#so he stays quiet

[applebeebuck]

you know what, y'all kinda can't convince me that Eddie's NOT doing this on purpose. I'm not saying he wants to hurt Buck, but I'm definitely saying he wants Buck to feel some degree of jealousy... like, he heard Buck say Natalia "really saw him" and went "you know what, bitch? just you wait"

and I really respect him for that

[kakusu-shipping]

TELL ME ABOUT YOUR MUSHISHI S/I!! Where did he come from?? Does he have a relationship with Ginko or anyone else?? I bet he researches Mushi, right? That seems on brand with you and your curious lil brain

Aaaaah you'd think right. I am once again answering an S/I ask with Actually I have two different Self Inserts for this fandom fdkgjfdkg

The other one, an adult who lives alone and runs a hot spring in the mountains Ginko regularly visits does Research Mushi, and writes about them in his novels. He's part of the ever growing Aro Ginko Polycule, I've talked about him a few times, he's not interesting, just kind of domestic and in love with Ginko who pays him a visit once a year or so.

A lot of my younger self inserts are much more Head Empty than my older ones, the one your asking about especially

He's a kid inflicted by the Ginko who just showed up one day in Adashino's village. Adashino assumed him some sort of love child of Ginko's and sent a letter telling him to get his ass over here as soon as possible.

He appears about 7 or 8 years old, but it's hard to tell sense his knowledge seems toddler like. He doesn't know how to use chop sticks, or what he can and can't eat, or how to dress himself, and doesn't speak or seem to understand much of what anyone says to him.

He has a bad tenancy to grab Mushi by the handful and shove them in his Tokoyami filled eye, which is what lead Doctor Adashino to bandaging up the opening, sense he assumed that probably wasn't a good thing to be doing.

In the few weeks it took Ginko to arrive, Adashino got pretty attached to the kid, getting rather use to parenting his larger than most toddler. However, like Ginko, if in one place for too long Mushi will begin to swarm around him, making it dangerous for him to stay in the villager, or anywhere for that matter.

It took a lot of convincing, but Ginko eventually agreed to take the kid on as his apprentice, taking him on his travels and teaching him the dangers and nuances of Mushi.

Basically, he becomes Ginko and Adashino's adopted son over time. Whenever he gets to talking he calls Adashino "Papa", but Ginko remains just Ginko or some form of "Master"/"Sensei" when he's learning. He also calls Tanyuu variations of "Mama" or "Auntie", with Tama being "Grandma" exclusively. He doesn't like Kumado at all.

[chloesimaginationthings]

FNAF Pizza sim’s plot is just the Afton’s fighting

[edorazzi]

Page 28 of my Miraculous Mentor AU comic A Matter of Trust! In which Felix's grand, extensively-researched plan of deception gets off to a less than impressive start... 🌹🌙

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[wolfchans]

[seiwas]

everytime i think about ex!bakugo, i get so emotional thinking about how he carries on with his day-to-day like the breakup didn’t happen.

he doesn’t even give himself time to mourn the relationship, to process the loss of you. he throws himself into work, practically drowning in it because he can’t bear staying idle.

you’re everywhere, still—

in the picture frames scattered around his home, in the decorative pieces that each hold their own memory. some of the clothes you returned to him smell like you.

when kirishima asks him how he is, he never answers, always redirecting the subject back to work. deku notices longer bouts of silence during joint patrols, and when he pries, bakugo’s only reply is, “s’not a concern.”

it’s unusual, because bakugo is loud and rough, he barks and barks and barks, but with this, he stays quiet.

[notm1keyy]

Hmm.. if there was only a way to solve this problem… surely there must be a solution here… I wonder what it could be… I feel like it’s right under our noses…

[leeryder]

It wasn’t unusual for Crepus to tuck his boys into bed with a bedtime story. Nor was it unusual for the eldest child to mischievously grin and squirm around demanding for more stories or give some other attempt to keep Crepus there longer in order to stay up even a second longer than normal. 

“I’ve already told your three stories, Diluc,” Crepus had to bite back his smile in an attempt to be stern. “It is bedtime.” 

“But—!” The child’s little red eyes darted around the room as though to find the excuse he needed to keep his father there and the light turned on. “But you haven’t had a story yet!”

“I haven’t had a story?” Crepus couldn’t bite back the smile anymore. “And who is to read me MY bedtime story? Surely not Adelinde or Elzer.”

“We are!” Diluc proclaimed loudly, dragging the other boy into his shenanigans. 

The little blunette’s free eye popped open, from under the duvet he was snuggled under. A surprised squeak given. 

