#not important i just like tying everything up neatly

[softpine]

bonus conversations from mikaela’s phone

TRANSCRIPT:

1 -

[Group chat with My boys 💕]

Asa: My phone was dead.

Yesterday 7:52 AM

Mikaela: Casper was on a date last night, we should all bother him.

Asa: Bother.

Bother.

Are you bothered?

Dan: Jessica Cattrell, 22, on Dean’s list, “DJ Messy Jessie” @ KHCS 91.7 👍🏻

Casper: Keep your pants on weirdos im not even seeing her again She’s nice but it was awekward as hell

Mikaela: That’s a shame 🙁 But there’s plenty of fish in the sea! Don’t give up searching for my future son or daughter in law! 😉💖

2 -

Mikaela: Sadie’s first day was a success! 🎉🎈💃

Not a single tear in sight!

The good news: She made a “bestest friend” already 🥺

[Picture]

The bad news: When I ask what his name is, he tells me it’s Lightning McQueen.... 🚗🤔

Casper: Respect

[fallenclan]

RAVENSTAR’S APOLOGY

A fic by buttercup-unlimited :3

Author’s note: Here’s me drabbling for a while. Sorry if I get any lore/pronouns wrong, I’m trying my hardest but I am very tired 😭

The cave was vast and looming, the cracked rock face seeming to climb endlessly into the inky blackness above. A single word could echo dozens of times around these walls, spreading like a whispered rumour into the ear of another. The air hung heavy with bitter cold and silence, spare the eerie rustling of shrubbery from the clearing and the occasional warning call of a nearby bird.

Leaders of Fallenclan’s past only ever tended to use part of the intimidating space as a sleeping den, preferring to make their nests in a smaller corner and keep warmth in for as long as they could. Goldenstar infamously allowed kits to play in the space he left unused, simply stating that whatever was his, was the clan’s. Even Maplestar picked merely a decent chasm to curl up into, never needing anything more. Every leader that had come before, in fact, hadn’t dared to flaunt such a cathedral all for themselves.

But Ravenstar was nothing like the leaders that had come before. No, he was stronger. Smarter. Shrewder. Grander. The day that he had received his nine lives, Ravenstar had returned to camp to make a very deliberate show of slowly building his nest, twig by twig, in the very centre of the den. A statement, if you will, the marking of what was very clearly now his territory. His eyes had glowed in a strange sort of way that day. Forebodingly. If you looked close enough, you just might have seen the rush of power going straight to Ravenstar’s head. Leadership had that effect on some cats.

Littleleaf had been there. Every day, since they were born, Littleleaf had been by Ravenstar’s side. He had watched him through his apprenticeship, arguing with his mentor at even the most trivial of things. Older cats would often say that he was a strong-willed fellow, well suited for a powerful position one day. If only they had known who he would become.

Ravenstar had lost everything except Littleleaf. The two brothers were the only thing tying one another to reality, saving each other from fluttering away in the breeze—like a leaf under a rock, safe…and yet stifled.

“Ravenstar?”

Even the name bore a sense of importance, of tension. Littleleaf regretted the call as soon as he had uttered it, not helped by the constant repeat of his word as it travelled up the gossiping walls of the cave. He felt so small, so insignificant, in this place. Something about its legacy was an all-too-cruel reminder of the fleeting nature of existence—Littleleaf almost felt as if he could drop dead right there, on the ground, and it would only be a flashing moment in time.

He took a few tentative steps forward, careful not too make too much noise on the cold stone floor. Most of the den was hidden in shadow, daring any cat who wasn’t Ravenstar to even attempt to venture further.

“Do you have any time to talk? I have some news…” Littleleaf tried again, cringing at how easy it was to boom in these chambers.

“News? This should be interesting.” A voice drawled from behind him, causing Littleleaf to flinch as he turned. Ravenstar had perched himself on a jutted-out rock somewhere high up the wall, his tail tucked neatly over his paws as he observed.

“Oh, hello. You frightened me, brother.” Littleleaf chuckled nervously. Something about their relationship, usually so close and easy, had felt strained as of recently. It was no longer so easy to approach Ravenstar.

The Fallenclan leader smiled, eyes glinting maliciously. His black pelt blended in perfectly with the shadows of the rock face, almost like they had belonged here all along. This was Ravenstar’s home now, and there could be no dispute about that.

“Sincerest apologies. I’m waiting…?” The leader mewed coolly. It was clear that he had no time for small talk, not even with his kin.

“Right. Of course. Well, we weren’t sure when to tell you, but…here we go.” Littleleaf took a deep breath. It was awkward, trying to give news to someone several feet above you. “Moorthistle is expecting kits. You’re going to be an uncle.”

Boom.

A million thoughts seemed to rush through Ravenstar’s head all at once. The coolly composed tomcat, usually so calm and purposeful in his mannerisms, seemed to struggle to maintain his balance from his vantage point as he took in the news. His facade flickered, just enough for Littleleaf to notice, and for a second or two Ravenstar was just a confused young tom again.

“Kits.” Ravenstar repeated, bright eyes darting to just about every corner of the den. “Kits, belonging to you and to Moorthistle. In Fallenclan.”

Littleleaf nodded distractedly, craning his neck to get a better look at his brother. “Yes, I…are you alright, Ravenstar? You look rather shocked.”

Ravenstar seemed to snap back to attention all of a sudden, jolted back to life by the attention of his brother, momentary crisis over as soon as it had began. He straightened his neck, focused his gaze and gave his chest a few calming licks, whispering something inaudible to himself.

“Yes.” Ravenstar eventually replied, keeping his answers concise and dry—he was back to normal, indeed. “I’m fine thank you, brother. I was taken by surprise, is all.”

Littleleaf nodded. “Alright, then.”

There seemed to be eons of silence between the brothers, both unsure of what to say next. When did it become so hard to conversate?

It was only when Littleleaf seemed to be on the verge of turning and leaving that Ravenstar spoke again, blurting words in a hurry as if in an attempt to make him stay.

“This is very good news, Littleleaf.” He mewed loudly. “More kin for you and I. More kits for Fallenclan. I’m sure…I’m sure that they will grow up to be fine warriors. May Starclan bless you.”

Littleleaf knew the words were intended for comfort, but all he could find within himself to feel was hurt. Why was his brother, so high and mighty now on his pretentious throne of rock, speaking to him as if he were any other old aquaintance?

“Why do you hold me so far from your heart, brother?” Littleleaf asked before he could stop himself. He wished that he had stayed silent, seeing Ravenstar’s false smile drop. The last thing he needed for himself and Moorthistle was tension with the leader of their clan.

Ravenstar narrowed his glowing eyes, looking bemused at best. “What exactly do you mean?”

Littleleaf shook his head, suddenly feeling very warm under the roasting heat of Ravenstar’s gaze. “I didn’t mean anything. I was just thinking out loud, really, don’t listen to me…”

Ravenstar did not look convinced. As if deciding something to himself, the sleek black tom began to leap nimbly down to meet his brother on the cave floor. Was he going to berate him? Banish him? …Hug him? Littleleaf wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.

They stood face to face for the first time in what felt like moons. Equal, it appeared, if only for a moment in time. Littleleaf often forgot that he was larger than his brother—because, in so many other ways, he was not.

“I…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.” Littleleaf apologised, trying to back out of the hole he had dug himself into. He had never believed Ravenstar guilty of the crimes some suggested he had committed, but he didn’t intend on finding out if the accusations were truthful tonight.

“No. I’m the one who should apologise.” Ravenstar insisted suddenly, taking Littleleaf by surprise. “I… am sorry, brother. “

Littleleaf practically sputtered. This was the first time he had ever been apologised to by his brother, and most probably the last. He felt that the occasion should become an annual celebration.

“I know I have been distant, as of late. Partly because of my new duties, but also…” Ravenstar let out a laboured sigh, full of tension and grief that Littleleaf didn’t even know he possessed. “I care very much for you. More than you know. But it’s difficult for me. I see so much of them…in you.”

Littleleaf didn’t need to ask who his brother was referring to. “I see them, too. Everywhere.” He half-whispered.

Ravenstar held up a tail to silence his brother—an old leader tactic used to indicate that he was not yet finished saying his peace.

“I wanted to protect you. Show you how strong I could be on my own. I wanted to be the best I could be for you, Littleleaf. I am sorry if this meant sacrificing the time we used to spend together.” Ravenstar confessed. It was clearly difficult for the leader to talk about his feelings for such a prolonged period of time.

Littleleaf stroked his tail along his brother’s back comfortingly, the way he had when they were kits. “Thank you.” He murmured.

Ravenstar inclined his head. “I am happy for you, Littleleaf. You will make a great father. And perhaps…perhaps I will make a great uncle.”

Littleleaf wasn’t sure what to say. Was there anything he could say?

Perhaps, in this fleeting moment in time, all Ravenstar needed was a shoulder to lean on.

(Beetle note: THIS IS SO GOOD!!!! i love the exploration of Raven and Little's relationship,,, its so awesome)

[ashessonfire]

if you’re still looking for headcanon requests: what about kaz and reader who is disabled/suffers from chronic pain? i don’t often see x reader fics include things like disabilities, and it’s really quite nice to have found a character like kaz whose struggles i can relate to - ty <33

Kaz Brekker x (Chronically ill) Reader - Headcanons <3

- Paring : Kaz Brekker x Chronically ill! Reader A/N - Thank you so much for this request, and absolutely this is important, and i suffer from multiple chronic illnesses and pains too! I am basing it off my own experiences, which is chronic illness, but i hope it's general enough for anyone to relate to :) ════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz Brekker's image is one that permeates throughout the whole city, not a soul is unaware of the leader of the Crows

His limp only adds to the terrifying image, broken and twisted in every element of his being, yet completely unrelenting.

However, privately, his leg causes Kaz excruciating pain, a constant ache that never seems to cease, fatigue from stumbling around for too long, or the cold inducing agonizing flares of pain.

As a result, Kaz has become familiar with the aches and troubles, so when his partner reveals they experience something similar? Kaz suffers from a great mixture of hurt and relief

Why is he relieved you may ask?

Well, the bastard of the barrel can finally offer someone a sense of comfort and support, which in most things he finds practically impossible to do.

Sharing the experience with Kaz would offer the both of you solace, although at first it may come across as if he doesn't notice your constant pain.

However, very swiftly small pots of expensive medicines would arrive neatly wrapped on your bed, his cane would conveniently be placed close by during a flare up, and your favourite foods would mysteriously make their way to you, helping to brighten the tougher days.

Kaz is not a man of words, at all, however he would work on verbalizing his concerns, reading you easily and offering clipped but gentle check in's, like :

"How is the pain compared to yesterday?"

"I'm not going out soon, take my cane just in case"

"The painkillers are already in your drawer, I had Inej replace them this morning"

In terms of severe pain, both chronic + caused by a disability, please expect to never move a muscle - he will 100% get someone else to run around and do everything for you, especially when he himself is struggling.

If you care for him in return, you may even get a few faint smiles - he would be so deeply grateful for your attentiveness and devotion (but obviously it's Kaz, he won't show it freely)

Another reason i believe Kaz would be relieved, is that someone would finally understand his own disability and pains

You would be able to return his gestures, offering him the same sense of security and compassion, without overbearing sympathy or pity - something Kaz detests

Just after he broke his leg, I can vividly picture the pigeons of the barrel dramatically cooing at the young boys limp, explaining their sorrows for him with overwhelming pity

After this, he would undoubtedly threaten any sorrow for his condition with an excruciating death

Let's just say word spread quickly, and few dared to repeat this offence...

Kaz would also have little diaries tucked away in his office and at the slat, detailing each symptom of yours during flare ups - allowing him to prepare anything you could possibly need when the next one arrives

Kaz would feel more at ease with you than anyone else, and would likely share his own hardships with you - knowing that the pair of you can relate on a level few others could match

Honestly i just know that he would be in a strange way very relieved for you to understand his own struggles - allowing for him to be more comfortable with you overall <3

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

P.S : As a chronically ill person myself, I just wanted to say that my requests will always be open for ideas like this, and my private messages are open for anything. If anyone is experiencing any form of chronic illness and needs someone to talk to, I am here for you!! It can be super isolating and difficult, especially when those around you cannot understand your struggles, even if they try to. Hopefully this post can find all my spoonie crow fans!! <333

[dangerous-advantage]

if you’re in the rise fandom and see this:

go read “all the ashes in my wake” by @crows-murder right now.

(yes, that is an order, and yes, pun intended.)

this post serves as a fic rec, but mainly to let me gush about how much i love this fic without filling up the author’s inbox with a small dissertation (/joking).

for the fic rec part:

leo. cursed. ella enchanted type cursed.

if you have any interest at all in absolutely phenomenal angst, clever writing with a style that’s easy to follow and smooth as butter, on-point characterization and dynamics, and basically anything you could ever ask for of a rise fic,

go. read. this. fic. right. now.

