#writings of a lost mind

[not-equippedforthis]

forever mourning how granada holmes never adapted the three garridebs. diabolical. unbelievable, even. 'if you had killed watson you would not have made it out of this room alive' but in brett's frightfully intense and low, biting, hissing voice. the violent, wild stare versus the gentle hand on watson's knee. all of that precarious control getting flung out the window. the humanity of it. gritting my teeth can you fucking imagine.

[nekrosmos]

Nik and Price try to build an Ikea wardrobe, proceed to lose their minds

cw: slightly NSFW towards the end but nothing too explicit

...

“No - Nik, this part goes here, not there.”

“Nyet John, I’ve looked at the plan, it says we need to screw this part at the top of the plank you’re holding, not the one on the floor.”

Multiple pieces of wood, glass, screws, nails and other furniture parts were scattered on the floor of Price’s apartment. Three hours. Three hours had the two men been fighting over this wardrobe, a new one the two had decided to get so that Nikolai could leave more clothes at Price’s place. What had started as a sweet and symbolic sign of their strengthening relationship had however turned into a logistical nightmare.

“Nikolai. How can a man this smart be this bad at reading a furniture plan. This obviously goes here, it says right there!”

Price was trying, and mostly failing, to keep his voice down, not wanting to sound like a right prick for being unable to build a fucking wardrobe, but feeling his nerves truly start to be tested by the damn thing.

“This “plan” is ridiculous, how are we supposed to build this with such unprecise instructions ? It doesn’t even show which screw we’re supposed to use. I’ve flown planes that were easier to understand than this bullshit.”

Sitting on the floor like they were, surrounded by signs of their defeat, must have been quite the sight, John realized. He chuckled at Nik’s last remark, and dropped the plank he was holding, unwilling to let this go on any longer.

“We’re screwed.”

“Da.”

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the sound of a screw rolling down the floor and under a nearby heavy furniture, making this particular screw a lost cause. The silence held a little longer, before the two men began to laugh almost at the same time. Their bodies were tired, sore from all the bending and moving and shifting they had to do while trying to build this wardrobe. Price came back home from some ops less tired than this.

“Alright, what’s the plan, then?” He asked, head turned towards Nik who was still holding the instructions right to his face.

“Hmm …. I could call some people.”

“Nik, we are not calling people to build a fucking wardrobe for us.”

“Why not?”

“It’s bloody humiliating. Two grown men, soldiers, who can’t even build an Ikea wardrobe ? If word gets out, I’m never hearing the end of it.”

Nikolai pondered the argument for a second, a grin on his lips.

“And how would word even get out, John ? It makes no sense. You are just stubborn.”

A loud grunt echoed in John’s throat at that, before quickly grabbing the plan from Nik’s hands.

“We are building this bloody wardrobe together, even if it kills us, alright ? We took down an entire terrorist infested building two days ago, we cannot be defeated by a piece of furniture, Nik, this is ridiculous.”

“Hmmm” Nik chuckled, still smiling. “If you say so.”

His eyes still fixed on the plan, Price stayed quiet, trying very hard to understand what the drawing was showing. Two screws, nails maybe ? Going into holes on the side of one plank. Which plank ? Which holes? There were about 15 of them on the biggest plank. He was losing his mind, not noticing the large hand that was now grabbing the back of his neck, until a long hum left his lips instinctively.

“Nik …”

“Da, John ?”

Nik’s hand played with Price’s skin for a bit, thumb caressing the side of his neck, right under his earlobe, the back of his scalp, grabbing him at a spot he knew Price was sensitive.

“I really don’t think this will help …”

The large hand left his neck, now going under Price’s shirt, sliding further down, past the waistband of his boxers, fingers teasing his ass while Price relaxed.

“I think it will, actually.”

Before Price could even respond, Nik’s lips met his, the kiss quickly deepening as Nikolai’s larger hands grabbed Price, pulling him closer until he moved to straddle Nik’s hips while he laid on the ground, careful to avoid any wandering screws. In seconds, Nik had already opened Price’s pants, big hand teasing his cock while he was too busy kissing Nik and grabbing his chest.

This would have gone further had Nik not suddenly yelped in pain, surprising Price so hard that he almost fell back with his semi hard cock out of his boxers.

“Bloody hell, what was that ? What happened?”

Nikolai was growing in pain, trying to sit back up with Price’s help, although the captain still sat on his hips. When he finally managed, the clear view of a nail sticking out of Nik’s back made the situation a lot more clear.

“Ah.”

There was a single drop of sweat on Nikolai’s temple and a frown on his face. Despite this, the two men glanced at each other, Nik’s dark eyes meeting John’s blue, and before they knew it, they were back to laughing together, Price gently grabbing the sides of Nik’s face and planting a kiss on his cheek.

“If this is not a sign that we need help with this, I don’t know what it is, John.” Nik’s voice was soft but joyful, clearly not minding the nail embedded in his left shoulder all that much.

“No, Nik, this means war. The wardrobe drew blood. This requires retaliation. From us.”

“John, let me just call Gaz, I am sure that he will be happy to help us, no ?”

“Absolutely not. Gaz would tell Soap, Soap would tell Ghost, and they won’t ever let go that their captain couldn’t build a fucking wardrobe on his own. Now, let’s get rid of that back nail of yours, patch you up, and then we’ll finish this. Together, Nik.”

A long sight was Nik’s only response. Captain John Price may have been the love of his life, but he also was as stubborn as they came.

The day was far from being over.

[911onabcbts]

Do we know what time of year the current episodes are supposed to be set in? I suspect Eddie wouldn’t officially relocate him and Chris back to LA until Chris finishes the school year. Time in 9-1-1 never makes sense 😅

I really wish I knew.

Eddie’s facetime screen in 8x8 says it’s November 2024, which makes sense with Masks/Halloween being not long before.

And we know 8x9 isn’t set that long after, and according to Tim there’s a 2 week skip between Maddie’s kidnap ordeal to Eddie moving to Texas. Then in 8x12 he says he’s lived there for 3 weeks now.

SO. It should be February 2025 at latest around that time, right?

Well.

Eddie’s license plate shown in 8x13 said expires december 2025 and it’s a 30 day one. Which makes it November 2025.

So basically who knows when it is 😭

[fawnsflowerbed]

UMMMM NSFW MDNI OBVI!!! PRETTY PLEASE!! RAMBLING ABOUT A POST I FOUND ON X!!!!

ugh… it is EXACTLY how I picture Damnation - RE6 - Vendetta - Death Island Leon would be with you after a long trip. Like he gets back from an awful mission.

OKAY THIS IS STRAIGHT UP A TWITTER CLIP SO TAKE CAUTION BUT!!!! THINK OF IT!!!!

Man’s been lusting, starving, thirsting for his baby. You’ve been all he can think of. Every second, every minute and every hour has been spent wishing he was back between your thighs with your hips grinding against his face. He missed you so damn much. He can’t help but be slow and greedy about it, sure some of the pleasure’s for you but it’s mostly for him. Don’t get him wrong, Leon loves you. He’d give you all the stars in the sky if only he had enough spare time to count them, pluck them from the air with rough fingertips. But a man’s gotta eat after being away from his favourite meal for too long.

I think it’s especially older him cause of the pacing. This isn’t some pussy drunk rookie sucking on anything he could get his pouty mouth around, no this was deeper. This was stubble and sweat, whiskey lingering on his lips as he licks over them. This was calloused hands without callous soul looking for the one thing that could bring him solace. Pussy. Yours, specifically. Aren’t you lucky?

Your hands raking through the dark strands of his hair are what really get him though, he’s not even showered yet. He’s fucked up, bruised and battered, fresh scars littering the Band-Aid battlefield you’d newly set up on his bicep after the last time he got nicked. But he just couldn’t care less. As soon as he got through the door he was dropping his bags, placing a gentle hand around the smooth span of your throat and kissing you. The briefest signal of dominance, of love and affection and trust. Just holding your neck as he carefully drags you backwards into the bedroom, and that was enough for you to know. No words had to be spoken, not yet. And the only ones that dared leave either of your lips? Nothing but whispered comments of bliss. “Fuck, forgot how fast you fall apart on my tongue..”

Your head’s still spinning by the time he’s got your underwear tugged down and your legs tossed over his shoulders. Whimpered breaths shuddering from your lungs in timid gasps, with weak hands keeping him so strong through it all. Leon can feel the way you somehow manage to get wetter at the sight of his return. It’s flattering, really. Then again, so is the way your cunt twitches at even the idea of his cock. It has him chuckling at how impatient you get, even your body’s gotten pouty for dick. “Be patient with me baby, m’ not as young as I used to be.”

You didn’t have any time to ask him about work, or what hurt him this time. That was for another occasion, for long hot baths and replacing old bandages, forehead kisses and making dinner. That was to interrupt your domesticity later, to break the normality of a different scenario.

But here? Here he gets to forget he’s some stupid fucking agent. He gets to forget he’s anyone, all he knows is he’s yours. He’s back home, back with his darlin’, and back with said darlin’s perfect cunt spread wide on his tongue for him to lave on for the next few hours. What more could a man want?