“Oh you two, eh?” Crepus gently nudged the smaller child with his shoulder in a loving way and causing the timid boy to poke his head out from the covers. 

“Well, I can if Kaeya doesn’t want to,” ,Diluc grinned in triumph. Knowing he’d won himself a few extra minutes. 

Kaeya didn’t deny that so the redheaded child continued. 

 “Well this is a story about me and my best friend! Can you guess who that is?” Diluc kicked his legs back behind him excitedly.  Waiting expectantly for an answer. 

“Your pet turtle?” Kaeya’s soft guess came. An uncertain thing forced out of him by Diluc’s bright-eyed stare. 

Crepus shifted his arm closer the younger, correcting his answer. “Kaeya?” 

“Of course it’s Kaeya. Silly!” Diluc rolled his eyes and grinned. “Sir Lance is cool but Kaeya is my best friend now!”

Kaeya squeaked again. His eye shining brightly under the safety of the cover. Crepus wrapped his arm around him. Squeezing him. 

“Alright. I’ve got to know,” he smiled. “So what is this story about my two favorite boys?” 

Diluc earned his extra minutes before bed that night. In more ways than one in Crepus’ mind and Kaeya’s smile. 

[barawrah]

brother

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

THE GREEN IN YOUR EYES MAKES ME FEEL WARM INSIDE ; MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

synopsis; in the comfort of a familiar bookstore, you find a boy. a pretty boy, who’s always reading, who doesn’t speak unless he has to. you’d like to get to know him — and maybe you will.

word count; 4.6k

contents; megumi fushiguro/reader, gn!reader, fluffy!!, lots of pining from afar, bookstore au, no curses au, reader is an overworked student bc uni is beating my ass, gumi is kind of awkward but hes cute <3, gojo mentioned twice (stay safe), can u tell im excited for christmas … :'3

a/n; bookstore employee gumi who hates every single customer except for you is so real to me

(@riaki its here …🙇‍♂️)

he’s there again. 

with a decisive step forward, you drag the door open, and the flutter of a bell resounds throughout the bookstore. a precious little jingle, alerting him of your presence. 

the boy at the counter gives you a glance. his navy eyes settle on your bundled up figure, and a flicker of familiarity blooms in the scope of his iris, a kind of recognition. something that makes your heart feel like a clumped up little ball of snow. 

(oh. it’s you.

you can almost hear the silent words fall past his lips.)

it only lasts for a second, barely even that, your gazes overlapping — then he’s back to reading. 

today, you recognize the book in his hands. the hardcover looks just a tiny bit worn, but still well taken care of. well-loved. and it’s a pretty rendition; a butterfly just above the title, snakes crawling on either side, vines stretching out across the scope of the image. there’s a kind of mystique to it. pretty.

wuthering heights, you read off the cover.

a little odd, in hindsight. you’ve only ever seen him read nonfiction. maybe he decided to broaden his horizons?

after a brief moment’s contemplation, your feet begin to move. taking another small step forward, inching closer, while the door falls shut behind you. blocking out the snowfall and colourful lights illuminating the street. 

mitten-clad hands go to brush stray snowflakes off your shoulders, as you shift from foot to foot, halfheartedly attempting to warm up your numbed toes. wallowing in the atmosphere of the cozy little bookstore; breathing in the smell of peppermint, the hint of freshly brewed coffee. from the boy, you assume — he’s got his usual mug on standby, a cute little black dog etched into the ceramic. steam rises from it, floating up into the air, and a fragrance of espresso wafts throughout the store.

low christmas music plays from the speakers, barely audible. pleasing to your sensitive ears and tired mind. it’s the usual mix of well-loved songs, for the most part, but then some you haven’t heard before. you can only assume he picked them out himself; pretty instrumentals, or low, gravelly voices, adding to that particular atmosphere simmering around you. nostalgic, a little melancholic.

the boy behind the counter looks angelic. 

he always does, when he’s reading — and he usually is. gentle, in the way he turns the pages, awfully delicate, keeping them still between his thumb and forefinger. lips pursed, brows just a tiny bit furrowed. concentrated, immersed. dark eyes trailing over the tiny letters, scanning the ink of the paper, twisting the syllables inside his mind. almost tasting them on his tongue, with the way he wets his lips. they look a little chapped.

for some reason, the sight seems to render you sort of speechless. frozen. like he’s a pretty bluebird seated on your windowsill, chirping softly in the wake of morning, and you’re afraid of scaring him away.

