#kinda?? it can be read as platonic!!

[spoopdeedoop]

real friends have weird greetings that usually involve hitting each other

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt2 to this post

'Is something wrong?' Nancy asks, not long after the two of them have taken their familiar spots on the hood of Steve's car. They're basking in what might be the last warm sunlight of the year, looking out over the quarry, at a safe distance from the edge.

It's become a tradition the two of them share, ever since they reconnected back in March. It calms them both, to just sit here and take in the view, no one around but each other. Nancy is one of the few people Steve can share a comfortable silence with: sometimes they sit here quietly for what feels like hours, side by side, listening to music or to nothing but the birds singing around them. But they also have their best conversations here: it's the place where Nancy entrusted him she wanted to break up with Jonathan; it's the place where they talked about their shared past and decided they would always love each other as friends; it's the place where they finally talked about Barbara in a way they couldn't when they were younger. It's where Nancy talked about the ghosts still haunting her and Steve talked about how lonely he sometimes felt.

Steve huffs. 'How did you guess?'

'When you frown, you always do it with your whole face,' Nancy notes. 'So it's hard to miss, really.'

Steve glances at her side profile. There's a serenity to her features that's still relatively new. It means she's healing, slowly learning how to be happy again. It means she stopped waiting for the end of the world and started believing in a real future again. It makes Steve proud of how far they both have come.

'I had a fight with Eddie,' he confesses. 'And with Dustin, I guess.'

'What happened?'

He sighs. 'It's complicated.'

'Wanna tell me about it?'

The look in her eyes is kind and inviting. Steve hesitates. He wants to, but he doesn't know if he can. It's a risk. It's scary.

But he can't imagine Nancy Wheeler ever being careless with his secrets. He can't imagine her judging him, can't imagine her being as small-minded as most people in this town.

He was planning on telling her anyway, because things had been going so well with Eddie lately and – no, he shouldn't think about that right now. But maybe it would actually be nice to talk about it with Nancy.

'So, um...' His throat feels tight and his hands are sweaty. 'I recently discovered some things about myself. I-' The words get stuck somewhere on the way to his mouth, and he clears his throat.

Nancy doesn't push, but only gives him an encouraging nod, waiting for him to find his voice again.

'I found out I like boys,' he finally manages to confess. 'And I need you to know that – that that doesn't mean that what I felt for you wasn't real. It was. I loved you, and now I fell in love with a boy. And-'

'Steve.' Nancy's hand suddenly covers his, causing him to finally jerk his head away from the view over the quarry, to focus on her face again instead.

Her eyes are wide, and she squeezes his hand.

'You don't have to explain yourself to me,' she tells him. 'We're good. But thank you for telling me. For trusting me with this.'

Steve heaves out a relieved sigh, and Nancy smiles; it's that genuine kind of smile which reveals all kinds of dimples and soft lines across her face.

'We might be more similar than you thought,' she tells him, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks.

'Really?' Her words make his breath catch in his throat. He squints at her, trying to see her in this new light. 'Are you saying what I think you're saying?'

She shrugs. 'I don't know. I'm not sure yet,' she admits. 'Still figuring things out.'

'Take your time, there's no rush,' he tells her. 'But...' He bumps his shoulder against hers. 'When you're done figuring it out, talk to me, okay?'

She nods. 'Okay.'

For a while, it's quiet between the two of them. Some kind of raptor circles high above them in the sky. They both follow it with their eyes until it disappears among the tree tops west of the quarry.

'Is it Eddie?'

Steve blinks dumbly a couple of times.

'Wha- what?'

'The guy you were talking about. The one you fell in love with. It's Eddie, isn't it?'

'Jesus, Wheeler, what kind of sorceress are you?' Steve exclaims.

Nancy laughs again. 'You're not being as subtle as you think,' she tells him. 'The two of you have been hooking up for a while now, haven't you?'

Steve huffs dramatically. 'This is unfair. You know everything; I can't even tell you my own secrets anymore!'

'So what happened?' Nancy asks. 'You said you had a fight with him?'

