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reinerispretty · 1 year

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best of luck. (satoru gojo x f!reader)

hiiii. i posted this on ao3 sometime last year, but i figured i’d bring it on over to tumblr, because all of the writing i have here is super old and i’m still proud of this one. hope you enjoy!

content: grumpy girl reader, shit eating grins, fluff

in which gojo satoru shows up unannounced, twice.

“You can’t bring them in here.”

It’s almost one p.m. on a sunny Tuesday, and you’re staring up at Gojo Satoru with all the malice you can muster. He’s staring back down at you (at least you think he is, you can’t really tell what goes on behind that blindfold), and his grin remains unwavering. You should’ve known—the word no and all of its synonyms don’t fit anywhere in Gojo’s vocabulary.

“I’m serious!” You say, hands on your hips as you stamp your foot down like a child. “I’m not letting kids in here.”

The trio peers from behind Gojo. You know one of them, Fushiguro Megumi, but the other two are strangers. You’ve heard enough gossip about what goes on at Jujutsu High to make the educated assumption that the other two are Kugisaki Nobara and the infamous Itadori Yuuji. All three have the unfortunate assignment of being under Gojo’s tutelage.

“Come on,” Gojo laughs, as if you’re playing with him. “I just wanted to introduce my prodigies to my favorite person in the world!”

You frown. “Nanami isn’t here.”

He smacks a hand against his chest, staggering. “You wound me.” In a swift movement, Gojo has his wingspan spread around his students, squishing them together. “They haven’t eaten lunch! You wouldn’t let poor, innocent children go hungry, would you?”

Your frown deepens. You don’t know what Gojo’s real motives are yet, but they must be rather stupid if he’s bringing three children to a bar on a school day. Never mind that it’s illegal for anyone under the age of twenty to be in such an establishment. Such pesky things like laws don’t stand in Gojo Satoru’s way.

You hear their stomachs grumble and at this point, you’re downright scowling. “I hate you,” You say defiantly, stepping to the side to let the group enter. “Quickly, now, before anyone sees you.”

Gojo passes you last, his winning smile stretching across his face. He leans down to give you a kiss and your hand pushes against his cheek, effectively shoving him away from you. “I hate you,” You repeat, locking the door and flipping the sign to CLOSED. He’s enough to deal with. You don’t need more customers on top of that.

They’d arrived at a perfect time. It’s typically slow in the early afternoon, which you know Gojo is aware of. He probably plotted this exactly, right down to the impeccably timed growling of their stomachs. With him, almost nothing is unintentional.

You duck behind the bar to grab a few menus, then join them at their table. They’ve chosen a large, circular booth. Gojo sits on the end, closest to where you stand. You pass the menus around, giving Gojo a whack on the head with his before setting it in his waiting hands.

You introduce yourself to the kids, since it’s likely they weren’t given any information as to why they were coming to a bar in broad daylight. “I graduated from Jujutsu High—“

“With me!” Gojo interjects, because it isn’t a story unless he’s a part of it. “Ten whole years ago, can you believe that? It feels like just yesterday we were walking the halls together.”

“Don’t go around revealing my age to people I don’t know!” You snip at him, ears flaring red-hot.

He quickly introduces his newest students as well as Megumi, who mumbles an, “I’ve already met her,” that Gojo ignores.

“See? Now we’re all thick as thieves.”

“Are you a Jujutsu Sorcerer too?” Yuuji asks, and you nod your confirmation. “Why do you work here?”

“How about you spend two more seconds thinking about it before asking stupid questions,” Nobara scoffs. “She works in a dive bar. You know who comes to dive bars?”

“Erm…” Yuuji rubs the back of his neck as he thinks. “People who like to drink?”

You smile as Nobara ridicules Yuuji once more, and you decide to put the kid out of his misery. “People come to bars for all sorts of reasons, but a pretty big one is to drown their sorrows. People drink because they want to forget, but while they’re in the process of forgetting, where do you think all of that negative energy goes?”

“Right here?” Yuuji guesses. You nod.

“Places like these are a hotbed for curses. Mostly lower-level ones, but they can develop into something really nasty if you don’t keep an eye on them.” You huff, realizing that you’d been tricked into being part of Gojo’s lesson for the day. “I own a few bars around Tokyo—I stop by each one every so often to keep things running smoothly.”

“Isn’t she amazing?” Beams Gojo, and the pride in his voice makes your cheeks flare. You clear your throat.

“Well? What can I get you guys?”

After taking their orders, you march back into the kitchen to start preparing the food. Normally, the only people who come into your establishments at times like this are real sad saps who want nothing more than the comfort of a bottle, so your chefs don’t come in until just before the rush starts. You usually never have to prepare food, but leave it to Gojo to ruin your perfectly crafted routine.

Your hands go through the motions of cooking as he (per usual) occupies your thoughts. You’re annoyed with him for dropping by unannounced, annoyed with him for bringing kids here when there are a million more important lessons he could be teaching them, and annoyed because your mood’s increased significantly, just because of his presence. Your day’s been off to a shit start, and despite your initial greeting, you can’t think of any of the bad stuff when he’s around. You don’t know how he does it, but Gojo Satoru always knows when you need to see him.

You appreciate that after over a decade of knowing each other, your harsh words don’t deter him. A therapist had told you once that they’re a defense mechanism, a way to keep people out so they don’t get the chance to hurt you. You hadn’t seen a problem with that, but she certainly did, based on the amount of scribbling done on her notepad.

But Gojo worms his way into places he shouldn’t be all the time, and you’re sure he enjoyed fitting himself into your life no matter how much you resisted. You’d met at the start of your first year—or was it a little before? You aren’t sure. You’d ask Gojo to clarify if he wouldn’t be so annoying about it. Were you reminiscing about me? You can see him asking, his grin so shit-eating that resisting the urge to knock his teeth out would be a Herculean feat.

Since then, he’d always been there, a task that you’d previously thought was difficult for others. He’d made it look easy, though, walking you to class, accompanying you on missions, sending you texts with elaborately designed emoticons. You pushed and Gojo pushed back even harder, demanding you make room for him in your life because he wasn’t leaving it anytime soon.

Some might say he wore you down, but really you started to enjoy him. He’s ridiculous and funny and irresponsible and a flirt, and it’s nice to have someone bring so much color into your life when you have difficulty making your own. He’s a lot , but you can’t say that whenever he’s around, you’re unhappy. Annoyed, sure, but never unhappy.

With the food started, you get their drinks in order. Thankfully, you sell beverages aside from alcohol, as pick-me-ups for the sober friends that get dragged inside. You place everything on a tray and walk back out into the main room. Gojo’s talking loudly, of course, and normally you’d chide him for his volume but the place is empty, anyway. The kids seem enthralled by the story, except Megumi, who’s probably heard it a million times.

“And right when they think they’re done for, because they’re surrounded and have completely drained themselves like the idiots they were—” You know this story. You’d lived it, actually.

In your third year at Jujutsu High, a few second years were incredibly eager to move up in rank. They’d sneaked into the principal’s office and stolen records on some of the most dangerous, un-exorcised curses in the area and stockpiled on cursed tools. Their thought process had been that if they were all together, it’d be easier to triumph over the curses, and their spots as Second Grade Jujutsu Sorcerers would be guaranteed.

People were always more likely to gossip around you if you kept to yourself, so you’d heard about it rather quickly when they set out to defeat those higher grade curses. You’d realized that if you took the time to tell someone, they’d be dead before any proper sorcerers could come to intervene. So you’d set off after them.

Now, you were nowhere near Gojo’s level of sorcery, but you’d been classified as a Second Grade during your first year. You’d been content with that. No point in pushing yourself harder and getting killed.

But you’d watched class numbers dwindle as Jujutsu Sorcerers met violent ends, and it didn’t sit right with you to do nothing. You’d called Gojo, frantic, but he’d been on a mission overseas and couldn’t answer. (Later, when he’d heard what you’d done, he’d vow never to miss any of your calls, for fear that he might miss seeing something like that again.)

As he’d said, the idiots had gotten themselves surrounded by higher grade curses. Their tools were broken. They were weak. One was already dead by the time you arrived.

You’d been angry at them, angry at yourself for being too late, and angry at this stupid profession for making kids want to put themselves at risk. You don’t really remember doing it, but you’d channeled all of that anger into cursed energy.

“The students likened it to a bomb,” Gojo finishes as he takes a sip of his soda. “She saved all of them and exorcised the curses, too. Was promoted to Grade One the very next day!”

Your face goes hot as he sings your praises, and the students are looking at you like you’re a marvel. You wave a hand, uncomfortable with all the attention. “It was a long time ago,” Is all you can think to say, before retreating into the kitchen.

That’s another thing about Gojo—he’ll never let you be. He’s always bragging about you. You don’t care for validation or admiration. You want to keep your head down and keep moving, but he won’t quit. He thinks you deserve it, since you’re “so powerful,” but you don’t view yourself that way.

Your phone starts buzzing in your back pocket, and you pull it out to read the caller ID. Nanami Kento. You know you haven’t done anything wrong, but you still feel like you’re in trouble as you press the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hello, (Y/N),” Nanami greets from the other end. He’s younger than you, but leagues more mature, and every conversation you have with him feels just slightly like talking to a parent. “Is Gojo with you?”

Oh. Thankfully, this isn’t about you. “Yeah, unfortunately,” You reply. “He brought the students, too.”

“To a bar?”

You smile, even though Nanami can’t see it. “I’ve already gone through the motions, don’t worry.”

“It’s always something with him,” He sighs, and you imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tell him he needs to get back to Jujutsu High immediately. He isn’t answering my phone calls.”

That’s probably due to the same reason Nanami is calling. “Alright. What d’you need him for?”

“He’s got a mountain of paperwork sitting on his desk and I will not be doing it for him. Tell him this isn’t high school and we aren’t partners. I will not take over in areas he’s lacking.”

“Paperwork and this isn’t high school,” You repeat, a slight smile on your face. “Got it.”

“Thank you, (Y/N). Goodbye.”

“Bye, Nanami.”

The kitchen doors swing open as your call ends, and you watch as Gojo ducks to enter. He smiles at you, his hands casually shoved into his pockets. “Need help?” He offers.

“No,” You reply, mostly because Gojo is absolutely useless in the kitchen. When it comes to food, all he’s good for is picking up the tab. “Nanami’s mad at you.”

Gojo pouts, crossing the tile floor to stand at your side as you chop up vegetables for Nobara’s chicken salad. “What’d I do?”

“He said you’ve got to get back to Jujutsu High because of all the paperwork you have to do.”

Gojo laughs. “It’s probably driving him so crazy that he’s doing it for me right now.”

“He very specifically said that this isn’t high school and he wasn’t going to be doing it for you.” You point your knife at him. “If I hear you’re not being nice to Nanami one more time —”

“Fine, fine,” Gojo sighs. He moves to stand behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle as he hunches over to rest his chin on your shoulder. “I’ll head straight back to Jujutsu High, I promise. Right after lunch.”

He’s always been…touchy like this, ever since you were teenagers. Always wanting to hold onto you, whether it be your hand or sleeve or the strap of your bag. As the two of you became more comfortable, he’d taken to throwing an arm around your shoulders or squeezing you into hugs. He’d press kisses to your cheeks and forehead that he’d swear were just “friendly” if you tried to squirm away.

“I can make these carry out, you know.”

“Absolutely not! You’ve got to sit with us. My students are very eager to learn from you.”

You frown, reaching for the spices, and Gojo moves with you. “I don’t see what I can teach them that you can’t.” You were a First Grade sorcerer, sure, but your powers paled in comparison to Gojo’s. That’s why he was a teacher and you weren’t. People could learn a lot from him.

“I’m trying to show them the different career options they have. Their life doesn’t have to be nearly as amazing as mine. They could be like you, stay in one area and make a living for themselves.”

It comes across a bit rude, but you know he doesn’t mean to be that way. Still, you pinch his arm, smiling as he hisses from the sharp pain. “Don’t say things like that to other people. You’re inferring that my life isn’t as amazing as yours.”

You can tell he’s thinking, working through the implications in his head. “That’s not—”

“I know,” You turn just slightly to look at him. Sometimes you like that he keeps his eyes covered. Gojo’s an intense person, and it makes things even moreso when you can see the bright blue of his irises. “Just a warning.”

You turn back to your task quickly, the kiss that Gojo was trying to sneak landing square on your cheek. Neither of you say anything. He simply watches as you prepare meals for his students.

You know that he’s in love with you. He has been for a very, very long time. And you know that you love him too, in the exact same way he wants. But Gojo Satoru is the type of person who enjoys thrills. What happens when the thrill of you being just out of his reach ends?

Does the affection end, too? Do you lose moments like these, with his arms wrapped around you in comfortable silence? Do you lose late night phone calls and screaming at him or with him and the feeling that no matter where you go, he’ll always be within reach?

Is it worth the risk of losing him? Who do you have after that? Who would you even want, if not him?

You exhale a deep breath as you finish cooking the last meal. “Get off, you sasquatch,” You say, but your nudge is gentle. “I need to get these plated before your students die of starvation.”

Gojo stands to his full height and smiles at you, but it’s pensive, as if he’s been thinking, too. His finger twists around a loose strand of your hair. You mind your business because you’re not sure if you want to know what’s bouncing around that head of his.

--- --- ---

Something is very wrong the next time you see him.

Gojo doesn’t stop by unannounced very often. Well, he does, but he’ll usually give you a call to let you know he’s waiting on your doorstep. Or a text with a house emoji, followed by an exclamation point. House emoji followed by a question mark is him asking if you’d like to come over to his.

Your door is still locked, but you can tell he’s there as soon as you enter. His shoes are by the threshold. His jacket is hung on the coat rack. He’s only been like this a handful of times, so you kick off your shoes and proceed with caution. Today is not the day for petty jabs.

He’s stretched out on your couch. You’d bought it with him in mind, extra long so he could be comfortable on the nights he ended up crashing on it. (You always left him on the couch, but in the middle of the night he’d come shuffling into your room, sleepily slipping beneath the covers.) His blindfold is tossed haphazardly on the coffee table and his eyes are closed. He’s asleep.

Quietly, you set your groceries on the counter. Something must have gone very wrong if he’s fallen asleep waiting for you to get back. Closing took longer than usual, due to a particularly nasty curse that had decided to take up residence in the women’s bathroom.

You shrug off your coat and lay it on one of the barstools. You’d forget it if you actually put it where it’s supposed to go. Making your way around the couch, you sit on the edge of the coffee table. “Satoru,” You whisper, placing a hand on his arm.

White eyelashes flutter and his bright blue eyes are opening. He tenses with the surprise from being woken up, but settles once he realizes it’s you. “Morning,” His voice is raspy. How long has he been asleep?