— his eyes meet yours, and you visibly stiffen.

it’s smooth, the motion of his hands. how swiftly he flicks the book shut, placing it face down on the counter with a twitch of his lithe fingers. not before slipping a pretty bookmark in between the pages, lilac-coloured, with flowers embroidered into the silky texture. you wonder if he made it himself. 

his voice spills out into the air, a little raspy. deep, but velvety, sending shivers down your spine. he clears his throat, and you watch his adam’s apple bob. ”do you need anything?”

a second passes. 

it catches you off guard, the mellow sound of his voice. when you’re so unaccustomed to hearing it. excluding the brief words you’ve exchanged paying for your novels, you’ve only heard it a select few times — mostly from afar, not-so-sneakily listening in on his conversations with the pink haired boy and pretty girl who sometimes come in and never look at any of the books. 

(there’s the tall guy with the not-so-seasonal sunglasses, too. but when he enters the store, all you pick up on are usually grumbles and threatening hand gestures.)

but now, that low, low voice is directed at you. 

it can’t be good for your physical health. or mental, for that matter. you’re not sure you remember to properly breathe, and you’re almost certain hearts aren’t supposed to flail the way yours is right now. 

when the boy behind the counter tilts his head, just by a hair, you’re finally snapped out of your little trance. stumbling for something to say, stuttering out a response, your hands grip at the insides of your pockets.

”well, um — i’m looking for a book.”

a moment passes. the song coming from the speakers changes into an instrumental, kind of jazzy. it’s nice.

”… a specific book,” you elaborate, under your breath. gnawing at your bottom lip, feeling a bit of heat on your ears. clearing your throat, as you step forward, tearing your mittens off with your teeth.

searching for a certain image, your numbed fingertips begin to tap at the cold screen of your phone. the warm air of the bookstore envelops your chilled knuckles, and a shiver runs through them.

the boy watches, silently, as you get closer. 

you don’t notice him glancing at your reddened hands, and when you look up to see a glimmer of something displeased in his eyes, you only assume it’s because you’re taking too long. speeding up slightly, you hear a low click of his tongue. his back straightens.

when he gets up from his chair, you notice that he's tall. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him do anything but sit behind the counter with a book in hand, either reading his own or scanning a customer’s. 

and, upon closer inspection — he’s maybe just a little bit too pretty for words. smooth, pale skin, a sharp jaw and defined cheekbones, dark eyes that hide a subtle kind of softness. pierced ears, a glimmer of silver on his earlobes, same as the rings on his bony fingers. his nails are painted black, a little chipped. and he’s wearing a big, bright green christmas sweater; one you really can’t imagine him picking out on his own, if his previous all-black turtlenecks and gray sweaters are anything to go by. 

while you fumble with the phone in your grasp, the pads of his fingers go to silently tap at the edge of the counter. a rhythmic motion; forefinger, middle finger, ring finger, over and over again.

it’s a little bit distracting. when he moves his hand a certain way, his big sweater sleeve rides up just a tiny bit, showing off the blue veins of his inner wrist. you think you catch a glimpse of a mole or two on his pale skin, and you swallow down a gulp, feeling a little like a victorian man seeing a girl’s ankle.

and then finally, you locate the image in question. swiftly showing him the cover of the book you were assigned to read. he squints a little, blinking drowsily, a flutter of his pretty eyelashes that has your heart skipping a beat. 

you clear your throat.

”i’m supposed to read it before christmas break, but i couldn’t find it at our library…” you tilt your head, a little sheepish. ”do you have it here?”

he stares at the screen for just a second more. then he’s angling his head to the left, finger pointing towards a corner of the store. ”it should be over there,” he hums. monotone.

a tentative smile forms on your lips. you thank him, and his eyes find yours.

all he does is shake his head, softly, brushing you off — a silent don’t worry about it. maybe a tad gruff, but you sense an acute gentleness to it. something tender, kind of. or maybe you’d just like to believe the kindness you sense in his eyes is real, more than just a delusion. 

but you don’t have time to dwell on it. the boy behind the counter goes back to reading, cradling the spine with his pretty hands. when he tries to grab the handle of his mug, one of the rings on his fingers knock against the ceramic, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance. 

you go to hunt down your own book, still thinking about his voice, how it trickled like honey from out his lips. 

the bookstore is entirely empty, tonight. no loud noises drilling into your groggy brain, no people to chatter amongst themselves and disrupt the illusion of peace you gain when you spend time here. a tiny respite, from your studies, from the stress and fatigue that you’ve come to associate with winter. hunting for christmas gifts, finishing late assignments, trudging through the snow. pretending that you have it all together.

but here, none of that matters. 