[aealzx]

Wachowski Family House Fan Layout (Sonic Movie Universe)

Hi 8'D I was writing a Sonic fic and couldn't keep the house layout straight in my head. So I hyperfixated for like 30-40 hours over the course of 3 days and recreated some semblance of the Wachowski family home based on screenshots and watching scenes on Youtube. Repeatedly. 8 |

And since maybe people don't want to do the same, I figured I'd share. X'D Please keep in mind this layout is NOT canon, and no one should use it to try and prove of disprove anything. It's just what I ended up with based on what I could find, and figure out despite the inconsistencies within the movies themselves.

Details all under the cut. And if you want to see the SketchUp model itself I think this link might work. I've never actually tried to share SketchUp models before.

Sorry these files are MASSIVE, but eh, I'm too lazy to break them down smaller at this point.

Exterior:

1st Floor:

This is the only floor I could find scenes for. So everything started from here, and is based on fitting in with this floor. Talking with my sister (aka complaining to her) I found out that the house was most likely renovated before Sonic lived there. That's why they have this random floating closet next to the entrance. It probably has to be there to support the structure after a bunch of the walls were knocked out to convert to a more open floorplan.

2nd Floor:

This floor is entirely made up by me 8'D Feel free to completely redesign it to fit your fancy. Everything is based on window placement, with the master bedroom being at the front because that's the biggest window.

Attic:

This was actually hard to place, because it could be argued that the attic is above the living room area. Especially since there's scenes that have a chimney column going through the attic. But I decided to put it above the kitchen based on that skylight window that Sonic is seen running into (that totally isn't round in that shot, but okay), and because the living room looks to have a high ceiling with nothing above it. Also I could not figure out how to get the attic stairs to work with the 1st to 2nd floor stairs also being on that side of the house.

[erinwantstowrite]

THE CIRCLE MYSTERY!!!

in case you're unfamiliar with my page, here is some context for this post:

a few months ago, i wanted to try my hand at a mystery plot, and began looking for a circle mystery plot diagram that i had written down a year or so prior... but i couldn't find it. i SWORE i had it somewhere. i knew that i had left the notebook on my shelf along with all my other notebooks. it was a little black journal that i didn't use very often, but it still had some important notes inside. but it wasn't there on my shelf, or any other shelf in the house. it was like it had vanished, and i started to doubt my memory.

i figured not all was lost. sure, the journal was gone, but someone would be able to help me find this circle diagram.

NO.

no one could figure out what the hell i was talking about, not without lack of trying. many tried to help me, to figure out this mystery with me. "the circle went outwards" i said, but all i could find was the rotating clockwise circle plot diagram that was not mystery specific.

no matter what i did, i couldn't find the original source online. i phrased it in many different ways, but it was a dead end. with no journal, no online source, and no one understanding what i was talking about, the circle mystery formula... remained a mystery. many concluded that i likely made this circle diagram myself and then forgot about it entirely, but that's up in the air.

well, a couple weeks ago, i found the circle mystery plot i was looking for.

it was not the actual physical note, but a picture i had taken before seemingly losing the notebook/journal that it was in. it showed only the circle diagram with a couple of minimal notes on the sides. i have yet to find that journal, it remains missing to this day. one day i might find the physical copy with the notes that were underneath it but alas, at this point in time, i only had the circle to work off of.

but it was enough!!! just having the circle was enough for me to make this beauty, of who i will share with you now:

as you can see, it's not all that complicated. it breaks down only a few simple key elements of figuring out a mystery, not plot wise, but investigation wise. "crime and victim, motive, method, opportunity, and suspects." CVM and MOS is what i call that for short but that might be lame

basically, it's the 5 w's.

that's it.

this whole time, it was the 5 w's "Who, What, Where, When, and Why" (except with terms that would be used in an actual investigation), laid out into a diagram that extends outwards where you put your points on the circle rings to connect. this could also easily be a venn diagram, but i remember liking that it extended outwards and was in a line rather than in groupings.

it's extremely simple, too, so it's been annoying me that i could forget it when i needed it most. that being said, it's in the past, now, and it's here, and now i want to talk about the points

CVM and MOS

crime and victim. this is always where you start.

look, you might start your plot right in the thick of it with a suspect having already been revealed and the entire plot is that your character has to prove why and how they did it. but it's up to you, the writer, to explain how they got to this point. which means you need to know how it works in the original order before being able to write this plot that way.

a crime has been committed- what crime? murder? robbery? this is your first question, or statement. what i mean by that is are you telling your readers "This has happened." or is the plot/character/reader asking "What happened?"

and victim- who was it that was affected? if it's a murder, you have to identify the person that was killed before you can get into anything. if it's another crime like a robbery, then what was stolen? this is the phase where your investigator goes looking into the details of the victim. which means you need to know your victim.

your investigator and you are on the same side here. both of you need to know their daily ins and outs, you need to have character witnesses from friends and family, you need to get a glimpse into who they were when it was just them around. maybe a diary or look at their bedroom to give a statement as to how they were feeling and how they occupied the space they were in. maybe online records, because their activity can give you pieces of the puzzle. even if this is not completely revealed to readers (though in my opinion, this part is very needed in order to have your reader feel for the victim), you as the author need to have that mindset. you need to know who they were and what their life was like even if your investigator never gets around to knowing this.

because it leads directly into your suspect pool.

mystery plots are all about the connections, the drama, the details. your victim is dead, and your investigator is looking into their lives. you could, honestly, play it really well with the victim and the investigator being the main focus. a good example of this is that one episode of Bones where Temperance Brennan is listening to the voice recordings of a murdered woman she starts to see a lot of herself in. Brennan is seeing the bones of this woman and trying to find out what happened to her with all that is left, and she's also listening to her voice, and we don't see a lot of the suspect in this case (for good reason).

((honestly, this might just be me saying you should go watch Bones.))

but, in most cases, your suspects are the main source of entertainment. so you need to know your victim, and by extension, know your suspects.

all of your potential murderers (or whatever plot you're writing) go on the outside ring not because they are last in your investigation, but because you would work inside the suspect pool. kind of a visual aspect to show they're connected to the center, which is your crime/victim (which, again, could be changed for a different type of mystery. this section is just the Big Reason for the mystery to get started. or the Big Question.)

you get your suspects through the character reveal phase of your mystery, though they can also be revealed because of the setting. like in Clue, or in that new show, The Residence (go watch it), where a murder has happened in a house where only a select few people could have done it.

who are the people that had bad blood with this person? who are the ones that have something to gain from that person's death? or, even, who are the people that just wanted to do it?

motive.

if you want your mystery to be solved, you have to have a motive. a reason as to why this happened, even if it was a fit of unplanned rage. this part is crucial not just from an entertainment standpoint in your story, but for later on in a prosecution phase in real life. a jury might find it hard to convict someone if a prosecutor can't give a motive for why they'd do it. in this case, you are the prosecutor and your readers are the jury. if you want your reader to believe that this person could have done it, you have to give a motive.

but it's not the most important part. the most important is the how.

the method of the crime tells a lot about the person that did it. take a look at Criminal Minds, and how they make a profile for the killers. granted, they have more to work with because there are multiple murders. but you can get a basic idea with just the one.

from an investigative standpoint, you have to figure out how something happened to get a clue into the character of the murderer. which of your suspects has the ability not to get sick at the sight of blood? which suspect is smart enough to plan it out? which suspect would have the temper to grab the nearest heavy object as their weapon?

so you look at your crime, you get an idea of the method, and you can eye your suspect pool to match who is the most likely to commit in this way.

and last, opportunity.

this is where an alibi comes in. "I couldn't have done it because I was at my son's birthday party! ask anyone!" sounds pretty good. until you find out the suspect mysteriously was in the bathroom at that party for a couple of hours and came back wearing different clothes.

your suspects have to have the opportunity, or they have to have the alibi. were they there around the time? do they have a key to the house? do they know that the window on the first floor never locks? did they have the time to do it? even if they have something that looked like an opportunity, they might have an alibi.

from there, it's all about putting down your dots. which character has the motive, could pull off the method, and had the opportunity?

however... you could have multiple characters hit the MMO. what happens then?

you could drill these characters in an interrogation (could or could not be in an actual interrogation setting) and get a confession out of one of them, OR you could have your characters go looking for that sweet, sweet key evidence that cinches it all together and ties one of the suspects to the crime. or, maybe in a plot twist, ties both suspects to have committed the crime together.