You don’t correct him, because technically he’s right. It is morning, almost three in the morning, in fact. Your brows furrow as you lean forward to brush the hair from his eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

Gojo grunts as he sits up. Even seated, he towers over you. He rubs his eyes as he says, “The kid died.”

You feel a chill creep over you. You don’t need to ask him who. He’s told you enough about the situation that you know he’s talking about Itadori.

“How?”

Gojo looks at you. You’ve seen his eyes countless times, but their appearance never fails to take your breath away. Bright and depthless, blue had never been a favorite color of yours until you met him. “Higher ups sent me away on a mission, then had the first years go in to retrieve survivors from a Special Grade.”

Anger flashes through you. You share a lot of Gojo’s sentiments on the way things are run in your community. It’s tradition, yes, but sometimes tradition is garbage. Sometimes tradition gets people killed. It’s exactly why you stopped taking missions in the first place. People who haven’t been out in the field in years have no business ordering others around.

You squeeze Gojo’s hand. You only knew Itadori for about a month, but he was indeed a sweet kid, vessel or not. You can tell Gojo cared for him a lot. So his pain is your pain.

“I’m so sorry,” You tell him. You aren’t very good with words, but after so long, you know what helps. You switch places, tucking your legs beneath yourself as you sit beside him on the couch. Your arm wraps around his shoulders and you pull him down gently, so he can curl into you the way you know he needs to.

He holds you tight, tucking his face into your neck. He’s feeling the weight of responsibility, of regret, of shame. He thinks this is all his fault, because Gojo Satoru is the strongest. If he had been there, none of this would have happened.

You know it isn’t his fault, not in the slightest, but you also know that he’s not quite ready to hear that yet. It’s okay to sit with the sadness for a while. You rest your cheek against his head, carding his soft white hair through your fingers.

The two of you stay like that for a long time. He tells you more about what happened. You remain quiet, letting him talk through it.

Most people might think that he’s only upset because he’s lost the best chance the world has at getting rid of Sukuna once and for all. But most people don’t know Gojo the way you do. Most people can’t tell that he’s trying to hold back tears because a kid lost their life for no reason. A kid he was responsible for.

“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” You say softly, fingernails scratching gently against his back. “We’ll make this right, I promise. Itadori’s death won’t be in vain.”

“We will?” His voice is muffled against your chest, but you can tell what he’s asking. You nod.

“I’ll come back,” You tell him. “I’ll help you.”

“You hate Jujutsu High.”

“Yeah, but I don’t hate you.”

Gojo looks up at you, bright blue eyes boring deeply into yours. Your faces are close, your noses nearly touching. If you wanted to change everything, you could kiss him right now.

You reason that will just make things worse. So you smile at him and give him a nice, friendly pat on the cheek. “How about we go to bed, hm? I’ve still got a toothbrush here for you.”

You move out from under him, walking to the bathroom. Normally you’d shower as soon as you get home, but you’re too exhausted to even think about putting in any more effort than you have to. A few minutes later, Gojo joins you.

It’s painfully domestic, doing a nighttime routine with him. He uses your products to wash his face, brushes his teeth with his toothbrush that hasn’t moved from the cup you house them in.

Despite your bathroom being small, Gojo keeps close to you. A hand on your hip, or your shirt, or twirling in your hair. Any other day, you’d bat him away. Tonight, you decide to give him a little grace.

It’s pity that has you offering your bed instead of the couch, and definitely not the fact that you’re looking forward to cuddling up to him. He always crawls into your bed halfway through the night anyway, so the both of you might as well stop pretending it isn’t going to happen. Gojo grins at you, the first one you’ve seen all night, and you roll your eyes as you move to your closet to get the both of you pajamas.

Your choice is an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft shorts, while you grab flannel pants for him. The first night he’d slept over, years ago, he’d argued that he prefers to sleep in the nude. You’d quickly countered that it wasn’t happening, so the two of you found a happy medium in him keeping his pants on but not having to wear a shirt. It made you blush madly, but you usually turned the lights off before he could see.

Once changed, you turn off your lamp and crawl into the paradise that is your bed. You’ve spent most of your money to make sure your home is nice, since it’s where you spend the majority of your time outside of work. You’ve splurged on many sets of sheets, but as you settle beneath the blanket, you can’t bring yourself to regret it.

Gojo finds you in the darkness. An arm slips under your body, wrapping around your waist to pull you closer to him. You fit easily into his side. You tangle yourself in him, wrapping a leg around his own and draping your arm across his abdomen as your head rests on his chest. His heartbeat is beneath your ear. It’s a reminder that even he is human.

You exhale, letting your eyes shut. You’re both pretending like this is normal. That this is something friends usually do. “Night, Gojo,” You murmur. He hums a response, already on the verge of sleep.

You wake the next morning in the same position. Your back feels stiff from not having moved the whole night. The stickiness on your cheek indicates that you probably drooled in your sleep. Embarrassing.

Blinking through the bright morning light, you lift your head, peering up at him. His face is turned away from you, but he’s still sound asleep. His lips are slightly parted as puffs of air pass between them. You think he looks prettiest like this. Very peaceful, with no irritating remarks making their way out of his mouth.

It’s a sight to wake up to. Would it be so bad, seeing it every day? No—still only once in a while, since work is troublesome for the both of you. Even in the best months, you only see Gojo a few times.

Still, you meant what you said the night before. You’ll be a stand-up Jujutsu Sorcerer for him if that’s what he needs. You’ll probably see him a lot more than you do now.

You sigh, resting your chin on his chest. You aren’t kids anymore. You’re not old, but lifespans are unpredictable. You don’t think there’s much that can kill Gojo, but there’s a lot that can kill you. You should take this leap. You know he feels the same, even if you act like you don’t.

You’ve wondered why Gojo hasn’t said anything regarding this limbo you’ve been in for years, but you know the truth. He wants you to be ready. Patience isn’t a word commonly associated with him, but when it comes to you, he’ll wait.

You aren’t the reckless sort. You don’t charge ahead blindly. You’re not very good at taking risks. Gojo knows this, and that’s why he keeps quiet. It’ll really mean something that way, whenever you decide to tell him. How incredibly vain of him.

“You’re watching me sleep,” He says, voice coming out in a song, and it startles you. How long has he been awake? You frown at his teasing and move to get out of his grasp, but his hold only tightens. He chuckles, turning on his side so you’re facing each other. “Did I look cute?”

You’re too close to him and your face burns, but there’s no escape. “I was trying to see if you had a booger in your nose,” You lie.

Gojo hums, opening his eyes. You’re the first thing he sees this morning, and his mouth is curling into a smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine,” You reply. “You?”

“Fantastic. Can I steal these sheets? They’re really soft.”

“I can send you the link to the website. They’re expensive, though.” As if Gojo worries about that sort of thing.

He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Are you hungry?” He asks the question like he’s the host, not you.

“Maybe in a bit.” Truthfully, you don’t want to get out of bed. Gojo is warm, and his fingernails are scratching your scalp just behind your ear in a way that makes your eyelids flutter shut. “What time is it?” You’re starting to feel sleepy again.

“Hmm, eight?”

“Too early to be awake.” You huddle further into the covers, rest your forehead against his chest. You should get up and start your day. You’ve gotta start thinking about your affairs, after all, if you’re going to be a sorcerer full time again.

But the idea of leaving this moment physically pains you. You know Gojo will have to leave soon, will have to handle his responsibilities, but you want to keep him here for a little while longer. You sigh. It’s selfish of you to do this now, but he always tells you you’re not nearly selfish enough.

You pull away from him, looking up into his eyes once more. If you’re going to do this, you’re not going to cower away from it. You’re going to see the look on his face, dammit.

Right now, his eyes are half-open, staring down at you. You think he might be thinking of kissing you. You hope he is. Licking your lips, you say, “Satoru.”

His eyes widen, ever so slightly. If you’re using his name, you’re serious. White brows furrow, and there’s a slight pout to his mouth. He’s poised to protest whatever demand you have of him.

“I’m in love with you.”

He isn’t expecting it, and it almost makes you smirk to throw him off guard. His mouth falls open a bit in surprise. It seems like for once in his life, Gojo Satoru is speechless.

It lasts just long enough to make you wonder if you’ve made a big mistake, but then he’s speaking to you. “Say it again?”

You huff, frowning up at him as your already warm face grows even hotter. “Satoru—”

“Please?”

You swallow and oblige him. “I’m in love with you.”

His grin is wide. “Again!”

“No! I’ve said it twice now and you haven’t said anything— ” Gojo quiets you with a kiss, molding his lips against yours. He’s excited and so eager as he strokes his tongue into your mouth. He’s waited a long time, likely dreamed of this moment, and you smile against him.

“I knew it!” Gojo says as he pulls away. He shifts your bodies so he’s hovering over you, caging you beneath him. “Everyone said you’re too good for me, and you are, of course, but I knew.”

“Are you going to keep gloating?” You ask him. He nods, and he looks so happy your heart twists in your chest.

“First step is to gloat,” He kisses you again, and when he pulls away it’s like you’re both pained to separate. “Then I kiss you, and then I’ll tell you that I’ve loved you for twelve years.”

You scrunch your nose. “Only twelve? I’ve known you for thirteen.”

“You were rather mean to me at the beginning, there. Took me a while to figure out why I liked it so much.”

You laugh, loud and freely, and Gojo’s heart is so full it might burst. He kisses you again, and again, and again, until you’re both panting and questioning how fast a relationship that’s been in the works for over a decade should go.

Later in the day, Nanami Kento receives a call from Gojo. All the sorcerer says is, “I was right!” before hanging up. Gojo’s never been the vague sort, but Nanami smiles to himself. He has a feeling he knows what those three words are in reference to. He opens his text thread to you and types,

Best of luck.

#satoru gojo x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #writing

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ghostdrinkssoup · 2 years

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thinking about abigail’s character again and I think the way point of view is handled in nbc hannibal is really interesting when you’re trying to understand her character, since a lot of what we see is filtered through either will’s misplaced attachment to her or hannibal’s projections. it’s hard to see abigail’s true self and/or nature because half of what we see is unreliable. like, will refuses to think she was the bait and so we, the audience, also believe this to be true, even though when it’s revealed she actually was the bait it makes all the sense in the world. but it’s still shocking to us because our perception of her is warped as a consequence of being in will’s pov most of the time. not only that, but the nature of this reveal is arguably softened later on when will dreams he’s teaching abigail how to fish in s2a, and literally names his bait after her because of how much he “cherishes” her

all of this is to say in a show that’s all about identity and revealing (and understanding) the self, and the grotesque connection between will and hannibal, who are understood by no one but each other, abigail’s character is super interesting as a means to explore the layers of how people falsely perceive us. she’s complex because she’s not the innocent person will (or alana for that matter) perceives her to be, but she’s also not the ruthless murderer that hannibal (or again, jack) hopes she is. she’s just a traumatised kid who was raised by a psychopathic cannibal. not only that, but she’s the unwilling victim of both her surrogate father’s projections. first will, who projects his need for comfort, family, and acceptance onto her, as well as the hope that his morality is still intact, all factors which are complicated when he confuses his sense of self with the identity of garret jacob hobbs. and evidently by murdering him, and leaving abigail orphaned, feelings of shame and guilt also influence the nature of his projections. but then you have hannibal, who projects his attachment to mischa onto her, as well as his grief. and like will, this is all complicated by his own human need for comfort, family, and acceptance

but if you peel all that away, and get to the core of it, the key similarity between will and hannibal’s projections is a want for acceptance, and then forgiveness, which, as we see in s3, is synonymous to love. essentially, these are two characters who are undoubtedly monstrous, yet retain their humanity due to that universal longing to love and be loved, in whatever twisted form they are capable

I mean, the whole concept of the murder family is so sad because I think it reveals how damaged both will and hannibal are, beyond the show’s literal gothic horror. cannibalism, bloodshed, manipulation, playing the devil, grotesque thoughts and fantasies concerning murder, etc are all obvious reasons why these characters are fucked up mentally, but that’s also a consequence of the genre. to me, the true horror of the show is very much embedded in the psychological, and how will and hannibal are so lonely and isolated that they would wish to have this family circle “in some other world” because they thought they’d found someone who also understood them, someone they could nurture and take care of. but, as we know, this is all an illusion. will repeatedly says he thinks he’d make a good father, but he’s self-destructive and so is hannibal, and so it’s no wonder abigail dies the way that she does. she never had a chance with them. if anything, if she represents the self we project onto others, a fantasy standing in the way of the truth of our natures, which is shaped by human frailty, then her death is also the death of these idealistic delusions. it’s why in s3a, when will is still desperately trying to hold onto her, she’s nothing more than a ghost. and it’s why when he finally accepts this he goes to hannibal’s childhood estate, because, as he tells him when they reunite in the gallery, “I wanted to understand you, before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be clear, what I was seeing”

#ooo I didn’t mean for this to be another meta post but hello !! these are my abigail thoughts #will was delusional and mentally ill from s1 and abigail’s whole character exposes that #at first I kinda wished she was more developed? but then I thought about it again #and I think her lack of development is actually super effective in showing how little anyone really sees her #we’re barely ever afforded her pov #arguably the person who saw her most clearly is freddie lounds #is that a controversial take? I think it’s true though #freddie lounds was the least delusional character in the show #she knew what was up from day 1 #anyway abigail is tragic as hell is my conclusion #hannibal #nbc hannibal #will graham #abigail hobbs #murder family #hannigram #hannibal meta #long post #ghost speaks

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thirty4miracles · 4 months

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it is pretty refreshing to see kids being better adapted to new technologies portrayed as something positive. however, i'm noticing a very clear pattern in the narration - ageism (lol) (but fr tho)

being young is held up as the ideal - they're smarter, more adaptable, more flexible in their thinking, they're evolving at a ever fast pace. they're innocent, they're full of hope and love, (they're naive and impressionable. moldable. usable.) capable but unable to make the real decisions.

being old is synonymous with being backwards thinking, stuck in the past, unable to evolve meaningfully. they're cruel and manipulative. they're decrepit and barely functional in these modern times, yet they hold all the power.

that's how it always was and always will be, i guess.

i wonder how this will be further explored. is this just indicative of the narration of a prideful youth? perhaps the narration is trying to butter us up? or encouraging us to take part in this generational divide only to pull out the rug from under us later? is it a sort of.. cue to tell us when something is to be trusted? (Kizuna is specifically mentioned to have been made by and being favored by young people. The story is largely reliant on this system. It stands to reason to think that this sort of thing can be easily manipulated, hacked and otherwise messed with. But that would also mean a large chunk of the text wouldn't be "trustworthy". Is he telling us to be suspicious or to relax... hmmm)

food for thought maybe

#34rereads ciconia #ciconia no naku koro ni

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carterkeller1234 · 2 months

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Grave of the Fireflies 2/21/24