(that said, i am now going to ramble about my specific thoughts concerning the fic and it’s plot, so. possible spoilers beyond this point?)

there have been a growing number of fics in this “sub-genre” of the rise fandom involving a character (generally leo) getting cursed, and then facing off against angsty odds that make you go, “oh. oh, shit.” (/positive)

these curses also tend to involve the phases of the moon in some way, which i think is a very fun and interesting trend

i’ve enjoyed all of the fics that i’ve read which fit into this, but this particular fic may be my favorite yet

it follows a simple formula, neatly tying the a plot (the curse stuff) and the b plot (leo’s conflict with leadership and the strain it’s putting on his relationships) into a neat little bow.

while the idea of leo getting “ella enchanted” is fun on its own, it’s doubly important to the plot and the characterization, as it forces him to have to fix one problem to address the other.

in the first chapter, the author constructs the roots to this, by contrasting leo’s wily, independent nature against the inevitable conflict that will stifle his attempts to act on it.

watching him brush his brothers off, make his own choices and go off on his own, builds this wonderful sense of tension. it hooks you — what’s going to happen when that string is cut?

it plays perfectly into the underlying conflict. leo needs to find a way to overcome his fears of leading the team, or else the rift between him and his team will only continue to widen.

so what does the narrative do? it forces him into a position where he is no longer gets to choose.

this incapacitation is a powerful tool, not only because of the external force of the curse, but also that it plays off of the weaknesses of his character.

this isn’t something that he can just handwave, or take care of on his own. it’s a situation where he needs to ask for help.

but this is leo we’re talking about. of course he isn’t going to go to his brothers about this, or even tell them! but by hiding it and trying to fix it himself, he ends up caught in a deadlock of his own making.

and since it doesn’t look like he’s going to get over himself very soon, it seems more likely that he’ll end up cornered in a very sticky situation indeed (something which i am very much looking forward to seeing, if that is the plan).

it’s genius! to fix his problems with the curse, he has to address his issues with his family first.

my attempts to sound smarter than i actually am aside (/lighthearted), i am so glad this fic is addressing the conflict between raph and leo. not only that, but in a way that feels true to their characters.

unlike other iterations of the tmnt, the roles here are reversed. it’s not the stolid abs responsible leader pitted against the broody loner who wants to be leader, but isn’t the right fit.

it’s rise!raph, who cares about his little brother and wants to support him, and rise!leo who, on some level, doubts his own ability in this new role on the team — to be anything more than “the face man.”

it’s not often where you come across a fic where the a plot and the b plot are equally engaging, but this is one of those rare cases where everything just works. it’s like i’m witnessing the first steps of some great machine, meticulously crafted, a hundred disparate parts working in tandem.

in the third chapter, the angst just works. the pay-off there feels so real, because you get it. you relate to this character. when raph is there, waiting up for him, you know shit’s about to go down. you can feel it.

if the necklace (and therefore the curse) acted as both a narrative device and catalyst, leo’s swords represent the other side of that: the last bit of freedom he has left in this godawful situation.

they’re the last bit of freedom, his only hope of escape. raph taking them (or, rather, leo being compelled to surrender them) has just glorious undertones in the narrative as a whole.

if you were to consider the katanas a representation of leo’s autonomy, it makes sense why him being forced to give them up hits that much harder.

not only is it a tense situation, where leo is fighting back but ultimately unable to overcome the curse, it cements this underlying feeling of helplessness the author has been seeding since the chapter previous.

now that we’re here, with both the a plot and b plot coming into direct confrontation with what leo wants, we recognize that leo cannot continue how he is.

sure, he’ll keep on fighting it (abs i am very much looking forward to seeing how that goes), but this is the point where we know, there is no escaping.

leo is now truly stuck. without his katanas, fubdibg the necklace to break the curse on his own is basically impossible.

and he recognizes this.

leo’s characterization throughout this fic has been some of the best in the business. he’s smart, witty, independent, calculating — probably one of, if not the best true-to-character representations of rise!leo thats i’ve seen so far.

(absolutely phenomenal job there, i cannot stress this point enough.)

in fact, all of the characters in this fic are so well-written? i’m already seeing roots for character development within casey sr. (which i am so here for, oh my gods you don’t even know), and you can’t help but be invested in all of these relationships

we’re constantly being reminded of the emotional conflict, how much of a strain it’s putting on the relationships, not just between raph and leo, but between all of them.

leo sees this, understands something has to change, but feels paralyzed by what that could mean. for him, and his family.

not to beat the metaphorical dead horse, but that scene after leo surrenders his katanas abs flees back to his room? damn. i felt that on a visceral level.

being so tired, so miserable, so helpless, when a part of you knows you’re being irrational, but having your own pride and fear get in the way of that?

not to project all over these characters or whatever, but fuck. it feels like this was written to call out me, specifically (/j /lh)

and urgh! the detail work in this is incredible!

maybe i’m just a slut for somewhat contrived narratives, and definitely contrived foreshadowing, but the way it’s done in this fic comes off as so clean and organized.

it’s like... weaving threads in a tapestry. you can see where the connect, though you’re not quite sure where they’re going, until you can step back abs look at the picture as a whole.

it genuinely feels masterful in some places, like, mother of god, leave some talent for the rest of us!! (/lighthearted)

i could probably keep talking about this forever, but i do have other responsibilities i should be taking care of, and i kind of want to reread the three chapters that are out (as of writing this) again.

who knows, maybe i’ll revisit this in the future, when i have a better basis and understanding of the underlying themes here.

for now, dear author (if you are, for some reason, reading this),i hope you don’t mind my pretentious and meandering thoughts and/or assumptions. you’ll probably see me again, gushing in your comment sections. yours is just the kind of fic that deserves to be gushed about.

[meowzfordayz]

(🪻 anon)

(Hope it's still ok of me to request this! Happy Valentine's Day, and congratulations on your milestone!)

15.0 KNY drabble request

SFW

Tanjiro x (What Rises From Our Ashes)!Y/N (after both realized their love for the other)

“i love you”

(Thank you so much, and good luck with everything!) 🪻💜

MILESTONE 15.0

Hii !! 😁 Def still okay for you to participate; ty for your patience regarding my completion speed !! 🤗 Happy belated 🌹 day — hope your week's going well thus far❣️

Song Inspo: Where You Are by Gavin Degraw

CW: none

Kamado Tanjirou. Tanjirou.

—

The man who traces love into your skin every time he holds your hand, calloused thumb rugged and adoring against the center of your palm.

"Let's stay like this forever," bright grin so familiar, yet somehow always catching you off guard, "Okay?"

—

The man who rings your doorbell at 2am, eyes tired, bedhead evident, limbs warm and sturdy as he embraces your shaky frame, careful to avoid stepping on your bare feet.

"Tan? Why're you here?" murmured drowsily.

"You had a bad dream," he says, the rush of scrambling around in the dark for the past half an hour ebbing as you sink into his chest.

"To be fair, I didn't expect you to see that text until the morn-"

"And I don't expect you to sleep poorly," he hushes you softly, "I'm here now, aren't I?"

"I suppose," you shrug, clammy fingers reaching up to stroke his cheek, "Let's get in bed."

The man who sets his wet shoes neatly by the front door, tugged willingly along by your gentle grip until you're folded into each other, dreamless touch finally lulling you to rest.

—

The man whose actions speak louder than words, stumbling over sentences and paragraphs, fixing his mistakes with an apologetic smile, commitment to you apparent... even as he accidentally ruins your favorite pot while cooking mac and cheese.

"Seriously?!" you exclaim, mouth open slightly, eyes wide, a long exhale following as you blink slowly, "Kamado Tanjirou."

"That's me!" he squeaks, face red, eyebrows furrowed.

"You couldn't have experimented with a different pot?" poking at the burnt mess with a partially melted spatula, "Or how about sparing my spatula?!!"

"I'm sorry!"

"That's it, we're going on a date."

"Huh?!"

"We'll take one of those couples' cooking classes," you huff darkly, "Because clearly someone needs it."

"I'm normally fine at cooking!" he protests, itching to rattle off all of his usual repertoire, "I just..."

"You just...?"

"ForgotIwascookingsomething."

—

The man who shows up when it's important, and when you insist that it's not, because he knows better. Knows better than to ever leave you hanging, leave you wondering, leave you hurting at the thought of more.

"Thank you for loving me," you whisper, moonlight glistening on his eyelashes.

"Thank you for loving me," he whispers back, wishing he could weave the starlight in your eyes.

[darthnell]

hii! :> for the fic writer asks: 3, 14, 15, 18, 25!

!!! Ty for these yeahhh!!! :D

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Ohhh I love all of my fics I truly do ;-; that being said though it would be illegal if i didnt say True Vengeance given that. Ive spent two and a half years so far writing it and i think about it Literally every day LMAO. “Favorite” simply does not encompass everything i feel about it ;_;

14. If you could see one of your fics adapted into a visual medium, such as comic or film, which fan fic would you pick?

Also True Vengeance !!! It would make the movie ever djdjdjdkdk. Okay for reals though, I do have like some half baked thoughts about doing a comic version of it (mostly as a long term way to improve my drawing skills) so. Who knows..?? Keep an eye out maybe. In like a few years xjxjdjdk.

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

Ooohh so some of them are really important and i know them incredibly well in advance. Sometimes im just like “eh yeah thats good enough.” I generally enjoy it when my titles (fic or chapter) have more than one meaning… thats good shit right there. I do have a certain chapter title scheme for my victor exchange fics, which is fun (its just a relevant noun for each but it looks cool trust me).

My fic titles generally just come to me in a burst of insight and im like ok yeah. Thats it right there, and i just Know. Sorry if thats like. Not helpful 😭 ik when i was picking my title for True Vengeance I certainly did not have as much of the story thought out as it is now so. It ended up working out really neatly (also its vague enough that i could work with it xkdkdk)

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

God… cue me taking a trip down memory lane for my favorite lines from all my fics.. but for the sake of the question i will. Just choose one. (Being strategic and doing this before i post the trv finale otherwise i will simply never shut up xjxjdjdk)

From THE REPARATION CLAUSE (1st Games)

It’s fascinating, isn’t it? The power of one very loved, very dead little girl.

This one is. The ending line for that fic and it is just. Woof. I love it. I hate it. I love writing.

Mmmmmokay fine here are some from True Vengeance bc (shakes the fic like that girl from nemo witj the fish in a bag)

Grief is a howling thing.

That's what happens when you let the wolf out of your chest. No amount of regret can take back the bite.

I was supposed to kill him and hate myself for it.

I am sure. I can pull more from the fic, its 250k after all but. We would simply be here all day..! It makes me cry on the reg so there is always that.

25. Have you ever upset yourself with your own writing?

Oh, constantly. Today, actually dkkdkeekdkdkdkrkrkskskekekrkdkdkdk

Uhh okay real answer, most of the time when i upset myself its like.. positive..? Like “dang i am Feeling Things about this line” or whatever, and i Love doing that. There Have been times where ive upset myself negatively though and. Do not recommend !!! Be careful out there kids ;-; i will say though, sometimes it can be a really good experience to work through something via writing, but still its beneficial to be cautious and take care of yourself♥️

Thank you again for the tagggg ✨💕♥️♥️

[fuyussi]

new haircuts

characters: haitani ran x reader

cw: umm fluff and lovey stuff, ran experiences an emotion

a/n: the aromantic urge to write about romance ….. i’m sorry if it’s bad i’ve literally never felt it before LMFAO

over, under, over, and then over again. your fingers gently twisting the locks of ran’s smooth hair into his usual style. the colour changing from black to blonde, then black and back to blonde again as you make your way down his hair.

ran hums, eyes closed as he relishes in the feeling of being cared for by the person he loves. seated neatly on your vanity chair, he’s docile as a doll; not even a squeak from him as you work your way through his locks. honestly it worried you a little, usually he’d always have something to say. anything ranging from what he’d do today, to what he’d like to eat or whether he should play a prank on rindou. you observe him through your vanity mirror—a futile attempt it was, to decipher his thoughts through his expression.

silence with ran was only saved for moments where he’s contemplating something important. for when he hasn’t yet decided to let you know of what he’s thinking. tying the end of one braid, you start on the other side splitting it into three parts.

“penny for your thoughts, love?” eyes opening in surprise, ran turns slightly to glance at you. “not loving the silence? thought you always said i talked too much,” he quipped, insufferable smile adorning his lips.

maybe you should just undo his braids and go back to bed.

at your unimpressed expression, he chuckles, “heh, was just thinking,” trailing off, ran turns his head away and looks straight forward into the mirror.

his violet eyes traced the outline of your features in the reflection; your face, neck and shoulders, all the way down to your hands. everything about you, was so perfect to him. he could stare at you forever and always find something new to admire, something new to add to the list of things he loves about you. even now, just being near to you, he could feel each individual beat of his heart, so filled with love for you.

and with this impromptu introspection, an emotion so visceral floods ran’s mind and fills every inch of his body, as he begins to understand the depths of his affection for you. he blinks slowly, his outward appearance barely changing despite the whirlwind of emotion he’s feeling right now, almost knocking the air from his lungs.

you cock your eyebrow at his sudden pause, “go on?” you ask, completely unaware of his sudden epiphany. ran swallows harshly, gathering his composure he goes on.