(in real life, though, having a confession and key evidence is for the best. it makes it hard for a defense team)

this is your standing out point, and would definitely be your last big crescendo for the story. this episode of Brooklynn 99 is honestly the best example (in fiction) i could come up with right now for an interrogation where you get a confession out of someone. oh, and legally blonde! can't forget elle wood's breakthough (if you haven't watched legally blonde and you click that link and get yourself spoiled instead of sitting down and watching the whole thing, i am frowning at you in disappointment right now. shaking my head and everything).

when it comes to both evidence and interrogation... go watch The Residence (Netflix... or pirate). the last episode is brilliant and it's well worth the watch. Detective Cupp was so much fun and it sucks more people aren't talking about it.

i think i should stop yapping now, because that about covers what i came here to write. hopefully this stupid circle helps somebody out

[truuskn]

Spotlight: Jazz is peak Prowl being able to comfort Jazz even though Jazz doesn't want to open up about how he's feeling and Prowl completely respects that

i love their dynamic so much here and in "all hail megatron", it's such a shame that their connection ended up being completely forgotten in the rest of idw series... reading "optimus prime" and coming across that one frame, observing what we have had and lost because the authors couldn't keep in mind how and who they were writing... it actually hurts

you guys. you guys! why are you doing this to us. why is it so hard for you to keep track on your story!! why do we have to see their relationship... fall apart?? without a decent look at it?? somewhere out there, in the background?? we're just left with the fact that they are over or maybe never even were there in the first place

prowl and jazz had so much potential at some point of idw history. the way how well they worked together despite all the difficulties, how sincerely prowl supported jazz even though he remained very closed off and aloof the whole time, how he really tried to be a good loyal friend, respected jazz's personal boundaries, didn't push, didn't go too far with his concern, didn't except anything in return and was just there to help... a rare bright moment for this version of my poor boy :'D

there were so many opportunities to develop this further, to show how they could exist in the new cybertronian future for which they had gone through so much hardship, how could they fight all the problems that were coming down on them, together, exactly as it was on earth. but, alas, we have to accept that they were quickly brushed aside and forgotten. a little time passes and they become strangers. forever. their entire bond is just erased. because that's how idw works with their characters...

[zylphiacrowley]

Left Behind

<previous - next>

[sygneth]

I have had a lot of thoughts on the original story after listening to the Sherlock&Co "Gloria Scott" and a new headcanon just dropped.

Chapter 1: part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6

Masterpost (Index)

AO3

thoughts, if you're curious:

As far as gay Victor Trevor absolutely got me, I don't think there was anything serious between him and Holmes. This all comes down to my reading of Holmes, who is (to me) too aroace-spec to get involved in a regular relationship (althouuuughh about Holmes, his sexual and romantic orientation and him discovering it I have had so many thoughts I could write a whole essay). He likes to have a default person though, someone who will take him as he is, and maybe even admire a little - now that's Watson, earlier it was Trevor.

And yea I think Victor got a crush straight away after their first meeting, maybe they even talked about this at some point. Maybe Holmes said that he won't be able to reciprocate this affection but if Victor is fine with keeping things as they are, then he is too. I like to think they stayed pen friends even after Trevor's leave.

I feel like I should emphasize this? My intention in the comic was to make Trevor visibly flustered because he didn't expect a young attractive boy (he's hopeless in my head), while Holmes simply didn't expect to see someone his age and so sincerely sorry.

[10yrratiolover]

some more Ratio headcanons since I can't make a more in depth post just yet!

I think he'd sleep with several pillows, he likes to think it's to help with proper positioning/skeletal & muscle support but he actually just likes having multiple

This one might make less sense since it's a liiittle protection-y but I think he'd prefer smaller rooms over bigger ones, bigger rooms feel more overwhelming since it feels like he sort of has to make use of all the space (idk how to explain it proper I just like being crushed in smaller spaces, I'm like the opposite of claustrophobic)

Big fan of birds I think, besides the owl motifs of his actual character

As a kid he didn't like playing with other kids that much since they 'didn't play right' and it would upset him when things went off his mental script

Used to be really insecure about his appearance as a kid/teen, he never really got over it he just stopped caring since he had bigger issues to deal with

He keeps and finds a use for every single gift he's gotten from one of his students, still uses a #1 Teacher mug he got like 7 years ago

He remembers all his students, regardless of if they ended up passing or failing, some of them come and visit him every once in a while to catch up

He's a plant mom and he takes great care of them

Has several things that are basically only used for one thing since he likes the routine of it (ex. he only drinks at certain type of tea out of this one specific mug, no other mug will do.)

Nobody can convince me he doesn't sleep naked, fancy/expensive pajamas be damned

Never thought hard enough about his sexuality since he had bigger issues, but I think he'd be asexual and either sex positive or neutral on the idea on actually having sex

I think he'd own a cat, she's named Vela after the constellation, she's absolutely spoiled to heaven and back

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

(Small, frivolous rant incoming, apologies)

One thing I wish the Destiny fandom did more of was dabble in the utter horror this universe holds, especially when it comes to portraying the vile atrocities committed by many of the cosmic level characters.

Destiny‘s T rating holds it back so much in my opinion (but it still manages to lay down excellent foundations for horror and more mature themes!!) and I really wish there was more fan works that explored the unimaginable tragedies that occur in lore!!

When you really dwell on the scale of many of the disasters that happen in lore, it really dawns on you just how sinister and monstrous many of the larger villains are. Antagonists like Eramis are much more grounded, certainly not saints though, but some of the antagonists we have encounter are truly odious in their behaviors, even if they are deluded into thinking what they are doing is correct (like the Osmium siblings ravaging whole star systems in pursuit of the sword).

For example, it’s no secret that I LOATHE the Witness like no other. This wicked entity has me fighting bile at the mere thought of it and I truly think the way it delivers cruelty with such a sense of compassion and righteousness to be the most stomach wrenching form of being baneful. I could not think of an entitlement more deplorable than the Witness‘ and it’s existence is a travesty that has caused irreparable harm that spans EONS.

Yet, in my experience, I never see much content that taps into the horrors experienced by those touched by the Witness and its pawns, such as the Noesis and humanity during the collapse. There are INCREDIBLE artistic and written works that tap into the psychological horrors of exos and the unethical hell Clovis was putting people through, but not as many on the more cosmic horrors from what I have seen!!

This may just be a me thing and the personal reasons why I want the Witness put under a hydraulic press speaking, but I often see plenty of depictions of the Witness being uncharacteristically soft and having deeper feelings towards its disciples, but works about its vengeful rage, simple mindedness, violation of the autonomy of others, and predatory grooming are quite barren.

I wish to see just how HEINOUS it is displayed in all its turpitude and how it leaves a festering rot on everything and everyone it touches. I love the Witness because it is so evil in it‘s actions and my heart SINGS any time I see people tap into the trauma it causes, especially for characters like Rhulk or Savathûn!!

There is so much room for exploring just how vast the Destiny universe is when you decenter perpetrators in stories and focus on the incomprehensible number of victims.

Destiny genuinely has a character running around with the title „The Final God of Pain“ haunting people and refusing to permanently die, but there is only so much a T rated game can do and I feel like Destiny enjoyers can go beyond what’s in game in such creative ways!! Just thinking of the fall of Torobatl has me going „Wow, I’m actually so sick to my stomach, I need to honor Caiatl and really capture the pain of such an event!“

The latest lore on the Qugu? My chest HURTS.

Some of the hive experimentations? The hive in general? Hell is not hot enough for what the Witness lead them into.

But you know what they say, be the change you want to see in the world! Create the content you want to enjoy and promote the content you do enjoy!! I wish to dabble into the darker areas of lore, and of course, promote Witness hatred any chance I get!! Hopefully I get more time to write about these things and really value the work the Destiny writers have put into portraying such strong feelings of loss time and time again!!

And also!! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read The Garden‘s Witness by Titanmaster_117 !!! ESPECIALLY THE FIRST CHAPTER, I COULD RANT ABOUT THIS BEAUTIFUL PIECE OF PROSE ALL DAY, IT GENUINELY MADE ME CRY!! PROMOTE THE CONTENT YOU ENJOY ALL DAY, EVERYDAY!!

But this is just something I’ve been thinking for some time now. This isn’t condemning anyone in the fandom or saying there is an issue, just a desire I would love to see (and hopefully fulfill if I ever get back into writing for Destiny!) If you guys have any recommendations for Destiny works that are horrific, focus on themes of loss and devastation, or hate on the Witness, feel free to mention them so other people can find them!!

Not enough Witness hate going around for my liking… this looks like a job for me.

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[shitpostingkats]

Joshua Twewy truly the character of all time because Joshua Twewy can be anything. He can be your princess he can be your cringefail loser he can be your wet kitten he can be your homoerotic teen friendship he can be your evil mastermind he can be your tortured meow meow he can be a girlboss he can be your bubblegum bitch.

Perfectly written to be open to interpretation. The amount of times you'll be talking to a twewy fan and the Josh Topic will come up and they'll just go "no no no, here's what Joshua's deal actually is."

And then proceed to pull a completely unique and textually supported Josh Take out of seemingly thin air.

Breathtaking.

[kusanagihaku]

and i will hold onto you

⭢ haku x mc, 9.6k

n is for new year's day. ˖⁺‧₊⟡ alphabet series | ao3 thinking always about this headcanon; also i know graduation is usually in march but like, artistic license, haha…?

The cheers in Tokyo Dome are deafening. 

You watch as families stream down from the corners of the dome to the field, swarming their loved ones in congratulations as graduation caps are knocked to the floor with the force of their hugs. 

There is a vague current of wistfulness in the air, amidst the celebratory cheers, as is common in most graduation ceremonies. As you stand alone looking around at all the families, you wonder how much of that wistfulness is your own. 

It’s been a little over three years, after all, since you’ve entered Darkwick. Three years since the curse was placed on you and consequently broken, three years since you’ve last seen any of your family. Three years since you’ve found a new one, strange as they are, and two years since they’ve left you, one by one, to take on the world outside Darkwick. 

And now it is your turn to leave. 