I mean, wow, you were not kidding about this movie being even more depressing than Barefoot Gen. The fact that this movie still possessed the same whimsical and gorgeous art style so synonymous with Studio Ghibli only made this movie hurt so much more. This movie covers the very tumultuous period of WWII from the Japanese perspective of two children, Setsuko and Seita orphaned by circumstance. This unfavorable position leads to them having to forcefully move through Japan to avoid air raids and stay with family members before eventually settling in a nearby abandoned bomb shelter. This movie oozes desperation for its entire run time, so much so that even though the movie begins with Seita proclaiming the day he died on, I still found myself rooting for them to pull through and survive the struggles. This obviously pushes an anti-war narrative, showcasing the horror of wars and most importantly the scarring aftereffects that the innocent bystanders are left to deal with. Sequences like the fire bombings are so inherently destructive and all-encompassing that a lot of the shots in first act are entirely flat plains to replace where the thriving town used to be before the bombing runs. I have to discuss how Studio Ghibli masterfully uses colors to illustrate its messages and narrative, the red light glowing on Seita and Setsuko illustrating their ghostly forms remembering their troubled life contrasts with the overwhelming blue and darker tones to signify the depressing environment the children are surrounded by. That and the many flashing sequences of light further showcase the awe-inspiring destruction that war causes in the signature style of Studio Ghibli's wonderfully simplistic but nuanced art-style. This movie itself is best summarized by the titular creature, fireflies. What I mean by this, is that fireflies provide light and a hopeful ideal to children like Seita and Setsuko so much so that they even point out how plentiful they are early on into the movie. They bring them into the encampment to light up their new home and bring themselves a joy and hope for a better tomorrow. However, like life, it was short lives, as the fireflies all died and Setsuko buries them as she reveals she was aware of their mother's death, allowing Seita to finally break his strong exterior to finally mourn his mother's passing unabated. These fireflies brought these children hope as they represented all the joy in their life, but the circumstances of war stripped them of their simple joys and treasures they once had, causing them to die and dull just as the two orphans would become by the end of the movie. To finish off, even if the two children passed and it has one of the most depressing endings in cinematic history, there's a melancholic optimism present with the final shot of them looking onto a then modern-day Japan, showcasing that even when such horrendous damage may be done, a scarred landscape can return to the beauty it once had.

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coghive · 2 years

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[Album] New Hollywood - WHATUPRG

Atlanta rapper, producer, and designer, WHATUPRG’s, name is synonymous with innovation and authenticity. His trademark combination of Latin rhythms, trap hip-hop, flawless lyricism, and captivating storytelling has enshrined him as an elite amongst his peers emerging from the Christian music scene. Still, his art is too eclectic for the limits of any sub-genre. After releasing two singles “KIDS,” and “PRAISE!,” WHATUPRG invites listeners to experience the ever-evolving world of NEW HOLLYWOOD! His new album, NEW HOLLYWOOD, captures the quintessential nature of what listeners truly desire from the musical artform: an experience in which the trained artist channels his or her ability to respond to deep human emotion. Each track is a visceral experience. Every chord, bassline, lyric, and melody contributes a delicate stroke of paint to the album’s canvas of human experience. An aural and visual masterpiece that is just as much specific as it is universal.“New Hollywood is a place where you don’t have to act and you can just be yourself. Being yourself is enough!” shares RG. “I wanted to create music that could be a friend for people. I wanted to help them know when they hit rock bottom, even then, they’re not alone.” Sonically, on New Hollywood, there are masterful records like the first single, “KIDS,” which carries the album’s thesis, chanting “We don’t pretend no more” and “kids don’t die we go up high”, over punching 808 drums and haunting synths. The star-studded song, “PRAISE,” marked his second song released from New Hollywood and features WHATUPRG alongside nine CHH artists: Foggieraw, Ty Brasel, Parris Chariz, NOT KLYDE, 1K Phew, Aha Gazelle, 350, Kaleb Mitchell, and a brand-new verse from NOBIGDYL. WHATUPRG released the original audio after a stroke of inspiration led him to rally collaborators to record the song. In just 24 hours, the song was recorded, mixed, mastered, and released on SoundCloud, just in time for the celebration of his 25th birthday earlier this year.

The albums stand out record “HUMAN” takes the listener outside the conventional rap production style featuring WHATUPRG’s confessional riff over guitar chords. The lyrics, “You clear the storm in my mind, you bring me back to life,” and “If I show you the worst would you stay and rock and roll?” showcase his innovative wordplay. The record finishes with a back and forth featuring rapper Rhomar Jessie. The two float back and forth with lines like, “It feels like they killin’ innocence for the hell of it, separating kids from their parents ‘cause they immigrants” and “Coulda been the next Malcolm X, Dr. King but I’m tucked in my bed while I sleep on my dreams.” Each line describes their anguish watching the troubles of the world and feeling helpless to do more. “NEED YOU” finds RG processing his desire to be holy but feeling far from it. He describes trying to process life and getting stuck in the dark. “Hella jaded, medicated, I’m surprised I’m still alive all the things I’ve taken.” and “I’m surprised I still believe in God, I gotta say it,” he raps. “On NEED YOU, I’m declaring to God that I need Him”. On “MELATONIN,” electric guitars carry WHATUPRG’s haunting melodies as he chants “when I’m up all morning tossing and turning, I been up losing sleep, all this melatonin takes me up slowly take me up slowly, please.” Processing his internal struggles and the strife of the outside world has left him unable to sleep. This record is the soundtrack to those sleepless nights. Drug abuse, deep feelings of loneliness, and the need to truly experience love, are all central themes to the album. New Hollywood is the Gospel according to WHATUPRG. Through powerful sonic delivery, listeners will experience a creative powerhouse transparently aligning with a generation questioning their responsibility to make the world a better place as well as the true peace all followers of Jesus hope to find through faith. To all who are weary and heavy burdened, welcome to NEW HOLLYWOOD. https://open.spotify.com/album/7BVSP15gMNXLl3DnJkyyjc?si=5cdd52dd40964402 Read the full article

#WHATUPRG

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rockets-and-raccoons · 3 years

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Ruby's broadcast might bring a United Remenant to Atlas, but Whitley's gonna single-handedly unite Mantle and Atlas before the reinforcements arrive.

#i bet Jaques is gonna flip his shit when he finds out #'whitley why on earth didnt you contact my legal team'#'sorry father i hacked into your computer to use your credentials to use the SDC to save everyone in Mantle'#rwby #rwby v8 #rwby spoilers #ruby rose #whitley schnee #look i am NEVER getting over this boy #hes so pure and so good and just wants to help #i feel like its so important that it is the 14 year old kid who brings everyone together too #Whitley has been abused and abandoned and yet the desire to to good and be good is such an innocent act #hes a kid and kids are synonymous with innocence and hope #and he's just out there revealing that despite the mask he wears he is still just a kid who has that innocent belief in being and doing goo #and handing out hope to the people trapped in Mantle #the whole story of RWBY is that acts of kindness are more powerful than acts of fear #and out of the kindness of his heart Whitley Schnee is trying to save Mantle #what an impact that will have #ruby might be the most famous huntress in the world #but Whitley's going to be hailed the hero of Solitas - should he take credit for his idea #something tells me that it's going to be a Schnee victory (should the plan work) and not just a Whitley victory #bc he's a kid who seems to be happy to say 'we' when it involves what is technically His Inheritance #he and Weiss seem to be a team capable of changing Solitas for the better #whitley and weiss are gonna save the schnee family name as a family and i am here for it

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iwhishtomeetinournextlife · 3 years

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An anonymous lover (part 3)

Summary : Y/N sees Sirius Black running away after a particularly rough letter from his mother. She wants to cheer him up and decide to send him a letter, anymously, she knows how much he hates her house.

Warnings : Slytherin!Reader, female!reader, Sirius and James critisizing Slytherins (and Y/N), not proof read

Word count : 1.9K

Part 1 - Part 2 - You're here - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

English is not my first language, sorry if there is any mistakes

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

Y/N had transfiguration class next, it was usually the class were she would sat down next to Lily Evans. The two young women liked each other quite well, they weren’t the closest, each having there own group of friends, but it wasn’t that rare for the two of them to study together, or to talk for hour, saying things they felt they couldn’t tell to the people they were the closest to.

That’s how Y/N found out Lily actually quite liked James Potter, and the rest of the marauders, despite being a bit hard on them. And that’s how Lily found out about some of Y/N’s little secrets, like the chocolate she hides in some classes to snack during lessons or that time she stole back one of her belonging from Finch’s office. Despite being part of his favorite house, the caretaker didn’t liked her much.

When Y/N entered the classroom and greeted her professor, she quickly spoted Lily to sat down with her, her being at their usual stop. But when she was about to put her stuff down, someone else hurried to take the spot. Y/N was about to face the intruder, but her words got stuck in her throat when she saw who it was; Sirius !

“What are doing here, Black ?”, Lily on the other hand, despite being happy to see him again, was not going to let him do what he wants. “What Evans ? Not happy to see me ?”, Sirius did an exagerate pout before throwing an arm around her, “that hurt my feelings, I thought you’d be more caring”

“The sit was already taken !”, Lily tried to push him away, with a hand on his face as he was getting dangerously close. At that, Sirius turned to you, “Oh but you don’t mind, right Y/L/N ?”. Before Y/N was even able to form a thought, McGonagall interrupt them. “If you don’t mind, Miss Y/L/N, I would like to start my class”. She got all red. “Sorry Professor”, she then looked around and sat down at the only seat left, who happen to be right next to James.

Once she was at her seat and Mrs McGonagall started her class, she looked at Sirius and Lily, the black-haired was throwing a big smile at their table, but she was unsure if it was to her as a thank you for the spot –he had stolen-, or to James. Y/N then looked at the boy next to her, a bit confused, shouldn’t it be him trying to sit down next to Lily ? James simply respond with an innocent smile before looking at the whiteboard, to try to pay a bit attention to what the professor was saying.

She looked at Sirius again for a few seconds and smiled to herself, looking at what the professor was writting. She was happy to see Sirius was doing better, was it thanks to her letter ? She blushed at the idea, no, it couldn’t be. Sirius was a strong person, always getting up, he was probably already doing better even before receiving the letter. Maybe he didn’t even got it ! She heard Sirius and Lily talked a bit during class but didn’t think of it to much, he was quite the chatty person, always something to say.

“Shit, can I look at your notes for a sec ? I missed the last bit” James was turned to her, Y/N her eyes widen a little, but then she just chuckled. “Sure” She then turn the paper for him to look; “Th-” but he stop when he looked at it, “wh- How can you read this ?!” he talked a bit too loudly and McGonagall scolded him “Mr Potter quiet !”, “Sorry Professor”.

He turned to her again and talked way more quietly this time, “How can you read this ?”, she smiled and respond with a fake wise man voice “I was there when it was written”, James rolled his eyes and she laught at that, “Here, let me help you”, Y/N told him what was written so he could catch up, he thanked her, the rest of the class went smoothly.

Contrary to what people might think when they found out Y/N loved writing letters, she didn’t actually have much of good handwritting on the daily. When she would send messages, she would take her time, appreciating the moment, but in class ? She had to be quick, write all she could with her own note taking system, if you were able to puzzle out the words it was quite helpful, but only a few people were able to do so.

Even professors had a hard time, it wasn’t as bad as her notes but still could be impossible at moment. Many times have some of them asked her to rewrite the whole essay, one even threaten her to not marked it at all and failed her. After that, she made sure to be just a tad more carring of her homework and tests.

At the end of the period, Y/N calmly put her supplies away, contrary to James who stuffed everything in his bag before joinning Sirius at the door, looking like they were waiting for something. As for Y/N, she went to Lily, they were suppose to study together as class stopped early today –poor Professor Slughorn had a burst of Gargoyle fever-.

“So, do we go to the library ?”, Lily felt a bit embarassed “I’m so sorry Y/N I can’t go today, I have to help Sirius-” she looked over and saw James was there too, she sighed, “-and James with something, is that okay ?”. Y/N’s looked soften, “Of course, there’s no problem ! We could always do that another time”, Lily had a big smile “You’re the best”, Y/N flipped her hair in a faux attempt of looking snob, “I know”, they laughted and then went their separated way after saying goodbye.

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Lily, Sirius and James all went to the boy’s dorm so she could take a look at the letter, so far, it was Sirius’ best shot to know the identity of his mysterious penpal, he really hoped he will be able to find out who it was.

“Take that smug away Potter, I’m only helping Sirius because he insisted a lot”, James simply put his hand in the air in front of him in a sign of peace, “Of course Evans, don’t you put any worries in that pretty head of yours, I had nothing in mind”.

Before Lily could reply, Sirius put his arm around her shoulders, “You’re a saint Evans ! Thanks you for helping me here, you’re my only chance right now to find the one I’m destined to be with !”, Lily rolled her eyes a bit, “If it’s one of your prank I’m going to hex you so hard your kids will feel it”.

The three students entered the dorm and Sirius sat on his bed. “Yeah yeah, of course, it’s not like you had anything better to do anyway”, Lily open her mouth in disbielive “I was suppose to study with Y/N !”, James scoffed, “Yeah, a slytherin, I don’t understand how you can be friend with her !”. Lily rolled her eyes, an habit she did quite a lot around the marauders, “She’s nice, not all slytherin are death eaters”

It was Sirius’ turn to mock her, “ ’might as well be synonym”. Lily hit him with a pillow, “And what would you do if it’s a slytherin your little anonymous lover ? Or Y/N even ?”. James laughed, “With a pig like handwritting like hers, imossible !”, Lily was now red of irritation from the two young men.

“Show me that dang letter so I can be done with you two !”. Sirius growled a bit and gave it to her, while she was reading he thought of the possibility of a slytherin being the one who send the letter and his nose scrunch at the idea. It wasn’t possible, no slytherin would want to cheer someone up, especially not him, or even to say nice things to anyone.

Then he thought of Y/N. Sure, she never did anything wrong to him, she even was nice enough to listen to him rembled with his anecdotes, she even looked like she was actually listening to him, and she was cute, and she smelled like parchment and roses, and her li-... No, that’s not possible. They barely talk together, never would have she known enough of him to write all those nice words, it was purely a polite relationship.

When Lily finished reading she pinched her nose and then sighed, “I’m sorry Sirius, but I don’t know who send you this”

The boy who was previously abstracedly playing with the “kiss”, jumped out of his bed in one motion to her friend. “What do you mean you don’t know ?? You’re their friend !”. Lily put a hand on his shoulder, “Listen, I didn’t recognize the handwriting, I don’t know anyone who can make drawing moves and the things said are not a secret to any of my friends, I’m sorry”.