a sense of calm washes over you, as your eyes trail over the books by the science fiction section, and a soft sigh tumbles from your throat. gradually, your hands begin to warm up, and you look out the window.

outside, the world is blanketed by a veil of snow and frost, pure whites and murky grays as far as the eye can see. falling down to earth, smothering everything in a bitter chill. a cold, cold embrace. but when looking at it like this, from inside a cozy bookstore, with a pretty boy by the counter…

it's a breathtaking sight. 

little snowflakes descending, dancing in the wind. desaturating your world. if you close your eyes and focus, you think you can almost feel the wind nip at your fingertips, almost taste the fragrance of dried tea leaves and caramel fudge from the tiny shop across the street. almost bask in the green and red of the decorative lights in the skeletal trees, illuminating the city, buzzing with artificial warmth.

(your heart feels light.)

it doesn’t take long for you to find the book you need. keeping it safe and warm between your arm and torso, you walk back to the counter, gaze still lingering on the windowpane. the little snowflakes fluttering about, the glimpses you catch of passerby and their knit scarves in the darkness of the winter evening.

the boy behind the counter is as efficient as ever. he takes the book, fingertips resting exactly where yours just were, and scans it in a matter of seconds. you pay, and he puts it in a plastic bag, handing it to you — all while his copy of wuthering heights sits on the counter, pointedly, as if beckoning you to mention it.

before you can think to stop yourself, you’ve parted your lips. 

”is it good?” you ask. finger pointing at his book.

the boy blinks. eyelashes fluttering. once, then twice. he seems a little caught off guard, but still speaks within a split second. almost like he doesn’t even think about the answer. ”yeah.”

a hum buzzes in your throat. you shift a little, from foot to foot, plastic bag in hand. ”i’ve been meaning to read it,” you say, desperate to prolong the conversation, ”but i haven't had much time lately.”

a chuckle slips from your lips. it comes out sounding just a little exhausted. 

(he glances at the dark bags beneath your eyes, but you don’t notice.)

”i think i might buy it in time for christmas break, though…” you lift your gaze to meet his own. showing the briefest glimpse of a smile, polite. 

he doesn’t return it. lips pursed, silent, gazing at you with slightly lidded eyes. a navy blue, little splotches of a murky green blooming in the corners of his iris. they only appear when you’re this close. soothing, somehow. they’re pretty.

he isn’t saying anything, not a single word, and some part of your heart clogs up like a clump of wet snow. subconsciously, you trap your bottom lip between your teeth, digging into the soft flesh before letting go. cowering a little under his intense gaze.

did you annoy him? 

(he probably doesn’t want to talk to you. maybe he thinks you’re hitting on him, or something. are you hitting on him? that doesn’t matter. he must be stressed — it’s holiday season, after all. the last thing he needs is some annoying customer taking up his precious reading time. 

gosh, what were you even thinking?)

you’re just about to excuse yourself, mentally berating yourself for forcibly striking up a conversation with an obvious introvert — 

when the sound of something sliding against wooden material catches your attention.

you blink.

the boy behind the counter does a little cough. under his breath, clearing his throat. he wets his lips, in what you immediately recognize as nervosity — absentmindedly fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. 

”here.”

when you look down, a certain book is placed on the edge of the counter, right in front of you. wuthering heights.

another blink. you look down at the hardcover, and then back up at him, but he’s not meeting your gaze. if you look closely, you think you see a slight flush to his neck, red like a candy cane. 

”you can borrow it,” he says. a pause. then he continues, clearing his throat again, a hint of hesitance in his raspy voice. ”… if you want to, i mean.”

”… ah.” is all you can answer. barely a word, more of a weak little hum. an absent tremble of your voice.

outside the comfort and warmth of the bookstore, the wind whistles, digging its claws into the city. tiny whirlwinds of snowflakes dance from street to street, fluttering about joyously. you vaguely pick up on the song from the speakers changing, into a poppy christmas-themed kpop song.

a moment passes.

your muddled mind finally reacts. on instinct, sending little instructions to your frozen limbs. to your heart, face down on the floor, completely useless.