'It's fucking stupid,' he sighs. 'Dustin was getting way too excited about the fact that I was gonna be hanging out with you, so I told him I was seeing someone. Next thing I knew, he was telling Eddie all about how I was seeing a girl.' He waves his hands around to make annoyed air quotations. 'I wanted to tell Eddie it was a misunderstanding, but Dustin was there, so I couldn't out us just like that, and he looked so betrayed and heartbroken... He didn't wanna listen to me.'

Steve sighs; he still can't manage to forget that look in Eddie's eyes when Dustin delivered the big news. 'I wish I would've talked about what I felt for him earlier. I should've been honest when I had the chance, y'know. But I was afraid he wouldn't wanna label what we had, that he wouldn't feel the same way – and now we're in this whole mess. God, he must hate me right now, Nance.'

To his surprise, Nancy gives him an unexpected slap against his arm.

'Ouch, what the hell was that for?!'

'What are you even doing here with me, Steve? You should've gone after him, tell him how you feel!'

'I tried, obviously, but he didn't wanna listen to me!'

'So make him listen! You're in love with him, he obviously feels the same way about you, and you let him leave to wallow in a broken heart he doesn't even need to have!' She rolls her eyes and slides off the car, adding something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like an exasperated 'Boys!' before she pulls Steve off the car as well. 'C'mon, time to get your ass over to the trailer park. Right. Now,' she says through gritted teeth. And, well, Steve knows better than to argue with a determined - and truthfully quite terrifying - Nancy Wheeler.

Read the last part here Taglist: @withacapitalp @ultimatedreamer104 @irregular-child @jcmadgirl @estrellami-1 @myguiltyartpleasure @hallucinatedjosten @jaybren @thew1ldblueyonder @melodymeddler @alycatavatar @zoeweee @lolawonsstuff @fairy-princette @saramelaniemoon @phirex22 @krazyperson @xxsky-shockxx (I only put people on this list who explicitly asked to be tagged. That's really no problem, I love to do that so dw about asking, but I got a lot of relatively vague reactions to the previous post that i'm not gonna dissect and interpret, bc I don't wanna clog anyone's notes unwanted. So just to be clear: i consider it a huge compliment if anyone asks for a tag but please do it clearly if you do!)

[cozylittleartblog]

had a(nother) nightmare

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[propaganda101]

it's been 3 days and I'm still fucking stuck on LAD chapter 9 somehow

[a-tired-human-draws-junk]

It's so fucking funny being a labru shipper and randomly coming across people in the fandom that are like 'man.. I wasnt seeing it at first but you guys were right kabru is down HORRENDOUSLY for this man'

Like yeah.... yeah it's kinda embarrassing atp

[janetcage]

I’m titling this, Syzoth and Ashrah go to Walmart. Now accept the shenaniganary.

[turnstechgodhead]

KARKAT HAS THE FRIEND SHIP BRACELETS!! that's so cute man I'm sobbing

the fact that you noticed this and sent a message abt it made me go feral and make this for like 6 hours

[jakearison]

Reasons why agent 4 should have been in splat3: a thread (1/278)

[veinsfullofstars]

🎩 Putting on a show with style… and snow! 🎩

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Shadow Kirby interacting with Daroach, with guest cameos by Dark Meta Knight and Spinni. Top right - SK & DMK reflected in a steampunk-inspired mirror, each dressed in the Dreamy Gear attire of their counterparts but more tailored to them (purples instead of blues for SK, a tattered red cape and a spiked hat belt for DMK). SK stands on his tiptoes and holds his cheeks with a wide, starry-eyed smile, delighted with his new outfit, while DMK stands just behind him to our left, curled into his cape and looking disgruntled, a bit of blush peeking through his mask. Outside the mirror, Spinni stands proudly on our right, smiling and giving a thumbs-up with a hand on his hip and a few sewing pins in his teeth, while Daroach (dressed in his own Dreamy Gear clothes) stands on the opposite side, pointing at his friends' reflections with an affectionate smile. Middle left - SK & Daroach holding the Magic top hat together, the puffball looking up in awe as the thief taps it with his wand, causing a pair of white doves to fly out in a small burst of confetti. Bottom right - SK wearing the Ice hat and skating gracefully on one foot towards the viewer, arms held out and expression full of joy. Behind him, Daroach skates by in the opposite direction, holding up his wand to unleash gusts of glowing snowflakes all around them. END ID.)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 (you’re here!) | Part 7 | Compilation

Sketch started btw 12/23 - 06/24, render started 06/08/24, finished 06/13/24.