Sirius let out a loud growl, throwing his head back, James sympathetically tapping his shoulder. He had such a pityful puppy face, Lily felt bad. This letter was full of love, no denying that, and clearly Sirius wanted to find the one who sended it. “Look, I can give you a list of the friends I talked to the most, that might help narrow it down and I would try to get information, alright ?”

Sirius’ face lighted up and he took Lily and James in a big bear hugs, “Thanks Evans, you really are a saint !”, Lily laught a bit “You already said that”. Sirius winked at her, “We should start with those who write with colored ink maybe ? There shoudn’t be that much people”. James shook his head, ”You don’t remember ? It’s actually very popular, so much, Minnie had to precise light colored ink were prohibited to use on tests and homeworks because some idiots started to use yellow ink”. Sirius had a bit grin on his face, “Then I guess we better get started, Prongs”

And that’s how mission “Anonymous lover” started, the marauders would try to gather information on Lily’s friends, on who might have or might have not write the letter, but they quickly found out none of her close friend had anything to do with it.

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

The rumors of Sirius searching for a mysterious penpal didn’t took long to reached Y/N. She was a bit shocked, why would he wants to meet her ? She didn’t thought he would tried to find her, she didn’t know what to do, she didn’t want him to be desappointed to found out it’s her. She had talked of it to noone, and she hoped that for now, there were no way to find her, she wanted to think about it for a bit on her own.

After debating with herself for a few day, she decided to have a bit of fun with it, watching Sirius looking for her at the complete wrong place was quite entertaining, and she wanted to try to have a chance to have Sirius to get to know her without the prejudice of her house on the way.

That night, she decided to write, and before classes the next day, she gave the letter to an owl, who would send it at lunch with the other owls. She couldn’t wait to see his face.

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

taglist : @blackpinkdolan

#sirius black x reader #marauders x reader #an anonymous lover #sirius x reader

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i-moved-blogs-ffs · 3 years

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Danganronpa request can a reader who is really kind and a sweetheart adopt the warriors of hope and helpem to forget they traumas and also can the reader beat the hell up the warriors of hope parents after everything they done to those innocents children's please

Of course, my darling! I love the WoH so much- I adopted them too, they're your adoptive siblings now so you all gotta get along ok-

These are probably gonna spiral into parenting headcanons because I cannot help myself- just let these kiddos have a happy home life man- :(

TW for mentions of abuse. It's nothing explicit, but it can be upsetting to some. Please be cautious.

Anyways, let's get started!

- 🌸🍭mod mikan🍭🌸

S/O adopting the WoH!

Now, we all know these kiddos had a bad time.

They were all abused in different ways, neglected, put down to the lowest point they could be.

Junko was like a light at the end of the tunnel for them, a savior - someone who cared, someone who they could trust, someone who loved them. But it was all lies.

She didn't care.

They couldn't trust her.

She didn't love them.

But then, you came around. At first, they thought you were like every other demon; evil, cold and uncaring.

And yet, there was this warmth radiating off of you... Almost like another light they could chase to get to true joy.

After Komaru and Toko defeated each of them, they felt lost. What were they supposed to do now that their empire has failed? Were the adults going to punish them, by abusing and taking advantage of them even further?

The group wandered the streets of Towa City, alone, hiding from every adult they could see and fending for themselves.

However, they stumbled upon you and Komaru. You two have been actively looking for them after finding out they survived.

But the reason why you were looking for them, was pretty unexpected.

You wanted to take them in as your own. They were just kids after all, no matter how much they tried to make themselves seem bigger. You wanted to help them, teach them that not everyone will hurt them, because they deserve to be loved like any other child does.

And so, they went with you. Very reluctantly mind you, but they didn't have much of a choice.

And as time went on, they opened up to you, one by one. And soon, you guys became like a happy family.

Somewhat dysfunctional, but still happy family.

Ok so, origin story's out of the way, now let's get in a bit deeper-

Parenting the Warriors is pretty hard- they each have something about themselves that you need to keep in mind.

And besides, taking care of 5 children wouldn't be easy even if they weren't traumatized-

You have to be patient, warm and kind to them, and to you that's no problem!

I would imagine Masaru would be the first to let his guard down around you, because he could tell that you weren't a bad person from the start.

He would start to admire you greatly, seeing you as the only cool adult around!!

He's always trying to impress you or get your attention because of that. And you always give him praise, telling him he's the most awesome kiddo ever!!

He always gets a bit bashful when you do, scratching his head as an "awhh, shucks!", escaping his lips.

He's very fond of you! He wants to do the things you do, like trying out your hobbies or imitating your mannerisms. He just wants to be as cool as you are.

While it is cute, you have to teach him that he's only the best when he's himself!

Kotoko was probably the second to open up. The first thing she noticed is that you never, ever used her trigger word in a sentence, not even on accident. You always used words like "soft", "tender" or "mallow", maybe even "delicate".

Not me looking up synonyms on thesaurus.com rn shHDHS

Like Masaru, her initial gut reaction always told her you were a good person, but the walls she had built up just couldn't let you in right away.

And when she does get comfortable, she becomes super clingy. She's almost as fond of you as Masaru is, honestly-

She always goes to you for any sort of help. She feels like you're the only person she can trust 100%, whether it be with her feelings or some other problem.

You're like- the only person who she's super nice to all the time. She used to be like that with Monaca, until you took them in.

Actually, speaking of that, they completely stopped literally worshipping Monaca's every move once you entered their lives.

Now, next up is Jataro. He initially thought you hated his every move, and that you only took him in because of pity.

But, you were proving him wrong every day. Going out of your way to talk to him, being so incredibly kind that it made his heart hurt.

You always help him out with his art! He loves when you sit down and paint, sculpt or draw with him, even if you're not artistic yourself. He feels like he's wanted, and all of that self-hatred almost completely washes away.

The biggest moment was when you finally convinced him to take off his mask. And when he did, you could tell he was way happier.

You two burned the mask together, leaving that part of his life behind you and turning over a new leaf.

And because of your influence, the rest of the kids are way nicer to him as well now!

Nagisa was the fourth one to take his guard down.

He saw how much Masaru, Kotoko and Jataro trusted you, and after observing you further, he began to see why.

He was always very distant from you, and you respected that. So, you were pleasantly surprised when he suddenly started going out of his way to help you, talk to you or spend time with you. However, you never questioned it, which made him relieved.

It's like you two silently agreed that you were cool with eachother.

He's very mature for his age, so he's the first one to try and help you with regular day-to-day tasks, even without you asking for said help.

Mans over here about to start doing your taxes HDHDH-

You always tell him to chill out, but he insists. He knows how much trouble he and his adoptive siblings are making for you, and it's his own way of thanking you.

Now, Monaca's a little interesting.

At first she was only pretending to care about you, like she did with the rest of the Warriors, but after a while she genuinely grew to love both you and her siblings.

She doesn't like the fact she cares one bit, but she can't help it.

She still has very manipulative tendencies, but you always see through them and her lies. You call her out on it, but never berate her.

She's very kiss ass-y, I guess?? Always complimenting you for the smallest reasons and calling you sweet nicknames.

She sometimes just wants to make you mess up to try and get herself to stop caring-

Like whenever a problem comes up, she always goes, "S/O can fix it!😌🙏 Our (affectionate parental term) dearest can do anything!🥰💞" and the rest of the kids are like "yah!!💖💕" because they love and support you while you're just there like🧍

Because no you can't rebuild the economy do you look like bob the fucking builder-

AnywaY their parents are already dead, so you guys beat up H*ji instead. :)

Ah, family bonding time. 💕

And done!! I love these little spawns of satan so much you guys don't even know- this was literally so fun to write that I think I got carried away a bit hshGhd- I hope this is ok!

Make sure to wash your hands, stay hydrated, take any meds you may need to and stay safe! You were so brave, have a lollipop! 🍭

#nurse!🍭#mod nurse🍭#mod mikan🍭#danganronpa x reader #danganronpa ultra despair girls #ultra despair girls x reader #masaru daimon #kotoko utsugi #jataro kemuri #nagisa shingetsu #monaca towa

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woeisme-iamwoe · 3 years

Text

an absolutely massive Haikyuu!! fic rec pt. 3

KageHina AND KuroKen because I’m very picky with these ships so there’s not a lot :/

KageHina:

The Cure for You (is You), by tsunderei (6k. T. canonverse)

Brooo...cute shit

Kageyama knew they would separate after graduation. He knew he was going to miss Hinata. He just didn’t know he’d still be here, three years later, nursing an old crush that now seems more or less ruined by time and distance and stupidity.

discovering the smile of one kageyama tobio, by emleewrites (8k. T. canonverse)

Innocence, pure innocence. Those are synonyms, shut up.

Kageyama blinks once before a grin of his own spreads over his face. Shouyou’s breath halts in his lungs at the sight, and he wills for time to stop, just so he can drink it in. He sees it sometimes, when they’re playing - Kageyama’s fierce smile when they pull a combo off just right, when they show their opponents how possible the impossible can really be. But then there’s another serve, another rally, and the moment is gone.

'Shame', Shouyou thinks to himself, as he lets his eyes roam over Kageyama’s stupidly happy face, taking in the creases that are from joy rather than frowning, for a change. 'It’s a really nice smile.'

In which it's their third, and final, year in high school and Hinata has only one goal: to make Kageyama smile outside of volleyball.

room to grow, by Mysecretfanmoments (6k. T. canonverse)

Third year Kageyama is considerate, careful, doesn't grab Hinata's hair. Hinata's still trying to figure out how he feels about it.

where the night goes, by bigspoonnoya (20k. M. canon-divergence)

This one is very popular, and for good reason! It's beautiful.

When their bond loses the immediate context of volleyball, they're left to consider why it's still so vital and important.

Meeting again, by chance, six years later.

thirty-three days of mist and mountains, by tinygumdrops (curryramyeon) (36k. T. canon-divergence)

Kageyama, that’s a lot of paper, sir. I sure hope you recycle, god damn.

Tobio runs by himself every day. Even though he can't shake off that awful feeling that something's closing in on him, he still does it. It's habit now.

When he gets a phone call that Hinata Shouyou is thinking of coming to Italy, Tobio feels like he has to run even faster.

(Or: Tobio has a month to prepare himself before his high school rival comes to visit him. They haven't spoken to each other for two years, and Tobio can't even remember what food Hinata likes. He's got a lot to think about.)

soft serve, by tothemoon (9k words. T. canonverse):

Alternatively, the fic that made me immediately go out and buy a pint of ice cream after reading. So cute and fluffy! We’ve got a socially awkward Kageyama and, if I may, a little bit of a subdued Hinata. Cute, cute, cute. Want ice cream.

"I'm gonna run you over with this truck," Kageyama says, with only half of his usual conviction.

(Because frankly, he's still flabbergasted that Hinata would remember his favorite flavor.)

Or, in which Kageyama and Hinata drive an ice cream truck for a week, the former struggles with a crush, and the latter dares to eat the popsicles without paying.

Fake it, Make it, by zadderlee (50k words. T. canonverse. Unfinished):

Ah yes, the classic fake dating that causes real feelings to arise. Here for the trope, will always be here for the trope. It is an unfinished fic, but it's still worth the read. Actually hilarious and Suga had me rolling. I take back what I said about only feeling safe alone with Iwa, I’d feel safe with Suga (lets be honest, with almost all of the Haikyuu boys. But not Atsumu. Rat bitch (I love him so much).

"Because Kageyama is already dating someone!"

"Really? Who?"

“Me!” Hinata shouts suddenly, grabbing Kageyama’s hand as an afterthought and grinning triumphantly, like he’s somehow missed the implications of what he’s just done. Kageyama is going to kill him.

touch, by buu (3k. T. canonverse)

Pure, young love. COVID-19 doesn’t exist yet. (WASH YOUR HANDS, DAMMIT)

Hinata doesn't notice it at first, really. It's small things, natural things, like when they sit together at lunch and Hinata ends up hooking his ankle over Kageyama's and he doesn't move away; in fact, he seems to not notice it, and go on eating his lunch like nothing's different.

we are the sparks that never fade, by thecivilunrest (4k. T. injury au)

A Kageyama injury fic and I never realized how painful that could be until I read this work.

The first thing Hinata tells him after seven years is, “Toss to me.”

confession, by buu (3k. T. canonverse)

Just a really short, sweet school-boy love fic.

“You've been an ass to me for three weeks!” Hinata blurts, and finally the weight of it is pushing down on him. He's been trying to ignore it, telling himself it's just Kageyama being Kageyama, but this isn't like him, this is weird, and Hinata hates it. He's miserable.

kisses, by buu (3k. T. canonverse)

So many smooches! So pure!

There's a blur and Hinata remembers warm lips, surprisingly soft from someone who frowns all the time, and Kageyama's terrified face when he pulls back, and the electricity running through Hinata's entire body, heating his cheeks to match Kageyama's.

Kissing, it turns out, is as good as volleyball.

Never More Cruel, by dawnstruck (3k. T. canonverse)

How have you not read this?? I know you haven't, so read it and smoosh in sweetness with me.

Hinata starts fading away from him, and Kageyama tells himself that he doesn't mind.

Kuroken:

teach me the way home, by icespyders (22k. T. canonverse)

WHY DOESN'T THIS HAVE MORE HITS??

Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

Good Calls, MemeKonHQ (MemeKonYA) (4k. T. canonverse)

Captain Kenma, captain Kenma!

His first morning practice as a third year starts with a blur of gray and red moving fast towards him on his peripheral vision the moment he sets foot inside the gym, and then a pair of lanky arms gracelessly falling over him as Lev contorts himself in all sorts of ways to properly envelop him like some sort of octopus.

“Kenma-san!” He basically screams, thankfully far away enough from his sensitive ears that it doesn’t outright hurt. Lev puts his chin over the crown of his head and Kenma sighs, “Kenma-san! I am so happy! Some of the other second years thought you would bail on us! But you didn’t! Now you can keep tossing to me.”

(Or: Kenma's third year. Or part of it.)

even if you're ahead for a bit, i will catch up, by ghostpot (4k. G. canonverse)

Kuroo sticking to it.

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

the golden route, by astersandstuff (12k. T. canonverse/road trip au)

Why is it so hard to find good kuroken fics? This is so good, though. Kenma and Kuroo in a van, on the road, kisses, and mackerel pike.

“It’s a three-and-a-half hour walk,” Kenma points out, on the subject of the cat’s home in a town inside Ama District. “Why aren’t we taking the train?”

“That cancels out the point of a road trip,” Kuroo argues.

“Railroads are roads.”

“We’re currently leading a frugal existence.”