”oh — no, there’s no need!” you blurt out, putting your hands up hastily. waving him off. ”it’s fine, i can just buy my own copy!” 

but the boy only clicks his tongue, with that signature furrow of his brows. ”you’re a student,” he states, just a little gruff. but then there’s that kindness. ”you shouldn’t waste your money.”

you’re just about to protest, when he continues. ”besides,” he sighs. ”i’ve already read it. you can just bring it back whenever you’re done.”

and again, your instinctual desire is to protest. unsure of what to say, somehow exasperated by his trust. that’s what it is, isn’t it? trust. trusting a stranger, a customer he’s barely even spoken to, not to just take his book and then never return. trusting you to be a decent person. a good person.

isn’t that naive?

something sprouts like a snowdrop in a ridge between your ribs, though, and you know that it’s happiness of some kind. you’re glad, that he has something even vaguely similar to trust in you. 

glad that he’s acknowledging you, in a way. your presence, the sneaky glances shared between you. the comfortable feeling that sleeps inside your veins when it's just you and him, silently passing each other by, in a quiet bookstore that feels a little like heaven on earth. a safe haven, of sorts, with no incompetent professors, tight deadlines or numb fingers.

it’s just him, and cozy christmas music, and a pitter patter rhythm of your heartbeat that sounds a little like jingle bells to your muddled mind.

a lump forms in the back of your throat. you gulp it back down, and part your lips. an unsure question spills into the open air. 

”are… you really sure?”

”yeah.” he doesn’t even skip a beat. fingers tapping at the edge of the counter, over and over again. another slow moment passes. ”we can… talk. about it.” he coughs into his closed fist. ”once you've read it.” 

with a soft furrow of his brows, he averts his gaze. his voice comes out sounding soft, albeit a little rough around the edges. ”if you want,” he adds.

you’re so distracted by the flutter of his long eyelashes that you barely even feel your lips stretch into a smile. your hearts skips around happily within the confines of your ribcage, and you’re worried that you might look a little too excited — but how could you ever hide your joy, when he’s acting so dangerously, uncharacteristically cute?

”yeah!” you blurt, teeth peeking out when you flash him a bright smile. and finally, he meets your gaze. pretty eyes fixed entirely on you.

at your evident enthusiasm, his shoulders seem to relax. the rapid tapping of his fingers ceases, and he opts to simply bite down on his lip — attempting to obscure his own smile. but you see it, anyway; a tiny, tiny smile. the softest little curl of his lips. you’re entirely mesmerized, all the same. 

a hand goes to rub at the back of his neck, and he does that cute little cough again, and you wonder if the warmth sprouting in your chest will be enough to protect you from the snowfall on your way back home.

angelic; that’s the impression he always seems to leave you with. you wonder if he has any idea just how pretty he is. if he has the slightest clue. you wonder if you’ll ever be able to tell him, yourself.

you wonder if you’ll get to know him, someday. if you’ll ever get to know the pretty, quiet boy behind the counter of your go-to bookstore, who radiates a softness so palpable you wish you could stay there until spring blooms beyond the windows and melts the frosted glass. 

with tentative hands, a little shaky — not from the cold, but the anxious and excited tingle of your bloodstream — you reach for the book on the counter. taking it into your arms, cradling it gently, like it’s so fragile the pages could scatter away if you aren’t careful. with a steady hand on its spine, you begin to flip through the pages, until three little words on the first blank page catch your attention. 

without thinking, you repeat the little scribbled down sentence under your breath. hoping for something. more lulls of his voice, maybe, mumbling to yourself but hoping he’ll hear.

”happy birthday, tsumiki…”

the boy stiffens. 

a silent beat. then he clears his throat. ”my sister,” he explains, and you hum.

so he has a sister. a tiny fragment of his existence, now known to you, a little piece of trivia. you want to collect them, want to put them all in your pockets and carry them around, like little precious bells. 

”megumi,” he blurts out, sudden, and you look up from the book to meet his gaze. ”my name,” he elaborates. and then a pause. ”i work here.”

…

in a matter of seconds, his face reddens. ears and neck slathered over with that sweet cherry hue, blooming across his pale skin. a soft giggle slips from your lips, before you can think to bite it back, and that red hue exacerbates. 

”mm,” you hum, an amused smile on your face. eyes crinkling as you look at him, book safe and secure in your arms. ”i've seen you.”

megumi looks a bit like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. squirming slightly, shifting from foot to foot, tugging a little at the sleeve of his sweater. looking into your eyes, and then back at the counter.

it’s sweet. it makes you feel closer to him, somehow. like you aren’t the only nervous one here. like you aren’t the only person in this city who’s a little bit of a mess. 

(it makes the sludge piling up inside your brain feel just a little more bearable.)