“Honour roll,” comes a familiar voice, from behind you, and you turn, hand on your cap, to see Leo’s smirk and the camera in his hand. 

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Leo.”

His smirk melts into something gentle, genuine. “Congratulations. Really. You’re free from this hellhole, once and for all.” 

You dip your head at the Vagastrom captain, “Can’t wait for it to be your turn.”  

“One year to go, then,” Sho says, appearing behind Leo. He grins, waving a sunflower stalk at you. “One year without our precious senpai coming to bother Vagastrom.” 

“You better appreciate that one year.” 

“You bet we will,” Leo says, without any real heat, and you share a laugh as Sho presses the sunflower into your hands. 

Its stem is wrapped with a stiff yellow ribbon printed with the name of their house. You rub it between your fingers. “Which poor first year did you torture into doing this for you?”

Leo shrugs. “Bunch of ‘em. Said it was for the seniors, and they jumped at the chance.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, unconvinced, but before you can probe further Sho’s eyes flicker somewhere behind you. 

A smile unfurls across his face, large and mischievous, and he bobs his chin to your left. “Someone’s waiting for you.”  

You turn around, eyebrows furrowed – who is there left in this school who would look for you, Ritsu, Ren? – but then you see him. 

He’s holding a small bouquet of sunflowers and white roses, laced with baby’s breath and bells of Ireland. There are whispers from some of the students around you, a gasp of recognition from a Hotarubi student or two as he steps forward. The purple Darkwick tie, never once worn when he was still a student, is loosely tied around his collar, slanting slightly to the right like he has tugged on it more than once under the dark grey suit he has chosen for the occasion. 

You don’t notice the pinpricks in the corner of your eyes until he blurs into a mess of green and white and grey. “Oh,” you gasp, and he is there instantly, fingers brushing traitorous tears from your cheeks. 

He laughs, palm still cradling your cheek, and even though you knew he was coming, the aw-shucks grin he gives you still puts an all-familiar lump in your throat. 

“Congratulations, princess,” Haku says, soft and warm. “Well done.” 

-

December 29 - Darkwick Academy  Distance left to destination: 464km 

It is eight thirty-four in the morning. 

Haku stands, hands on his hips, in the middle of your dorm room. There are two duffle bags by his feet.

For what amounts to two years of living in the cathedral, you have fairly little belongings. 

You’ve given most of your items away, of course, in preparation for your move cross-country. All that are left are your clothes, stuffed neatly into a nearly-bursting medium-sized suitcase waiting by the door, and the gifts from various ghouls you’ve accumulated over the years. 

“Ready?” Haku asks. He gathers both duffle bags in one hand. In one of them is a notebook, given to you by Zenji before he, too, left. 

You turn to survey the bare room. You wonder, for a moment, who the next person to inhabit the room will be like - what they will be cursed with - before you turn back to face Haku. 

He is glowing, almost, in the morning light. His grey Hotarubi sweatshirt is rumpled, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms and creased slightly where his overnight backpack is hung on his left shoulder. He looks at you, head cocked to one side, fond, sleep lines from where he slept on your pull-out sofa the night before etched into the soft of his cheek. 

If you haven’t already been planning this road trip for the past two months over text you’d think he came straight out of a dream. 

“Ready,” you say. You pick up your winter coat and his, and sling your backpack over your shoulder. The bouquet he gave you the previous day peeks out from the top. 

Haku nods. He holds the door open for you as you wheel your suitcase over the threshold of the room. The door clicks closed behind the both of you. 

He takes the suitcase from you, then, carrying it easily in one hand down the rickety old staircase. The third step from the bottom creaks beneath his weight like you knew it would. 

It creaks beneath your weight, too. You fish the key to the cathedral door out of your pocket as you reach the first floor. You leave it on the side table leading into the kitchen – the worker cats will retrieve it later today – and head towards the front door. 

You expect something to change, then, some shift in the air that tells you your time in Darkwick is over, but nothing happens as you emerge out into the watery grey sunlight. You wonder why you expected it to. 

Haku’s car is parked, slanted, on the driveway outside the cathedral. The bright yellow permission slip you obtained from Professor Hyde the week before for Haku flaps flimsily in the wind, held back by the wiper on his windshield. 

He unlocks the car, loads your belongings into the trunk. The wind brushes his bangs away from his face. 

It is eight forty-three in the morning. He looks at you, again, patient, understanding, like he always does. 

You exhale. You look back at the cathedral, one last time. 

Then you walk over to where Haku whisks you away from Darkwick, as swiftly and as kindly as he did whisking you in. 

-

December 29 - Hakone, Kanagawa  Distance left to destination: 365km 

It starts snowing a little before Haku pulls into the parking lot. 

Being in Darkwick for most of the year means you’ve forgotten what the weather outside is like, sometimes. The powdery snowfall encases the both of you in silence as you shake out your winter coats and trudge up the stone steps, bowing your heads as you pass under the red torii. 

The shrine is deserted. Whether it is because of the snow or the time of year you’re not really sure; after all, why come out to a shrine a few days before the end of the year when you’re going to visit again on the first day of the new year? 

But it is peaceful and quiet, something you have no complaints about, and before long you’ve made your way up the long stairs and are standing in front of the main hall, heads bowed in respect. 

This is the reason why Haku suggested a road trip instead of taking the Shinkansen down to Kyoto – to bring you to all his favourite shrines around the country on the way down. Your stops, carefully mapped out over Wickchat and Google Maps, are few but meaningful to him, planned out so that you’ll move into your new apartment before Subaru’s first performance of the year at Minamiza Theatre. 

Haku hasn’t told you the reason for any of the stops, but you can more or less guess his reason for this one; as you descend a different set of stone steps, a tall red torii comes into view, half-submerged in water. Snow drifts into the darkness swirling around the feet of the gates, blurring into the red paint before disappearing on contact with the lake. What lies beyond the gate has been shrouded in mist, a white haze obscured by the oncoming snow. 

It looks like some path to the afterlife, almost. Maybe some sort of adventure into the unknown. God knows you’ve had enough adventures to last a lifetime, though. 

You hear Haku exhale. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nod. Perhaps it looks like something out of a myth. 

He points, off to the side, at a strangely shaped rock a distance away from the main path. “Remember when you asked about the scar on my knee? Scraped it right there, running away from my grandfather.” 

You huff a laugh at the image of a little Haku, eyes alight with mischief, dancing out of the grasp of adults. “Didn’t manage to run too far, I guess?”

Haku laughs. He retracts his pointer to rub at his ear. “Not at all. Cried all the way back to the shrine before they bandaged me up.” 

You stuff your hands deeper into the pockets of your coat so you will not reach for where his fingertips are turning red with the cold. 

“I haven’t been back here in a while,” Haku continues, softer. His eyes are fixed on somewhere beyond the gates. “Not since he passed away.” 

You watch as his breath clouds in the cold air. You stay silent. 

He glances at you, eventually, small smile tugging on his lips and blinking the snowflakes out of his eyes. “Let’s go?”

After a second of thought you take your hand out of your pocket to loop your arm through his. You feel him shift in surprise, before he presses himself against your warmth. “Yeah.” 

-

December 29 - Shimizu, Shizuoka Distance left to destination: 295km 

It stops snowing a little after Haku pulls out of the parking lot. 

The rest of the car ride to your next stop is filled with idle chatter and green grape gummies that you picked up from the general store on your way out of Darkwick. Haku keeps his eyes on the lightly frosted road as you feed him, lips barely brushing your pointer and your thumb. You keep your eyes on him. 

You just finish telling him about a mission you did with Ritsu before he slows down, turning off the highway into Shimizu. 

“We stopping for lunch?” You seal the pack of gummies. 

He hums. “Sort of. There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

You wince, and finger-comb through your hair. “I’m dressed for a car ride, not for meeting people.” 

Haku sneaks a glance at you. “You’re beautiful, princess, don’t worry.” 

You flush. “That- you-“ 

He laughs, light and warm, as he makes a right turn. “Just as easy to tease, after all this time.” 

“Shut up,” you say, but his offhand compliment has already burrowed its way under your cheeks and heated them up the same way they always did back at Darkwick. Damn him and his smooth tongue. 

You watch as the train stations flash by – Sakurabashi, Kitsunegasaki, Mikadodai – before he slows down next to Kusanagi Station. You glance at him in surprise. Are you heading to the Kusanagi shrine?

Before you can ask, however, he stops next to a nondescript beige building, throwing the car into park. 

“We’re here,” he announces, and laughs again when you peek doubtfully at your reflection in the side-view mirror. “You look fine.” 

He reaches over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. 

If his fingers linger longer than they should on the shell of your ear, you pretend you do not notice. You pretend your ears do not blush, pretend your breath does not catch. 

You exit the car. 

There is an old, stooped lady by the restaurant counter when Haku slides the rickety wooden door open, back turned to you as she mops down a wooden table with a bright yellow cloth. All you can see is the checkered bandana resting atop a mop of curly white hair, and a faded red apron sash around her waist, wrapped tight around a stout figure. 

“Miyami-san?” Haku calls out. His voice is soft, reverent. 

“Ah?” There is obvious shock as she turns around. A startled delight washes over her face the moment her eyes alight on Haku, and she hobbles over immediately, hands outstretched and eyes waned into teary crescents. 