Or, in which two childhood friends go on a road trip and Kenma builds up a quest.

love's not the way to treat a friend, by girltalk (8k. T. canonverse/post-canon)

How sweet! To be each other’s life lines. Drunk Bokuto is the best boy.

There’s really nothing quite as revelatory as the silent minutes spent in bed during the aftermath of a wet dream involving you and your high-school best friend.

the walk home, by skiecas (42k. T. canonverse)

Gorgeous. Author writes kurokens dynamic growing childhood through adulthood absolutely wonderfully.

Kenma reluctantly spoons vanilla into his mouth, watching the sun set. And when everything is dusted in stripes of pale orange and purple and gold, he glances at Kuroo’s profile muddled in the shadows of the descending sun, and wonders whether he had somehow accidentally made friends with an impressive sort of boy. The ice-cream melted under his thumb feels maddeningly sticky, like he’ll never wash it away thoroughly enough and it would leave its mark wherever he touched before he could.

Kenma has never really thought of anyone as good-looking before, never really cared enough about these things to notice them. But Kuroo is objectively so, in this light, in this angle—maybe all the time.

(A Kuroo and Kenma life story, told in five acts).

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fic #haikyuu fic rec #kuroken #kagehina #kageyama tobio #hinata shoyuo #kuroo testuro #kozume kenma

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pretchatta · 3 years

Text

swoon june day 15: masquerade

this wasn't supposed to be one of the mature ones but I think it's ended up being too suggestive to call it teen. oops.

rating: mature; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 2.1k words

---

For most beings, traveling inconspicuously meant wearing more clothes. A cloak, a hood or a full-face helmet made for a great disguise and could hide a person such that a casual observer wouldn’t look twice.

For Hera Syndulla, the opposite was true.

A twi'lek pilot was a rare sight in the galaxy. While her usual clothes blended in with most of the places she visited, there were always a few double-takes when people noticed her lekku. No-one expected to see a twi’lek in overalls and flying goggles, especially not a woman.

The result was that, for Hera, the easiest way to avoid attention was to remove clothes.

She would swap her cap and goggles for wrapping her lekku, wear something skimpy and revealing, and smear a bit of makeup over her cheeks. It was perfect – everyone looked right past her.

She hated it.

Her chosen aesthetic for today's recon was bar-dancer-on-a-break. Her skintight bodysuit felt like it was more negative space than material, with its low-cut neckline and several geometric shapes cut out of the sides and legs. The evening air was balmy enough that she didn’t need a jacket, and she felt very exposed. The chunky necklace she had accessorised with felt more like a slave collar than jewellery, and she shuddered as she wondered if that was why the look was so popular.

Hera resented the reason why an outfit like this worked so well. Her people had become almost synonymous with slavery, despite their numerous achievements as individuals and as a species. And yet here she was, donning the stereotype like a costume, reinforcing it to anyone who saw her. She just wanted to finish her recon, get back to the Ghost and take the whole lot off. In a normal way, not putting on a show for anyone.

Well, maybe she'd let Kanan watch. He was the only being in the galaxy she trusted to still see her as a real person afterwards. He would also never ask for it. If she ever did something like that for him, it would be because she wanted to do it, and because she knew he would take only what she was willing to give; he wouldn’t ask for more. A year of being more-than-crew had shown her just how selfless a lover he could be.

She shook her head to clear the train of thought as she approached the spaceport. It only took a few moments for her to realise she'd need to use the other advantage the outfit offered to get inside, for the place was crawling with stormtroopers. There had been a few on the main gate when she and Kanan had left earlier that day, but now she could see them patrolling the perimeter in pairs as well as actively checking the IDs of everyone trying to get in.

Hera sighed. She wanted to believe it had nothing to do with Kanan, but her hopes were not high. He was always finding trouble. Still, if she could get back to the Ghost then even if he wasn't able to meet her she could always fly out to his position and save him from whatever hairy situation he would undoubtedly be in.

She made her way around to one of the lesser-used entrances she'd been scouting on her recon, hoping for an easier way inside, but found it also guarded. The surrounding street was empty, however, and she could work with that.

Hera adjusted her well-padded cleavage in preparation for what she was about to do. Taking a deep breath, she fortified herself by squeezing one breast. The hard press of the small blaster tucked amongst the padding – the real reason she’d sewn extra into the bodysuit – reassured her that at least she wasn’t going in unarmed.

The two troopers standing guard noticed her as soon as she stepped into the road. Exaggerating the sway of her hips as she walked, she drew her lekku over her shoulders to twirl the end of one between her fingers. The troopers watched her approach.

"It is okay to go into the spaceport?" she asked with wide, innocent eyes. Her old Ryl accent came back to her easily, adding to the charade.

"We have to check your ID before you can go in," said the shorter trooper. He stood perfectly straight, holding his blaster a little higher than his fellow guard, who was leaning against the wall somewhat more casually. Hera guessed the one speaking to her was newer to the ranks of the Imperial army, and she hoped he wasn’t still sticking to the regulations so diligently that he would prevent her from doing what she needed to do.

"Oh… I have left my ID at home today,” she pouted, tilting her chin up and subtly pushing her chest forward. “I only want to visit my sister who runs that little food stand just inside for lunch. I won't be going anywhere – I have only ten minutes left of my break.”

The trooper was shaking his head. “We can’t let you in without ID.”

It would’ve been nice if that alone could have worked, but she hadn’t expected it to. She took a half-step closer to him and lowered her voice to a sultry purr.

“There is no way I could persuade you?”

He shifted nervously. “W-what do you mean?” he asked, glancing at his companion. “Like, credits?”

Another half-step closer, and she managed to tilt her head so that she could look up at his visor through her false eyelashes, even though they were a similar height.

“I don’t have any credits, but I’m sure there is something I can do for you,” she murmured. She was exaggerating the accent, rolling each resh and turning every thesh into a senth.

“Uhh… You – you mean…” he stammered. Hera heard a soft snigger from the other guard. Hopefully he would find this amusing enough to let her drag the rookie around the corner. She only needed to separate them; the rest was easy from there.

She cut him off by pointing down the road. “There’s an alley where I can show you what I mean. I think it even has a clean patch of ground that will not get my knees dirty.”

“Your – your knees–”

"Tell you what, kid,” the taller one said, finally pushing himself upright from the wall. “You watch the door and I'll sort out her payment."

That worked too. It didn’t matter which one went with her; stormtroopers were easy to take down individually when they weren’t expecting an attack.

They left the bewildered rookie to his post as Hera led the more seasoned soldier to the alley she’d pointed to. As they rounded the corner and out of sight of the door, she tossed one lek over her shoulder and turned to face him, breathing in deeply so that her chest rose noticeably. Now she knew where his attention would be focused.

Her fist swung up in a quick jab to his neck. She was aiming for the gap between his helmet and shoulder armour, where a hard enough blow should incapacitate him for at least a few seconds. Her other hand went for his blaster to disarm him.

But he was faster than she anticipated. Much faster; it was almost like he was ready for her. One gloved hand caught her fist, stopping it in its tracks, while the other dropped the blaster to the ground completely. Hera immediately twisted out of his grip and pulled out her own gun. She’d hoped to do this quietly, but making a scene was better than getting arrested.

The trooper quickly stepped back and pulled his helmet off.

“Woah, stop, it’s me!”

Hera was momentarily dumbfounded.

“Kanan?”

“Yes! Could you maybe put that down?” He indicated to her blaster, which was still pointed at his head. She dropped her arm to her side.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, dropping her accent to speak like her usual self again.

Kanan looked sheepish. "Well, I was hoping for a-"

"I mean in stormtrooper armour, guarding the spaceport!” she interrupted. “And do you really think I was going to go through with that? I didn’t even know it was you under there!"

“I thought you’d recognise my voice!” he protested.

She looked at him incredulously. “Not coming from under a bucket! And not when I wasn’t expecting it!”

"Okay, yeah, I realise I maybe didn’t think that one through,” he admitted, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But when I heard they’d increased security I was worried about you, so I was keeping an eye out to make sure you could get back to the Ghost. I thought you'd try one of the side entrances and this was the closest one to where you were going to finish your recon."

She opened her mouth to berate him again but realised it was actually a pretty good plan. Not to mention sweet – it couldn’t have been easy to take that guard’s place. He was lucky to have found one with a rookie for a partner. Maybe he hadn’t caused whatever it was that had got the Imperials worked up, either.

“Alright, your thoughtfulness has redeemed you.” She tucked her blaster back into its hiding place, noticing how his eyes followed her hands for a few moments before snapping back to her face when she continued. “Let’s get out of here.”

"You sure you want to go right now? We’re probably not expected back out there for a while yet..."

She could tell he was at least half-joking.

"Really?” She gave him a raised eyebrow. “I was lying about the clean patch of ground, you know. This alley is filthy, and I want to change."

"Okay, okay, I get it." He at least had the decency to look chastened, but she wasn’t really upset with him. She just wanted to go home.

"Just stun your friend and we can get back to the Ghost, love," she said gently.

He gave her a small smile before putting the helmet back on and retrieving his blaster. A few seconds later she heard the stun blast and followed him back to the road, where he was dragging the rookie’s unconscious body away from the entrance to hide it behind some crates.

Inside the spaceport, no-one stopped them. She was just a citizen with an escort, nothing to worry about. The Ghost was exactly as they’d left it this morning, and Chopper only needed a little encouragement to open up and let Kanan in. When the ramp closed behind them, Hera sighed in relief. It was good to be home.

She had to remind traffic control that she would have already had her ID and intent checked at the entrance to the spaceport. They begrudgingly gave her clearance to take off, and she heaved a deeper sigh as the Ghost entered hyperspace. They were away, no-one was watching her now, and she could be herself again. Kanan and Chopper didn’t count; they both saw her for who she was. They were as much her home as the ship.

Beside her, Kanan pushed himself out of the co-pilot’s chair. "I'm going to get out of this armour, then I'll fix that squeaky vent in the ‘fresher that you've been complaining about."

She heard him cross to the door.

"Oh, Kanan, could you hold on a moment?" she called over her shoulder.

He paused with one hand on the door control. "What is it?"

Hera engaged the autopilot and got out of her chair to slink over to him.

"I know I said I wanted to change, but there’s a problem,” she began, stepping close to him and lightly running a finger over his chestplate. “See, there's a stormtrooper guarding the door, and I need to figure out a way to get past him."

She glanced up at Kanan and saw he was grinning. "Maybe you could offer him something," he suggested.

She pushed herself up onto her toes so that their faces were level, her eyes on his mouth.

“I wonder what he might accept,” she whispered, her lips barely an inch from his own.

Then she closed the gap and kissed him with a slow, simmering heat. His arms came up to hold her, one hand stroking along her back. It worked its way around to her side, sliding up until his thumb brushed the side of one breast.

He broke away abruptly with a serious look in his eyes.

“You put the safety on your blaster, right?”

She gave him a sly smile. “Why don’t you check for me?”

His answering grin was accompanied by both hands sliding up her sides, and then he was giving a very thorough and enthusiastic check for hidden weapons.

#kanera #swoonjune2021 #kanan jarrus #hera syndulla #star wars: rebels #star wars rebels #pretchwritta #fic #swoon june

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ashes-and-ashes · 4 years

Text

Lightning and Marauders

Draco stares out of the window.

He’s still furious, with Harry and with Dumbledore and the entire fucking Order. He can feel it, rage coiling around his bones, the anger making him feel light-headed. He’d always had an explosive temper, the type that ended up with shattered glasses and holes in walls.

It didn’t work when his father attempted to beat it out of him, but then again, rarely anything worked. He learnt though, over the years, learnt to keep everything contained inside of him, because at least he didn’t cut anyone when he shattered.

With a sigh, Draco stares down at his arm, the ugly brand that couldn’t cover the scars on his wrist. He couldn’t even remember what the fight was about - something small, he was sure, something inconsequential and pathetic. Stress had blown it up, turned it into something so much bigger then it should have been, made him keep pushing, keep arguing until him and Harry were both screaming at each other from opposite sides of the kitchen table.

Of course, he had spat, anger making him feel like he was on fire. Of course you would say that. You’ve always had it easy, being the fucking savior.

Don’t you ever say that again, Harry replied, all hissed words and cold fury. Don’t you ever say that I had it easy. You’re the one on your Malfoy throne, all high and mighty -

You don’t know what they did to me.

What? Harry sneered. Bought you a broomstick and held your hand? Is it to your advantage to switch your side?

Fuck you.

Harry laughed. What did I expect? You’re the son of a Death Eater. Why did I ever think that we could trust you?

Draco had stormed off before he could say those damning words spinning around in the back of his head, echoing the cold words spoken by his father so long ago. You’ll never be enough. You’ve doomed us all.

He couldn’t though, couldn’t bring himself to say the words. It would destroy them, that already fragile bond he had with Harry, the small hope of something more. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to risk that.

Draco leans his head against the window, the glass cool against his cheek. The rain cast patterns over his face; he watches the shadows trace against his skin.

He doesn’t know where he is - some tower room in Grimmauld Place. The house was huge, larger then the Manor, all stone and dark wood and huge green drapes. There are tapestries all over the walls, symbols embroidered on them in heavy gold thread; he recognizes a few of them. Whom ever owned this house must have been rich - Charmed Marks were expensive and there were hundreds of them all over the walls.

He sighs, turning his attention back to the scene outside. His head pounds; he lets it drop back against the window frame.

“Done being all melodramatic?”

He can see the barest hint of a reflection in the window, all darkened shapes and blurred lines. He doesn’t bother to turn around though, just shrugs. “It’s my forté. I should go into acting.”

The person lets out a dry chuckle. “Aren’t you a spy? It’s close enough.”

Draco stiffens. “Who told you that?”

“You’re not the only Drama Queen here.”

Draco turns slightly in his seat, just so that he could see the figure standing by the door. He’s tall, hair down to his shoulders and covered with tattoos. There’s a casual sort of elegance to him, the type that Draco had spent most of his life trying to perfect, all careless arrogance and stunning grace.

Charcoal eyes met his; grey, he thinks, just like mine. Draco gets to his feet quickly, leaning back against the wall. He’s learnt that appearing casual made others lower their guard. The man’s quiet chuckle lets him know that his action had not been missed.

“God,” he says, giving him a small smirk. It’s the grin of a younger man, the ghost of something that had long died. “You remind me so much of - “

“Don’t,” Draco says, cutting him off. “Don’t say that I remind you of my father. Do you know how many times I’ve heard that? As if I wanted to be some egotistical fanatic - “

The man laughs. “No. I wasn’t going to say that. I get the sense that you aren’t fond of your father though. He was an asshole. A brilliant, conniving asshole but an asshole all the same.”

Draco looks up, startled. “You know him?”