”… thank you.” you smile. ”i’ll take good care of it. and i’ll bring it right back when i finish it.”

a low hum. megumi brings a hand up to fix his bangs, nimble fingers running through dark locks. absentminded — a nervous habit, maybe? ”don’t worry about it,” is all he says. 

again, that sweet dichotomy; a hint of something gruff, hiding an unmistakable softness. a little like snow. cold to the touch, enough to make you want to stay away, but then it melts on the skin of your palm. turns soft and warm beneath your touch.

unable to fully hide the smile still lingering on your lips, you allow yourself one final inhale — letting that scent of peppermint and espresso invade your mind, soothing every frazzled nerve inside your brain. then you put wuthering heights in your bag, protected and snug, and get ready to leave. 

it’s still snowing. if anything, it seems to have gotten worse, enough that all you see when you glance towards the frosted windows are little clumps of snowflakes. obscuring everything else.

just when you’re about to speak, say a little goodbye, a voice spills out into the air.

”… the snow’s supposed to get worse. apparently.”

his navy eyes carry a gentle hue, as they look into yours. maybe a little worried, like a protective mother wolf towards her cub. you blink, and megumi sees it as his cue to continue.

”you can stay until it gets better.” 

a brief pause. his signature cough reaches your ears, and it’s enough to have you smiling, even before he adds a tiny if you feel like it. nonchalant, or at least you think that’s what he’s going for. he mostly just sounds like an awfully caring person trying awfully hard to appear uncaring.

and again, a little smile slips itself into the curl of your lips. all giddy and nervous, a little flustered. but happy. now you won’t have to walk through the relentless snowfall outside, feel the wind chew at your reddened cheekbones. now you can spend just a bit more time with him, bask in those quiet, drawn out moments of pure peace, browsing through books while he sits and reads behind the counter.

”thanks,” you breathe. adjusting your knitted scarf. ”i think i'll look at the books a little more, then.”

megumi’s eyes soften. relieved, you think. hope. it’s a subtle shift, but still enough to notice, enough to see. little splotches of a mossy green sinking into that sea of ink blue.

you think he must feel a little embarrassed, though. like he’s gotten too close to broaching the line he’s set up between the two of you. because he quickly fixes his gaze entirely on a book in his hands, a new one — was it just waiting beneath the counter? 

you don't think much of it, but you note that he's back to his usual nonfiction. something on astronomy, you think.

and with one final glance at his tousled hair, you begin to stroll through the store. languidly, walking to whatever spine captures your attention. savouring the tiny words on the back of the books, wallowing in the peppermint and espresso that wafts through the air, only growing heavier while you’re busy admiring the white opaque frosting of the windows’ glass. 

at some point, the low whirring of a coffee machine buzzes from afar, and when you turn to the counter megumi isn’t there. 

a little later, when he comes back, he’ll be carrying two mugs — matching dogs etched into the ceramic, one black and one white. he’ll put one of them on the edge of the counter, closest to you, and then meet your eyes. give a vague nod towards it, but nothing else. you’ll notice the red tint to his ears, though.

and when you do, a warmth will blossom in your chest, enough to chase away the phantom ache of the winter chill soon to envelop you.

when the little bell of the bookstore jingles its jolly tune, and the door shuts itself as you cross the threshold to leave, megumi lets out a barely audible sigh.

he thinks his heart may be beating just a smidge faster than usual, a little out of rhythm. palms against the counter, he allows his eyes to flutter shut — trying not to acknowledge the heat he feels on his face when he finally begins to process your interaction. 

he smooths a hand over his face, skin just a little sweaty. chewing at his bottom lip with two sharp teeth.

god.

really, it was no more than a stupid twist of luck. that you happened to come in just when he started reading it, that you noticed and didn’t question him on any of the contents. that you believed him when he said he’d already finished it.

and, sure, maybe he was secretly really hoping you’d come in. really hoping you’d notice it, that it’d be enough to make you strike up a conversation with him, something, anything. 

he happened to see you eyeing it once, that’s all. twice, and then thrice, each on different occasions. tsumiki’s old collection came in handy, rotting on the dusty shelves of her room — although he has no memory of her ever reading it.

(he remembers some, though. remembers her reading a few of them to him, on nights he couldn’t sleep. remembers the soft lull of her voice, how the whole world seemed blanketed by a wool of safety.

he wonders if he’ll ever get to hear it again.)

megumi’s heart feels warm. despite everything. 

even though he didn’t even get past the first half of wuthering heights, and has no idea what the hell he’s going to be able to talk to you about. even though he thinks heathcliff is a dick and catherine is a brat, and wishes they could save everyone else the trouble and just talk to a psychiatrist.

even with the cold baring its fangs outside, and the cup of espresso sitting right in front of him, still untouched, made with the store’s shitty coffee machine. even in the ugly sweater gojo forced him into. even though he doesn’t even really know you, not even at all, and still somehow feels certain that you’ll come back with tsumiki’s book in tow.