“Haku, my dear boy,” she cries. She reaches forward to clasp his hands in her own, wrinkled and gentle. “My, my, you’ve grown taller, haven’t you?”

Haku half-laughs. “I haven’t grown since I last came back.” 

The old lady laughs, too. “Perhaps it’s me who has grown smaller. And who’s this?”

“A friend, from Darkwick. I told you about her over the phone, remember?” Haku’s hand is warm on your elbow through your coat. 

The old lady turns to you, peering kindly. “Yes, I do remember…”

You wonder briefly what Haku has said about you, but under the scrutiny of the old lady you hurriedly introduce yourself, bowing. 

She claps, delightedly. “You both must be hungry, coming down from your school. I’ll whip something up for you real quick, shall I?”

“Anything you make will be delicious,” Haku intones, and he shoots her a charming smile that would have turned half of Hotarubi silly. 

It works on her as well, evidently, as she pats his cheek and makes her way to the back of the room. 

“I used to come here all the time to hang out with her grandkids,” Haku says, removing his coat. His eyes follow her as she disappears into the kitchen, humming brightly. “They moved away when I was fifteen, though, but I just… kept coming. She’s more like a grandmother to me than my own grandma.” 

He sweeps his fringe behind his ear, and rolls up the sleeves of his sweatshirt. His earrings brush the line of his jaw. “I stay here, sometimes, when I don’t want to go back to my family.” 

You blink, looking around the restaurant. There are wooden panels lining the room, black ink on rectangle blocks to indicate the menu, but little else by way of decoration. “Here?” 

Haku chuckles. He points to an entrance hidden by an egg-white curtain, tucked quietly into a corner by the back. “She has guest rooms, upstairs. She usually lets them out, but there tends to be no guests, at this time of year.” 

You both agree on taking your overnight bags out from the car while Miyami-san is cooking, if only to save time. Haku stands, as if to help you, but you swat his hand. “Stay here. If she comes out and finds us both missing, how will that look?”

Haku just laughs, sitting back down in acquiescence, and looks up at you, chin in hand. He looks adorable, like this, adoring, and you are suddenly filled with a desperate wish that you could capture this image, forever. “Like we ran off like a couple of hormonal teenagers?”

You flush, and leave him without a response. 

It doesn’t take long for you to gather his backpack and your duffel bag from the car, and as you slide the wooden door closed and toe off your shoes you hear murmuring voices low enough to make you still before the entrance curtain. 

“Are you going to show her the shrine, then?” 

A pause. “They’re going to be too busy preparing things for the New Year’s ceremony.” 

She hums. “That’s true.” 

“Miyami-san–” Haku starts, but she hushes him. 

“I know, I know,” she says. “I won’t tell them you stopped by.” 

Haku laughs, then, something soft and young and grateful. “Thank you. As always.” 

There is a beat of silence, and you prepare to move, but her voice sounds again. “Who is she, to you?”

You hear the grin in Haku’s voice. “Why?”

“You know… you’re of age… it’s about time you bring someone home for me to meet.”

There is a rustle as Haku shifts around in his chair. “She’s one of the strongest people I know,” he says, slowly, “but she hasn’t had much control over her past few years. Now that she’s free of all that, I’d like to leave as much up to her as possible.” 

You tense. Your heart hammers in your chest, tight and painful, as his words trip over themselves, over and over in your brain. Does he mean–

“–she’s also listening around the corner, so I refuse to say anymore.”

You don’t think your cheeks have experienced this much blood-rush in a while. You poke your head out from behind the curtain. “How did you know!” 

“The door isn’t exactly silent,” Haku points out, and the three of you dissolve into laughter. 

There is something light and warm, there, born in the small of the room. It expands, a golden sort of feeling that stretches beyond the four wooden walls and settles, stardust-like, in the space between Haku’s hands and yours; it collapses, cools under your tongue into a memory bright and sweet and precious. 

If you don’t give it a name, you think, perhaps you can continue pretending that being by Haku’s side does not feel like home. 

-

December 30 - Shimizu, Shizuoka Distance left to destination: 295km 

There is a saying – what is a handspan away feels most like a world apart. 

Haku sits, two handspans away. He is looking up at the ceiling, squinting against a lightbulb he changed prior to breakfast. It’s a different colour from the rest, a cool white against the warmth of the other, older bulbs in the restaurant, and it washes him in a faint crisp light. 

“Well, at least it’s not blinking anymore,” Haku says. His elbows rest against the table. 

Miyami-san sighs, forlorn. “I’ll have to write down the model number so I can buy the correct bulb next time. What time are you planning to head out?” 

Haku leans over to you, taps the screen of your new phone you both spent an hour setting up last night. It lights up, displaying a blurry photo of Haku trying to take a selfie with you, overlaid by the time in white. 

“In about twenty minutes? I’ll wash up before we go,” Haku insists, getting to his feet. “You’ve been more than lovely making us breakfast.” 

He sweeps everything up into a pile before she can protest, and disappears, whistling, into the kitchen. 

“Haku’s a good boy,” she sighs, as you watch him go. She stretches, and leans backwards. “Before he left for school he always helped me with all the odd jobs around the house. Changed all my lightbulbs for me, too.” 

You laugh. “Sounds like Haku.” 

She adjusts the strap of her apron. “He’s so smart, too. Made the top of his class whenever he put his mind to it.” 

You suppress a smile. If you didn’t know better you’d think she was a grandmother eager to market her bachelor grandson off to the next available singleton.

“And responsible, too,” she continues. “Good thing he is, what with the shrine business.” 

She peeks at you, and you quickly school your widening smile into something more presentable. “Has he told you about the shrine?” 

You nod. You can hear Haku, more than a few handspans away, soft humming barely audible over the sound of running water in the kitchen. “The Kusanagi shrine.” 

She hums. “He’s going to take over from his family one day. He’s going to be a better leader than his father is.” 

A silence lapses over the both of you. They’re both true statements, you know, and yet there is something nagging at you about the mention of his father. 

“Miyami-san,” you start, carefully. “If I may ask… what’s his family like?” 

“His family?” She turns her head thoughtfully to the curtain that hides the kitchen from the restaurant, and is silent for so long you wonder if you’ve overstepped. 

You are about to mumble a hasty apology when she turns back to you. 

“They expect a lot from him,” she says, softly. “There’s a great many responsibilities that fall your way when you inherit a shrine. His father had to shoulder it, and his father before that, and so on. He may be running away from it now, but eventually it’ll have to be his turn, and I think in the back of their minds they all know it.” 

You want to nod, but it feels like the wrong thing to do. Running away… except he isn’t, not really. Everything Haku did at Darkwick, every skill you’ve seen him practise and every responsibility you’ve seen him manage in Hotarubi, felt like he was building himself to take over the shrine – from his artifact to the research for his missions to all the summer festivals he helped manage. Even now, from what you understand of his work, it seems like what he has chosen to do is in preparation for him to take over. 

“He’s more prepared than they think,” you say. “He works hard, even though he acts like he doesn’t.” 

She looks at you a little more sharply, then. There is a cool appraisal behind her squint, before it melts into something like approval. “He does, doesn’t he.” 

Before you can respond, though, Haku emerges from the kitchen, running a hand through his hair. “Talking about me?”

“You wish,” you say, and are rewarded immediately with the sparkle of his laugh. 

He pauses next to your seat before picking up his backpack. His hand nearly brushes yours. “Ready to head out?” 

You stand. Your hand nearly brushes his, a world apart. “Ready.” 

-

December 30 - Nagakute, Aichi Distance left to destination: 175km 

“Hard disagree – we turn left here – you’re only saying that because my name is Haku.” 

You squint at the alleyway in front of you dubiously. It’s bathed in the last rays of evening, a dying honey from the setting sun that does nothing to ward off the winter chill, and it seems to lead to yet another street that looks oddly similar to the one you’re about to leave. “Are you sure?” 

But Haku is already stepping forward, Google Maps winking into sleep on his phone screen, and so you follow behind. The thrift shop he is searching for is supposed to be a mere ten minute walk from where you left the warmth of the Ghibli Park, but you swear you’ve been wandering around for at least twenty minutes. 

“Anyway, no, it’s because he’s a river spirit–“

Haku glances at you, eyebrow raised. “I’m not a river spirit.” 

“-and he’s supposed to know a lot about the spirit world.” You huff at him, and he laughs in acquiescence. You reach the end of the alleyway; Haku squints against the reflection of sun on his phone and directs you to turn right. 

“And he spent a lot of the movie using that knowledge to protect and save Chihiro, didn’t he?” you continue. You look down at your feet even though the evening light is no longer shining directly into your eyes. The worn grey of the road winks at you as you cross residential street. “Like you did with me.” 

Haku is silent for a beat, before he says, lightly, “I think I’m much more like Howl.” 

You cannot hold back your snort. “Because how he gets all the girls?” 

His responding laugh is startled and bright. “C’mon now, princess. Howl only ever loved Sophie, in the end.” 

He looks at you, brows raised, like there is something you are supposed to understand, but after a moment of expectant silence too laden for you to consider you swallow the whiskey-burn of his eyes and turn away. 

“Is it nearby?” you ask, instead. You push the ice blocks you used to call hands deeper into your coat pockets, and push your gaze back down to the grey asphalt under your feet. 