“Doesn’t everyone? Everyone who knows about Death Eaters, that is.”

Draco flinches. “I - I’m not - “

“Like them? Family bonds can be hard to sever. Just take me for an instance.”

“What do you know?” Draco fires back. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about Pure Blood families. You don’t know what it’s like to be suffocated, to be forced into a mold that doesn’t fit you - “

The man throws back his head and laughs; bitter and amused. “Oh I don’t know, do I? I probably know better then anyone else here, I Draco.”

Draco turns away, willing the tears not to come. “Oh, really?”

The man smirks. “I’m Sirius,” he says. “Sirius Black.”

“Harry’s Godfather.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been known as anything but Traitor.”

Draco folds his arms across his chest. “I’m a Malfoy,” he says. “Your name was synonymous with Hero back at home.”

“Nice to know I’m still worshipped.” Sirius leans back against the wall. He’s covered in scars, hundreds of them; up his arms and wrapped around his fingers, disappearing under his shirt. Draco thinks of his own back, the smooth, pale skin and shudders. His father was careful - and even Voldemort’s Crucio’s didn’t leave any scars. He didn’t want to think about how bad the pain was to leave so many scars across Sirius’ flesh.

“What do you want?” Draco says, keeping his voice even. “I assume you don’t just want to chat.”

Sirius shrugs. “Harry. You had a fight with him.”

“Why don’t you check in with him?”

“I already did.”

“Did he tell you about how much of a manipulative, lying bastard I was?”

Sirius shakes his head. Draco stares at his forearms, the silver moon tattoos inked onto the skin. They seemed to shimmer, even in the dark room, the edges rippling and fading into the next shape. “He told me all about you, actually. How brave you were. How you’re only 17 and yet you’re spying for a side that will try and execute you if they win this war.”

“What do I have to lose?” Draco whispers. “There’s nothing left for me in this world. I might as well try and - “

“Make it better?”

“Yeah.”

Sirius smiles. “I was actually going to say, before you interrupted me earlier that you remind me a lot of myself. Back when I was younger. You have the same...complete disregard for yourself. Self-destructive tendencies, almost. Because who cares if you burn as long as you’re warming those you love?”

“I - “

Sirius fixes him with that piercing gaze, the one that saw into his soul and stripped him bare. “Jesus, you’re young. I fought in the first War, back when I was 19. I still have nightmares. To do that to innocent kids - I don’t - you’re so - “

“Young?” Draco’s voice was a near-breath. “I’ve already killed 8 people, Sirius. I’m a little too damned to be innocent, don’t you think?”

He stared at his hands, palms up, the light dancing off his fingertips. “I’ve tortured people and been tortured myself. Spying is nothing.”

“True.” Sirius’ voice is light. “But I never knew Lucius would lay a hand on his son.”

Draco’s breath hitched. “What?”

“Don’t what me. My mother was the one hurting me. I know those marks.”

Draco stares down at Sirius’ hands, the tiny scars that flecked his skin. “What are those?”

Sirius’ grin was savage, brutal and cutting and painful. “Crucio.”

“Crucio doesn’t leave marks.”

“When you use it enough it does.”

“I’ve never met someone who knows what it feels like. Besides Harry and myself.”

Sirius blanches at the sound of Harry’s name. “He’s been...”

“Yeah.”

“God.” Sirius drops his head in his hands. “12 years. 12 fucking years I’ll never get back. God, I missed so much.”

“He loves you,” Draco says quietly. “He adores you.”

Sirius looks up. “You love him.”

It wasn’t a question. Draco feels the blood drain from his face, his heart falling to the floor. He takes a deep breathes, holds it, waits until he knew his voice wouldn’t shake. “He’s one of my closest friends.”

Sirius studies him for a minute, then lets out a low whistle. “God, you are practically a carbon copy of me.”

“What do you mean?” Draco demands.

Sirius just studies him, his head tilted, those piercing eyes shredding him slowly apart. Draco just grit his teeth, met his gaze.

Finally, Sirius speaks. “I was in love with a boy,” he says, and Draco flinches. “For ages, actually. Since I was 12. He was my best friend.”

“How did you know?” Draco breathes. “That it was love?”

Sirius smiles. “You just know.”

“I don’t though.” Draco looks down, at his feet. “I always hear things, about how love makes you soft, makes you happy, lifts you up and turns you lighter. And I always think what bullshit. Because that’s not what I feel. Not at all.”

“It’s fire,” Sirius says quietly.

“God, it’s more then that. It’s consuming. It scares me, because I’m in a war, and if something happened to him...There’s nothing I wouldn’t do - I’ve switched sides for God’s sake. I’ve damned my soul because of him, I love him that much.”

Sirius just shrugs, head propped up against his han, and Draco thinks again that he looks very, very young. “The only monster made are ones that are in love.”

“And he doesn’t - I don’t even know if he loves me.”

Sirius laughs. “Oh Merlin. Harry most definitely does, Draco.”

“No - “

Sirius cuts him off. “Yes. He does.”

Draco looks down, at his feet. He can feel the weight of Sirius’ gaze against his back, burning into his soul. “Tell me about him,” he says.

Sirius closes his eyes. “I don’t know. He was...beautful. All full of light - the steady kind. A candle, compared to the raging flames inside of me - inside of both of us,” he adds. “He never thought he was good enough, but he was better then I ever could be.”

Draco nods. He thinks about Harry - his smiles, his eyes, the way his hair felt when Draco let his hands brush through. The harsh set of his mouth when he was concentrating, the way he laughs, all quicksilver and molten metal, the way Draco’s heart stopped every time they touched. He thinks about how he dropped everything - his family, his title, his home, how he was willing to die just to give Harry a chance and he wonders if he’ll ever have anything like this again.

“Do you regret it?” he asks. “Telling...telling whoever it was?”

Sirius’ holds Draco’s gaze.

“No,” he says, and Draco believes him.

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mc-critical · 3 years

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Hello! Hope you're having a good day

I have a question about mck. I haven't watched it but I've seen a lot of cuts from episodes on youtube and fan's discussions so I hoped you might explain something to me.

Everybody says that Kosem killed her sons only for power and it wasn't for the good of the country. Is that true? Was Murad a good ruler in the show? All I know is that he was harsh and in the end wanted to kill his brothers. What Ibrahim? In history he clearly made a very poor ruler. What about the show?

Hi!

Fans often have different interpretations of the subject matter and what is perceived on-screen, so some of them might say that Murat IV was a good ruler in the show and some might say that he isn't. Really depends on what you consider a good ruler - is it someone who goes on campaigns and wins wars for his country, is it someone who cares about the people, the janissary and their opinions above all else or is it someone who considers himself unquestionable authority and refuses to take any advice, even if they took the wrongest, most problematic decision ever?

To me, show!Murat is anything but a good ruler. He ascends the throne as a kid, with Kösem as a regent, and I feel that he never actually gained any experience in how to truly rule the state. And yet, when the time comes for him to actually take matters into his own hands, he is ecstatic to finally assert his will and dominance for everyone to see and learn. One of the key problems with him are that he not only wants his decisions to be completely unparalleled and undebated, he considers everything he does as right out of principle. He has the mindset that every single decision he takes is absolutely correct and is beneficial for the state, but not because it's actually correct or beneficial, but only because he's the padişah and "the shadow of God on Earth". And there are quite a lot of decisions that are problematic at best (forbidding alchohol and then you yourself drink it) and outright destructive and dangerous at worst. (leaving just like that, even it's after a traumatic event for you, caused a huge literal revolt!) And even if he realizes what he's doing isn't right, he ignores every kind of advice when people around him tell him to do the precise opposite. This guy is so drowned in his own ego and authority that he destroys everyone around him.

But then again, there's that side of things where, writing-wise, you understand where all that comes from - most of Murat's flaws as a ruler stem from the massive past trauma of Osman's death, which only caused irreparable damage to the mind of such a small kid. It created such unrelenting paranoia that Murat began to forever believe that he couldn't count to anyone but himself. This is what his "meeting" with Osman in E47 symbolizes, he hears both what he wants to hear and that part of Osman which could never accept Kösem's outside interference. That's also the episode where "one Murat went away, there comes the other" and there he began to go further into the abyss of his own beliefs. Murat has Süleiman's paranoia, but upped to eleven in a more offending form, because while with Süleiman this paranoia grew gradually and he could let it go more easily, because despite of all he knew how to rule a good state, with Murat it was always there from the very start, constantly preventing him from doing the right thing, especially due to the constant fear of being manipulated and deceived by someone else (just like Osman thought he was.) and always thinking he's in his mother's shadow.

Speaking of which, Kösem and Murat's dynamic is the central conflict of season 2 of MCK and that's not only an interpersonal character conflict, as it would seem at first glance to someone who's new to the franchise in example, it's a conflict of one newly established and another already established powers in the palace that would never back down and fight for what they think is right. Kösem and Murat have a different relationship with the state. The state for Kösem has a dynamic role - firstly, it was a role she had to accept for the greater good (her standing in front of the people in Ahmet's name in E07 of season 1.), then she saw herself engrained in it due to her strong sense of justice. (getting revenge for her father, trying to expose Fahrye, then Handan and Derviş and lastly, ''protecting the country" from Iskender.) By season 2 country and power are already synonymous to her due to her fully taking the responsibility of a regent and taking the country in her wing of protection, always keeping an eye on it and consistently representing it without a second thought. The state for Murat, however, is static - it is something given to him by God himself, it is something he takes for granted, without truly trying to improve it. The first steps he takes as a ruler is to seemingly "clear" his own path, to remove the traitors around him. And while that seems correct and valid at first glance, he never sees the bigger scheme of things, due to his paranoia. He doesn't see the people who actually conspire to remove him (which is why he never found out the true traitor in his palace and died, thinking this person was the most loyal man ever.), but sees what he wants to see, this shadow who is looming in for years. Murat thinks his mother is a problem, which is why the first step he takes, is to immediately remove her regency and then send Kemankeş to follow her around. These two forces clash with each other incessantly, with their opinion of a state at constant odds. There have been many times throughout the show where Murat does a problematic thing, Kösem tries to snap him out of it and fails, because he doesn't want to listen to her no longer. He's always felt that she overshadowed his own reign, even in her regency years (see the flashbacks in E56.) and he wants to believe that he's already a big man, a person who can do anything, even with a big lack of experience. So whoever tries to give him decent advice is immediately washed off and out of the question, because who are they, they don't know better, he's the only one who does. This mindset is reflected as totally wrong in the show with the people and the janissary despising him, with the numerous revolts (the season literally began with a revolt.), with the multiple traitors around him, with everyone (Atike and Farya aside) turning against him sooner or later. That of course isn't appreciated by Kösem, and she, being the self-and not-so- self- proclaimed representative of the state, tries to fix this all, even if it means acting behind Murat's back. She doesn't really wish her son harm only due to him eclipsing her own power, she just sees the genuine flaws of his rule and is willing to achieve everything to fix it. Later on she began to indeed consider him as unworthy due to all the mistakes he made, claiming that the country is able to defend itself and listing qualities that all padişahs should possess like virtue and justice. She saw how messy all of it became and instinctively began to search for solutions that even came to ending him. (her ordering the doctor to cease healing his illness.) The narrative doesn't actually condemn this choice, highlighted by Murat's last flashback with him reuniting with his mother.

Murat is the one that killed Kasım and Bayezid in show, because he considers them a threat to his own power, first and foremost. Bayezid's the primary one, him being the eldest heir, with people wanting him on the throne from the get-go, when Murat was alive. Murat doesn't accept threat to his own power, and his brothers aren't exceptions, even though he told them certain times that he wouldn't put them in the kafes or take their life. Even though Bayezid became so much like his toxic mother (Gülby, I love you, but sorry.), prone to revenge, harsh actions and gaining questionable one-sided morality, his death was heartbreaking. As for Kasım, Murat took drastic measures, because Kösem thought Murat was dead and tried to calm down the people by bringing to them Kasım exactly as the next sultan. This was extremely harsh, because after all Kösem used it only as a desperate measure, to calm the people down and to apply the most optimal solution. Putting Kasım in the cafes when you once said that you wouldn't is honestly chief irony, reaching Süleiman's level, but worse.

Yes, Kösem was the one who ultimately sealed the pact to kill Ibrahim, but this was due to manipulation. Turhan Sultan wanted his death to pave the way for her little son and gain absolute power, so she indeed pushed Kösem's love and dedication to the country against her. She was put in a position where she had no other choice but to accept - we had a mentally ill Sultan as a ruler, one who could be reckless, one who could cause imbalance and instability and one who also doesn't really listen. So she decided his destiny and the theme of the loss of innocence, the core theme of the whole show, came full circle. She killed Ibrahim, but she wasn't happy with it, she was devastated and her conscience spoke so loudly, she couldn't unhear it. And that deed of hers made her give it all up - by the time of her death, she only wanted piece, nothing else, and she wasn't even interested in who gets the ring of power and she wasn't all that focused on her own death, either. Life was over for her.

Anyway, yeah, it all depends on interpretations of the events and characters and where your sympathies extend. MCK has really interesting and complex themes and I wholeheartedly recommend for you to watch it to drive your own conclusions. Thanks for the question and have a nice day!

#magnificent century kösem #murad iv #ask #proudofmyanger #magnificent century kosem #kosem sultan

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ignitification · 3 years

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I'm glad we could handle this respectfully.

Two questions

Do you think Endeavor will Die in the Future,Like Dabi Kills him?or will he stay alive throughout?

Also I feel like and hope him and Rei Should get a divorce.She should'nt be with someone who's hurt her Physically and psychologically.I think them not being married would be very healthy for them

And In response,People can change but I haven't seen the villians wanna change since they believe they're in the right.you have to want change in order to change.Shigaraki,Toga,Dabi and All for one have shown no signs of wanting to change.this is all my opinion but like They honestly don't wanna change since they believe,due to their pasts,that they're doing the right thing.Dabi has Murdered 30 innocent people,Toga is literally a wanted Serial Who drinks blood like Juice,and Shigaraki Murdered many heroes and ordered his Minions to destroy everything.

Imo,that doesn't look like wanting to change.

I feel like they work well as villians So Horikoshi probably won't redeem them But again I can't predict the future so I'm getting ahead of myself 😅sorry for wasting your time

It was just my two sense

Plus we need to fix hero society but they're doing it in a cruel and hypocritical way

I'd like to address the three points you made in three different sections:

Endeavour probability of staying alive (of which I already talked here, so it will be short)

Rei's involvment with Todoroki Enji

The Three Villains (the three mains) not wanting to change (on which I already hinted at here and here)

Trigger warning: mentions of suicide; violence; self-harm.