“i was just thinking, that i should get a haircut.”

“a haircut?” you repeated, almost in disbelief that he was in such deep thought about a fucking haircut.

“yea, i don’t think i want this hairstyle in our wedding photos, maybe something more mature looking? maybe i’ll cut it real short and gel it to the side, get a different colour too, this one’s getting old.”

you barely registered anything that he said after ‘wedding photos’. your hands paused its movements, still trying to process his words. honestly he’s always dropping random bombs on you like that, it sounds almost like a joke.

you decide to just play along, not letting him tease you again, “oho i wonder how you’ll look with short hair, bet you’ll still look good—you always do.” you added the last part quietly, finishing up the end of his other braid. bringing both braids to the front, you make sure they’re even.

“should i change my hair too? maybe we can match,” you joke, laughing quietly. ran was not an emotional person, not by a long shot. but hearing your laughter brought a second wave of emotion crashing into him. he turns around on the chair, pulling you between his legs as he looks up at your smiling face.

cupping his cheeks in your hands, you lean down to press a gentle kiss to his lips, whispering an ‘i love you’ as you go. ‘i love you too’ is what he wants to say, but it doesn’t even come close to what he feels for you. and yet ran wants to say something—anything—lest the moment passes and he never finds the courage to say it again. he feels his heart pounding, an uncharacteristic anxiety tearing the edges of his mind. and suddenly it’s like the very first time he made known his feelings for you, and with nervousness lacing his voice he confesses.

“i’ve always loved you and i always will, but holy fuck i think i’m in love with you.” breathless, the words still lacked the depth he wishes to convey but ran isn’t worried, he has time. and in time he’ll show you; with his actions, with his words, with everything that he has, just how completely and irrevocably in love he is with you.

[yikesharringrove]

Sweet Little Mango

Rewrite

Read on Ao3

Chapter 4

-

Steve popped at 19 weeks.

He went from looking a little chubby to looking fully pregnant.

They had yet to tell anyone about the pup, but he couldn’t hide it anymore. Not when his belly entered every room hours before he did.

Billy would not stop touching Steve’s belly. Not that he ever had since they had found out, but now that Steve looked pregnant, Billy would gently rest his head on the bump, would press kisses to the little bulge on his lower abdomen, would talk to the little pup, sing to it.

It made Steve melt every damn time.

Billy was standing behind Steve, his head resting on his shoulder as they both looked in the mirror. His arms were wrapped around Steve’s waist, both hands splayed out on his stomach as Steve did his hair, staring intently in the mirror.

Steve’s hands were unsteady.

His parents were finally home, no doubt sitting as stiff as possible in the sitting room, watching the news and not speaking to one another, or their only child.

Steve was going to tell them the news today. He had done an okay job avoiding them the day or two they’d been home, but it was time. He couldn’t just walk around with a large stack of books in front of him like an actress trying to hide her pregnancy on t.v.

“It’s gonna be okay. We’ll work it out,” Billy said, placing a kiss on Steve’s neck.

Steve sighed, dropping his hands.

“There’s no way they take it well, Bill. My dad’s always had, always had a fucking issue with me being, what I am.” Billy turned him around by his hips, Steve’s rounded tummy pressed between them.

“We’re gonna get through it. We got each other, and we got this little mango. It’ll suck, but we’ll find a way to make it work.”

Steve smiled at him, one that didn’t quite meet his eyes, running his fingers through Billy’s hair.

“Should we face it? Get this garbage over with?”

Billy leaned up to plant a firm kiss on his forehead.

“I love you.”

Steve kept his arms crossed low as they joined his parents in the sitting room.

His mother was nursing a glass of deep red wine, reading a book with her lips pursed.

His father was pursuing some paperwork. He never really stopped working.

Steve figured it was to save him from actually engaging with his family.

The television was droning quietly in the background. Some story about a corner store getting robbed in Cincinnati.

“Um, Mom? Dad?” His father just hummed, his mother not acknowledging Steve whatsoever.

Billy was working overtime to keep himself in check. Not get angry. But it was hard with the way Steve’s parents were just ignoring him.

“I have something important to say.”

“Doubt that.”

Steve went rigid at his father’s cold voice.

Billy took a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s knee twice.

“It is important. It’s, it’s life-changing, really.” Steve’s voice cracked and his father finally looked up, glaring at Billy for a moment.

“Then please, Steven. Go ahead .” Steve cowed under his father’s gaze. Billy licked over his lips, preparing himself to have to break the news.

“I’m pregnant.”

It was silent.

Mrs. Harrington closed her book, setting it down softly on the side table, taking a long sip of wine.

“Beg pardon?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Mr. Harrington shifted, pulling his wallet from the pocket of his slacks and opening it up, rifling through the thick wad of cash neatly lined up in the designated pocket.

“How much do you need?”

“I don’t, what ?”

Mr. Harrington sighed loudly at Steve’s lack of understanding.

Billy is pretty sure he knows where this is going, and he’s more than sure Steve isn’t gonna like it.

“For an abortion, Steven.”

It was like cold water was dripping down Steve’s spine.

“I don’t, that’s not what I want.”

“You don’t have a choice. You want to be a goddamn omega whore, you either flush this thing or get out of my house.”

The harsh words lit a fire in Steve’s gut and made him spring to his feet.

“I’m not getting rid of it!”

Steve’s father stood, nearly kicking over the coffee table in his haste to get in front of Steve, meeting him eye-to-eye.

“You are an embarrassment! Getting pregnant in high school. Letting this dirty, this white trash disgusting alpha knock you up!”

Billy didn’t even register getting on his feet, only realized what he was doing as he began pulling Steve behind him.

“You don’t fucking speak to him that way.” Billy’s voice was gravelly, low in his throat as he eyed Mr. Harrington.

“I speak to that little slut however I want. You don’t come into my house and disrespect me .” He lashed out, taking Steve’s upper arm and yanking him forward.

And he slapped Steve across the face.

Billy didn’t even think.

He took Mr. Harrington by the front of his stupid fucking suit jacket, pushing him back a few paces.

“Don’t ever lay a hand on him! He is mine .”

Steve’s eyes were wide.

He had never heard Billy use his alpha chords before, drop down into complete alpha domination. Billy said he didn’t like to, that his dad used his chords enough for the both of them.

But here Billy was, bristling in his father’s face.

“Billy!” Billy snarled, shoving Steve’s dad down back into his chair. “He’s not worth it.” Steve’s eyes were wet when he looked back at him.

He crossed the room, pulling Steve into his side.

“You have that bastard pup, don’t you dare give it my good name.” Mr. Harrington adjusted his jacket, now rumpled in the front from Billy fisting the fabric. “You have one hour to get out of my house.”

Steve glared at his father, grinding his jaw.

But when he looked at his mother, it was with nothing but heartbreaking sadness.

She had watched everything go down, and simply drained her wine. She didn’t say anything.

And Steve thinks that hurt more than the stinging cheek.

It was quiet in his room as Billy helped him pack up.

Steve’s bag was small. He didn’t have much in the way of maternity clothes. Just packed the essentials, the things he cared about.

Billy called Joyce from the landline in Steve’s bedroom, arranging to stay in her home for a few nights until they could figure shit out.

She had offered her home to them before, many times, actually. Just fuckin’ sucked they actually had to take her up on the offer.

Billy led him out of the house with one hand on the small of his back.

They were almost out the door when there was a soft voice behind them.

“Steven,” her voice trailed off as Steve turned to address his mother. She was standing in the entryway, her eyes big and so very sad. It was remarkable. How much she looked like Steve. Billy had never really noticed it until now.

But she floundered, and didn’t have anything to say.

Steve nodded once, and left.

-

“I’m gonna drop you off at the Byers and then head to my place.”

Steve was holding Billy’s hand in his lap, the other hand resting on his bump.

“Wait, but, I want to be with you.”

“Steve, I don’t want you in there for that.” Billy took a deep breath. “It’s gonna get ugly. I don’t want you getting caught in the crossfire.”

“But, I can help you.”

“Baby, he’ll go for you. He’ll go for you, and he’ll hurt you. I’m not risking you, and I’m not risking the mango just for him .”

Steve squirmed in his seat.

“I just don’t like you doing this alone. What if he, like really hurts you, and I can’t get to you?”

“I’m just gonna grab my shit, have my car packed and ready, and then break the news, and get the fuck out. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Joyce was waiting on the porch for them when Billy pulled up.

Steve turned to kiss Billy long and hard before he got out of the car, taking his bag with him as he went.

He sat on the squashy sofa in the Byers’ living room the whole time, his foot shaking uncontrollably as he waited, his stomach tying itself into knots, horrific scenarios of what Billy must be dealing with flashing through his brain.

He tried to stay calm. Tried to sit still and think about positive shit as he waited.

Waited for the Camaro to roar down the front drive.

Waited for Hopper to call and say that something far uglier than anticipated had happened at the old house.

But Billy came back less than an hour later, all of his belongings stored messily in his backseat, the red mark around his eye already turning dark blue. Swelling as though before Steve’s very eyes.

Steve was so relieved to see him, tugging Billy onto the lumpy little sofa with him, brushing his fingers softly through Billy’s hair, peppering his face with featherlight kisses.

Billy didn’t say anything for the rest of the evening. He just held Steve for a while.

[loopy777]

so when confronting his father, Zuko makes the choice to redirect the lightning at his feet, rather than into the wall. How do you think thing's would have gone different for the rest of the series if he'd accidentally killed his old man here?

Well, it hinges on two things:

Does Zuko stick around to try to claim the throne, or does he run away because he figures he can't get away with murder in this case?

How does Azula react to Ozai's death?

The first will determine how the plot goes, either about antics and politics in the Fire Nation capital or with a focus on the gAang trying to evade a more concerted hunt. Since this series is named "Avatar: The Last Airbender," I would find a way to go with the latter, so I'd come up with a way to have Zuko flee as a fugitive just like in the cartoon. The time has come, by that point, to get him on the side of the protagonists and consolidate the cast.

The second is going to determine the nature and the tone of the finale. With Azula as the sole antagonist left (with Mai and Ty Lee, but I think their defection is still mandatory for Azula's arc), the entire rest of the cast needs to confront her. Since DoBS already had fights in the capital, I'd find a way to still have her attempt the destruction of the Earth Kingdom and be confronted in the process. However, all the main characters (Aang, Zuko, and Katara) teaming up on Azula is a bit much, considering that Zuko alone is supposed to be her equal by that point.

And I've never been sure how Azula should respond to having Ozai taken away from her. He's the center of her world, the measure by which she judges everything- herself most of all. I've only ever played with it in fanfic in much more complicated circumstances, so I'm genuinely not sure what she would think of learning that Zuko simply beat him in a straight attack. Would she lash out? Become self-destructive? Lose her grip on reality? All of the above?

I'd also want to conform to the themes of the show, so Aang needs to defeat imperialism with the ideals of his people and also show the Fire Nation's nature literally lead to its own defeat and destruction. (There's a reason the capital was wrecked in the duel between Zuko and Azula. Symbolism, ho!) This is quite a checklist. The cartoon had two villains to work with, so we need to create some more.

So I think we need to bring in some help for Azula. Instead of having her try to burn the whole Earth Kingdom (however that was supposed to work), I think she should create some kind of a spirit threat. Perhaps an evil dragon ghost kaiju of some kind. That can rampage across the EK for Aang to fight and transform into a nice peaceful happy-dragon spirit, and Zuko can confront Azula in a similar manner to the cartoon's finale.

Whatever happens with Azula's psyche, I don't think her final defeat should be a simple defeat and breakdown. I feel like the loss of Ozai is already enough of a loss for her, however she reacts, that losing a fight to Zuko kind of pales in comparison. I'd actually have him somehow save her in the end, with a hint of a little hope that it might be the beginning of her seeing things differently. I still like the idea of Katara helping Zuko in the fight, and Zuko somehow taking a hit for her, since that so neatly reverses his actions under Ba Sing Se.

It probably seems cheap that I'm looking for ways to so closely replicate what we got in the cartoon, but honestly I think that's because Ozai himself is only important to the story as a symbol of Fire Nation Imperialism and for his effect on Zuko and Azula. Even in-universe, his death just means one of his kids gets a promotion. There's no real political complications, no change in the Fire Nation's agenda. The big thing is going to be the effect on Azula, I think, and so the main change is going to be how her character arc goes.

As far as the effect on Zuko, I actually think it can be neatly incorporated into the story. Have the reason he loses his Firebending be his sense of guilt over killing his father, and then he has to wrestle with why he feels guilty at all. It can be part of the plot of 'The Firebending Masters,' and Aang can simultaneously get over his guilt over burning Katara.

Book Fire's resilience is proven, I think, by the fact that it spends most of itself on character-building stories, and the plot is rather minimalist. And Ozai just ain't critical to much.