[candy8448]

how is people making romantic shippy content ruining your experience by tiring you out lol ?? how is people making romantic shippy content preventing you from "letting you have" your platonic little guys. everyone in fandom does whatever they like. no one is gonna make the content you want for you

Im not trying to change how people see the characters as romantic or whatever they see them as and im sorry if it came off that way.

What i was trying to point out is that there is a severe lack of platonic content for dungeon meshi. I go on ao3 dunmeshi fandom tag and its mostly shipping and smut fics. (I mainly search for chillchuck fics and the majority chillshi or chillaios fics or shipping him with other characters, many/most containing smut and then i exclude those tags and there are barely any fics at all) and its just quite frustrating when it is all you can find

I was just trying to point out that there is a whole lot of shipping and i personally want to see more platonic stuff but im not trying to get anyone to change what they like/ship/make

[giggly-squiggily]

Hi! If you could do anything with Lee Genya, that would be fantastic. If not it’s ok, but like there are not a lot that I can find lol. Like 4 max maybe.

Oo, I'm loving me some Genya and Tanjiro! Especially after this most recent arc in Demon Slayer! I've gotcha covered, anons!

CW: Angst, hurt/comfort, some swearing. Food mention

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@myreygn @thatbigbisexual29 @duckymcdoorknob @wolfyeatstacos @gladdygirl18 @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @backy-san @t-wordiiish @sarahmaystock5578 @rachi-roo @mystwrites @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @giggly-toybox

“I’m here to help.” Genya called out upon arriving, only to find Tanjiro in the room. “And I’m late.”

“Huh? Oh! Genya!” The brunette smiled at him over his shoulder, an empty pot and several dirty plates around him. “Sorry- the guys couldn’t wait to eat. I saved you some- we made rice porridge.”

“Huh- oh no, I’m not..” Genya paused, weakened by Tanjiro’s bright expression. Then his stomach growled, making him flush from root to collar. “Okay fine.”

“Yay! I think you’ll like it.” A bowl was passed to trembling hands, the brunette nodding before standing up and gathering the dishes. “You don’t eat much. At first I thought it was to do with the-” He trailed off, realizing how it sounded. “Sorry..”

“You’re fine.” Genya told him around a mouthful. He finished off his porridge as he seeked for the words. “I…guess I’m not much of an eater. Never have been.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say more, but Tanjiro seemed to understand.

“You remind me of Nezuko.” He laughed, voice soft. “Even before she became a demon; she ate fairly little. I was always telling her to have more, but she wouldn’t take anything until all our siblings had food.” His smile was sad with memory. Genya felt his heart pinch. “I hope- when she’s human again- she eats more. I want to have her try all kinds of food. Like Miss Kanroji’s pancakes, and Udon! I…Genya?”

He hadn’t realized he was crying until tears dripped onto his hands. “Oh-oh shit..” He tried to wipe them away, but they just kept falling- like raindrops against a rooftop. “S-Sorry, I don’t- I don’t know why I’m-”

Arms were around him, the smell of charcoal and sweat and…Tanjiro. His hair tickled Genya’s nose, shocking him briefly out of his tears.

“You smell so sad…” Tanjiro spoke into his shoulder, his grip tight and comforting and warm. It was enough to make him cry more. Before long, Genya was sobbing into his neck, clinging to him just as tight. Despite his own grief, he could feet Tanjiro shaking in his arms. He was crying too.

He didn’t know how much time passed, or if anyone passed by. All he knew was eventually his sobs lessened into exhausted sniffles, and his chest hurt from all the crying. He was sure his face was a mess, and he knew if he talked, he’d sound stuffy and gross.

“Sorry.” Was all he got out.

“Why are you apologizing?” Tanjiro wiped at his cheeks, sheepish at his own weeping. “I should be the one to do so- I didn’t mean to bring up something painful.”

“What- no, don’t apologize either.” Genya cringed, not at all liking where this was going. Why was talking so difficult? “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m..I’m sorry about your sister. And your family.”

Tanjiro nodded slowly, letting their shared grief settle. Then he smiled, reaching out and patting Genya’s shoulder.