1.) Endeavour’s course of life (and action)

To be honest, I think this is the easiest point to address and I’ll refrain from going over and over again the same point. My answer, as before, is no. I do not think that Enji is going to die (refer to the linked before post for a more in depth analysis of why). However, on the question whether Enji Todoroki will still be alive at the end of the manga, I think the answer might be different. I utterly think that where the manga is going so far foreshadows a lot of pain to come. And I’ll let Horikoshi do whatever he plans, but my spider-senses tell me that even if he does survive, Endeavour is unlikely to get a happy ending (or at least a canonically happy one). He will be hold responsible of his actions, and that is the most important thing. As long as he gets on the right path, everything could happen. Especially considering the events of Ch. 300, which might be interpreted as a first step on regaining the real narrative of what went down (and which might be even more cruel than we think) , so this means we are getting at the root of the problem.

2.) Rei’s involvement in Enji’s life

This, on the contrary, is the most delicate point of the post. Rei is introduced as a 'weak' and heavily mentally abused character. She is confined in a hospital and she seems to be closed in her own world so much she does not notice time passing and stares out of the window trying to make sense of the world. Which, on one hand, I think is very fitting for her, but at the same time I am included to think that this is the furthest thing from what Rei' character is supposed to be.

Rei Todoroki is a victim. But she is not weak. She made her mistakes (of which she is aware of and feels guilty about, but that's for another time because Shouto's scar - mental and facial - is a whole lot deal to unpack) and she had way too much time to think. Shouto never held it against her and now, he, together with Natsuo and Fuyumi helped her to regain the confidence she knows Enji took from her. He closed her off in a hospital to prederve her health, but instead he just took off years of her life from her children and viceversa.

However, I am not sure whether Enji and Rei are still married or separated or divorced or whatever. It seems like on paper they are still together, but there is a rift in their relationship.

I mean, look at this panel: Rei is behind her children, looking at Endeavour like the douchebag he is, and telling him promptly that, this, is not about him and that however he might feel, he is not the victim or the one who needs to be forgiven.

I, personally, have never thought much of her character, besides of her being sick, in hospital and trying not to relapse so hard.

The first time we see her, she looks lifeless. They looks listless. And I can't stress that enough, it is not that she did not try to fight it. But accepting that the trauma happened in the first time is a stress for her mental health. But instead of getting worse, Shouto and her family's presence revitalizes her.

Which beings me to the point made in the last panel. She knows that in his shallow way, Endeavour tried to tell her that he is still there, and while he does not want to impose his presence, he will still wait for her when she wants to.

Funny thing, is that we discover is that she does not want him back. She is done with everything that happened and she is ready to take the reigns of her life back. And in order to do that she needs to wash their dirty landry. And she does not care of how this might affect Endeavour, but instead she wants justice, truth and not tears and excuses.

Rei ia going to fight to have her way. Be it out of Endeavour 's life or inside the life of Touya, time only will tell.

And finally point 3.) The Big Three Villains' on change and saviours

I am very hard trying to get through to everyone out there while I say that change is something that comes to you regardless of whether you want it or not. Shigaraki, Dabi and Toga do not recognise that they might be able to change, and that they might be saved. In their minds, fairly, they do not have to change in order to be eligible for salvation. I already stressed this in my other answers, they should not change in order for them to ‘deserve’ being saved. Maybe they do not even want it. But if the chance presents itself, of them being offered a hand, would they dare to take it? Probably not. And this is not because they are happily wasting their time to kill and fuck around, no. It’s because it’s a mechanism ingrained into their minds: Dabi escaped home after he abused and neglected, Shigaraki accidentally killed his family and then was left to himself, and Toga was deemed weird and creepy and just cast aside as trash. Do you see a pattern here? If yes, well congratulations. It’s a quirk-based society, and since their quirks somehow became synonym to their worth, these individuals were deemed not worthy or villains from the get-go and they just choose to embrace whatever life threw at them, instead of just letting go. And let me tell you, that in their cases, letting go would mean die. They all, in some degree, suffer from auto-destructive and self-harm tendencies, which should be telling enough. And if it not, just think about why people behave this way. Why do people feel the need to destroy themselves? They do because they feel like the pain inside them feels a tiny bit lighter if they externate. Shigaraki told Izuku that as this failed society refused and never forgave him, he won’t forgive anyone in return. He does not care about his crimes because apart from those crimes he commits for a reason, he has nothing else going on. He does not have a family to go home to. He does not have a home. He does not have anything apart from the League, his memories hunting him and the eternal stigma of society labelling him as unsavable.

So excuse me very much when I say that they do not want to change and they might be right. Nothing changed, and nothing changes now. The only hope they have to be redeemed, it’s not for the heroes to forget their crimes, and to enjoy further destruction but to understand that the only way someone can help you is if believe in them. Dabi does not think he deserves to be saved. Toga had hopes which were destroyed right after Hawks killed Twice. Shigaraki put everything on the stake because the kid never knew how to genuinely smile. Let us for a moment think what would have happened to Eri if she did not get saved. It’s not hard after all: the kids of the League are all examples of what happens then.

It’s not because they change that they need to be saved. They need to be saved because they need to change.

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mci-writing · 4 years

Text

I Thought Rhododendron was a Warning (Midoriya Izuku x reader) [Hanahaki Au]

A/n: This fic originally was meant to be posted July 26th for @birds-have-teeth's Izumonth Server Collab! Hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it, even though it’s a little late ^^’

Warnings: Angst; Hanahaki Au; Barfing of flowers, descriptions of throwing up; descriptions of choking and being unable to breath; descriptions of blood; descriptions of coughing up blood; descriptions of various forms of pain (namely chest and throat pains); mentions of the word toilet and it’s various synonyms

“People always say to be cautious of what flowers you cough up when you choke up, but how are you to know which ones are a warning sign and which ones are in dire need of check up? Sure, colors and shape could give it away if you know your botany, but what if you’re completely clueless? That’s where this guide to flowers and their symbolism comes in, to help you overcome your Hanahaki and your feelings without having to immediately get the surgery-” Midoriya vividly remembers each time that commercial or one similar would appear on the television and they were always followed by his mother’s quick response of changing the channel or turning it off altogether. Her statements that would follow were always disapproving of such products, saying they would probably kill a person off faster rather than actually help them with living longer.

That was really his only exposure to any forms of Hanahaki discussion at home. His mother never really felt the need to elaborate on the disease other than giving the basic fact that you normally caught it under unfortunate, romantic situations. What these situations were, he had no idea, and the only clue he really had on that matter were things he’d hear in passing conversations at school. There’d been rumors of other kids in his middle school catching cases, yet they never really seemed to be enough to actually draw his attention to the illness.

He had assumed he would continue to live in that naive, blissful unawareness he’d developed over his juvenile years, but his years at Yuuei forcefully and uncomfortably opened his eyes without his consent. The first month consisted of their Pro teachers reminding them of just how much more important their lives were than a small crush and that they should keep their attention on their studies rather than trying to confess their feelings. Aizawa was especially vocal about this, to the point he set aside a day to tell the class stories of students and Pro Heroes that had to let go of their dreams when they died of the disease and how the percentage that did receive the surgery were never the same. And those words of advice followed him through his Yuuei days, echoing each time there’d be an announcement of one of his many schoolmates lost to the disease. It especially hit different when one of his classmates caught a cold case and, many times, no one had even known about it. He remembers watching Kaminari choke to death in front of everyone on the sports field one day and another time it caught Hagakure before the premature intermission of their second Sports Festival.

Midoriya believed he’d heeded enough warning not to find himself in the situation he currently found himself in. Even now, each mention and memory of Hanahaki is being thrown back at him as he tries to find where to go next with the blood covered, grassy vomit he recently regurgitated into his toilet.

“Midoriya?”

The flowers. Always take notice of what flowers you spit up. Even just an attribute of a vine of stem could help determine your current state- The sight of the flowers makes him wonder how he didn’t choke on the individual flowers, each a small flower in a bundle to make up a cone-shape. There were mainly two of the cone-shaped put togethers, a few smaller flowers and their petals also hanging around and floating in the water with small twinges of stem.

“Midoriya, are you okay in there?”

He knows a set of lilacs when he sees them, even with the accompanying splotches of blood. It’s a common starter flower during most first attacks that has killed just as many as it has warned. They were usually associated with innocence and purity, the beginning of a budding annoyance that Midoriya wouldn’t easily be able to just overlook-

“Midoriya? Are you feeling well? You seemed a little faint in color before running off to the powder room-” It’s too late when he hears the bathroom door open, his body lurching forward in surprise at the sudden interruption, “Hanahaki…”

It’s too late for him to hide the evidence and he can’t just immediately make up an excuse for why there’s a nice sight of bloody lilacs chilling in his toilet. The frightened, paling appearance of the sudden guest’s face doesn’t help in the slightest, their feet seemingly glued in place as their eyes dart between the obvious mess of the floral bile and his completely frazzled form.They were pretty sure he was still shaking, but whether it was from fear or him fighting to get the choking feeling of flowers out of his throat had been beyond them.

“I… It’s not what it looks like! A-At least, I hope it’s not what it looks like! I’m fine, though! It came up easy-” Midoriya rambles on nervously, his hand coming up to tug at his white tee while his green eyes glance around the room for various explanations. His hands whimsically move about and around him, coming together to hold and clench themselves before releasing to move on to picking and playing with each other, “A-Anyway, I’ll get myself cleaned up and we can finish the- (Y/n)?”

His rambling stops once they fall to their knees before him, their hands gripping his shoulders tightly. Their eyes glance him over, an extra emotion swirling through their (e/c) irises before they pull him into a tight hug, messy shirt and all. He’s taken aback by the sudden action, his own limbs slowly coming up to wrap around their form. Their hand comes up and pats his back softly, those pats turning into reassuring back rubs as he continues to toss up flowers into the commode.

“I’ll help however I can, Izuku...”

“Blaaagh”

“Like getting you a breath mint. Immediately getting you that breath mint” They state as they quickly rise to their feet, heading out the bathroom door and closing it behind them.

~~~

He originally believed everything would be fine after that one incident. He planned to get it under control, use home remedy after home remedy to prevent it from affecting him any further. He confidently felt he was making strides to recovery without needing to get a surgery to remove feelings he still couldn’t even place. He could survive having one mild attack in his life and live the rest pretending he never had hanahaki.

He knew it wasn’t that simple, but to have the hope peacefully tug at his chest in comfort with each ad he passed seemed as though the force of his life was taunting him once more by waving a seemingly unattainable dream in his face. The idea of constantly drinking weed killer was still very concerning with how often it’d been recommended (he decides to set it as his last ditch effort when the weeds become too much for him) and he’s pretty convinced he should close this article (Y/n) sent him out of fear of something infecting his device. Well, that was the plan up until something peaked his interest.

Lo and behold, surrounded by the most erotic and scam ridden ads Midoriya’s seen on the internet, sat a flower alignment chart. His curiosity is piqued at the sight of the familiarly unfamiliar diagram and his fingers are quick to hover over the image before downloading and sending it to his partner in deciphering where he currently stood on the danger scale.

Dummy Thiccy 🧜: It’s a flower chart. Tells you your danger zone

Well, yeah. He figured that much given the sight he’d found it in the first place. He sighs in exasperation as he lays back against his pillow. He closes out of his messaging app, going to google for a more broad and direct response to said chart.

He hovers over his keyboard as he thinks of where to start in terms of keywords. He wasn’t too concerned with the flowers he’d spit out yesterday, in terms of how at risk he was of having thorns pierce his lungs. He starts with similar charts, lifting himself from the comfort of his sheets to grab one of his many empty journals stored under his bed.

He maps out his own diagram, taking only the results many of them had in common and noting the rare differences between them on another sheet. He decides to check the other things out in the morning when he catches just how late it is, his eyes skimming over his finished project before setting it over to the side. His eyes linger on his home-screen a moment after, the sight of him and friends smiling back at him so happily reminding him of why he needed to get rid of it.

The memory of the white flowers fill his mind again at that, some of the lilacs speckled with a red he’s seen out in the field too many times. It reminds him of how congested he felt, the tightness of his chest and how he struggled to even get any of it passed his throat, let alone ignore the piercing feeling he felt as the weeds also made their way out of his system. He had to keep himself from panicking to hold up the front for his friends while they were in the other room and hold back the fear he felt when (L/n) caught him bent over the toilet.

His cheeks flush from the awkward aftermath of that encounter. There was already some distance between them prior (why had been completely unknown on his end), but the sudden tense feeling after the whole bathroom situation with the complete opposite of the comforting feeling they gave when they found him there. Even now, their responses and questions just didn’t click the same way they did a week ago. While he, of course, wanted to approach the situation and figure out what was up, he just couldn’t. He had no way to go about it.

And now he’s literally puffing up daisies, possibly on the verge of death. If they’re in a bad place now, he can’t imagine how much worse it’ll be when he does die.

The thought has his heart pounding in a different way than the adrenaline he’s used to feeling, aching in a way only they could cause. He finds himself blankly gazing at their smiling face, seemingly on the brink of laughing at something one of them said. All the while, the reminder of his hours ticking down if he doesn’t handle this soon hollowly echoes through his mind.

His breathing begins hallowing as the heavy feeling in his chest returns in a seemingly swift attack, the stems digging at various parts of his body in an almost threatening manner. He feels himself lose his breath a moment, his head spinning and eyesight dotting before he manages to break out of his flinched stance enough to rush himself to his bathroom. He doesn’t have time to really process too much aside for him throwing the toilet seat up. The pointy stems force their way out of his mouth, reinforcing just how painful the whole thing is. His eyes tear up and he’s there long enough for paresthesia to kick in on his legs from the cut off of proper oxygen flow.

His body trembles when he finally finishes hacking up the fauna. More blood covers the flowers than he last remembered, white corona surrounded by bright yellow perianth with both covered in unsymmetrical red splotches. His chest heaves as he desperately inhales as much air as he can. His back presses against the cold wall tiles of his bathroom after he manages to catch enough breath for his mind to begin functioning properly. It’s the first thing to alert him of his senses coming back, the blur of his eyes slowly coming to after.

With the little energy he has left, he climbs over to his toilet once again out of curious desperation. Proudly standing on end are numerous daffodils, taunting him and reminding of just what he’s going through. He’s suddenly hit tier 2. No warning and immediately after him worrying over the well-being of his friends.

He uses the wall to get to his feet, pushing off of it and steadying himself on the toilet tank. The lid makes a loud clank against it, causing him to jump a bit and fall back against his sink counter. He winces slightly from the pain, his hand gripping the area and rubbing it soothingly. His hand grips the counter, using it to hold himself up as he reaches over and flushes the toilet.

He’s exhausted when he finally gets back to his bed, ready to let sleep drown him into a healing rest, yet his phone’s notification light continues to flash in the corner of his eye. He groans as he leans over, the light practically blinding him as soon as his screen flashes on. He flinches, eyes remaining squinched as he swipes away social media alerts.

Dummy Thiccy 🧜: Please be careful tonight. I’ll be there in a heartbeat if you need me

His face heats up a bit as he reads it over, coming to a revelation he wished he’d come to sooner. His body seemingly sits up on it’s own as he feels his chest tighten a moment.

His breathing grows labored once more, his hand gripping his chest in some weak attempt to ground himself. His hand reaches for his phone as calmly as he frantically could, managing to dial (Y/n)’s number, a shade of red blooming over most of his face. It wakes him up a bit, his emerald eyes widening in a sudden realization that he

“Hey, Izuku? Something up-”

“I-I need some help. C-Could you- Agh!” He falls back in pain, his grip tightening as he continues to scream out in agony. His throat feels lodged up, something feeling as though it’s forcefully crawling up. He painfully swallows it back, a faded voice echoing through his ears as he feels his eyesight fade to black.