[ibijau]

Concubine nhs pt4 / on AO3

Because there is a war to organise, because the emperor is a busy man, it is a full two weeks before Nie Huaisang gets formally summoned to the imperial palace to play weiqi with the emperor. But there can be no doubt that such an invitation is still planned, because Nie Huaisang receives two different notes stating that the emperor hasn’t forgotten about it. Those notes are carefully put away in a small box, alongside a few pieces of jewellery that belonged to his mother, and a jade hairpin that Nie Mingjue gave him.

While waiting for his next encounter with the emperor, Nie Huaisang keeps busy. He doesn’t have an official position in the house, and his cousin refuses to give him one for the time being, stating he’s waiting to see how things will go. Without any clear instructions, Nie Huaisang either helps Meng Yao with his duties, or reads up about the Wens, or plays weiqi against himself so he won’t disappoint the emperor when they play together.

Then, at last, the much awaited invitation arrives, requesting Nie Huaisang’s presence at the imperial palace a few days later.

Nie Funyu intercepts the letter and reads it before giving it to his cousin. He immediately sets out to ruin any joy Nie Huaisang might have felt with a list of strict instructions regarding the way he should behave. Considering the things Nie Huaisang admitted to saying on that very first meeting with the emperor in Qinghe, he supposed his cousin can’t be blamed for being worried. He tries to explain that he’d just been surprised that day, that he hadn’t realised who he was talking to, but Nie Funyu won’t hear it and orders him to be on his best behaviour.

What he wants, in short, is for Nie Huaisang to pretend he isn’t himself, that his personality is so mild as to be nonexistent, that he doesn’t have any humour. He is allowed to be good at weiqi if he must, but not too good.

When he helps him prepare to go meet the emperor, Meng Yao has some very different advice to offer.

“Master has many qualities, but he doesn’t understand the heart of young men,” he says, neatly tying into place the last layer of Nie Huaisang’s outfit. 

It is a gorgeous robe in a soft green that makes Nie Huaisang look nobler than he is, in a cut that gives the impression he’s not as short as he is. Meng Yao selected the fabric, chose the sash to go with it, decided the way it ought to be worn, and turned Nie Huaisang from a country boy into the perfect picture of a fashionable young man.

“If His Highness took notice of you that day, then it must mean your behaviour pleased him,” Meng Yao adds, motioning for Nie Huaisang to go sit so his hair can be dealt with. “So don’t change your manners too much, and don’t be too serious.”

Nie Huaisang promptly obeys, and abandons himself to the clever hands of Meng Yao. 

“I don’t know why my cousin worries anyway,” Nie Huaisang says, closing his eyes to enjoy the pleasant sensation of hands on his hair. “The emperor probably only wants to make sure I’m comfortable so he can tell Mingjue that he’s a good friend.”

Meng Yao’s hands slow down to the point of stillness, then start working again.

“Maybe it is so,” Meng Yao cautiously says. “But there are many people who have sent their relatives to the capital because of the war, and this humble servant doubts the emperor is making time for them, or apologising when he doesn’t have that time. Young Master Nie must have pleased him.”

“Don’t say that, I’ll get ideas,” Nie Huaisang mumbles, his cheeks burning.

“This humble one will keep quiet if Young Master Nie orders it,” Meng Yao retorts with a smile. “But this one won’t stop thinking that he’s right.”

If Nie Huaisang were a real noble, he’d scold Meng Yao for speaking so insolently. But of course it is because they both know what they are and where they stand that Meng Yao allows himself to chat so freely.

Still, it’s a little unkind to encourage him in his delusions, and he wishes Meng Yao wouldn’t do that.

-

That afternoon with the emperor goes well. It wasn’t supposed to be a whole afternoon, but one game of weiqi turns into three, until some ministers come knocking at the door, insisting that the emperor really must attend to certain business now. Only then do they separate, and with great reluctance. Nie Huaisang is brought back to the gate of the imperial palace, where his cousin waits for him. 

Strangely enough, Nie Funyu doesn’t seem in a bad mood, in spite of being made to wait longer than was planned. He does however insist that they head home directly, even though Nie Huaisang is now starving and would have liked to stop somewhere to grab some food. But a letter from Father has arrived, Nie Funyu explains, and it contains some instructions for Nie Huaisang that must be discussed in private.

In spite of his growling stomach, Nie Huaisang doesn’t protest and lets his cousin take him home. Perhaps there are news from Nie Mingjue in that letter. It would be nice. Nie Huaisang wishes he could talk to his brother, because they’d have more to say to each other than ever before.

But when they get home, Nie Funyu doesn’t share the contents of Father’s letter. Instead he takes Nie Huaisang to his private room, orders every servant to keep away, and locks the door.

“Tell me everything that happened,” Nie Funyu orders. “You were there for over a shichen, surely something must have happened. Tell me.”

Nie Huaisang, startled by the demand, the tone in which it is made, the locked door, hesitates.

It feels wrong to share what happened, especially with his cousin for whom he has little affection and only as much trust as is required toward a relative. What happened isn’t to be shared with just anyone. The emperor opened up to him over the afternoon and spoke, not as a son of heavens, but as a young man almost his age, lonely and in need of a friend, of a companion, in need of affection. 

Nie Huaisang isn't stupid, he can tell the emperor was flirting. 

The most powerful man in the world, flirting with him. It should be something to boast about, and instead Nie Huaisang wants to keep it secret. The knowledge that out of everyone in this world, out of every scholar, every beautiful man and woman, he’s the one whom the emperor might want at his side feels like a treasure. It is something to be kept away from prying eyes and enjoyed in private. He wants to take that realisation and put it away in his little box, alongside memories of his mother and brother, to be kept safe forever.

It is not something Nie Funyu deserves to hear about.

So Nie Huaisang tries to hide what he can. He describes the three games they played, praising the emperor for his skill, mentions that he tried to lose but was scolded and forced to play seriously, proving that the emperor is a wise man who values honesty. 

Nie Funyu isn’t satisfied with that. He asks question after question, demands details for every answer he gets, slowly forcing his young cousin to reveal everything, how the emperor smiled at him, how he laughed even as he scolded Nie Huaisang into playing well enough to beat him, his excitement as they spoke of poetry. Nie Huaisang can’t keep anything to himself, not even the way the emperor took his hand and squeezed it with such tenderness after making him promise he would visit again. 

When everything has been laid out, Nie Funyu is satisfied while Nie Huaisang feels ashamed. He wasn’t asked to keep any secrets, but this still has the aftertaste of a betrayal.

"It's as I thought then," his cousin says when he’s decided that he’s heard everything there is to say. "I'm glad I immediately wrote to your father. He's already answered that he also sees the advantage to be gained in this."

"I'm not sure I understand?" Nie Huaisang replies, too tired to keep his tone polite. He’s starving, and feels a headache pressing behind his eyes… or it might be that he just wants to cry.

"Your duty is to obey, not to understand," Nie Funyu snaps. "You will continue seducing the emperor, and ensure he doesn't turn on our family. Everyone knows his uncle is against this war, we can't have that young idiot change his mind. But what the brain can't achieve, the heart will do. So do your duty, and serve your family in the way you can."

“Seducing?”

Nie Funyu glares at him, and hands him Father’s letter at last.

Most of it regards ordinary business, a few requests regarding the war, some news from Nie Mingjue. The most interesting part comes last, when Father states that he sees no objection to letting the emperor have Nie Huaisang in whatever way pleases him. It is important, Father says, that Nie Huaisang doesn’t balk at his duty, whatever the personal cost. Everything must be sacrificed for the good of the empire… and what’s good for the empire is to make sure the emperor listens to the Nie family.

Nie Huaisang doesn’t cry. It would make his cousin angry, he thinks, and he’d rather not deal with that on top of the rest.

He doesn’t cry but he desperately wants to.

That afternoon with the emperor was so good, he had so much fun. Aside from Nie Mingjue, he doesn’t think anyone has ever been so warm and kind to him, so eager to get his good opinion. Nie Huaisang was so happy, and now it’s all been ruined, because he’s not allowed to just enjoy the fact that this gorgeous, powerful young man likes him.

He’ll do what Father asks, of course. He has to. It’s for the good of the empire, Father says, and it’s to make sure that Nie Mingjue gets all the support he needs while fighting the Wens. Nie Huaisang can’t take part in that war, but if he can help like this… He has to be a good son, a good brother.

It’s fine to be doing this. He’s not lying to anyone. Nie Huaisang wants to continue meeting the emperor, wants to see if they can be friends, if they can be more.

It’s fine to be doing what everyone wants if he also wants it, right?

[gisellelx]

What are your feelings re: the decision to let Renee think Bella had died at the age of 19 while Charlie got to keep seeing her and his grandkid? It's always pissed me off that the man canonically saw his daughter two weeks a year for most of her life, and when she was living with him she basically had the same caretaker role as she had with her mother. Oh, except that Charlie "cared" more about Bella - and showed it by cheering on a boy who sexually assaulted her. So he got all the prizes.

It doesn't bother me with respect to Renee. It bothers me with respect to the larger story.

At the beginning of the series, the existence of vampires is such an important secret that all the Cullens are perfectly willing to entertain a discussion of whether or not Bella should just be quietly offed simply because she had some suspicions. By the end of the series, so that everything could be wrapped up neatly, somehow it's okay for Charlie to know what's going on. There are no repercussions to this—there is not even a furtive discussion between him and Bella in which she says, "For your safety; for my safety; for Renesmee's safety; you can not say a godforsaken word." It breaks the believability of the world-building, because if it's so easy to let someone else into the secret then you have to back up and ask all these questions about the Volterra encounter in Book 2; about the risk of the Volturi coming in Book 3; about why there's so much secrecy around the wolves in Book 2; on and on. The story's wheels wobble and fall off. It's very obvious that it was, like the imprint, a means of tying the story up with a perfect little bow. I do not like neat little bows. I find they make for weaker stories that I personally am less interested in; I'm not a genre romance reader for a reason. It would've been much more interesting to me if Bella had needed to give up a single solitary gorram thing to get her perfect HEA, and Charlie could've easily been the thing. He wasn't.

As an aside: I notice the "Charlie still gets to know/gets turned into a vampire, too" trope a lot in "Edward came back later and eventually Bella is turned" New Moon AU fics, and I can't decide which is the chicken and which is the egg. Is it an overarching desire to have the neat bow which affects SM--who was still writing with a lot of fanfic genre expectations--as well as the fic writers, or is it that fic writers writing from this canon are trying to keep the canon element of Charlie knowing? I can't tell. I'm much more forgiving of fic writers than I am of a writer with a professional editor and millions of dollars, but the "Charlie gets to be turned, too!" aspect usually makes these stories less impactful, too.

At any rate, it makes perfect sense in canon why Renee wouldn't be let in on all this. In fact, the plan was not to let Charlie in on it; it was Jacob's impetuousness which forced that hand. By the end of the saga, Charlie has married into the tribe, he's the one who lives in the Olympic Peninsula, he's the one whose best friend is a direct descendent of Ephraim Black. Him being in on the story and Renee not being is no judgment on either of them as parents. He's just conveniently part of the story in a way Renee is not, so from that perspective, it makes sense. It’s not a referendum on either of their parenting. But I find it uninspired writing.

[caxsthetic]

When The Storm Passed

Kita Shinsuke x F!Reader

Unfurling: They said there will always a good thing that we could get after every storm—and he could only wish to see a rainbow when the hurricane stop.

Pt. 1 ⇚ Part 2 ⇛ Ep.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *. GRAND MASTERLIST .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Regret. A word that haunted him ever since one fateful night where he only looked forward from. He still remembered that night as if it just happened yesterday. His mind replayed to the memories like a broken record, one that no one could fix.

Hello, how are you? How is life?

It had been years since the last time he saw your face. But every little emotion that you once evoke, every single word that rolled down from your lips, everything about you still adheres to his mind. Even after the season changed, months after months, the storm still had the power to ravage his life.

If only he let you in, if only he turned his back and chased you like a madman, would the storm pass and turned into a rainbow instead? Would you be here? With him?

Sweat trickling down on his skin as the rays of sun hit him without mercy. But he was alright with it, bowing down to make sure each seedling was planted neatly. This was the time he could only find peace, taking care of the rice fields as if they were his children. Maybe because he thought they were indeed—his children.

Being here became the only way he could give out the love inside his heart. Through every good quality seed, every movement he made as he embedded the tiny beads into the soil, he gave the feelings that he should have poured towards another human being.

But he didn't trust his feelings anymore, not when it stayed and yet, he couldn't give it to her.

He couldn't give it to you, in consideration of how you never belonged to him.

Wasn't it what he wanted from the start? To never let you in? Despite the realisation that you already struck his heart, maybe it was for the best. He did not know much about love except the one that he got from his grandmother. And to have someone as perfect as you to be his cavy for love would be an embarrassment to the universe.

So he had to endure whatever pain that caused by the storm called you.

