsfw stuff, and an off-screen (debatable; maybe-it-was, maybe-it-wasn’t) suicide attempt. (was it a suicide attempt or a villain attack? I don’t even know myself! - at least not yet. read it however you wanna read it. I purposefully leave it open for interpretation.)

and if you don’t wanna read it because of that even potential suicide attempt, lemme know and I’ll write you something else, Peachy... alkdsjflkjdsf unfortunately I have a bad case of “I didn’t think this through” after midnight, and I didn’t even think of that possibility until I was basically done writing it. at that point I was like “It’s 5:30 and I need to sleep, I might as well post this on the off chance they do want to read it...” if you don’t wanna read it tho lemme know and again, I’ll write ya something else tomorrow <3

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

He falls.

There is lightning, there is thunder, there is rain—and for an instant (a second, a heartbeat, a breath), he is a swallow, a sparrow, a falcon. He flies with invisible wings, the air is caught beneath him and above him and before him, the world spreads out into infinity below the raindrops hanging suspended in the air. The lightning gilds his dark hair in quicksilver, the thunder that follows an instant later shakes his bones, and the rain that drives him to the earth soaks his clothes into a second skin.

He falls, the asphalt of the alley that runs beneath the comet of his body rising nearer and nearer in a rapid sequence that he thinks, distantly, should be alarming.

I should be afraid, he thinks.

This is going to hurt, he thinks.

Hizashi—

And then there is pain, and there is fear, and there is darkness gilt by lightning, silence shrouded by thunder, blood watered by rain.

---

Yamada Hizashi is 22, desperate, and dangerous.

He is older than he thought he would ever be. When he was young, he had imagined himself living to the infinite age of 50. He would look at himself in the mirror hanging in the bathroom, fingers combing through hair he imagined going silver, palms smearing smooth skin he imagined going wrinkled and weather worn. He would pluck at the band t-shirts he’d wear under too-hot, too-heavy jackets with fidgety hands, wondering what he’d wear then.

I’m gonna be a hero! he’d told his moms, and when they laughed and hugged him and told him, You’re going to be the best hero there is!, he believed himself immortal, invincible, inevitable.

And he was. He was immortal, invincible, inevitable. He could be hurt, he could be beaten, he could be knocked down. But no matter what—no matter the pain, the struggle, the difficulty—he healed, and he fought until he was victorious, and he stood back up. No one could keep him down. No one could diminish him. No one could threaten his impenetrable view of the future.

And then—and then Oboro. And it had all crashed down around him, like so many shards of shattered stained glass.

With Oboro goes his heart. His future. His eternity. He is taught, with the sharpness of stone, with the heaviness of rubble, with the choking taste of dust, that death lurks in the most innocent of shadows, that pain waits in the wings of the theater, that certainty is a lodestone chained around your neck.

Nothing is certain. Not everything can heal. No one is invincible.

He stops thinking he’ll live to 50.

He stops thinking he’ll live past 20.

“Fuck you,” he spat, and Shouta flinched as if he’d been struck, the Happy birthday that had been on his lips dying a silent, painful death. “Fuck everything.” Without warning—without even fully processing what he intended to do; he just hurt, and he needed something, someone, to hurt with him—Hizashi threw his tumbler against the wall behind the bar. The shelf the tumbler hit broke, and a cascade of bottles and liquor crashed to the floor in so many shard of glass and fragments of dreams and spreading rivers of blood.

There was a shout, and then Hizashi felt Tensei’s and Nemuri’s hands on his shoulders, heard Shouta’s voice sounding unusually placating and apologetic as he spoke to the bartender who had rushed over.

“Get him out of here,” Shouta snapped a few seconds later, turning and looking straight at him with death in his eyes. For an instant, Hizashi almost felt guilty. Then Tensei and Nemuri were dragging him away from the counter, away from the gathering crowd, away from the bar.

“Idiot,” Tensei muttered as Hizashi listed against him in the alley behind the bar, all at once too drunk and too sober to function.

“Idiot,” Nemuri sighed, guiding him into the cab, buckling the seatbelt across his chest and waist and then letting him collapse against her shoulder.