“Come on- let’s finish cleaning up.” He stood, bringing Genya with him as they went to work.

~~~

“Hm hm hm hm hmmm~” Tanjiro hummed happily as he put away the last of the bowls, stretching his arms out overhead. “And done! Thanks for your help, Genya!”

“Hm.” The other boy was outside, sitting on the porch just a foot away from the open door. Tanjiro hesitated, but then decided to come out and sit with him.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, watching his face carefully. Genya didn’t respond immediately, but then he nodded slowly.

“Yeah…god- is it weird I feel embarrassed?” He looked at his legs, cheeks suddenly hot. “I know I shouldn’t, but I feel so…”

“Vulnerable?” Tanjiro offered, wincing some when Genya glared. “Sorry.”

“No- no, don’t-ugh. I’m bad at this.” The taller boy stammered, bowing his head in defeat. “I don’t- I don’t know how to talk to people. Sorry if it doesn’t always come out right.”

Tanjiro nodded, leaning on his knees. Now that he knew his brother- this wasn’t news.

Something in his chest twinged though- seeing Genya so sad. He didn’t smell nearly as devastated as before, but it didn’t mean Tanjiro was satisfied.

He took a risk, reaching out and jabbing his side.

“Gah!” Genya yelped at the touch, leaning away with wide eyes. Tanjiro blinked.

Then he was smiling, poking him again.

“T-Tanjihihiro! Knoohohock it oohohohohff!” Genya giggled out, one arm swatting at him while the other one tried to block Tanjiro’s finger. “Dohoohhn’t dohoho thahahaht!”

“Why not? You’ve been frowning all evening. I want to see you smile!” The brunette laughed as he got on his knees, bringing both hands in as he carried on tickling. “Tickle tickle tickle, Genya!”

“Aheahahhhha! Gheahhhaa- dohohohohn’t yohhohohu sthahahahrt wihiihihth thahahahat! Ghehahahahah!” He tried his best, but Tanjiro was a force to be reckoned with. Genya soon found himself lying on his back, kicking his feet and squeaking as his ribs were thoroughly pinched and prodded. “Coohoohhome ohohoohh, hahahahve sohohoome mehhehhercy!”

“Hmm..I’ll think about it.” Tanjiro winked, moving his hands up to Genya’s armpits before drilling into them- making the taller boy screech. “Tell you what- I’ll show mercy when you’re no longer sad. Sounds fair?”

“Uhuhuhunfahhahahir! Uuhuhuhnfahhhahahahair! Aheahhahha stahhahahap!” Genya kicked and squealed beneath him, fighting for his life as his worst spots were attacked. Despite his pleas, Tanjiro didn’t get a whiff of discomfort. If anything, Genya smelled like he was having fun.

It brought him a deep sense of joy. He was glad to know his friend was feeling good.

“Ahehahahahahahha Taahhahanjihihihihrohohohohoo!” With a sudden burst of strength, Genya managed to flip them over, pinning Tanjiro to the ground as he gasped for air. “Thehehere…nhhoohohow stahhap it!” He nodded, looking down at Tanjiro with a glare.

The brunette smiled up at him happily, unfazed at his look. “Okay! Feeling better?”

“Feeling-” Genya blinked, unsure on how to respond. Then he sighed, falling into Tanjro with a low groan. “Yes…yes, I feel better.”

“Good!” Tanjiro believed him, reaching up to pat his head. “Anytime you need help, I’m here for you.”

“In that case, help me out with something…” Tanjiro blinked, interested. When Genya sat up, there was something rather dangerous in his gaze. He already knew what was coming.

“Hehe, I’m in danger, aren’t I?” He asked, already giggling.

“You’re about to be- COME HERE!” Genya was quick to attack, going for his ribs and sending Tanjiro into loud happy fits of mirth. Soon the night sky was filled with laughter once more, the two carrying on their tickle fight and chasing away the pain. Eventually, Gyomei would find them and remind them to get some rest- putting an end to their tickle fight before they could wake all the trainees.

The entire time, Tanjiro didn’t get a single whiff of sadness from his friend.

Mission accomplished.

Thanks for reading!

[wilsons-three-legged-siamese]

another fic of mine woah 😩

fandom; house md

can be interpreted as non slah or slah between house/wilson

summery; wilson is dying, being taken care of a person. but wilson cant remember who they are.

word count; 1.3k

tw; major character death.

a/n: i dont have ao3 so it shall not be put up on there. if it is notify me, ill say if i have given permission as if someone asks i probably will say yes.

this was based on the song "rises the moon - liana flores"

rises the moon.

days seem sometimes as if they'll never end.