Haku unlocks his phone in response. “One more block to go. Sorry, you must be tired.” 

You shake your head. 

“We’ll get dinner after this, then crash out,” he decides, anyway. “We had an early start today, and we’ve done a lot.” 

(You stopped earlier in the day at Atsuta Shrine to pay your respects before heading down to Ghibli Park, and briefly heard a guide explain about the great Kusanagi sword supposedly stored in the halls.

“Oh, my Kusanagi sword is great, alright,” Haku snorted under his breath; you smacked him on the shoulder and dragged him, holding back giggles, towards the exit before you got struck down for blasphemy.)

After two more minutes of sleepy residential buildings, you spot the orange signboard of the thrift store, hanging from a black rod above a shuttered flower shop. There is a chalkboard leaned against the side of the flower shop with carefully scrawled yellow letters and arrows directing you to a staircase around the back. Going up the concrete steps leads you to a wooden door with a heavy handle. 

Haku tugs the door open, and gestures for you to go inside. 

The store is swathed in yellow and orange, thanks to the narrow spot-light beams installed on the ceiling. The wooden shelving look old but well-cared for under carefully stacked clothes, a small contrast to the adjacent metal frames sagging with hangers of coats and jackets. There are mirrors gently leaned on the walls at strategic places throughout the store, reflecting the warm light from the ceiling and making the space look bigger than it actually is. 

A man in a beanie looks up from where he is slouched over the cashier, and waves a silent welcome that you both acknowledge. 

“One of my seniors told me this place has a good curation of sweaters,” Haku says, turning to study the racks. He picks up a bomber jacket in olive green, inspects it, then sets it down. “You’ll probably need more winter wear too, now that we don’t get climate control. But we’ll also stop at another place when we get to Kyoto, just so you can get some new clothes to wear around Subaru.” 

You nod, and dutifully turn your attention to the racks, fingers running across the soft fabrics draped neatly on dark metallic hangers. 

You’re looking at a cardigan the colour and texture of dawn clouds when Haku appears again at your elbow. “Look at this one.” 

He holds up a sweater in washed out sage. It’s slightly fluffy, sleeves softly melting into a cream. When you reach out to touch it it’s impossibly softer than it looks. 

“It’s cute,” you say. Its sloped shoulders are wide; you hold the pale green fabric up to his shoulders. “It looks your size, too.” 

Haku hums in agreement. He takes the sweater, gently, from your fingers, and turns it around, lining the edge of its shoulders up with yours. 

“I think it looks cuter on you,” he says. The honey of his eyes sparkle with mirth as he nudges you to face the mirror. “Like you’re stealing your boyfriend’s clothes.” 

You feel a fire climbing up your cheeks immediately, and you glare at Haku, heatless and helpless, as he bites back a laugh. He shifts away, grinning brightly, and leaves you staring in the mirror with the sweater folded between your hands. 

There is barely any evening light left over from golden hour, the last of the sun’s rays having died shortly before you stepped indoors, but the green of Haku’s hair is still dyed a soft copper by the warm lights of the store. He stands, turning glasses frames over in his hands, under a spotlight beam and the drifting strains of jazz, blurred only slightly by the fingerprints in the mirror and the irregular bump of your heart. 

The scene is so mundane it feels almost unreal – this Haku, suspended in glass and glow. His long fingers are not wrapped around his flute or dusty research tomes, but between folded jeans; his movements are slow and languorous, no longer bound by the urgency of missions or threat of curfew. 

You could stare at him like this forever. 

It is suddenly easy, so easy to imagine him elsewhere, you think – sorting through vegetables at a supermarket, folding laundry on the floor of his bedroom, doing anything and everything far and away from the drizzle of Hotarubi. 

This Haku has all the time in the world. 

So do you. So do you. 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

“How does this look?” 

The heat of his vowels slide across the shell of your ear, and you jump slightly, eyes flying open. 

You are vaguely aware of a chunky grey frame, translucent acrylic that slips low on his nose bridge and blobs shadows on his cheeks, but his eyes have locked onto yours in the mirror as he leans down over your shoulder to peer at his reflection, cheek dangerously close to yours, so close that if you just turned, if you just—

It sends your heart crashing, thundering painfully, cruelly, through your throat, a weight and an untethering from the hypnosis of the moment all at once— 

“You look stupid,” you say. Or think you do, anyway. You can barely hear yourself over the thunderous rushing in your ears. “Try– try this one.”

Your fingers scrabble for the closest frame on the shelf next to you, and hold them up to the mirror. 

Haku laughs, a gentle huff that blows by your cheek as he lifts the frame out of your hand, and straightens back up to slip them on. 

It’s gold-rimmed, this time, a thin wire frame that catches the warm spot-lighting of the store and soaks a glow into his skin. The rounded rectangular shape sits well on his cheekbones, faded gold temples disappearing into his messy green hair. 

You blink, and there is a fleeting glimpse of sun-spots and crow’s feet, of salt-and-pepper hair melting into green, of laughter creasing itself into deep-set wrinkles in the corners of his smile. He is looking at you, still, in the way he always has, this old-man-mirror-Haku, and something blooms, choking and sweet, in the hollow of your ribs. 

Something shifts, then.

Eddies of a future you’ve never thought possible sing like the wind through the holes in your heart; they crash into you, a merciless tangle of relief and frustration and hope that steals the breath from your lungs you didn’t realise you were holding since leaving Darkwick. 

The tremble of it’s over and your curse is well and truly over courses through the map of your veins, and winds its way across where your eyes meet Haku’s through the mirror. The words crack themselves in half, split to show you a future so wide and open and yet so certain it threatens to swallow you whole – of you, alive and un-cursed and getting to grow old. Of you-and-Haku, hand-in-hand, getting to growing old together, looking up at the same sky. 

“-what do you think?” Haku is saying. His eyes are crinkled up in something you think might be fondness or affection, or something equally hopeful and terrifying. 

It looks good on you, your mouth moves on its own accord, you should get it, but that is as far as you get before he blurs together in a sear of tears. 

Haku moves immediately, hand on your elbow spinning you around to face him. His eyes search yours in alarm and concern and confusion, but to both your surprise a laugh bubbles out of you, quiet and free. 

You raise a hand to brush his bangs away from his forehead, and he leans into your touch, in spite of his bewilderment. 

“It looks good,” you say again, and you mean it. 

(He buys the glasses, of course, and three sweaters you said you liked. You leave the thrift shop with paper bags in hand, yet somehow feel a lot lighter than you did going in.) 

-

December 31 - Kuwana, Mie Distance left to destination: 99km

The numbers on the dashboard read a glowing ten thirty-eight. 

The highway stretches before the windshield, a wide belt that melts into the distance. It is empty, save for the occasional cargo truck Haku passes, and the glare of the noon sun reflecting off its smooth grey surface is enough to turn every travelling vehicle into a mini-oven despite the season. 

Haku adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. He reaches, slightly, to wind his window down to let some of the cool winter air in, but his fingers pause before they reach the switch. 

He peeks at where you are asleep, head resting on the passenger window and eyelashes brushing the soft of your cheek. He retracts his hand. 

He reaches, instead, with his other hand to the air-conditioning controls, and turns the dial towards “COOL”.

The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten thirty-nine. 

The packet of strawberry gummies on top of the winter coats folded in your lap crinkles slightly, then slides from where your grip has slackened. It has long since been emptied, with you taking turns to tuck the candies between your lips and his, and its lack of weight slips it neatly between your seat and the centre console. 

Ren recommended them, you said, an hour back, holding one up to his lips. They’re good, aren’t they?

Haku smiled, tamped down the familiar knot that swelled with any reminder of the years you spent at Darkwick without him by your side, and nodded. They’re pretty sweet. 

You grinned and tapped the large yellow zero printed atop ruby-red strawberries. No sugar, too! 

No, he thinks, now – perhaps the sugar had been in the brush of your fingertips against his lips. Perhaps it had been in the glitter of your laugh as you listened to him tell you some work story or another, or in the way the sun had bounced off the dashboard and lit you up all over, all soft glow and contentment as you slipped another gummy between the pink of your lips. 

For a moment, he wonders if you will taste like strawberry, if the curve of your smile will be just as sweet as it looks when pressed against his own–

He shakes his head, to clear it. 

Haku is a patient man. Ceremony is in his bones; he is good at waiting his turn, good at calculating consequences, good at following the rules. 

Except for when he isn’t. Except for when he texted you, midway through your last semester, to ask which branches of the Institute has offered you a job in hopes that he can persuade you to take up some position near his own. When he asked you, two months before graduation, to drive down to Kyoto with him instead of taking the train, just so he gets three days with you by his side after so many days apart. 

When he took one look at you, that night on the train from Kisaragi Station, and took your hand and held it all the way to Darkwick. 

Maybe it is selfishness, maybe it is impulsivity. Maybe it is irresponsibility, and maybe it is the reason why, try as he may, they will never deem him ready to take over the shrine, but oh, when he looks at you–

He is a patient man. He will be a patient man. He has waited two long, excruciating years without you, and he will continue to wait, for as long as it’ll take until you’re ready. 

The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten forty-three. 

Haku reaches over, again, to turn the air-conditioning dial further down. 