“Idiot,” Shouta hissed at him as he undressed him and shoved him unkindly into bed.

He stops thinking he’ll live—and so he stops caring. He drinks too much. Eats too little. Throws himself into his work with a single-minded mania.

His relationship with Shouta suffers. They grate, like two broken ends of a once-whole bone, the nerve that is Oboro’s death still laid bare between them. Shouta can’t sleep without Hizashi in his bed; Hizashi can’t sleep unless he’s alone. Hizashi drinks to drown his memories, his emotions, his pain; Shouta tries to starve his out. They argue about it, until Shouta erases Hizashi’s quirk and Hizashi throws a punch—about Shouta’s energy pouches, about Hizashi’s whiskey. About the lights Hizashi wants to leave on at night. About the socks on the floor inside the door. About the uncapped toothpaste left by the bathroom sink. About the half-eaten takeout sitting in the fridge. About the nights Shouta will disappear without warning, without a trace. About—

Hizashi wonders if it is his fault the day Shouta walks out, slamming the door behind him.

Shouta doesn’t come back.

Hizashi drinks more. Eats less. Works harder. Does anything, anything to distract himself from the event horizon opening inside his chest.

I’ve lost my best friend, he thinks, curled up alone and unable to sleep in a bed that had once held two.

For the first time in years, he wishes someone was sleeping beside him.

It is dangerous. He knows this—knows the risks, knows that the rewards are negligible compared to the ruin it could bring him. His career is on the line. His future hangs by a thread.

Hizashi doesn’t care.

He isn’t going to live past 21 anyway.

Only a few of his partners know who he is. Those that do keep silent. It is never wise to paint a target on your back, and Hizashi makes it clear that he doesn’t want a relationship, isn’t looking for a connection—that there is no reason for them to think there is anything between them but drunken carnality.

He learns fast how to duck cameras—and how to attract them. He learns how to avoid reporters, except when he wants to talk. He learns how to sidetrack paparazzi with glamour shots. He finds he is good at this game of chess, of Russian Roulette, of cards built into fragile palaces. He is good with people, good with crowds, good with playing the symphony’s strings.

I’d make a damn good villain, he thinks one night before he drifts off to sleep, a cute blond whose name he can’t remember already asleep beside him.

And then he thinks of Shouta—of Eraserhead—and the guilt he’d swallowed eight months before, when Shouta had walked out and left nothing but empty shadows where he’d been, threatens to choke him. He barely makes it to the bathroom before he vomits, bile tasting of too-much alcohol and too-little food, of regret and shame.

What am I doing? he thinks, leaning his forehead against cool porcelain.

“Are you okay?” the cute blond asks. He stands in the door to the bathroom and looks down at Hizashi with concern in his pale eyes.

“Get out,” Hizashi says, not looking up.

“But—”

“Just—just go.” And then, softly, voice breaking halfway through the only syllable that matters, “Please.”

The cute blond leaves, and Hizashi is left totally, utterly alone.

---

“You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

Hizashi stares at the window overlooking the city and sees nothing but smears of too-bright light against a stormy night. Sees nothing but the unknown caller ID flashing up on his phone screen after its ringing had woken him. Sees nothing but the memory of Shouta’s face just before he’d turned away and stalked out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

What had they even been fighting about? Hizashi can’t remember.

“I’ll be right there,” Hizashi says, unsticking his throat just long enough to remember what he’s supposed to say.

The line clicks dead, and Hizashi stumbles blindly out of bed and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He throws on a jacket, a pair of boots, a set of headphones. Ties his hair up in a bun to keep it out of his face and, hopefully, dry once he pulls the hood of his jacket over his head.

The trip to the hospital is spent in a haze of emotion, fear, and dread. He can’t parse any of it, though. Can’t understand it, give voice to it, give structure to it. All he knows is that he is feeling, and that he is afraid, and that he is certain that the scythe has finally fallen once again—only once again it hasn’t come to reap his life.

The hospital is bright against the rain-swept night, clean and sharp and stinging. Hizashi feels bad about the mud he tracks in, feels bad about the water he drips on the floor, feels bad about the lingering scent of gel and hairspray that seems to hang around him no matter what shampoo he uses.