its august. the 20th if we're being exact. coming to the close of summer and the opening of autumn, usually being my favourite time of the year. cozy sweaters, warm socks and scarfs, the perfect weather. usually sunny with a nice breeze. well, i wish i could enjoy it. instead, im stuck in bed, my breathing laboured and my body shaking. though, this year, summer was my favourite.. june. i really enjoyed that, when i could walk without aid and just, enjoy life. ever since mid july, ive been deteriorating quicker than an abandoned building, which has been agonising. i want the pain to go away, please. it hurts..

but i dont want to die.

from the bedroom, i hear the singing voice again, a soothing melody. their voice smooth and deep. i sigh softly, it being a sort of comfort for me, knowing at least someone was there and i wasn't alone. their humming and muffled singing drowns out the continuous beeping of the heart monitor besides me. they had stolen the machine after faking being ill in a walk-in clinic, once the doctor had done to complain to the dean about them being an ass, they smuggled the monitor and brought it back. the good ol' days hm? that day was probably the most ive complained and laughed for a long, long time.

a mass than sat on the bed, the weight shifting slightly on the mattress. i ket out an involuntary groan, my back being slightly unsupported.

"hey, i made some broth for you.. its 1, and i think you should at least try and drink it for me," they murmured.

the bowl, of what i assume was broth, was set down on the small table besides me. soon enough, long, lanky arms were wrapped around my middle, gently pulling me up to sit up. wait.. what time did they say again.. 1 was it? only.. 1?

the sun digs its heels to taunt you.

the rim of the bowl was scarcely pressed to my lips, the bowl being slightly hot. i signal them to tip it a little so i can take a sip. and so i do. and holy shit..

thats fucking amazing.

the warm, soupy liquid runs down my throat, a sort of feeling i dont get that often, especially being warm. the way he flavours mix together is phenomenal, the spices and the subtle beef. its flavourful, but not enough to freak my taste buds out, which happens all too often now.

"is it okay?" they ask, their voice soft and gentle.

i hum with a slight nod.

but after sunlit days, one thing stays the same:

rises the moon.

days fade into a watercolour blur.

its been.. maybe a week? my sense of time is so off, it could be a week for a few days.. lets say its been a few days - to make me feel better. im now slipping in and out of consciousness, which is concerning in itself. i dont know how long im out for at a time. theyve been becoming more and more worried about me. i mean, there was always an elephant in the room, hell even when i was first diagnosed. but, the elephant has been growing larger and larger than before, making it hard to ignore. we have to adress it sometime.

but its hard to breathe.

then im awoken by a coughing fit.

it shakes my whole body, racking everything as i shut my eyes tight, desperately trying not to wake them up behind me. but, of course they woke up, they always do. i tried to savour the two, lanky but muscular arms around my abdomen, as they were warm and comforting, but soon, all i could feel was pain.

"are you okay?" they ask, their voice still a bit groggy from sleep.

i hum, my voice still hoarse even though i barely made a sound.

this just reminds me of them, i swear something to do with an infarction to the leg. but i cant quite remember.. or remember them.. their face is slightly recognisable, but not by a lot at all. my memorys been wracked up.. pisses me off, i wanna know whos caring for me. i wanna thank them, using their name, recogising their face.

memories swim up and haunt me.

"hmm.. mm!" i hum, trying to catch their attention.

they run over, quickly turning me on my side and holding the bucket to my mouth. i start to cry as i retch, vomiting harshly into the bucket, they rub my back gently, mumbling words of encouragement and reassurance softly to me. finally, i stop. glancing down at the small puddle of bile and saliva, i frown slightly.

look into the lake, shimmering like smoke.

i look into their eyes. my, coffee like brown into their, ocean like blue. scared and helpless meet concerned and determined. they run their skinny, pianist fingers through my frail hair. they always wanted to care for me, secretly.

rises the moon.

"close your weary eyes, i promise you that soon the autumn comes to darken faded summer skys." they pause for a moment. "breathe, breathe, breathe."

almost immediately after hearing that, i start to cry, just a full on breakdown. they quickly embrace me, wrapping their arms around my middle. i dig my face into theit shoulder, tears still rolling down my pastey cheeks. its nice.