"Where is Osamu?" The setter had his phone on his ear, a frown emerged from his face as the only thing that he could hear was some beeps. "I wanted to borrow some money for shirts, yet he was nowhere to be seen somehow."

Atsumu kept grumbling under his breath, muttering curse after curse as his brother didn't once pick up the call. The entire team snickering from how pouty and childish the scary setter looked at the moment, stomping his foot and blowing some raspberry like a spoiled child.

"I think he went somewhere with (Y/n)," The libero just finished tying up his shoes, "Knowing them, probably making out somewhere on whatever quiet place they could find."

The others chuckled at the remark—ah, to be in love—was something that not everyone had the chance to feel, especially while they were all still hormonal teenagers. Yet you and the opposite wing spiker always clicked in one way or another.

While everyone laughed at this, teasing and gossiping about the couple, Ojiro couldn't help but spare some glance towards the captain that decided to keep silent. Even after days had passed, the sight of him with tears cascading down his cheeks still persisted.

It was the second time the wing spiker saw Kita Shinsuke cried. One time when he received the captain's jersey; which lasted for around five minutes, and the second time when he realised that he was falling for their manager. While this one—lasted for even minutes after he dropped the captain off.

"The bus is here." Shivers ran down everyone's spines as he spit the words, like every syllable that came out from his lips became venom, "They parked on the front of gate B, all of you go there now." The entire team nodded and grabbed their belongings, walking towards the exit in unison.

But not him. He walked to the opposite direction instead, leaving the others raising their eyebrows in wonder.

"Oi, Shinsuke, where are you going?" Akagi stopped in his tracks and turned his head. "Toilet or something?"

"No," Kita grabbed his phone, sending a text message to the grey haired underclassmen of his, "I am going to search for Osamu and (L/n)." This statement made Ojiro widened his eyes in a second,

"Wait, I am going with—"

"No need." It only needed those two words to make the tall wing spiker's move come to a halt, "Just tell me in case they were already on the bus. I think I know where they are, I wouldn't be long."

As much as Ojiro wanted to accompany his friend, to be there as a support system, he knew that once the captain made a statement, that means he wouldn't take no for an answer. So the only thing that he could do as a good friend, was following whatever the perfectionist friend of his told him to.

Kita could feel the lingering gaze of worry that was being thrown towards him, one which remained until he turned the corner. He was not that weak—at least that what he said to himself. He had seen you and the wing spiker sharing a passionate kiss after practice, holding hands subconsciously to feel a flicker of warmth from each other.

It hurt, at first. For the first few days he wanted to just run away. Run away from the storm that turned into a hurricane for every lingering gaze that you gave for the grey haired man instead of him. When he was still the receiver of such love, he blinded himself. Since the feelings were so foreign for him.

But now his mind clouded with regret—as every single breath that he took didn't feel like a blessing anymore.

"Hey, it's okay, Samu..."

He stopped when he could hear the familiar gentle voice, soothing someone that he knew so well whom. Kita just needed to take this one last turn to see your face and brought the two to the bus. But as he fixated there, listening to the tender tone of your words, he felt like he was the one who was with you.

And he didn't want to waste this one chance of reverie.

"It's alright to cry. I would never judge you, you know that right?" Yes. "Cry in my shoulder, it's okay, I don't care if you ruin my jacket." Alright.

He could feel it deep inside every fiber of his being. How you caressed his hair as he rested his forehead on your shoulders, tears making a mess on your clothes as you whispered sweet nothing in his ear to calm him down. He could feel your touch, getting lost on the strands of his hair while the other hand pulled him close to feel your affection.

No matter how real it felt, it all only twirled inside his mind. He was chasing a storm that already walked past him. But the aftermath was still visible, not lessening after days he realised you already torn his life.

"Thank you, (Y/n)," He unconsciously clenched his hand into a fist when he was back to reality, slapped by the hoarse voice of his underclassmen, "I didn't know how I would be if I didn't have you here." You wouldn't want to know that, Osamu.

"Oh, it was nothing. I am just doing my job as the best girlfriend that I could ever be." You always sell yourself too short, "What important now is that you feel better, right?"

"Of course," He could hear how the two lips collided, it didn't sound needy and fiery like how you always shared your kiss. This sounded gentle, like the first droplets of rain hitting the grass. "I love you,"

It was silent for a few seconds before you pulled your boyfriend to another kiss. Now it sounded fiery, a hurried kiss as if you didn't hear the three words that were given for you. As if you didn't want to answer that, "I love you, I really do." But those words wanted some answer, it didn't want to leave you alone.

"Samu, I-I love—"

"The bus is here."

Osamu immediately pulled himself away from you. Tinted pinkish hue adorned your boyfriend's cheeks when he saw his captain standing around five feet from the two of you with the expression that rarely changed, flustered to get caught in such a predicament with you, "I am sorry if I disturbed the moment."

"N-No, it's alright, Kita-san." You were the one who answered him, so quick as your eyes found him. There was a little bit of... gratitude that lingered on your mind. What was it? His eyebrows raised a little before coming back to normal in second, Why did you look so grateful by him interrupting the moment?

He didn't want to walk into any conclusion. Even though he was sure of the reason behind your meaningful gaze just now, he didn't want to believe it.

Kita Shinsuke didn't want to have any hope.

"Kita-san?"

Because he knew whose heart would break if it was not him.

"Y-You are Kita-san, right?"

He turned his head to the right, only to see you standing there in front of the fish vendor. Once his eyes locked with yours, a smile immediately shaped on your facade. The smile that you had looked so charming, didn't lose the same warmth even after times went by.

There was something delicate about how your face contorted. Gentler, matured, like you have lived such a rough yet beautiful life. And you survived, you survived whatever obstacles that universe hurled on your direction—shaping you into such a marvelous being.

"(Y/n)..." He didn't call out or anything, your name just slipped from his lips without a brake, "(Y/n)..."

You giggled a little from how dumbfounded he looked right now. His lips parted a little, pupils dilated as if he didn't believe that you were real. And he grimaced when he realised that he was making a fool of himself, "Where are my manners—yes, I am Kita, (Y/n). Your upperclassmen from Inarizaki High."

"Goodness, always so formal." A small chuckle rolled down from your lips, so angelic even if a snort slipped from his statement, "Of course I know who you are Kita-san. The captain of Inarizaki Volleyball Boys Club who loved all of the members so much." Yes, including the manager.

It was funny, how the storm that ripped his heart apart also became the source of his happiness. He didn't realise it by now, but this little smile appeared on his face every time he heard your voice as if he was listening to some of his favourite music.

"Ah, and you are the (L/n) (F/n), the manager of Inarizaki Volleyball Boys Club who admired all of the members so much." He wanted to say it playfully. But somehow it turned into a sarcastic one, making him cringed a little, "Sorry, I—"

"Always the same, huh, Kita-san?" You walked closer to him with hands full of grocery bags, "Always the same ol' Kita-san that I admire."

That was not a fair move. To say the same verb you used the night that he wanted to redo. But then again you were saying that not with any ill intention. You just laughed with an innocent resonance, didn't know what kind of impact that you had for his fragile heart.

"Yes, still the same old me indeed."

He gave out a sigh, so soft to make sure you couldn't catch it. You calmed down after seconds, the chuckle died down into the smile that you wore when he turned to look at you before, "Want to take a walk?"

Kita didn't know what struck him right now. He thought if the universe gave him a chance to meet you once again, he would just say hi and gave his back on you like he used to. But what he did right now was the opposite of it.

Maybe he had matured? Maybe after all this time he was ready to have whatever consequences that he would get. He used to be a coward when a storm like you appeared in his life. But not now. Now he wanted to make things right, as he was more prepared than his past self.

You agreed, with a simple nod and the smile which never left your face, you followed him as he brought you to a stroll. It was so peaceful—to walk with you side by side. The petals of cherry blossoms blown by the wind as small talks filled his eardrums.

He used to hate it. To walk with you alone, to have some small talks that he thought could be used to do something productive instead. But as he listened, to your soft voice as you told him where you have been after all this time, he felt like you sung him a lullaby; he felt at peace.

His eyes searching for yours, taking one step ahead since he wanted to catch your gaze. You halted when he stood right in front of you, confusion was written on your face. An odd move for him, but then again you did exactly what he wanted; meeting his eyes.

Just like that, the two of you shared some whirlwind of emotion as he gazed deep into your shining orbs—trying to find some remnants of warmth that he used to find from you on his high school days.

In hope that maybe, it was still there even after all this time.

He looked down to his hand where the scroll of graduation certificate rested gently. Three years had passed since he enrolled in this school. The place that taught him a lot of things in life. Friendship, pride, family, sportsmanship—and love. Something that he never thought he would experience in such an early phase of life.

Everyone was taking a picture with their friends, either from the same grade, or some of the underclassmen. He was just done talking to Atsumu, lecturing him a little and gave the setter some reassurance. Yes, Osamu wouldn't be there on the court anymore after graduation. But the golden yellow haired man had one more year, one more year to make memories together.

No matter how many times Atsumu said that memories weren't needed in his life, it was the only thing that he could cherish when someday he missed his brother to play with him on the same court.

Kita smiled softly as his friends were being dragged by a lot of people. Some girls timidly asked Ojiro to take a picture with them, Akagi was given some chocolate, Omimi in a deep conversation with some teachers.

And he just decided to stand there, sheltering under the trees that have aged for perhaps hundreds of years. His orbs observed the joyous atmosphere that spring gave. He was too focused on how the scenery unfolded in front of him, that he didn't even hear some footsteps coming from his side.

"That was a rare sight," You popped out, unnoticed, uninvited, "That smile of yours Kita-san, it was such a rare sight."

He was taken aback by your words, but then he composed himself in a matter of seconds, smiling softly by now, "See? That smile! Can I take a picture? For scientific purposes!"

"You know there was no such thing as a scientific purpose of taking a portrait of mine."

"A smiling portrait of yours," You corrected.

"Alright, a smiling portrait of mine. Still, there was nothing that you could get."

"I can get serotonin."

The statement that you blurted made his face adorned with some shades of red, didn't expect you to say it so smoothly as if he was your boyfriend. While he was in a pause, you successfully got a picture of him, your lips immediately shaped into a grin.

"Delete that."

"No!" You chuckled when he tried to grab the phone off from your hand, "I am going to print it and worship it. Bet if I gave it to Suna and Atsumu, they would pay lots of money." He wanted to feel annoyed, he was supposed to get annoyed by your childish act.

But what he felt right now was just the banter that made his heart flutter. The banter that he could feel every day if only he let you talk to him, the conversation that he could have for a year knowing you if only he didn't turn his back on you.

You, the storm that when he first saw you he didn't want anything with. Yet right now as you laughed in front of him, making fun of him, he wished that he wouldn't be a coward and let you in completely. You were a beautiful calamity, one that he never met for eighteen years he had breathed the fresh air in this world.

He used to be so afraid whenever you were near, always making sure that there was at least a three feet gap between your figure and his. He used to be afraid to talk to you, didn't want to make himself fall even deeper to this bottomless pit called love that you offer.

But with you looking so terrific with a sunny smile that was a total contrast to what you are—a storm—he was hitting himself mentally for even thinking that you were a storm that could stir his life. There was nothing from you that radiated chaos with how gentle you looked through his eyes.

Both of you were lost in each other's presence, didn't recognize how some pairs of orbs scrutinized the magical occurrence between you and the captain. It was as if there were some kind of bubble that separated the two of you from the rest of the world.

He didn't think much as his hand rested on top of your head, ruffling it gently as a soft smile adorned his face. You were stunned, jolting a little since never in your mind you thought that Kita would even touch you, let alone ruffling your hair as if you just won some extraordinary award. But indeed felt like that.

Your eyes met with his, the brown eyes gazed at yours, searching for the warmth look that you always had just for him. It was there. Flickering in between awe and wonder, you still had these feelings that you offered for him all those months ago. He was actually amazed by it, didn't expect that someone would admire him still even after all of those cold gestures that he showed.

In this moment, as your eyes locked with his captivating one, it felt just like the first time he saw you running through the schoolground. With your teeth clamped on a piece of bread, only for you to slip and eat the soil instead. Remembering all of those recollections, he realised that the storm called you was there inside him since that particular day.

"I lo-"

But before he could continue the words that have been stuck on his throat for months, his gaze met with a pair of dark grey orbs, filled with pain and fear. Your boyfriend was there, shoulder slumped as he saw how his captain looked at you. It was the same with the look that he had every time his eyes laid on you—from what his brother said.

Within instance, Kita pulled his hand away from your head. He could see the disappointment appearing from your eyes for a second. But at the same time it was like you realised that you were not his, it was as if you realised he never let you in and it was all too late for the two of you.

You were just a storm. He reminded himself as he almost hurt his underclassmen that he cared so much, just because he wanted you too. From the start he knew he was at fault here, but he needed to twist his mind for now. Hoping that the storm would go out from his life someday.

Or at least if the storm stayed, he didn't want it now. Not when he knew so well the storm didn't come just to him.