He tells them who he is, who he is here to see. The nurse helping him looks at Hizashi with a curious expression that he is too strung out to try to interpret, and then leads him down a maze of white corridors that he knows he will never remember. They stop outside a door in the ICU, and the woman rests a hand on his forearm and says something Hizashi does not hear. Then she opens the door, and Hizashi steps into the room.

Shouta is unconscious on a bed, surrounded by machines. His chest rises and falls with intubated breath, and two IVs are hooked into the backs of his hands. His eyes are closed beneath the purple and black bruising shadowing his face, and Hizashi can just see more bruising peering out above the bandages swathing his chest.

“How—” He chokes, unable to form the words that he needs to say.

“We don’t know,” the nurse says. “He was found in an alley by a couple of drunk college students. We think he fell.”

“Fell?” Hizashi repeats dumbly. “But he never falls.”

The nurse is silent. Whatever she is thinking, she does not share with Hizashi.

For that, Hizashi is grateful.

“Is he going to make it?”

“We don’t know,” the nurse admits. “He has to stabilize before we can use any healing on him. If he survives the night, his prognosis will be good—but it’s a big “if”.” She hesitates, then says, “It’s a good thing you came.”

Hizashi moves to sit in the chair pulled up to Shouta’s bedside and sinks into it. He does not see the nurse watch him with concern—does not hear her pager go off a few minutes later. He does not even notice when she disappears through the door, or when the door clicks shut behind her.

For a long time, Hizashi is silent. There is too much to say—too much he needs to say, too much he wants to say, too much he can’t say. The words sit heavy on his tongue, in his throat, behind his teeth. They are stones in his stomach, glass in his lungs, thorns in his heart.

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

He laughs weakly.

“You always did have a way of leaving me speechless, Sho,” he says at last. His voice is a clap of thunder in the silence of the room.

Hizashi sighs and buries his face in his hands.

“Please wake up,” he whispers through his fingers. “There’s so much I have to tell you. So much you have to know. Like, you have to know that I—I’m sorry. For…for everything.”

He swallows. His throat constricts, and his breath comes in shaky gasps.

“I can’t lose you too,” he says to his palms, because looking at Shouta is too much. His voice is hoarse and barely audible and pleading. “Please, Sho…”

The machines beep. The vents rattle. Shouta’s false breath hisses.

And Shouta doesn’t wake, even when Hizashi begins to cry.

---

Hizashi is asleep when the doctor comes in, just after dawn. He startles awake at the sound of the door closing, blinking blearily and turning his head to stare at the tall, dark man. The doctor smiles at him, and goes to check on Shouta.

He had survived the night. That much, at least, is a relief.

“We still don’t know,” the doctor warns Hizashi. “But we can start to be hopeful.”

They take him away for another surgery. This time, they promise Hizashi, a healer will be involved.

Hizashi stands, stretches, and goes in search of food. He finds the cafeteria, and buys a meager breakfast that smells bad and tastes worse. When he looks at his phone, he sees that he has missed calls from both Tensei and Nemuri. He shuts it off and shoves his phone back into his pocket to deal with later.

He’s going to have to call his agency soon, too, but he has a few minutes until that call is critical.

He spends a quarter of an hour sitting at the hard, plastic table in the cafeteria, staring out of the window at the overcast morning and thinking. He thinks about what he is going to say if—when—Shouta wakes up. He thinks about what he is going to say to Nemuri and Tensei. He thinks about his choices, and about the certainty of death, and about the possibility of life.

He thinks about Oboro, and about Shouta, and about how he lost one and how he might lose the other.

Hizashi stands, shoving his chair back so hard it topples onto the floor with a bang. What few others are in the cafeteria stare at him with varying degrees of irritation and wariness, until he rights the chair and walks away with a casual wave of apology.

He calls Tensei.

Tenya is running around in the background, laughing maniacally, and Tensei is distracted during the call in spite of his concern. He promises to come by the hospital when he can, though, and tells Hizashi to call Nemuri. Hizashi promises he will, and hangs up.