His gaze brushes against the new air freshener you bought him the day before at the gift shop. It smells of “clean” and “fresh”, whatever that’s supposed to mean, and he can barely catch its scent, but you unwrapped it the moment you got into the car and hung it neatly on the rearview mirror, and he cannot help but feel some fondness for something that brings you joy. Even if it’s just a small piece of cardboard with a white dragon and a girl printed on it. 

He would have chosen a different one, himself. He would have picked the one with Howl and Sophie - someone who learns how strong she really is, and someone who has waited a lifetime to love her. 

You stir in your sleep, shifting slightly so your head is no longer pressed against the passenger window. The numbers on the dashboard wink into ten forty-four. 

Haku takes the next exit off the highway, and wonders if you remember that in the movies, Chihiro saves Haku, too. 

-

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto

Distance left to destination: 21km 

“Haku!” 

The guy that emerges from the shrine’s prayer hall has a smile only one shade dimmer than the sun. He waves energetically at Haku and you, hands padded in red gloves a stark contrast with his navy blue haori, and bounds over to you. 

“Thought you weren’t coming back for another two days!” the man says, beaming. “We’re prepping the omikuji right now, like you told us to.” 

Haku chuckles, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “That’s good. I’m not back for work, though, I’m just here to show my friend around.“

The man looks at you curiously, and he looks so oddly familiar you could have sworn you’ve seen him somewhere before. He tilts his head to one side, like he’s working through the same puzzle you are, before it clicks–

“Honour student!” he exclaims, and claps his hands. “Didn’t expect to see you here!” 

Haku laughs, and shifts closer to you. “Darkwick just had their commencement ceremony, so I’m helping her settle into her new apartment soon.” 

Koji – the name comes to you in a flash, a vague impression of a Hotarubi general student floating to the top of your mind from when he helped Haku on a mission once – wiggles his eyebrows. “Will it be near to us?” 

Haku looks at you, thoughtfully. “The Institute put her in Kyoto, near Subaru, but I suppose…” 

Before he can finish the thought, however, a soft holler comes from an open window in the back of the sales hut. “Oi, heartbreaker!” 

A man sticks his head out of a back door. He looks pleased to see Haku, and disappears for a few seconds before emerging from the wooden doors, wrapping himself in a warmer coat. 

He waves a sheath of papers at Haku as he walks over. “We’re more or less ready for tomorrow, but I need you to sign a couple things–“

Haku moves over immediately, head bent over the documents, and leaves you in company of Koji. 

“Heartbreaker?” You murmur, and Koji beams. 

He nods his head, fluffy hair bouncing in his enthusiasm. “That’s Haku! Didn’t he tell you? When he first joined, half the local girls who came up to pray during Lunar New Year instantly fell in love and we had to barricade the shrine and defend ourselves with swords so our Haku wouldn’t get overrun–“ 

“Koji,” the other man says, severely, “stop making things up.” 

Koji pouts, and you have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Anyway, he’s built up quite a following among the locals. It’s good for business, though.” 

“I can imagine,” you say, and you can–

Haku, looking out the sales window next to the shrine, chin in hand and head slightly tilted as people come up to buy omamoris. The way the honey of his eyes will crease, slightly, as he smiles at their approach. The soft of his hands as he counts out their change, and wishes them a good day. 

Haku, head bent over a candle box before he reaches in to select an appropriate one. The curl of his long fingers over theirs as he presses the candles into their palm, a blessing, a benediction, conferred with intent. The soothe of his voice as he comforts them, wishes them well, after. 

Haku, this Haku that belongs to the people, whose heart swells with their aches and whose words are carefully chosen to quell them. This Haku, who works for the people by day, and works for them still by night. 

Haku looks up from where he is flipping through documents, pen in hand, and grins as he meets your eyes. “Maybe we should spread word that my heart already belongs to someone else.” 

Your cheeks burn immediately, and you open your mouth to stutter out a reply, but Haku’s senior beats you to the punch. 

“Disgusting,” he mutters fondly, barely louder than Koji’s awww, then flips a page for Haku. “Sign here, then get out of my sight. Word from HQ is that you’re on four concurrent missions in January, so make the best of your break.” 

Haku groans. “Best go pray for my own damn safety, then.” 

His senior rolls up the freshly signed document, then raps him smartly on the head. “No cursing on shrine grounds. Come on, Koji, you’re still not done with the omikujis.” 

Haku grins, rubbing his head where he got tapped, then turns to face you as Koji is dragged, mumbling in protest, back to the hidden back doors. “Shall we?” 

The rest of the shrine is fairly quiet. Sunlight dances through the bare branches as you cross the courtyard and duck around some gates to the main shrine. There are rabbits printed on cream-coloured lanterns attached to the gates, faded slightly by the elements and swaying in the wind. They look like they are dancing in greeting as you pass them. 

The main shrine Haku comes to a stop at is up a set of steep stone stairs. It is covered with wooden slats, painted warm by the noon light. If you didn’t look too closely you’d think the structures inside were glowing by themselves. 

Haku fishes out coins from his pocket, and hands one to you. He leans forward to shake the thick rope after you toss your coin into the wooden offering box, then you both bow and clap twice. 

You have so many things to wish for that you almost don’t know where to start, but the words flow out of your heart faster than you can think, afloat with intent and hope – for Haku to be safe. For Haku to be happy. For all the ghouls you’ve helped and been helped by to be happy and healthy. For all the anomalies they’ll run into to be a little less fatal, for the anomalies themselves to be safely captured and treated well. For all their futures to be a little less perilous, a little more secure. 

For your future to be a little less dangerous, too. For your future to hold warm soup and cosy evenings, for your days to hold laughter and ease and familiarity, for your nights to hold home and sighs and moonlit dances across the kitchen floor with Haku–

Your eyes flutter open, and you bow, quickly. 

Best to not hope for too much. 

You sneak a glance at Haku. His head is still bowed, hands still pressed together. He is washed in the bright of sunlight unshaded by winter’s branches, and in the silent sun-stirred dance of dust motes around him he looks almost like a painting. 

His bracelets shine a radiant translucence as they catch and absorb the sunlight, nearly covering most of a scar underneath. Your heart twinges slightly – you were there when he got injured. 

It was to save you, really, some tiny anomaly or another changing directions and hurtling towards you with a vengeance. If Haku didn’t knock it off its trajectory with the back of his hand… you can’t imagine what would have happened. 

Instead, you’d brought him home to Hotarubi and carefully cleaned his cuts and wounds, and stayed with the soft glow of his smile and the even softer glow of his words, well into the night. He’d murmured gentle reassurances into the quiet of the night, thigh pressed up against yours as you sat side by side and looked out onto the still Hotarubi gardens; yet the feeling of guilt has never gone away, cementing itself into the cracks of all that you owe him. 

I’m sorry, you said, again, for the fiftieth time that night. If it weren’t for me you wouldn’t have gotten injured. 

He had laughed before a ghost of pressure landed against your temple, so soft you think to this day you’d imagined it. Anything for you, princess. Stop worrying about it. 

It sent your heart racing, back then, his words wild fireworks popping in your throat. 

The same way his words send your heart racing, now. 

Maybe we should spread word that my heart already belongs to someone else. 

You exhale. Haku has never hidden his affection for you, not really – whether it was proclaimed in front of a beaming Zenji or murmured into the drizzle of Hotarubi, the flirtatious comments you once believed were just part of his personality or simply lavished onto everyone you eventually realised were only ever directed to you. 

And you understood it, back then, the same way you understand it now. Haku has never been shy about you. How much of it was guilt over bringing you to Darkwick and a burgeoning sense of responsibility for your curse, you will perhaps never know, but this is what you know now, after two years of turning the thought of Haku over and over in your mind: 

That you never agreed to start because you were always afraid of the end. That you perhaps wished he would forget about you after his time at Darkwick, if only to make things easier for him after your transformation into the Kyklos; that you wished to forget about him, too, after his time at Darkwick, if only to avoid the real possibility of Haku finding someone else.   

But now your last page has been ripped out, a future of a curse torn out by your very own hands and shredded into the wind… now that you’re out and free (albeit still working for the Institute) and ready to rewrite your own ending… 

Haku looks up from his hands, and bows. He turns to you, smile fond and sweet, and extends a hand to help you down the steps. “Ready?” 

You take his hand, lace his fingers into your own. The word on your tongue turns into a candle turns into a lantern turns into the sun. “Ready.”

-

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto Distance left to destination: 19km 

You cradle your hot cup of tea in your palms. 

The cold of the bridge railing beneath your elbows seep past your coat and into your bones. The last of the sun’s rays cast a glow on the trees on the opposing shore, turning them into a sea of reddish-gold, but they do little to warm you as you watch the sun sink below the horizon. 

Haku rests, one handspan away, identical cup nestled between his hands. 

“This is my favourite place to watch the sunset,” he says. “You can see the train tracks and the Uji Bridge from here.”

A train rumbles by in the distance as he says it, slicing the scene in half. It takes a few seconds before the sky meets the river again.  

“I think about bringing you here, all the time,” he says, quietly. He shifts the cup to his other hand. “I come here after work sometimes, and stay until the sky is dark and I can see the stars. Then I wonder about whether you’re looking at the same stars, too, in Darkwick.”