He panted hard; today's job felt so tiresome as he needed to make sure every rice packed neatly. With diligence and patience, he was satisfied that each ounce he produced could be spread all around Japan, tasted and enjoyed from any kind of place.

It has always become one of his dreams, to create something that was impactful to a lot of people. He imagined a scenario where a family gathered around, praying and thanked the deity from giving them such a wonderful life—grateful for everything that had been given to them.

A child, maybe one or two, listened in and followed every movement of their father as they circled around on the dining table. The time filled with love and appreciation, little family that he always wanted; one that he never had.

He thought that you would be a great wife, especially after a week ago where he crossed paths with you once again. With a gentle smile, groceries bag in hand, everyone who saw the two of them yesterday would think that they were some newlywed couple.

In the middle of work, this was the first time he was distracted and thought about anything else beside the rice fields and the numbers that may come. See? A storm. He chuckled under his breath, remembering how much you had changed, yet a perfect kind of change.

If before he always grimaced and frowned when his mind went back to you without him wanting to, now he seems like he enjoyed it. Maybe he finally embraced it, the fact that no matter how many times he tried to run away from you, a storm will always catch up with him.

Especially you; the one kind that swirled on his heart, the one that slipped without permission. Who stayed, and never left him—leading him to the conclusion that some storm would be there for the longest time.

"Shin," A gentle voice that belonged to his grandmother brought him back to reality, "You look happy there," She chuckled a little, walking closer towards her grandson that she was always proud of.

"I am always happy at work, granny." He emitted a smile that only showed when he put his walls down, "And well, you are here too, so it doubled up my happiness."

"Ah, always so charismatic." She shook her head in amusement and patted his back, "Are you going to send in the supply for Osamu-chan?" He almost snorted from the choice of nickname that his grandmother used for his old teammate, still not used to it even after years he had heard it.

"Yes, I will." He gave her a soft smile and put his record book inside his bag, "I am going there now, he needs it to cheer up someone tomorrow."

"Alright, stay safe and focus on the road, Shin."

Kita nodded and went towards the car, starting the engine with a light heart. With one last glance and a little wave towards his grandmother, his car started to roll down the road.

Hyogo was peaceful, especially around his neighbourhood. Acres of land that were still untouched, with big trees adorned the side of the road. He always had his car window down as he soaked the serene atmosphere.

And now his mind was running wild, imagining you to be there beside him. What would you do if you were in the passenger seat? Would you turn on the radio and sing along to whatever tunes that were being aired? Or maybe you would just hum and enjoy the scenery with him.

Whatever it was that you would do, anything that reminded him of you made his heart burst with joy. So he would be okay, he would be okay for any of your antics, he would be ready now when he faced you once again.

He thought about sending you a message since a week ago when he got your new number, wanting to maybe ask you out on a date. Date—does everyone still say that? He felt so old as he was not really good about this thing called love. But one thing that he knew, he felt like he never aged at all by keeping this storm in his life.

You used to love some peaceful cafe that looked aesthetically pleasing. With a wide variety of drinks so you would never get bored, ordering some different beverages until you found the right one. At least that was what he heard from Osamu before on the high school days.

His eyes fell to the familiar building, a traditional Japanese one which was full with wood and chocolate accent. Dark blue banner written with "宮" (read: Miya) could be seen even when he was still a little bit far from the place.

It felt like another home for him, obvious with how his lips shaped into a smile every time he was here. Proud. He was always proud with how everything turned out for all of his old teammates. It was such a hectic day that time when Osamu told his brother that he would no longer pursue his career in volleyball, resulting in them with faces full of band aid.

But looked at them now, all grown up chasing their own dreams with a smile on their faces.

Kita parked the car near the back door so it wouldn't prevent any pedestrians from seeing such a cozy place to stop by. As if the owner of the shop had a six sense, someone popped out from the back door with a glint of joy glimmering inside his dark grey orbs.

"Kita-san!" The rice farmer turned his head only to meet his old teammate, "Come on, let me help you." Both of them had the same soft smile since they knew that together, they felt like they were home. His old teammates were all considered as his family, the one who had been with him through ups and down.

"Don't you have workers who should unload the stock?"

"Yeah, but I like unloading the stock with you. We didn't hang much like we used to after all."

Even if they live in the same prefecture, the same city to be exact, they had their own schedule that needed to be fulfilled. They were not teenagers anymore who had more free time, doing some routine and hobbies. They were adults now, with different burdens on each of their shoulders.

The rice farmer nodded at this and opened up the baggage, dozens of rice sacks filled their vision. All of them were arranged in a neat row, making sure that not even one of them bounced while in the road.

With cheeky grins on their faces, they looked at each other. Within seconds, both of them immediately had sacks of rice on their shoulders. They had this kind of ritual and inner bet. For those who could load the most sacks inside the shops would treat the winner some drink for the next four times they hang out.

"Gah, you win this time, Kita-san." Osamu plopped himself on the pile of sacks while stretching his body, "I am drained mentally and physically after yesterday."

"Oh? What happened yesterday?" The light grey haired man leaned his body on the wall, looking down on his old teammate who looked so beaten up. "Did something happen to you?" Now his eyes lingered with worry, he never liked the idea of his friend getting into something bad.

"Ah... It was nothing bad." There was a tranquil smile that was visible on his underclassmen's face, "I just did something that I have been planning for a long time, that's all."

"So how did it go?" Now the rice farmer was curious. It's been maybe two months since the last time they had a casual conversation about life, "Just like the plan?"

"Even better, Kita-san, I—"

"Samu, did the rice arrive already?"

His breath hitch when a familiar figure suddenly appeared from the kitchen. Even with all of the hair being swept to the back, a simple black shirt that didn't really compliment your figure due to maybe the wrong size, the cap that covered your head and hooded your eyes.

He wouldn't mistake the only woman who ever had his heart since high school.

There was shock, written on both of your faces, once again feeling like the two of you were in some kind of bubble without anyone else. It felt like a lifetime ago when he saw the glimmer of old feelings from your eyes; that somehow still visible when he met you last week.

But now as you stood there with the same attire as his underclassmen—that he knew so well had its eyes on you even before he realised his own feelings—something clicked on his mind like a turmoil before the big storm came.

"I actually wanted to surprise you, knowing how much you used to admire Kita-san so much." Osamu stood up and walked towards you, wrapping one of his arms around your waist as his lips touched the side of your head, "Kita-san is the main supplier for Onigiri Miya, you know?"

"R-Really?" You sounded surprised, widening your eyes a little bit more than before. Your gaze never once left him, and right now he didn't know what to do with the fact he would never have the second chance, "Goodness, why didn't I know that?!"

Your fist hit your boyfriend's chest playfully, but it was more forceful than it supposed to be. The black haired man only cackled at this as he saw how embarrassed you looked right now.

This was the same banter, the same laugh and smile that you and your boyfriend always had since high school. The same one that he once felt. Yes, once. A long time ago where you took a picture of him on his graduation day. How is the photograph now? Do you still save it like what you said that day?

"Okay, okay, I will grab one sack. And you, Miya Osamu, go have some chit chat with Kita-san. You whined a lot when I was away saying that you rarely had time catching up with him." You pecked the black haired man on the cheek before slipping away to grab the rice sacks. Your feet brought you closer to the rice farmer, smiling softly as your gaze fell on his figure.

"Hey."

"Hey, Kita-san."

Your hand grabbed the handle of the sacks and straightened your posture as you stood right in front of him. At this rare time, he felt like you never became a storm. Even after every wrenched and disconsolate that you brought. You still looked so beautiful, and no way a calamity supposed to look like you. "I never said this, but, it's good to see you."

He chuckled a little, trying to calm himself down as his eyes fell towards the diamond ring that rested on your finger. Oh, it suited you, simple and yet sophisticated, So this was the plan.

And in the blink of an eye, he fixed his gaze on you once again. Swallowing down all of the immense pain that bubbling inside his heart.

"It's good to see you too, (Y/n)." Always.

You smiled at him, bowing a little. Just like that time you said that you admired him. You turned his back on him, walking towards the opposite direction. Just like that time when you ignited the foreign feelings inside his heart.

His eyes never left your facade as you put your hand on the shoulder of your fiancé. He could hear it, as the black haired man leaned to your ear and whispered the three beautiful words. He remembered how you were hesitate before, he remembered how you were so grateful that he came right at the time.

But it was a long time ago,

"I love you too, Samu."

There was no hesitation this time. The words rolling down from your lips that sounded so heavenly for his underclassmen. Yet for him, it felt like he was in the peak of the calamity, where everything wrecked until the roots.

He should have known that the admiration in your eyes from a week ago was platonic. He fell into an illusion of hope that his own mind created to save him from the heartbreak. The heartbreak that he was supposed to get when he looked at your glimmering orbs at that time.

The adoration that you had for him was not like what he saw on his graduation day. He could still see the remnants of your love that you offer when you teased him about his smile. He could still feel the warmth of longing as you stood still when his hand rested on top of your head, ruffling the strands of your hair as if you were his lover.

But it was not there anymore and he shouldn't have been so naive.

He thought that maybe, the storm that had been inside him for years could magically passed and produced a magnificent result.

Perhaps he would have his own rainbow, the beauty after the storm, just like what people said about what may come after the catastrophes. But as he stood here, at the back of the place that one day would be yours too with a forced smile on his face, he didn't believe in such a miracle anymore.

Because the only thing that left when the storm passed for him—was just a wreckage of an unfulfilled heart that wouldn't be intact evermore.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*     ༶• ┈┈ ⛧ ┈ ♛ ♛ ┈ ⛧ ┈┈ •༶     *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Tagged Lovelies:

@muffins-puffins​ @vlovers-world​ @blacckdiamondposts​ @for-ests​ @atsunflower​ @miyatsunami​ @iwaixiumi​ @hihiq​ @the-fandom-ness​ @quirksandbreaths​ @rintarhoe​ @verbluehte​ @simp4tsukkii​ @ladyalicevii​ @evermorehaikyuu​ @clowninfortodoroki​ @koutaroulovebot​ @fitriiaw​ @mistypoison​ @aquariarose​ @greenleaf-fantasy​ @t-amajiki​ @kuraomi​ @haikyuuwithadashofart​ @starbybokuto​ @shiningstar-byulxx​ @nerdyphantomlady​ @raequii​

[wordsandchocolate]

Useful writing advice (short story edition)

Here’s some useful writing advice I picked up from a writing workshop with a creative writing director and author: General Advice

Ø  Originality is everything: the best thing you can bring to writing is something you have to say, and the aim is to convey this as clearly and powerfully as possible Ø  The more personal something is the more universal Ø  Sensory detail is key to stories Ø  Get rid of all unnecessary words in a sentence. In short stories every sentence is more important than in a novel Ø  Don’t “paint a picture” with words. Create a moment for your reader to be in with your character; take a moment from a character’s life and render it with precision. You want your reader to encounter a significant moment within your character’s life (not about tying up the story neatly) Ø  Mine past memories for material, even if not autobiographical Except in rare circumstances, set it in a place you have inside knowledge of o Landscape is vital - it shapes behaviour, community etc. If it is closely linked to characters, descriptions of landscape will mean a lot to the reader and tell you about the characters without even sharing their emotion Ø  Expect to rework the first sentence when you have an overview of the story, after you’ve finished Ø  Kurt Vonnegut: stories can often start a third of the way from what you think (because you spend the first third of writing ‘getting into’ the story) Ø  Allow for a reworked endings – don’t fall into fade-out endings! Ø  Editing usually takes longer than the actual writing Ø  Make every word have a purpose 

What annoys judges of writing competitions Ø  Too many adverbs – the right verbs don’t need adverbs (one judge threw out a story after reading the first line ‘she strode quickly across the park’ because strode implies a fast pace) Ø  ‘Helping’ the reader too much o   Hilary Mantel: “I always assume my reader is at least as intelligent as me” o   Trust your reader to understand what you’re saying – show don’t tell (e.g. don’t say ‘Her cheeks flushed red. She was embarrassed’) Ø Overuse of exclamation marks o   Emotion and impact should convey enough Ø  Overuse of “ “ to emphasise a word – if it’s necessary then italicise the word instead Ø  Your characters don’t have to be loveable but the reader has to care about them/what happens to them o   You read fiction to encounter the characters Ø  Read stories that inspire you – not to write like them but to write short stories like you.  Kurt Vonnegut’s advice Ø  Use the time of a total stranger in such a way that he or she will not feel the time was wasted. Ø  Give the reader at least one character he or she can root for. Ø  Every character should want something, even if it is only a glass of water. Ø  Every sentence must do one of two things-reveal character or advance the action. Ø  Start as close to the end as possible. Ø  Be a sadist. No matter how sweet and innocent your leading characters, make awful things happen to them-in order that the reader may see what they are made of. Ø  Write to please just one person. If you open a window and make love to the world, so to speak, your story will get pneumonia. Ø  Give your readers as much information as possible as soon as possible. To heck with suspense. Readers should have such complete understanding of what is going on, where and why, that they could finish the story themselves, should cockroaches eat the last few pages.