Nemuri is unusually quiet as Hizashi tells her what he knows of what happened, and while he tells her that Shouta is back in surgery. When at last she speaks, she only says, “You were still his emergency contact.” It is not a question. It is barely an observation. More than anything, it is a revelation.

“I guess so,” Hizashi says, cradling the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he feeds a bill into one of the vending machines. His breakfast had been bland, and he wants sugar.

They talk for another few minutes about nothing in particular, and as Hizashi unwraps his candy bar and begins to eat, he is struck with the notion that Nemuri is just trying to distract him. He appreciates it. Before long, though, she hangs up with a quick goodbye, and a promise to come to the hospital after her last patrol.

Hizashi crumples the empty wrapper and tosses it into a trash bin, and wanders his way back toward Shouta’s room.

He calls his agency once he is seated by Shouta’s still-empty bed. He tells them there was a family emergency, and that he will not be able to patrol today. They are surprisingly accepting of his feeble excuses, and Hizashi wonders if someone else had already contacted them. Probably Tensei, he decides. That was always the kind of thing Tensei thought of.

His phone calls made, Hizashi settles uncomfortably into the hard, plastic chair to wait for Shouta to be brought back. He tries not to think. He mostly fails.

He thinks of Shouta. He thinks of Oboro. He thinks of invincibility, and of shattered stained glass, and of birthdays. He thinks of a broken shelf of liquor bottles. He thinks of screaming at Shouta in their apartment, so angry he’s lost control, and of Shouta silencing him with a red-eyed stare. He thinks of broken promises, and broken hopes, and broken dreams.

They bring Shouta back in sometime around noon. He is still unconscious, but he looks a little better than he had the night before. The bruising is lighter—more red and purple than black and purple—and he is breathing on his own. Some of his color has returned as well, though he was never anything but pale.

The nurses leave again, after telling Hizashi things he does not hear, his attention fixed on Shouta to the exclusion of all else. He wonders, vaguely, as he feels them leave the room, if they had figured that out, or if they had just finished telling him what they had to say.

The seconds drag into minutes as Hizashi waits, the minutes into hours. Hizashi sits, stiff and sore, in the chair by Shouta’s bedside, watching his chest move beneath the bandaging, watching his eyes flicker beneath his eyelids. He wonders what Shouta dreams of.

The doctor comes in again. Leaves again. Hizashi ignores him.

Nemuri comes, but does not stay long. She talks, and Hizashi listens with half an hear, saying nothing as she tells him about her day, about her night, about everything but her worry over Shouta. It’s there, though, lurking beneath every strained story, every forced laugh, every brittle word.

Nemuri is older than him and Shouta and Tensei—but, like Tensei, she had found them adrift in the wake of Oboro’s death, and like Tensei she had decided, “These are mine, now.” Hizashi is grateful for it most days.

It is only after Nemuri stands and presses a kiss to Hizashi’s cheek in farewell that he speaks.

“They think he fell,” Hizashi says, not looking anywhere but Shouta’s face. Nemuri freezes.

“But he never falls.”

“I know.”

“Do you think—”

“I don’t know what I think,” Hizashi says, short and sharp. “And neither do you.”

Nemuri hesitates. Then says simply, “Okay.” She leaves without another word.

---

Tensei visits for an hour, and when he leaves he promises to return later in the evening so that Hizashi can run home to shower and change clothes. Hizashi agrees without really knowing what he’s agreeing to.

Night has just well and truly fallen when Shouta’s eyes flicker, then open. He looks around, taking in the lights and the ceiling and walls—and then his eyes fall on Hizashi, and he freezes.

“Hey,” Hizashi says.

Shouta turns his eyes away and stares up at the ceiling.

“Uh,” Hizashi says, feeling suddenly awkward and tongue-tied. “Thanks for leaving me as your emergency contact.”

Shouta grunts. Hizashi wonders if he can even talk right now, or if it’s too painful.

“Look, Sho…” Hizashi grimaces. “Shouta,” he corrects.

Shouta looks at him again, eyes flicking over to his face. Hizashi rubs the back of his neck, and tries to figure out how to say what he wants to say.

“I know this is a bad time,” he says finally. “But I have to say this before the doctors come rushing in, and before you get up the strength to kick me out.” Shouta’s eyes narrow at him, but Hizashi isn’t looking at him anymore—is staring, instead, at the edge of the bed.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “For…” He takes a deep breath. “For everything.”