You both watch the sun creep steadily downwards, meeting its wavering counterpart in the water. 

Haku exhales. He does not look at you. “I’m glad you’re here.”

His words wrap around you, hushed and gossamer. How much you’ve thought about him, too, looking up at the night skies as you dragged yourself back to the cathedral. 

Whenever you walked out from Hotarubi, shutting your one-person umbrella and looking up at the moon, you’d think of him. 

The way he’d walk you back, shoulder to shoulder as if you were still sharing an umbrella. The way he’d look at you, moonlight tangled into his eyelashes and the arc of his hands, the way he’d smile like the night was a secret only the two of you shared. The way he’d sit you down on the campus stone benches to talk about your missions with other houses, the way he’d reassure you, again and again, that whatever you were doing was enough. That you were enough. 

The memories twist themselves onto your tongue. You do not look at him, either, when you say, “Me too.” 

The last sliver of sun slips away, and then it is gone. 

The conversation turns to seeing Subaru on stage in two days and what flowers you plan to get him, then to your new Institute-funded apartment, a small place buried near a Galaxy Express station, and the furniture you plan to get. 

You wonder out loud how long the Galaxy Express would take to get to Uji if you and Subaru were to come visit, as compared to taking the regular train from Kyoto Station. It’s already a very short distance, you think, but maybe it’d take half the time. 

“It takes sixteen minutes from Kyoto’s HQ,” Haku says. He taps the top of his now-empty cup with a long finger. “Or twenty-two, if you count the time it takes to walk back to my apartment.” 

“Damn, these cats really know how to run a railway line.” 

Haku laughs, quiet and breathless, before he says, “Move in with me, instead.” 

You pause, cup halfway lifted to your lips. You lower your hand. 

“It’s only a slightly longer commute,” he murmurs, “and you won’t have to buy new furniture.” 

He looks at you, eyes full of morning sun. You read in them something that feels a lot like a future. 

You won’t have to spend your nights alone in a drafty old room anymore. We will not have to untangle ourselves at the end of the day, and pretend we do not want to stay. Now that I’ve spent three whole days with you I don’t know how I’ve ever managed without; it feels like I’m never going to be able to go back. 

You exhale. 

This is how it has always been - this is how the two of you are - him building a bridge between you both and reminding you that if you ever want to cross it, if you ever need to cross it, he will always be on the other side, waiting. 

He waits, now. 

For a moment, you think you are brave. 

Ready?

But the moment passes, and the words that have swelled up on your tongue are familiar and terrifying and comforting and too heavy and mean too little and too much, all at once, and you swallow the waves that rise up in your lungs, and you close your eyes, and you pretend you are not in love with him, have not been in love with him since he held your hand in the dark of a train carriage three-odd years ago. 

“Imagine the paperwork,” you say, instead, and Haku leaves it at that. 

-

December 31 - Uji, Kyoto Distance left to destination: 16km 

Haku’s apartment is small, but homey. 

It is much more modern that you expect it to be, and feels infinitely more Haku than any Hotarubi dorm could. The kitchen you step into is tiny but sleek, with just enough space to fit a boiler, a tea set and an induction cooker before ending at a large fridge. The green glow on the microwave tucked onto a shelf a bit higher than eye-level reads eleven forty-two.

He lucked out on the Institute lottery, he tells you, setting his keys in a bowl on the kitchen island and flicking on the kitchen lights – where others only get a studio apartment he at least gets a bedroom attached to the living and dining area. Ghoul perks, perhaps. 

Where you expect a kitchen island is instead a mountain of books, shuffled neatly into piles not unlike what you used to be greeted with in his old dorm, bookmarked full with post-its covered in his chicken-scratch writing. 

You pick out a barely-used blue post-it pad from a pile of neon-yellow ones, and run your thumb over the winking tanuki in the background. “Is this the one I bought for you, back on that shrine mission?”

Haku peeks over your shoulder. His laugh brushes your ear, soft and warm, before moving away to roll your luggage into the living room. “Yeah. I can’t bear to use it much, though. It feels as though I should treasure it.” 

You snort, looking up at him. “I can always buy you another one.”

“I’m not opposed to that.” 

(You’d buy him one set everyday for the rest of his days, if he’d let you.)

Haku tucks your suitcase next to a soft grey sofa set opposite a plain white wall, and sets your duffle bag on a small wooden coffee table in between that looks like it hasn’t been dusted in years. “There are fireworks bound to start in about fifteen minutes. Wanna watch those on the balcony?”

You blink – you’ve almost forgotten that today is New Year’s Eve, what with all the sightseeing you’ve packed in today around Uji. 

Haku tugs the pale blue curtains apart, revealing glass doors to a small balcony overlooking residential neighbourhood. The night is quiet, still, buzz of the city conspicuously absent from the streets despite the celebratory date and even though most households have their lights on and curtains pulled open in anticipation of the fireworks, you don’t hear much beyond the whistling of the wind when you step outside. 

You settle against the railing on his balcony. “It’s so nice, here.” 

Haku joins you. “When everyone’s lights are off, at night, you can see the stars.” 

You tilt your head up. Haku’s apartment is high up enough the street lamps that you do not have to shield your eyes from their orange glow, and as you peer up at the heavens you see constellations slowly starting to take shape. “Wow.” 

Haku shifts, closer. His shoulder is pressed up against yours. “Any New Year’s resolutions yet?” 

You laugh. “Other than learning how to survive outside Darkwick?” 

“That’s enough,” Haku says, softly. “Sometimes surviving is tough enough, on its own.” 

You bite your lip, and look down at the street below. A stray cat dips in and out of the shadows. 

“I’m going to be brave this year,” you tell him. 

I’m going to be brave enough to face what’s coming. I’m going to be brave enough to decide what I’m going to do with my life, instead of obeying missives from a corrupted Academy and existing at their beck and call. I’m going to be brave enough to tell you what I really want to say, to build my own side of the bridge, to finally meet you on the other side. 

Haku tilts his head to look at you, then. He raises a hand from where his arms have been crossed on the railing, long fingers tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

It sends daylight swirling down your spine, leaves you breathless and August-warm when you catch his gaze. 

“I think you’re already plenty brave,” he says, quietly. 

Before you can respond, however, the street explodes with noise. Windows are pulled open and chanting spills out onto the street, a clamour of three, two, one– 

Tiny lights hang themselves across the sky, a mere flash before tightly packed colours dazzling as the sun explode across its inky canvas. Brilliant reds and blues and yellows and greens burst into bloom over and over again; they paint everything on the street with their glow. The distant booms and whistles of their journey travel through the neighbourhood, wind their way through the festivities and laughter and cheer. 

It is at once so extraordinary and normal, this celebration of the Earth making its way around the sun yet again, that you find yourself giddy, smiling, joyful. You turn to look at Haku, tinted a faint red from the vivid glows in the sky, only to find he is already looking at you, gaze warm, fond. 

You learnt once, on a mission with Jabberwock, that firecrackers and fireworks set off during New Year were as much meant to scare away the bad things as they were to celebrate the good. 

I think you’re already plenty brave. 

In the bright of the night his words soak into your skin. 

Perhaps you are. 

You lean up, and press a small kiss to the corner of his lips. This is me, building my side of the bridge. This is me, ready. “Happy New Year, Haku.” 

His palm catches your cheek as you pull away. The spread of his smile, wide and bright and delighted, sends stardust settling into the hollow of your throat, sets its own fireworks off within the hollow of your ribs, pulls a smile onto your own cheeks. The gold of his eyes shine with something more than the pyrotechnics, something full of devotion, full of beginnings. 

“Happy New Year,” Haku says, and leans in to kiss you again. 

[tennessoui]

WAIT WAIT pause ohmygoshohmygosh

Wait my world is rocked ROCKED

Obi wan using “Ani” as idk my brain is fried, but like almost like an insult, because that’s what Padme calls him.

The way Obi wan would roll his eyes anytime he hears /anyone/ calls Anakin, Ani. Obi wan NEVER uses Ani because that’s what /she/ calls him. And Anakin shouldn’t be thinking about Padme when Obi wan is right in front of him.

yessssss I know there are a bunch of different opinions on Obi-Wan calling anakin “Ani” as an endearment or cute nickname and people like it and think it’s sweet and fair for them but to me Obi-Wan only uses the name Ani in moments of intense pettiness lmao and only because he knows Padmé calls him that. It is Not A Cute Nickname, it is Twelve Bitchy Comments And Reminders And Jealous Asides wrapped up in 2 syllables

related to this is in my cheating au, Obi-Wan hears anakin call padme ‘angel’ and then starts referring to the twins as ‘angels’ so anakin thinks about his kids whenever he goes to call his wife Angel and so he just stops calling her that and Obi-Wan wins another petty and insubstantial victory

[sunnymainecoonx]

How many people witnessed softie food addict horror who needed something in his mouth or he would actively kill and turn to cannibalism 🧍‍♀️ or was that just me.... anyways honestly it was silly.. he'd maybe get along with cook horror... I just like fanon crossovers guys*sadge

Anyways canon horror is also silly(really silly. What an asshole, man)(no seriously he's actually such an asshole.. I might love him for that but-) I don't think he would get along with the others(loser)