[alch3mic]

in between. (drabble series)

chapter four (stitches.)

captain!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of anxiety, ideas of loss, depression, and self esteem.

* finally at the fourth chapter with our dear fellswap sans, captain! he also has no official fic yet but has his own tag here on my tumblr if you’d like to know more about him! thank you and i hope you enjoy!

A project. 

That's all this was meant to be.

Something to keep him preoccupied in his free time, now that he seemed to have more time on his hands than he knew what to do with.

Somewhere to put his focus, instead of thinking about things.

Instead of stressing about things.

Instead of.. worrying about.. 'things'.

Like this.. 'thing'.. attached to him.

...

"ya can't just keep pacin' around bro."

Sure he could. 

He could pace around as much as he wanted. It was his boat dammit, and he'd walk around it as he pleased, from the bow to the stern, topside and back.  

"Shouldn't you be resting?"

No. 

How could he? There was work to be done.

All his life he had filled himself with his work. It was all he knew.

Work.

Work.

Work 

Work.

Work 

From his time as a child, working to take care of his younger brother to ensure he was brought up properly to his time in the royal guard working hard every day to support them and make sure they both survived that horrid Underground. Even on the surface he worked and worked and worked, to regain his position as a monster worthy of fear and respect after the humans had stripped them of everything and leaving them to rot like strays on the street.

Every minute of every day he worked.

Most days he even dreamed of it.

Which is exactly why it was so difficult to sit still, even at your request.

"You really should just take it easy, Sans. Didn't Undyne say to not stress yourself out?"

She did, but it didn't matter. 

He was in a constant state of being stressed. 

Stressed was how he operated. 

Stressed was all he knew. 

His body could never give him the pleasure of just 'taking it easy', constantly buzzing, constantly wanting to be in motion. At times he envied his brother for being able to let things go and just kick back, but... that was exactly why he worked so hard wasn't it? 

So that his brother could relax without a worry in that thick skull of his..? 

Of course.. he knew Papyrus went through his own troubles.. it's just...

Gah.

This free time was now filling his head with unnecessary thoughts, even as he tried his best to busy himself by patrolling his own boat.

..Which was only adding to his stress...

"Lets try a hobby. What do you normally do for fun?"

Think of you. 

Well.. 

He didn't have to now that you were here with him.

He could just spend time with you instead of daydreaming about it.

And he did.

You humored him by relaxing together topside with him and Papyrus, enjoying the salty breezes of the ocean and the warm summer rays. The two of you would chat in his bed for hours, laughing and telling stories of the past as you laid close. You'd help him, by offering an arm when he wore himself out or when he needed help doing something that required two hands. Everything from opening jars to preparing dinner or even tying his shoes.

It was..

Ah, dammit it was so humiliating.

..And also made him strangely happy?

He was.. happily humiliated? 

..Humbled?

..Stars.

He never had anyone taken care of him before, so his pride was taking a major blow every time you offered to help. A part of him was glad you'd always ask first so he'd at least get to attempt at doing it by himself but.. it was also humiliating to give in. He was too stubborn for his own good, never having anyone extend a hand for him neither below ground or on the Surface.

Still you never seemed bothered. 

You never batted an eye when he'd turn to you. Sometimes all it took was a look from him and you just knew, without having any words be spoke. Having that kind of connection was.. 

Incredible. 

It had been something the both of you had obviously over the years, but only now it was showing itself in the mundane parts of your lives now that you were with him. Normally it had been when you locked eyes in a fight in the streets of Ebott, and he could see the whole encounter play out in his mind. How you'd swing, how he'd shoot. How you both would nearly hit each other both on purpose and on accident. 

Like a dance with death only the two of you could perform. 

And how beautifully you danced for him..

Now.. having that connection manifest positively, in quiet agreements and silent conversations that took only seconds to have, really drove home the fact that times have changed.

That he was no longer the skeleton he was before.

He had you now, which was different. 

You were his. 

And he was yours. 

Though.. in truth you always had a part of soul with you even if you never realized it.

And he always had Papyrus by his side. 

That could never change.

But now.. he also had..

That.

The 'thing'.

An arm. 

That.. didn't belong to him.

It was attached, sure, but..

It was foreign. 

Heavy. 

A burden. 

It was consequences of his actions taken form of something that use to be, but no longer was. Like a cruel symbol of mockery, forever attached to his own broken body. There was nothing but the tickling of a sensation of pain, like a phantom dancing across his bones, from a limb that was no longer there. The magic in his scapula hummed louder than the rest of his body, always catching his attention as it had been enhanced to support the weight of his new arm. It was irritating and constant, like a buzz he couldn't be rid of no matter how loud his thoughts were or tried to be.

Always there.

Always ringing in his skull.

It was driving him crazy, adding to the mounting stress.

"FOR FUN? EASY. TRAP MAKING. ANALYTICS. READING THE STOCKS AND NEWS."

"Well that's depressing."

"STAYING INFORMED IS IMPORTANT, DARLING."

"And so is your mental health, Sans. Ignoring this won't make it go away you know."

The metallic hand closed on a reflex when he felt your gaze upon it. 

He didn't like it, despite how incredible Undyne's work was. She had studied him for weeks while he recovered in her intensive care, all so she could make an exact replica of his now missing arm. It looked just like the real thing only casted in asatollite, a type of metal found in the Underground that could conduct magic. No wires. No heavy plating. Just an arm, moved by his own magic.

An impressive feat really, but he felt no pride in this.

..Only shame.

As someone who had lived their life known for cutting it close time and time again, this was now all the proof someone needed that they could actually lay their hands on him. There was a chance that someone could hit and do some serious damage. 

For some, that would be enough to push their determination over the edge. 

The proof that he couldn't dodge forever.

And here it was, glinting under the soft afternoon sunlight that filtered into his quarters.

This... was his decline wasn't it?

..He could feel it in his bones.

Here marked the end of his reign of terror as Captain, the scarred skeleton who ruled the docks of Ebott City with an iron fist. Now that once unrelenting grip which strangled the life of rats out of the marine failed to even grasp a pen properly.

It stung in such a strange way that he almost didn't know how to describe it.

It was a unsightly fall from grace, paired with happiness and misery.

He was muddled with complicated feelings that really didn't have proper words, and so instead of spending his days thinking about it while lying in bed, he paced around his ship. 

"Is there anything you've ever wanted to learn?"

He only learned what was necessary. 

Languages to properly communicate with associates, skills like learning to shoot with a gun so that he could avoid having his magic traced back to him, and cooking so he could make sustainable meals when he and Papyrus had nothing..

They weren't things he did for fun, they were necessary.

What else could he learn that was necessary?

"HOW ABOUT TEACHING ME TO CUT A BULLET LIKE YOU DID BACK IN THE 'SISCO EXCHANGE."

"I'm not teaching you that."

"AND WHY'S THAT?"

"I don't need to make you any more dangerous than you already are you bonehead. I meant something fun! Like.. maybe a sport?"

"I THROW DARTS. I ALSO SHOOT."

"I.. Okay I guess that counts," you said, glancing to the wall of his quarters where the board was set up.

It's true it was a dart board hanging on the wall, but it was littered with photos of thugs and politicians, a dart neatly nailed through their head. It honestly looked like more of an omen of things to come rather than a hobby.

"Anything else?"

...

"I PLAYED THE VIOLIN FOR A SHORT WHILE."

"You did?"

"YES. BACK IN THE UNDERGROUND. I FOUND ONE IN THE DUMP AND TAUGHT MYSELF TO PLAY WHEN I DISCOVERED PAPYRUS LIKED THE WAY IT SOUNDED. IT WOULD HELP PUT HIM TO SLEEP ON SOME OF THE ROUGHER NIGHTS."

"Aww. Maybe you could think about picking it back up. I'd love to hear you play!"

He would, eventually. 

For right now.. the task seemed so daunting now that he had.. 

...That.

"..But maybe not yet."

Another silent conversation, passed by only the glint in his eyesocket. Once again he was glad he didn't have to openly admit he might struggle with learning something like that again but.. a small pass of shame also washed over him. He'd love to play for you, to maybe even create his own music to reflect the feelings you gave him in his soul, but to move this metallic.. 'thing'.. to play would be..

He'd become frustrated, just like with everything else.

"AND WHAT DO YOU DO TO RELAX MY DEAR?"

"Me? I usually sew or knit."

Right. Costumes. That’s why you asked to have your own space in that free room on the ship. You had mentioned it once before, how you use to do costuming back in the day for plays and helped your father who worked as a tailor until...

Hm.

"YOU SELL YOUR PIECES DON'T YOU?"

"Just to a few people. I make dresses for Mr. Rose's granddaughter and Rumpelstiltskin still orders some pieces for his wife. I also send some more elaborate stuff the Prince's way every once in awhile and I even still get requests from Mama Bear even after they disappeared off into the forest. I think they might finally have a Baby Bear on the way because they asked about knitting a little blanket a few days ago."

...

He.. tried to not humor the thought of just sailing away from this city with you, like that lucky bastard did with his spouse when he took off into the woods. Of course he couldn't, he knew Papyrus would stay here with Happy and he'd never want to be far from his brother. 

Still...

It was a tempting idea.

"I could always teach you. It's a pretty good skill to just learn how to hand stitch to mend clothing and it really isn't too complicated."

He relented ...of course. 

Because he always did to you, with that smile on your face and the hum in your tone. 

.....

Learning from you had been everything he hoped for, with you sitting close to him as you taught him how to thread a needle. You were patient with him as he struggled, his hand shaking as he did his best to will his magic to move. You were gentle as you taught him to stitch carefully and slowly, following along side as you guided him every step of the way.

...He'll never forget the way you laughed at his first pass though. 

He had been so damn.. angry! 

Really, you had the nerve to laugh even when he did his best! 

You were the worst, which is why exactly he had to pin you down and tickle you until you couldn't breathe. At least he could use that wretched metal arm to press your hands above your head as you desperately tried to wrestle out of his hold until you were flushed and gasping for breath.

His next attempt was alone late at night, when even the stars on the deck above couldn't quell his thoughts. They ran wild in his head, stampeding and thrashing about.

At his failures. 

At his mistakes.

At the humming in his shoulder and the arm that ached despite not being there. So he tried to not think about it as he quietly threaded the needle under the dim yellow lights in his quarters. The quiet creak and groan of the boat was his only accompaniment along your soft breathing from the bed as you peacefully slumbered away.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

He timed his stitches with your breaths, pushing the needle through the felt and then back again as he sewed the two pieces of scrap fabric together. It was strange how difficult this was, willing his fingers to move while simply pushing and pulling a needle. His jaw would tense as his hand shook at times and failed to grasp the needle, and then he'd hear you let out a sigh and he'd relax again.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Until the stitch was done.

Until he hushed the wild thoughts in his head and put his stress to bed.

Until he could no longer deny himself your company and he'd fall back to your side, finally delving into the depths of sleep.

He spent many days and nights like this, a fire ignited in his soul to hear your praise the first time.

"Seems like your stitched are getting tighter. Nice work there, Cap."

That was all he needed.

Your words. Your smile. The exigent that reflected in your beautiful eyes. You were proud of him, and it made him work all the harder as he sat with you in the room you had taken for your sewing. This place had been your sanctuary, something he once avoided entering to at least give you a little room for yourself on the ship, but now he found reassurance in it as well.

The whir of your sewing machine had become a comfort, able to drown out the buzz in his head as he worked beside you. Soft colorful fabrics lined the shelves in the wall and a half finished dress would decorate a mannequin or two. The both of you would drink coffee and chit chat as he tried to get lost in the motions of hand stitching pieces of scrap fabric together. 

He didn't want to constantly strain himself to move his arm.

He wanted it to be natural.

He wanted to use his hand without a second thought.

He wanted it to be like..

How it use to be.

But it could.. never really be like it use to be. 

And he struggled and struggled and struggled.

In the weeks that had dragged by, both you and Papyrus had picked up small gigs to help patch the hole his injury was leaving. 

Sans was... or had been.. the bread maker. 

He always prided himself on providing by running the docks, able to keep his rather lavish lifestyle alive by delivering cargo from overseas to sellers like the Fell brothers and the other croons of this city, but the two of you had insisted on him resting, so his businesses and trades had all but halted.

You were still far off from ever putting a dent in his savings, but the two of you worked regardless to ease his stress. 

..Because somehow, even having the back up funds prepared for events like this, didn't stop Sans from stressing.

The only part that annoyed him about it was that you had less time to teach him. You focused more on your commissions, so Sans would leave you in peace to your quiet room and stitch in his quarters.

He hadn't really decided what he wanted to work towards from stitching. It had simply become a tool to help train his fingers, so now that he could sew what was he suppose to do with the skill?

...

....

.....

It was a quiet afternoon in his quarters, the low hum of a forgotten radio on his desk as a deep voice rattled off the daily news mixed with a garble of static. Being so far out into the marine meant the reception wasn't good, but he could pick up key terms as the voice drawled on. Another murder on the west side, some more fights in the south and some re-election news. Not like it mattered who was in charge these days. The faces changed but at the end of the day these suits always lined their pockets with bloodied dollar bills. This city was rotted to it's core, just like it's people, and it'd stay that way until it was burned to the ground.