~~~~~

Midoriya blinks away the sleep in his eyes, the blaring lights from the ceiling making it a little hard to truly open his eyes. The overwhelming smell of insulin and antiseptic fill his nose. He struggles to make out his surroundings beyond that due to the feeling of an extra weight holding his body down. He shakes around a bit to shrug the figure off of him, sitting up enough to see just a little more of the white room. He’s sure he’s in a hospital room after further assessment, more than likely thanks to (Y/n) after he called them in the midst of panic (and it makes him pretty glad he let them take one of his keys when he first moved in unless he somehow forgot to lock his door again).

He lays his head back against the pillow provided for him in exhaustion, yet he’s unable to just close them and rest. His mind is practically racing with so many thoughts, thoughts he wished he had his newly formed chart for. He couldn’t have just jumped danger levels like that, especially not after just finding out the person of his affection had been his current lifeline just a few hours ago (or what he assumed had been a few hours. Kinda hard to tell when you’re passed out from loss of air for a majority of that time). It wasn’t off the table, and he knew that fact, but it was too soon for the both of them. They were already at an awkward place before and he doesn’t just want to force his feelings onto them, especially if they’re going through something he didn’t know about. It felt wrong.

There’s a shift as (Y/n) sits up from laying over him. They take a moment to stretch, a couple of their bones popping and cracking before they relax to sit back against their seat. Their face makes it obvious that they had fallen asleep and their arm is quick to wipe away the bit of drool on their cheeks. Midoriya feels his face warm at that, his eyes quickly averting when he notices their attention drift to him.

“Hey, sleepy broccoli. They had to pump a LOT of pain medicine in you” He perks up as they begin speaking to him, an almost prideful smile on their face as they continue, “They say you’re lucky that a sudden attack like that didn’t kill you. I, of course, was rooting for you! You’ve come back from worst”

Yet, he can see the painful look being held back in their expression. He stares a moment, taking it in and trying to figure out why they even had that hesitation on their face. He sighs out, weakly smiling up at them and attempting to sit up on his own, “S-Sorry to call you so late in the night. Your number was already there and I guess my fingers acted on instinct”

“Yeah… Instinct” They murmur, their thumbs rubbing over one another out of nervousness. They stare at him a moment, an awkward silence filling the room and causing Midoriya to wonder if he’d responded the wrong way.

He goes to fix up his statement, enforce how grateful he is for their assistance through all of this. They get caught in his throat before he can mutter a word, another choked up feeling coming and going.

“They did say your symptoms have been escalating a little faster than what they’re used to, considering you’ve begun developing vines along different parts of your chest and torso. They plan on putting you on watch for when things become too much and they have to… t-they have to do the procedure to… remove them… Seems this person’s really running their circles around your feelings, Izuku” They let out one of their worried ‘hehs’, sending him a pitiful smile of the same calibur. They pull their phone from the pocket, opening their dial-up before turning to him with a solemn smile, “So let’s get them called up, yeah?”

He feels the feeling crawl back up his throat, this one a little harder and scratchy; A hurtful kind of scratchy that makes him feel like something’s tearing at the inner skin. Another lump comes to his throat when he notices the tears in their eyes. He’s unable to tell if it's the weeds or something else entirely, “(Y/n)...”

“Don’t pull a (Y/n) and give up on them, please. My biggest regret was giving up on my feelings for you, but now I know for sure they’re not in vain” A few stray tears run down their cheeks only for their hand to quickly come up and wipe them away, “So please, Izuku… Tell them how you feel before you feel nothing at all-”

He’s unable to hold back as he feels himself cough, his hand quickly going to cover his mouth and catching the dark red petals that fall. (Y/n) is to his side, gripping his shoulder with one hand. One of their fingers holds the call button to request for assistance. Their (e/c) eyes widen in fear at the color of the petals in his hand, more of their tears coming and dripping down their face.

“Everything’s going to be okay, Izuku-”

“No! I-It’s not!” His arms cross over his chest, hands holding at opposite shoulders as he rocks himself. His chest heaves before he releases another sickly, airy cough. He manages out a dark crimson rose, his hold on himself tightening as more vines etch their indents onto his skin before taking a familiar, healthy shade of green. The shade contrasts with the growing paleness of his skin and the growing red bruises from the thorns pricking at his it. He coughs up another rose and the shades of red are almost indistinguishable as the shade of his own blood gets darker and comes out more clumped than before.

“Izuku, we have to go get you a doctor-”

“No! N-Not until…” he struggles to get the words out as it gets harder to breathe. He tries to ignore the feelings of needing to throw up, swallowing down the thick brushle in his chest. He’s unable to do so, coughing up another and another until his arms are completely decorated in the thorny vines. He takes a deep breath, slowly sitting up enough for his emerald eyes to meet their (e/c) ones. He fights down the nauseous feeling, his face twisting into a grimace as he pushes the small phrase, “I-It’s you-”

A sharp pain catches him before he can finish, various doctors and nurses rushing to his side as he screeches out from the unrivaled pain in his chest. They’re forced to watch as the color in Midoriya’s eyes begin to fade before his body fully goes limp in their hold.

They’re chest seemingly begins to contort, their heart squeezing with emotions they shouldn’t be feeling, that they couldn’t be feeling. The feelings all collide at once as they stand to the side, watching the futile attempts of the medical team to save Midoriya Izuku. They stand there until the team leaves, a dullness to their stare as the staff wheel him out of the room.

And once they’re gone, (Y/n) finally breaks down again...

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straycat-writes · 4 years

Text

fuubutsushi // 風物詩 (oda sakunosuke)

fuubutsushi // 風物詩 (japanese, n.) - the feelings, scents, or images that evoke memories or anticipation of a particular season.

requested by: anonymous

It was spring the first time he saw her, the mild early April air carrying with it the scent of freshly bloomed flowers. She was curled up with a book in a quiet corner of the quaint little café he used to frequent, completely lost as the words on the pages painted a picture in front of her.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon, and Oda must have stood there for a full five minute, wondering whether or not he should approach her and strike up a conversation. With mellow sunlight streaming in through the window beside her and a steaming cup of coffee on the table, she seemed almost too serene, too…picturesque for him to disturb her.

But humans have an innate instinct, a tendency to notice when they’re being looked at. She looked up from her book, slowly taking in her surroundings before her eyes finally landed on him. Oda would have liked to look away, should have looked away but he couldn’t bring himself to. When he blinked slowly, she gave him a dazzling smile, and that was all the encouragement he needed.

He approached her, a charming smile gracing his handsome face, “Is this spot taken, ma’am?”

“Not at all.” She smiled, gesturing in front of her, “You’re very welcome to stay.”

He sat down, looking at the blue and gold cover of the book still glued to her hand. On France and Poetry. He raised a curious eyebrow, “Baudelaire?”

“Among others.” She nodded, rather wistfully, “Baudelaire was insanely talented, but it’s a shame he has become so synonymous with French poetry that people barely pay any attention to others.”

“And who do you think deserves more attention?”

“Well, many others.” She said, then smiled sheepishly, “Although I have an affinity for Paul Verlaine.”

Oda laughed, “Ah, one of the romantics*. I must admit they do have a dreamy quality to their musings.”

Her eyes lit up at that, “Right? I understand the appeal of realism and all, but nothing compares to this particular form of expression, and Verlaine definitely did it better than anyone else.”

“That might have had something to do with his muse.” Oda reflected, “They do say he was on love with Rimbaud.”

“He shot Rimbaud.” she laughed, “Twice.”

Oda grinned coyly, “We all have our love languages.”

They sat there and talked for hours, about anything and everything, and each time she laughed at something he said, Oda swore he heard windchimes somewhere in the distance. It was almost evening by the time they realized that they couldn’t stay there forever, curled up in a world of their own that started and ended in a cozy little café. When she left, all Oda was left with was a messily scribbled phone number and beautiful name to go with it. He smiled.

It was summer the first time the thought crossed his mind that he might be falling for her. They had been going out for a few weeks now. It was a stiflingly warm night, and the smell of freshly mowed grass mingled with that of the salty sea breeze as they walked back after having dinner together, his hand intertwined with hers. They had stopped at the docks to admire the nighttime sea for a moment, when he finally plucked together the courage to tell her what he did for a living, telling her that it was fine if she wanted leave after this.

She cried. Each tear felt like a rip in Oda’s heart and he desperately wanted to console her, but he wasn’t sure if she would like being touched by him now. Then she got angry.

“You told me you wanted to be a writer.” She said through gritted teeth, “Tell me, then. Have you ever taken a life?”

The question took Oda by surprise. It took him a while, but he answered nonetheless, “…Never.”

“Why?”

“Because…” he began, then frowned, looking down at his feet, “Because then I wouldn’t have the right to be a writer anymore.”

More tears spilled down her cheeks, “Then why do you consider me shallow enough to leave you now? Do you really think that low of me?”

Oda was dumbstruck, unable to articulate even the simplest of thoughts. He had been ready for anything she might have had to say, but not this. Even after he told her everything…she still refuses to leave?

“Say something.” She frowned, lightly putting a hand on his chest, “You cannot hope to be a very good writer if you cannot even find the words to articulate –“

Oda couldn’t stop himself. He kissed her. The kiss was soft and true, tasting of subtle longing and slightly of the saltiness of her tears. And something else he couldn’t put his finger on, something far sweeter and much more delicate. They were both out of breath by the time he let go, and as he looked at the small smile fighting its way to her lips, at her rosy cheeks and shining eyes, Oda was sure he was in love.

It was autumn the first time he told her he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. It was once again a lazy afternoon, and they were lying on the bed in his small but airy two room flat, limbs tangled with each other’s and a thin cotton sheet the only thing covering their naked bodies. She traced little circles on his chest with her finger.

“Sakura really looks up to you, you know?” he said out of the blue.

She smiled, “Yeah? Well, she’s a good kid. So are the others. You’re doing a great job, Odasaku.”

“You think so?” he murmured, turning on his side to face her, “I just…I don’t want to make any mistakes when it comes to them.”

“And you won’t.” she said, lightly cupping his cheek. His crystal blue eyes looked even more breathtaking when the golden autumn sunlight hit them like that. “You know why? Because you’re a good man. And because I would never leave you to do this on your own.”

Oda’s eyes widened, a strange kind of warmth spreading throughout his chest. “Do you really mean that?”

“Every last bit.”

For a brief moment, he thought he saw every beautiful version of future flash before his eyes. A beautiful sea-side cabin, where the salty breeze accompanies him as he writes everything he has ever wanted to put down on paper. Stories of people and lives and love and beauty. Stories about the kids, about her and about himself being forever locked in her embrace. It was a beautiful version of reality, one he wasn’t sure he deserved but one he wanted nonetheless.

And here she was, telling him she wanted the same thing.

He sighed, dipping slightly forward to rest his forehead on hers, “Sweetheart…whatever will I do without you?”

“That’s irrelevant.” She murmured, place a small kiss just at the edge of his lips, “Because you won’t ever have to find out.”

It was winter the first time he realized just how out of reach that beautiful reality really was. The world had never been fair. Bad things happened to good people everyday and the pursuit of happiness was utterly meaningless. Everything was meaningless. God didn’t exist, and if he did, he wasn’t worthy of being called one. What kind of cruel, sadistic God allowed innocent children to die at the hands of mercenaries?

Oda Sakunosuke had nothing left to live for anymore.

Or so he thought. If he had put aside the sheer rage coursing through his veins and clouding his eyes for one moment, he would have realized that he had one last solace left in the world. One last chance at salvation, waiting for him to crawl back home to her and into her welcoming embrace. She would weep with him, weep for him and soothe him as he screamed his throat raw and let out every last bit of pain and ache the world had shoved into him. And regardless of the amount of blood on his hands, she would gather him up and piece him back together again.

But rage and hopelessness and sheer, white hot fury had blinded Oda, and he could no longer see anything but red. Gide wanted a reckoning and Oda would give it to him, even if it ended up destroying him in the process. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

There were a few thoughts that crossed Oda’s mind as he lied there in Dazai’s arms, his heartbeat slowly failing him.

One of them was that he wanted a cigarette, which is an odd thing to think as you’re dying, but he allowed himself the liberty. The second was that he would never be a writer now. But that hardly mattered at this point. The third was that Dazai was crying. Oda had never seen him cry before, but he figured it was good for him, because underneath that fragile façade of the horrific ‘demonic prodigy’, Oda knew he was just a scared, broken little boy who just wanted to feel something other than empty for once. If his death was what pushed Dazai out of the darkness, then Oda wouldn’t consider it to be completely in vain.

The last thing he thought, as his vision began to grow darker and darker, was that there was a girl still waiting for him at home. They had had a fight before he left, and he had left her crying on the doorway in the biting evening air that chilled everything to the bone. He had left without telling her where he was going. He wished to God he could turn back time, even for a little bit, and say all the right things to her, or at least a proper goodbye. But it was too late for that now.

She would probably get the news from Dazai. He wondered briefly how she would take it. Would she cry? Would she get angry at his foolishness? Would she despise him for leaving her? If she did, he thought, he wouldn’t blame her.

Gide was dead. Oda had had his revenge, his hollow moment of triumph. But he didn’t feel any better. All he felt was this all-pervading sense of cold emptiness, knowing that his momentary victory came at the price of leaving two people behind to pick up their broken pieces. To clean up the mess he created.

He was very cold now, and too drained to open his eyes anymore. As the last of his strength left him, he only wished…something good comes of his death.

*romantics here refers to being part of the early 19th century literary movement, Romanticism, and has no relation to the present day connotations of the word.

#took me long enough xD but im quite happy with this one #oda sakunosuke #odasaku x reader #bsd x reader #one shot #sceanrio #angst #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #imagines #straycat's 1k follower celebration

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