oh to be hugged like this again.

days pull you down just like a sinking ship.

its been a day? maybe.. i dunno anymore. it might've been 2, 3, 4 a week, who knows - not me thats fot sure. it might be september now, i last remember it was august, that seems like yesterday. them, my carer, whatever, i dont know their name anymore. i dont know who they are, i cant see.. its all blurry and fuzzy, so is my memory. i cant remember the last time i ate..

floating is getting harder.

"im sorry.." they mumble, their voice snapping me out of my thoughts - though it was barely above a whisper.

their thin fingers run through my hair again, gently letting it fall between the gaps and repeating.

oh, i forgot to mention, i also cant speak.. or breathe for that matter. i think the tumor - or tumors more like - have begun to press against my trachea and esophagus, making his hard to both eat and breathe. wheezing has become a normal, daily routine.

considering my condition,

i have tonight,

and thats it.

because of my fate, i keep repeating a phrase i once said to a child as they went through chemo. they had no parents, i was the best thing they had..

but thread the water, child, and know that meanwhile: rises the moon.

days pull you up just like a daffodil.

its the next day, i think. its really hard to just think. the weezings gotten worse, i feel awful, like horrendous. its awful... maybe i am ready to die. i can just subtly feek them holding my fraile hand, stroking their thumb over my knuckles. only barely. im scared, terrified more like. i dont even know who they are, but im scared for them.. they'll miss me definitely. what will they do when im gone? i dont know..

uprooted from its garden.

once again, i feel consciousness slip from underneath me. which is normal, very. but this wasn't normal.. i could still hear.

"they'll tell you what you owe," they mumble. "but know even so, rises the moon."

i try to smile, a small twinge of my lips. but nothing happens. i try to tell them i love them, but again, nothing happens.

"you'll be visited by sleep. i promise that the autumn comes to steal away each dream you keep." they choke back a sob.

"breathe, breathe, breathe." houses voice sobs.

they're house.

but its too late to tell him i love him.

[taikk0]

i suck at ship art but i like style so uh yea

this was supposed to stay a sketch to learn how to draw pc kyle 4 the first time but i liked it a lot and thought it came out okay so i ended up actually finishing it :>

[toastymarshie]

Thinking about how Itadori and Fushiguro were probably never suppose to meet.

Feel free to disagree with my argument or chalk it up to me being a sad ass bitch, but it does feel like that.

Feel free to add to this post or send me an ask lol.

Why do I feel like this?

Well, I can’t pinpoint the exact reasons for why I feel this way, I can give some evidence to back it up. I know that JJK is a shonen and it was going to start with Itadori Yuji and end with or without him.

Ofc the most obvious one is Yuji’s death and path leading up to it.

(I will refer to the manga at this point if I will put anime screenshots if I just have them at hand)

Their first meeting

As you can see Fushiguro was impressed by Itadori’s natural strength. Even comparing him to Maki. However that was the extent he was willing to give to a random person. A very one sided interaction.

Until

This is the moment the narrative shifts for both Megumi and Yuji. Yuji carrying a curse since the beginning of their meeting (how ironic!) and Megumi is going after him. Sure it’s to retrieve Sukuna’s finger but it’s there.

For anyone who doesn’t know for some odd reason, Megumi’s name translates to Blessing hence why Toji and mama Fushiguro call him such. Yes, his name meaning is important to not only Yuji but to the major players such as Gojo.

Also we have to talk about Grandpa Itadori’s last request.

Of course we know now that Grandpa’s last words were a curse to Yuji. How this last request shapes Yuji as a person in the coming chapters. Another curse to add to the list of curses. (Do the note the rule of three)

Then we get the scene in the hospital after Yuji’s grandfather dies. (Abridged for time)

This is when the plot finally kicks in. Yuji unknowably putting his friends in danger and Megumi has to go save them and the finger. I don’t personally count this as a curse for Yuji as it’s just the direct effect of the first curse I noted. Remember that Yuji comes in when he remembers his grandpa’s words.

Then finally we get to the final curse

Ryomen Sukuna