trust. 

megumi thinks it’s a little weird, how just that single overlapping of your gazes when you first stepped in seemed to solidify such an abstract notion. he’s always had a sense of it, though — a sense of goodness. an ability to seek them out, those good people, bubbly and cheerful and so tragically hard not to love. 

no matter where he goes, he ends up finding them. like tiny sunflower seeds persisting beneath the winter snow. blooming when spring comes around, in a burst of golden vermillion.

resting his jaw on the heel of his palm, megumi allows himself to wallow in the solitude of the bookstore. tired eyes soaking up the words on the pages he flips through, slowly, utterly at ease. drinking his shitty coffee, trying to ignore the itchy feeling of the sweater on his skin, unable to forget the memory of your stupidly pretty smile. 

so pretty he thinks it might just keep him warm, all throughout winter, until you return once more. bringing with you the glimmer of snowflakes on soft skin, and a pleasant fragrance of tea leaves from the cozy shop across the street.

a single sunflower, persisting even through the cold. 

megumi smiles. a tiny curl of his chapped lips, while he flips the pages of his book. content in the knowledge that this won’t be the last time he speaks to you.

(now he just needs to read up on some good papers on wuthering heights.)

[muninnhuginn]

Still weird seeing Twilight be so honest with Yor about struggling to turn his brain off and just *be*. A good kind of weird, of course. I could never imagine volume one Twilight being so open with her (or anyone, really). This chapter was so nice with its references to all the way back then and showing how far they've come since. Still some sneaky Project Apple seeds being laid, of course, but overall, this was a pleasant checkpoint. A little calm before the next storm, which was sorely needed after the last arc

[whollyjoly]

hot in the day, hot in the night, hot as the coal coming to tread, light on your bed, here we go oh, listen whistle roll (baby the, the sun is getting low)

the bucktommy cowboy au nobody asked for part two (part one) (part three)

(song insp.)

[somegrumpynerd]

Killer goes stage 3 when Nightmare isn't around, so the boys have to contain and calm him down themselves. Luckily they know what they're doing and make a good team, so nobody gets hurt.

And, because I can't make anything serious, bonus from the next day:

[rozugold]

I had a dream about getting kidnapped from my childhood home except I was ctommy and the kidnapper was cdream

[mari-lair]

We are told at the very start of the manga that "if you want to know a person, you need to find out what makes them angry"

So I want to talk about Gon, and what makes him angry.

Gon is hard to anger, especially for a kid: He wasn't angry at his dad for abandoning him and never visiting, he wasn't angry at Mito for lying that his parents died, he wasn't angry when Leorio made everyone lose 50 hours at the trick tower despite revealing later in Hanzo's fight that his hope to meet his 'amazing hunter dad' would vanish if couldn't finish the exam on his first try like Ging did (there is no "better luck in the next exam" for Gon), he never gets jealous when Killua shows more strength or knowledge than him even though they are the same age and he used to be very powerful on his little island, and so on.

But it's not hard for Gon to get angry for others: Be it angry for their safety or about people disrespecting their wishes. Especially if they are his friends.

His anger is stronger when his friend's lives are at risk, their safety triumphs over his wish to respect what they want.

But he doesn't care about his own life.

He is never angry when people hurt him. As Hanzo had put it, even injuries as severe as broken bones don't matter to Gon.

But Gon was visibly frustrated in Hanzo's fight.

He wants to win. And he wants to be the one to win not for Hanzo to forfeit. He wants to earn his license, he need proof that he is strong, capable, and worthy of being in the last phase, aware he was only here because Hisoka let him pass.

The person Gon feels the most anger towards at the end of the exam is himself for being a hunter but not feeling like he is worth of the title.

Gon is always the most angry at himself.

When Kite kills a foxbear, punching Gon for trespassing in their territory, Gon isn't angry at him or the fox bear that attacked him, he puts the full blame on himself and tries to make up for it by raising Kon.

When Killua goes 'back home' he gets angry at Illumi for making Killua do things he doesn't want, but he also blames himself for not being there for Killua when his fight with Illumi happened.

Similarly, his instinct when he learned, without a doubt, that Kite is beyond saving, was to blame himself.

He isn't thinking about Pitou, isn't even seeing them, blinded by Kite and his own guilt.

This quest for 'revenge' was never about Pitou, it was always about healing Kite. And since Pitou can't heal the dead, Gon blames himself, he is angry at himself.