Shouta looks back at the ceiling, and does not speak.

Hizashi calls the nurses. They come quickly, and Hizashi excuses himself from the room so that they can fuss over Shouta in peace. By the time they are done, Tensei is back, and Hizashi finds himself kicked out of the hospital until he has showered, changed, and eaten a full meal. He agrees to the terms grudgingly, but only because the memory of Shouta not even being willing to look at him is still fresh in his mind.

It haunts him as he showers, as he changes, as he walks to a small take-out restaurant a few blocks from his apartment and places his order. He wonders if he should even go back to the hospital, or if Shouta would prefer it to just be Tensei there.

He almost decides he would.

Tensei calls him just as he’s finishing his dinner, though.

“You on your way back?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Hizashi says, because he can’t quite bring himself to be selfless enough to say no.

---

Shouta is still awake when Hizashi walks into the room again. He looks at Hizashi when he opens the door and steps inside, then looks away again before he can close it. Tensei notices the silent exchange with a pensive look, but says nothing.

“Well,” he says, standing, “I have to go. I’m babysitting Tenya again tomorrow morning, and that little monster drains more out of me than twenty villains.” The soft smile on his lips belies the cutting words, though, and Hizashi knows that Tensei would give the world to his little brother if given the chance.

“Thanks,” Hizashi says, and claims the chair Tensei had just vacated.

Silence fills the room in the wake of Tensei’s departure, heavy and awkward and uncomfortable. Hizashi looks everywhere but at Shouta. Shouta stares at the ceiling.

“I…” Hizashi begins at last, entirely uncertain where he means to go with his next sentence but knowing he can’t bear the silence any longer.

A sigh cuts him off. Then, abruptly, in a ragged voice, Shouta says, “I’m sorry.”

Hizashi finally looks at him, startled. “For what?”

“For…everything,” Shouta says. “For walking out. For not being there for you. For ignoring you when you needed me.”

“Shouta, I…” Hizashi swallows hard. “I dug my own grave. I don’t expect you to dig me out. I never have.”

“Maybe that’s your problem,” Shouta whispers. “Our problem.”

Hizashi frowns. “What happened, Sho?” he asks suddenly. “How did you fall?”

“Someone pushed me,” Shouta says without hesitation. “I didn’t see them until it was too late.”

For the first time in seven years, Hizashi isn’t sure if Shouta is lying.

“Okay.” The word tastes like ash on Hizashi’s tongue, but there is nothing else he can say. Not now, anyway. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

Shouta is silent again, but it is a different kind of silence. Hizashi waits, knowing he is preparing to say something. At last, after a few heavy moments of pregnant waiting, Shouta says, “Can we start over?”

Hizashi looks at him, surprised. “I’m not sure that’s going to be possible,” he tells Shouta.

“Maybe,” Shouta agrees. “But…try again, then.”

For the first time in over a day, Hizashi smiles. “Yeah,” he says. Then, again, “Yeah. I’d…like that. I’d like that a lot.”

Shouta nods, just a little, against the pillow behind his head. He closes his eyes.

“Will you be here?” he asks, voice already thick with sleep.

“Yeah,” Hizashi says, knowing what he’s asking. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Shouta nods again, eyes still closed, and in seconds his breathing evens out into a soft, sleepy cadence.

Hizashi settles back into his uncomfortable chair, preparing for another long night of half-conscious sleep. It’ll be worth it, though, he thinks. Anything is worth having my best friend back.

And for the first time since the stained glass of his invincibility shattered, Hizashi thinks that maybe, just maybe—if Shouta is at his side—he’ll see his 25th birthday. Maybe even his 30th.

Maybe even his 50th.

[unforth]

I have started reading Danmei at your recommendation and I am IN SO DEEP. I was wondering if you could make a list of the ones you have read and recommend.