Sans' eyelights drifted down to the book in front of him.

'Stuffed Plushies For Beginners!'

The title almost felt condescending, just like the colorful pictures and simple wording that decorated each page. He still couldn't help but twist his frown deeper at the fact that you bought him a children's book of all things, paired with that sharp little grin of yours and that infectious laugher. It had been too much.. Which is why he snatched the damn thing out of your hands when you gave it to him. 

"To help decide what you want to do with your new skill! Maybe you can finally make something instead of just stitching scraps together you dork."

He would never turn down a challenge, especially from you, and he was eager to have your approval again.

"AND WHAT EXATLY SHOULD I SEW?"

"Just pick something you're interested in and sew it. They have a lot of animals in there! You do at least like one kind of animal, don't you?"

Dogs, because they were loyal.

Cats, because they could fend for themselves.

Birds, because of their freedom.

But making something based of them didn't quite appeal to Sans.

'Basic Plushie Pattern.'

...

"hey bro, i wanted to ask- oh my stars."

"AH-!" Sans inhaled, squeezing the doll in his grasp and nearly tearing at it with his claws. "YOU-! WOULD YOU KNOCK!?"

"you actually made a plushie of them. wow," his brother hummed, "and here i thought your obsession couldn't get any wo-"

WHOOMPH.

The pillow made direct contact with Papyrus' face, earning a laugh from the taller skeleton. Sans barked out a few more insults as his brother continued to giggle, admiring what he had finished so far. 

It.. looked like crap.

Some of the stitches were lopsided and others weren't uniform, but he wanted to see this through before his frustrations got the better of him. So with some encouragement from Papyrus he kept at it, finishing the body and then attaching the head.

"Pahahaha! Captain!"

"WHAT!?"

"You! Ehehe! You-! Of.. of me!"

"LOOK, JUST TELL ME IT'S TERRIBLE SO I CAN BE RID OF THE ACURSED THING ALRIGHT?"

"No! No. Absolutely not! I'm keeping this forever and you can never take it away from me!"

He gritted his teeth and attempted to wrestle the doll from your grasp but to no avail. You hugged it close and refused to relent, calling it precious and a testament to his efforts.

All of his hard work.. 

To a doll..

That looked like you.

"Are you going to make one of you?" you asked, letting out a few breaths as he finally gave up trying to grab the doll from your grasp.

"AND WHY WOULD I DO THAT?"

"Well I don't want them to be lonely."

...

How could he... ever argue with that.

So begrudgingly he sewed again, this time now more aware than ever of that 'thing' as it worked meticulously to create a replicate of itself. The doll's left arm, sewn together with a deep gray metallic fabric, now shared the same shame he did.

...

Strangely enough, it suited him.

...

"They look cute together."

"ONE ON THE RIGHT HAS SEEN BETTER DAYS."

"I still think he's pretty cute. He's trying his best, after all."

Well.. he certainly couldn't argue with that either.

[thetaoofbetty]

i adored the bughead scenes. this was the first time that betty said i love you first AND apologized. but them not talking about it properly gives me hope that there will come a talk in the future and some angst along with itberonica scene was cute and really sweet, i’m glad betty took responsibility for what she did

honestly, i agree. you know, sometimes i get biased and don’t think ahead of myself because we all want everything tied up so nicely (especially since this was supposed to be the end of a season) that i forget that leaving those threads undone is a good thing. 

(oh god, i hope you’re happy by blue october just popped up on my playlist, let’s cry together, okay?) 

but i mean, if it was tied up too neatly, that’s...a lot of closure i’m not sure we’d really want. i think we all sort of felt like they’d be starting over since they’re going to be adults in a different phase of their life but this not feeling finished is something that’s going to tie them together after the jump. which is probably going to be really important to tying the core 4 back together again. 

ugh, don’t make me give credit to the writers, i’ll feel dirty. but sigh. damn. they get some credit from me for this one. 

i didn’t see the beronica scene yet but my body is ready. i’ve already cried, you can’t get me twice, ras! okay that’s a lie. 

i think it’s good she told him and he didn’t find out in some over dramatic way. i think that would just have tripped his fight or flight trigger and it would have ended in a much worse way. 

they love each other. they’ll always love each other. now we just have to wait for them to find their way back to each other.💜

[littleeyesofpallas]

BLEACH - Name Games(?)

I was asked about zanpakutou stuff.  I don’t know that many have names and kanji choices that super jump out at me at a glance, but the ones that do come to mind all seem to have references to Buddhist icons that I’m sure don’t come across in English very well.  I tangentially touched on that when talking about Mayuri while doing my rambling series of posts about shinigami names, so I figure that'd be my entry point.

I don’t know that this will amount to a lot of posts, but if I had to pick one to start with the obvious choice would have to be Urahara Kisuke’s zanpakutou, Benihime.  It has a lot of wordplay involved that doesn’t come across in English all too obviously, plus a little religious reference tacked onto the very end.  I remember this being kind of a well circulated bit of trivia back in the 2000s but I don’t know that it’s persisted after all this time, so hopefully this isn’t too obvious to people.

The name itself, Benihime[紅姫] is written pretty straight forwardly as 紅: ”Crimson”/”Deep Red” and 姫:”Princess.“  The release call okiro[起きろ] generally gets translated as “Awaken” which is accurate, but “Get up” works as well, but technically it can also mean “Stay awake,” but that’s really more a semantic issue for English, in Japanese the phrase is used identically in either situation.  In the context of Benihime being only the second shikai we ever see (after Zabimaru) it seems like a concealed sword being told to “Wake up” makes the most sense, but there’s a bit of a case for “Stay awake” that I’ll get to a bit later...  (Also worth noting real quick is that this kind of “rousing” verb is specifically about being awake -vs- asleep, and doesn’t extend to the English colloquialisms relating to “[sexual] arousal.”)

Also, it’s never directly referenced, but both in cane form and in shikai form, Benihime has a unique blade shape that suggests that the sword blade has been broken; It lacks the distinctive Kissaki[切っ先]:”Point-area” of a katana blade, and the blade’s Hamon[刃文]:”Wave-pattern” doesn’t follow the edge of the blade properly at the terminus.  This plays into the themes well go on to address, so keep that in mind...

But the fun comes with the various techniques Urahara uses with Benihime over the course of the series.

The one we get almost immediately is Nake[啼け] which the English translations erroneously called “Scream.”  But the Japanese use of the word, as far as I can see, refers to “call (out)” or “bark” or “chirp” generally in reference to an animal noise or to make noise like an animal.  It can also mean “sing” as an extension of the same use but in reference to bird song.  But as a bit of colorful language it’s commonly used in the context of smut and romance to describe little gasps, whimpers, and yelps.

The “Scream” translation seems to have been taken from the Chinese use of the word, which is similar to the Japanese, but includes the additional animal sound “Howl” and by comparison can refer to “crying (loudly)”, “wailing”, and “weeping.”

A curious detail is that when Urahara first uses this to defend from Ichigo’s newly discovered Getsuga Tenshou technique, Benihime produces a red shield, and it’s actually hard to notice at a glance, but the blade of Benihime is dripping with blood as a result, even though neither Urahara nor Ichigo actually got cut by it.  However, when Urahara uses this a second time when defending Ichigo from Yammy, there is no bleeding blade effect.

This shield is also later given the name Chikasumi no Tate[血霞の盾] written as “Shield of Blood Mist.” This all works to reinforce the association with the “Crimson” aspect of the name specifically with blood.

With the same “Cry!” command Urahara can also use his own zangeki projectile, like Getsuga Tenshou.

Kamisori[剃刀] is just the word for “Razor,” it appears to produce the same effect as when “Cry” is used offensively rather than defensively.  It’s possible Kubo chose to retcon “Cry” into being defensive only and renamed the attacking move as “Razor.”  It was never made especially clear...

And Tsuppane[突ッ撥] which is a weird construction of “Stab”/”Pierce”/”Prick” and “Reject“/”Exclude” but it’s a homonym with Tsuppane[突っ撥ねる] meaning “Reject“/”Spurn“/”Turn down.“  These two can be tabled for now as well, but they’ll fall into place by the end...

Finally, Shibari[縛り] means “Bind“/”Restrain”/”Tie up” but it’s specifically the shorthand name for the Japanese method of rope bondage sex play.  And in conjunction with this Urahara uses Hiasobi, Benihime, Juzutsunagi[火遊 紅姫 数珠繋] which breaks down as 火遊: “Fire Play,” "Crimson Princess” again, 数珠繋: “Prayerbead Chain.”

So, if it wasn’t clear where we were headed with all of these, Blood, Crying, Razors, Spurning, Rope Play, Fire Play, and s Chain of Beads might seem all over the place if you take them at face value, but the central theme being evoked here is BDSM.  Which lend an extremely curious tone to Urahara’s character.  More over, there is the broken blade imagery I mentioned before.  Back in the day I had sort of wondered if maybe breaking his sword had been part of Urahara’s exile*, but the state of the blade never got properly addressed, and even the exile would just sit on the backburner for years...

*At the time, I associated it with Kuukaku and Ganju’s similarly severed blades, but they also weren’t ever addressed.  The impression I’d gotten from the overall designs had been that when the Shiba family were stripped of their shinigami nobility status their zanpakutou were all broken as a means of rendering them incapable of ever effectively fighting back against Soul Society.  I also just kind of assumed there would be a similar explanation for Yoruichi’s conspicuously absent zanpakutou.

But there’s an extra detail in this...  We know how zanpakutou work: a Shinigami imprints their own soul onto a blank sword, their sword spirit develops in their inner world, and through meditation they can commune, negotiate, and make peace with their sword.  At the highest levels of that mutual understanding they can summon their swords out into the world, first as shikai and then as bankai, increasing in power and finesse the better they understand their sword spirits and thus themselves.

We see distinctly, in the case of Yumichika, that an inability to make peace with their swords can result in sub-optimal powers: Yumichika has his intentional misnaming of his sword and partial release; Zaraki has his entire inability (at first) to call on his sword at all; and Ikkaku and Shuuhei both have disagreements with the attitude of their swords --Ikkaku calling Houzoukimaru lazy, and Shuuhei being uncomfortable with Kazeshini’s bloodlust.

But we know that Ichigo took a short cut to forging this deep lifelong friendship with his sword, and the fact that the two aren’t in sync and don’t communicate with one another well is a repeated hurdle for Ichigo.  Thanks to Urahara’s special doll Ichigo just summoned Zangetsu directly into the outside world, requiring zero meditation or self reflection on his part.  And Urahara used this same method, to achieve bankai in just 3 days.

So, Urahara rushed his bankai training, his blade is broken, and its techniques all point to a BDSM theme.  The way I always saw this was that it sounded like Urahara forcibly subdued Benihime instead of ever negotiating with her.  His sword is broken because he broke it himself as part of asserting dominance over it. (not unlike how Mayuri broke his own shikai as a form of punishment after the Szayel fight)  And it lined up with a lot of the ongoing ominous tones surrounding Urahara all throughout...  At least until he just kind of vanished during the long drag of the Arrancar Arc, before being hurriedly shoved into the Arc finale.

So when we did finally get his bankai reveal in the Blood War Arc, some things fell into place rather neatly, but others felt a little out of sync with everything else...

Viz translated Kannonbiraki Benihime Aratame[観音開紅姫改メ] as “Opened Red Princess Neo” which isn’t strictly speaking wrong, but it communicates nothing of importance.   観音開: doesn’t really have a clean English equivalent, but it refers to what I can only think to define as “opening outward in two pieces from the center.”  Specifically this tends to reference double doors, or similar but not explicitly door structures like windows or shutters, etc...  It also refers to filleting a fish or dissecting a body in an accordant manner: with a central incision with two flaps peeled back from it. It’s the term used for a “Butterfly cut” in cooking.  Benihime is just “Crimson Princess” again, no alternate kanji or homonym play like some other bankai, plus 改メ: which is a suffix indicating “revised”/”modified.”

There’s also what I assume was intentional wordplay here where the  観音 in 観音開: “double-door” is the name of the Japanese Buddhist god(dess) Kannon.  Kannon (based on the Chinese Guanyin, who is a highly modified interpretation of what was the Hindu Avalokitesvara.) is worshiped as a goddess of infinite mercy.  So  観音+開: might imply something like “Opened Kannon”/“Kannon Unlocked”/”Empty Kannon” evoking imagery of the Goddess herself opened up on an operating table, tying back to the specific physical feature of being opened up from a center line, like double doors.

So the actual vibe of the full name is something like...

“Dissected Goddess-of-Mercy: Modified-Bloodred Princess”

Which has some wild and sinister implications, not dissimilar to Mayuri’s Ashisouji-jizo.  They share tones of corrupting or defiling the divine, and specifically gods of mercy and protection, distorted and mutilated.