Pitou is the one that killed him. Killua was the one that was terrified by Pitou's aura and knocked Gon unconscious to run. Kite was the one that told them to run. Gon is far from the "reason kite died" but he loves and respect Kite and Killua, so he obviously doesn't see anything wrong, he never once blames Killua for what happened.

In fact... He had thanked him

And Gon is genuinely grateful here.

It breaks my heart how much he loves and trusts his friends, eager to share all his good times and victories with them. Wanting them by his side always, no matter how personal his journey is.

But when something bad happens he wants to 'make it better' alone. Is never "we will fix this" is always "I will", because he doesn't want to trouble them, be it by his own emotions, or outside dangers.

Gon never blames his friends, so he is the one responsible when bad things happen, the only one that needs to fix any problem. And if death is a risk, he will immediately assign the lethal job to himself, and himself only.

Gon isolates himself when things get hard but he still doesn't want to be alone. He craves company and support more than ever when he is hurt.

But he doesn't like to feel weak or helpless, so asking for help or opening up is extremely hard. He mostly just gets angry at himself for feeling how he feels and refuse to make it someone else's problem.

He didn't cry after stealing Hisoka's badge but he was feeling helpless and unworthy so he sucked it up and went to do better, it was only after Kurapika asked directly if he was okay that he lowered his walls and found himself crying.

He is just a kid, he can't process his self hate, frustration, or guilt well, and his way to feel better is to help others, be useful and powerful. But sometimes that's not enough, or he simply can't help.

So he constantly finds himself in situations where he gets injured, physical pain is something that he is more used to, that it's easier to process: He let a foxbear cub claws his shoulders after his actions make Kite kill the cub's mother, he let 'puppet kite' hit him even when he learned its robotic attack pattern, he feels weak and frustrated because 'The Bomber' wasn't taking him seriously and he hates feeling weak, so he delayed Killua's plan and got his hands destroyed to prove to himself that he can do it.

But helping others is still the clear priority over hurting himself: The best example to show this is when he visits the Zoldycks. He never took his anger about the Zoldyck family's isolation on Canary when he visited Killua, letting her knock him down again and again in silence for a while before expressing his frustrations with how unfair it is that he need to go through trials to visit a friend.

And when Killua's mom visited, he prioritized canary over his goal.

Gon is just... kind. Is far easier for him to care about strangers than it is for him to be angry.

Gon is smart, but he is not the best at figuring out people when they don't tell him how they feel, especially when Gon is annoyed or unsatisfied.

So I am not surprised he assumed cool-headed killua, who hides all his pain and is so reliable and mature, "always cleaning up Gon's mess", wasn't in pain in the chimera ant arc. It’s like having someone say “be calm” when you’re angry, stating cold facts that only make you feel more incompetent in your emotional state.

It hurt because it feels like Killua, whose opinion Gon values so much, doesn't care about Kite, his super important mentor figure. And since Pitou’s behavior makes it so he can’t use them as an outlet for his emotions, this hint of anger and betrayal at Killua makes him lash out without thinking about his friend.

But even in his blinding guilt and hatred, Killua is important enough to still be able to calm him down, and reminds him of his goal.

Gon doesn't understand Killua is hurt (since killua doesn't tell him) but at least... He is not alone.

"I can't wait" --> He genuinely feels like Killua is as calm as he pretends to be, only he is the 'helpless and in pain' one in Gon's mind and so Killua could easily wait, but he personally can't. He is alone in his pain.

"how long must we wait?" --> Killua is here. Gon never feels truly alone with Killua by his side, he at least has the comfort of an anchor in these trying times.

Killua, who feels unwanted, hurt, and useless, also misunderstands Gon and leaves when Gon needed company the most. Is none of their faults, but it does make Gon's already incredibly bad state even worst.

There is no one but himself to calm him down when he hit his breaking point, and Gon isn't kind to himself.

His 'fight' with Pitou wasn't revenge. It was a failed attempt to "get kite back" to "fix him" which failed, and he couldn't deal with the resulting grief, so he turned it all into a suicide attempt.

To me, Gon gets angry when he feels inadequate or that a loved one deserves better, he has self-centered tunnel vision when he gets angry, so he doesn't realize his anger-fueled actions might trouble others, but when he does he will make an effort to set aside his own goals for others.

He is a good kid, a genuinely good kid with no self-love that is surrounded by adults that usually view him as a monster or a "admirable powerhouse" first and a child second, and it takes an enormous amount of strain to make him break.

He is a very strong kid, I wanna hug him.

[phoenixcatch7]

Loz fandom stop being angsty and give the daydreaming kids on big fun adventures with a cool glowing sword some actual whimsy and joy challenge