I AM SO GLAD ANON!! Both that I'm the reason you got into danmei, and also that you sent me this ask (I always wish I got more asks like this, lol. <3 )

Better yet, I can answer this pretty easily, because I've already compiled a stupidly complete list of what I've read, am reading, and plan to read, and it's on Tumblr even! And it's recent, so fingers crossed that the links all still work (with stuff going on with JJWXC - the website where most danmei is initially published - a lot of authors have locked, removed, or otherwise made it harder to access their works, so links have been changing often and things that used to be available often aren't).

Anyway, here's my FULL list! As you'll see if you click through, it's actually kinda short? because I'm a slow reader, and these books are so so so SO long. But, I'm plugging away, and reading more all the time (I'm like...almost 20% through The Fourteenth Year of Chenghua rn...).

As to recommendations...so, I've read, start to finish, 10 danmei novels so far, and I haven't yet read something I didn't like. I don't know what you've already read and liked, so it's hard for me to make specific recommendations and/or explain these books in a way that might help you decide which would interest you, but I can say that my personal top 5 are:

1. Tian Guan Ci Fu/Heaven Official's Blessing by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu. Fantranslations are no longer available for it, because it's being published by Seven Seas Danmei. I honestly don't even know where to begin with TGCF because I love it just that much. Like, it's my number 1 danmei, and it's ALSO in my top 5 books ever.

2. The Husky and His White Cat Shizun by Meatbun Doesn't Eat Meat. This has also been licensed by Seven Seas Danmei; if you're at all interested in reading it grab it now because the main translations are going down at the end of the month. MAKE SURE YOU CHECK TRIGGER WARNINGS AND TAGS 2ha is heavy angst with a happy ending, and all AO3 major archives apply to it, and then some.

3. Thousand Autumns by Meng Xishi. The one I'm hoping Seven Seas will license next. They are such a strange couple with a very unusual dynamic and I love that for them.

4. Qiye by Priest. This is the first book in the 'verse where the c-drama Word of Honor takes place, and is the book I finished most recently, and I really, really liked it. It was especially cool to read it and then watch some Word of Honor again because viewing the show through the lens of what I now know from Qiye is fascinating (I haven't read Tian Ya Ke yet, which is the book Word of Honor is based on, but it's on my list).

5. Golden Stage by Cang Wu Bin Bai. Peach Flower House Publishing announced yesterday that they've licensed this one under the name Golden Terrace, for a November release. I'm not sure yet what that means for the translation I linked, but I'd say, if you want to read a fantranslation this is probably the moment to do it.

Honorable Mention: Daomu Biji by Xu Lei isn't danmei, and it's honestly like...kinda terrible? The plot is so full of holes that it's sometimes incomprehensible, the official English translation is mediocre, the shows range from hilariously bad through genuinely good yet still full of huge plot holes and major plot holes...and yet somehow DMBJ has become one of my fandom happy places? I think it's because it's a trial by fire; the people who can get through the mess of canon have to be chill, there's no way to enjoy it otherwise (and I do, truly, genuinely, absolutely enjoy it) and so it's just...a really nice fandom to be in, and canon has a large cast with a lot of excellent supporting characters who often get the spotlight, which means it's a multishippers delight. But enter at your own risk. You WILL want to throw things at the author, on the regular, lmao.

I hope this helps a little? If I knew more what you'd read and liked, I could probably do a more tailored rec list. <3

[taikanyohou]

hey faiza!!! i hope you've been having a good day so far 💕 i was scrolling through your replies tag (which i do every other week when i have free time bc you have a beautiful way with words and it helps put my mind at ease for a while) and i thought it was already past the time where i come here and express my gratitude to you (which i tried doing once before but i felt awkward and didn't want to be a nuisance (haha get it?)). ever since i began following, i've learned so so SO much. not only +