Itadori Yuji’s last and final curse that sealed his fate. The very thing that led him to the path he’s in. Not just him but also Fushiguro Megumi. From Shibuya to the current arc (Chapter 244-245) both of them have been by each other’s side trying their best to break this curse.

Remember, Yuji was going to be executed once he ate the first finger but due to Gojo’s interference and Megumi’s own personal feelings he was given a choice.

The first chapter really set them up to meet each other regardless of the factors that scream don’t do it/don’t follow him. Especially in hindsight, you can feel the tragedy brewing before it even begins. You somewhat know the consequences in the first chapter and it only grows worse in the second.

But that what makes a good tragedy.

Fuck you Gege you one eye cat

Now I’m gonna bring up chapter 9 for a bit because it’s history is very interesting. Gege did say that if the series didn’t do well, he will leave Yuji dead. (Ofc this didn’t happen and please help me find the source of this information. I know it was stated in an interview but I couldn’t find a translated version.)

Even then, it just solidifies my feelings.

This is the ending of the story. How it’s suppose to end.

Someone said that this seemed like a confession and I have to agree. Whether it’s romantic or platonic, Fushiguro’s feelings for Itadori are real.

Hear that?

That’s me sobbing.

With the recent chapters, it seem bleak but I believe that we will see Fushiguro again.

Yuji and Megumi will meet again maybe for the last time. I’m not Gege, but I trust him not really to give them a proper ending.

[athousandboxjumps]

the newsies after the fight

AKA: me planning out headcanons because I want to make this into a fic. Also this is pure angst, you have been warned.

Race gets back to the lodging house first. Of course he does; the combination of long legs and adrenaline means he can run really fast when he needs to. There’s nothing he wants more than to smoke his cigar, but he lost it in the fray and even if he hadn’t, he isn’t sure he’d be able to light it with his shaking hands.

Albert doesn’t speak for a long while. There are a million thoughts buzzing in his head as always but for the first time he can’t form them into words. He just sits on his bed, holding onto Race’s hand for dear life. (Race is secretly grateful for this; he craves the touch just as much as Al.)

Henry can’t stop moving. Even though his ribs ache and it hurts to breathe, he fears the breakdown that will come once he stands still. Instead he floats between the newsies, checking in to make sure everyone is doing okay — or as okay as they can be. He needs to be useful right now or else he’ll completely shut down.

Finch is inconsolable. He can still hear Crutchie screaming his name. He could have turned back. He should have turned back. But like a cowardly little bird, he flew away. The others try to tell him that it’s not his fault, that there was nothing he could’ve done. He doesn’t believe them.

In spite of everything, Specs is thanking the world for small miracles. His glasses didn’t crack; his bruises are only minor; and as Romeo lies sleeping in his lap, he makes a vow to get up as soon as possible the next day and check in on Crutchie. He charts his course through back alleys and fire escapes to make it to the Refuge window without being seen. Right now though, he rests, carding his fingers through Romeo’s hair. Things are going to be okay, Specs would make sure of it.

Tommy Boy won’t let anyone touch Splasher. He finally got the poor boy to stop wailing in agony, and he wasn’t about to let some pair of untrained hands slip up and cause Splasher to end up in more pain than he already was. Instead, Tommy Boy gently wipes the blood from his friend’s brow and whispers soothing words. He places his rosary around Splasher’s neck; Tommy Boy has no idea if Splasher is Catholic or even believes in God at all, but he says a prayer of the two of them all the same.

No one hears from Elmer for a frighteningly long while. An unspoken trepidation that he had been arrested passes through the boys until Jojo silently appears at the doorway with Elmer in tow. He holds a prayer book, his face puffy and red from crying. What he’d said to the sister was right, it had been bound to rain sooner or later. He just hadn’t expected the torrential downpour of his own tears to finally bring him back to church.

Davey and Les come home to a terrified mother and a proud father. Sarah bandages them up, listening to Les’s every word about how things had been going so great until they hadn’t. Mayer jokes that now he and Davey have matching wounds. Davey doesn’t say anything. He can’t stop thinking about Jack.

Jack is nowhere to be found.