+ about the islam and all desi matters (that i had so little knowledge about, shame on me! it's a beautiful culture and i'm so glad i'm able to see a slice of and learn about it through your blog!!), but also about so many other things, whether it be lgbtqia+ topics, just perks of life and even how to be more conscious and educated about the things and pieces of media i consume. i'm just a teenager u kno, whereas you are already a grown woman, so i couldn't possibly compare us as equal, as you certainly have more life experiences and knowledge than i do, and we come from drastically different places; my view of the world is still so limited to my surroundings and where i come from, but it's within the internet that i find a place to learn more about others and make that view of the world be wider, richer and more mindful. god i feel like im derailing, sorry shdhajd, but my point is: i didn't expect to be able to learn so much when i began watching bls again this year, i thought i would watch the shows, follow some blogs for pretty gifs, and that's all. but i was wrong, because tumblr gave me the opportunity to meet and befriend so many incredible people and i was so lucky that you were one of them. i've said this before but, my tumblr experience is so much better whenever i see you on my dash talking about whatever it is, and i look up to you so so so much. i'm not a religious person but the way you talk about the islam, the Qur'an or Allah makes me feel so emotional and it's beautiful to see this deep and passionate connection you have with this religion. and just how incredibly articulated you are when talking about any topic, it always makes me stop scrolling and read all the things you write. i adore reading your thoughts, your opinions and your take on things because they always come from a place of reflection, appreciation and respect, and i admire that a lot. you have such a wonderful and kind soul, it's so inspiring to me to see how you always try to be positive, optimistic and respectful no matter what is in front of you. of course, we don't //really// know each other that well, but the little of you that you pour out and show us is already so beautiful and welcoming 💓 i'm gonna stop now i'm sorry that this is so long goddd i just.... i wanted to thank you for all that you do for those who follow you and how impactful your presence on my tumblr experience has been. (i swear to you, when you followed me back on this blog before i made the sideblog, i legit freaked out lmao my mind was "WHAT??? SHE, WHO'S SO CLEVER AND AMAZING AND TALENTED, JUST FOLLOWED ME? WHEN I HAVE NOTHING TO OFFER?? SJDHSJSJ WHAT" and tbh i still don't know What made you want to be mutuals but i'm glad for whatever it was 💞) i hope all the parts go and im so sorry it's so long shdnksjdj

dawn!!! hello my sunshine!!!!!!!!! i hope you've had a lovely week, and i hope this weekend you take some time off and relax! i hope you're doing well!!!

oh my goodness me i- what have i done to deserve this I DO NOT DESERVE this. thank you so so much for just. being so loving and you are so so wise, i READ your tags, i READ your posts. and i think, despite however old or young people are, there's something to learn from everyone. there's something to appreciate and pick up on and implement and become more aware of and about from everyone's story of life. so don't ever think you may not have much to offer!

this year's been hard. a lot has happened. and i think everything has been a lesson to learn from, and for us to really truly understand what it is that really matters the most to us, and to show gratitude for what we have, all the blessings we have. and its hard to stay positive all the time, and thats okay. sometimes, our sadness needs room and space also where its telling us to just ... take a moment and reflect on why the sadness is there. but i've become so .... adamant that i choose to go back and think positively again. bc although it feels like we've been stripped away from being physically social, i've seen how much goodness and humanity there is still left within people on here, within all my mutuals - and i realised that, as long as there is goodness in this world, there's no reason to give up on hope. people together can make so many things happen.

and part of, i feel, what people should be proud of, is being proud of who they are. not in the arrogant sense, but in terms of WHO you are. what makes you, you. and now more than ever we need to know about one another. about different backgrounds and cultures and religions and beliefs etc. we can become ambassadors of those things, and being an authentic source of knowledge for people. of course, not everyone may like that, but thats okay. knowledge is power and there's so much knowledge out there for us to dip into. by learning from another, we can truly enrich ourselves, find out about commonalities and similarities and differences and contrasts. and ultimately realise that every single one of us has the right to life and the right to live. we can share our sorrow and pain, and also share our moments of joy and happiness too. we may not all agree on the same thing, but that should not sway us from wanting to befriend someone and missing out on an opportunity to get to know someone, just because you may not agree on one thing. there could be 10 things you do agree on vs that 1 that you dont. and that doesnt stop you from being any less you, nor them being any less them. we all deserve respect and kindness, despite our similarities and despite our differences from one place, culture, religion or belief, to the next.

there is just. there is so much good in this world, in nature, in people. we need to celebrate that. we need to appreciate goodness and just. be thankful for everything we have, and anything we get on top of what we have, is a blessing.

thank you so so so much!!! i love youuuuu!!!! 🧡🧡🧡