#As most of my writing usually is

[kakusu-shipping]

Heartbeat

Mountain's Peak (Part 1) - Nepal Sanctum (Part 2) - Talk it out (Part 3) - The Fight (Part 4)

Here's hoping this is the last bit of Delinquent Zenyatta we'll be seeing for a while!! Thank you for reading!!

In which the heart is moved

Zenyatta had never understood the term "his heart sank". The human heart is a very vital organ that rhythmically pumps oxygen rich blood throughout the human body. It does not "sink", any movement from it's cadge in the chest would be catastrophic for the human in question.

He'd never understood.

A minor concussion, major whiplash, two broken ribs, three more cracked, a dislocated shoulder, a minor wrist fracture, a twisted ankle, and mild frost bite.

That was Emile's diagnosis.

Zenyatta stared passed Mondatta into the human's room, warmth rushing out from the lit fireplace. Emile lay unconscious on a makeshift bed he'd been using now for 3 months, just a pile of hay for a mattress and spare robes for blankets on the stone flooring of Mondatta's home.

"Zenyatta." Master Mondatta's voice brought Zen back from his thoughts. He stared up at his brother who stood before him and the resting human.

"Is-"

"He will be alright." Mondatta assured, "Sister Reya has tended to him the best she can, now he must rest."

Zenyatta gave another glance to the human, Emile, small as he was, bruised black and blue. He looked like a corpse. The grip Zenyatta had on Emile's broken glasses tightened.

"Emile tells me the two of you were sparring," Zenyatta flinched, and prepared for the worse. Exile, he assumed, forced out the monastery and onto the human filled streets of the outside world. He would need to sneak away in the dead of night, or Ramattra would surely follow him. "when he slipped and fell down the stairs."

That.. confused Zenyatta. That was not what had happened at all, had it? They had sparred, Zenyatta had laid his hand upon Emile until he could stand no longer.. correct...? Why would the human... lie..?

"Is this true, Brother Zenyatta?" Mondatta asked genuinely. He believed the human's words, or at least was willing to believe them if this was the truth he was willing to bare with.

Zenyatta hesitated, the glasses in his hand made a faint crunch as what little remained of the lenses fell out.

"...no.. Master Mondatta... That is.. Not what happened.."

"I see," Mondatta cupped Zenyatta's shaking hands in his own, leaning down ever so slightly to be on level with his shorter brother, "Perhaps you can tell me the truth of the events over tea?"

It was warm.. so warm... A soft chime played in the left corner, soft and mournful, a lullaby for someone no longer here..

Emile's eyes cracked open to see the now familiar blurry ceiling of his bedroom in Master Mondatta's home, the soft crackle of the fire by his feet much louder than is usually once when he'd first wake up.

Emile turned to reach for his glasses, which he'd always rested on his left side. His entire body ached at the motion, which turned out to be fruitless as his hand came to find nothing.

"Looking for these?" A voice asked, a metallic hand out stretched and slid Emile's glasses onto his face, "You have impeccable timing as always, human, I just finished repairing them."

"Zenyatta...?" Emile's eyes widened behind his cracked glasses, the Omnic in question sat in a meditative position in the opposite corner of the small room. He couldn't believe his eyes at first, assuming it some sort of dream that the monk who'd hated him most of all would pay him a visit during recovery.

Zenyatta wordlessly assisted Emile as he raised himself off the ground, leaning him against the back wall of the room, as the human racked over possible reasons Zenyatta would have to visit him.

Emile's eyes filled with tears as he came to his conclusion. He'd lost. He challenged Zenyatta and lost and had to fulfill what he'd promised to do. He had to leave.

Tears flowed down the human's face, which wasn't unusual for this particular human, but was still rather startling, "Wh-why are you crying? Are you in pain?"

Zenyatta started to get up to go get Master Mondatta when Emile responded, "I-I'm sorry- I-I said I'd leave when I lost bu-but- I-I can barely sit u-up right now-" He hiccuped and rubbed at his eyes with his one good arm, "I-I'll leave, li-like I said, as soon as I can sta-and I promise,"

Zenyatta suddenly understood the term "his heart sank"

Zenyatta grabbed the human's cheeks, they were so hot, wet with heavy tears, soft and round and so very human.

"You won."

"I- h-huh..?"

"I... Forfeited. Just before you passed out. I lost. You won." His thumb ran gently against the under side of the human's eye, brushing away another tear before it fell, "so.. no more tears.. you may stay.."

Emile breath hitched, his entire body was shaking, the news hadn't sunk in yet. He reached to put his hand on Zenyatta's, only to flinch in hesitation just as his skin brushed Zenyatta's arm. "I-I- I'm sorry-"

"It is alright." Zenyatta kept his hands firm, pushing the human's cheeks together slightly with his force, "You will not hurt me..."

Emile gripped onto Zenyatta and sobbed into his chest. More tears, wet and salty and thick drained from the human's eyes. He was so warm. Had humans always been this warm? Zenyatta wrapped his arms around Emile and held him securely to himself.

"Did you know," Emile spoke as he wove red thread together on his lap, "You make a little chime tune when you meditate?"

Zenyatta looked up from his own work, a basket, and tilted his head, "A tune? Surely I would hear it if I did."

"That's what I thought too!" Emile shifted to turn to face Zenyatta, letting his legs hang over the edge of his bed, "But I caught Master Mondatta doing it the other day and asked him about it, and he had no clue what I was talking about!"

"So.. What, we make music only humans can hear while we meditate? That seems unlikely. Perhaps there is something loose in your head Reya did not pick up on the first time."

Zenyatta stood from his seated position on the floor and cupped Emile's face, rattling his head gently to emphasis his point.

Emile laughed, placing his hands over Zenyatta's, his left wrist still tightly bandaged from their spar three weeks ago. He'd been recovering well, both of them had.

"I'm serious! When we all get together for Meditation in the evening it's like a symphony! I can't believe you don't notice."

"Perhaps because I am busy meditating," Zenyatta pinched and pulled at Emile's cheek, "unlike some little human I know~"

"Oooow!! I meditate!!" Emile pushed at Zenyatta's head in a weak attempt of prying the Omnic off him. Instead Zenyatta doubled down and pinched the other cheek, pulling them both.

"Ah yes now I know the 'Chime' you are talking about, you do it too. It's called snoring."

"Aaaaaaaugh Uncle!! Uncle I tap!! I give!!!" Emile flailed until Zenyatta finally released him with a chuckle.

His laugh made Emile's heart soar and a flush rise to his cheeks, which were already red from Zenyatta's previous assault.

"Brother Zenyatta." Mondatta's voice came with a light knock to Emile's door frame, "You are playing nice with Brother Emile, yes? He is still in recovery you know."

Zenyatta flinched and spun to face Mondatta, plopping himself on the bed next to Emile before wrapping his arm around him, "Yes yes! Gentle as ever, Master!" He waved his hands as a show of innocence.

Mondatta gave a glance over the scene, before picking up Zenyatta's discarded half finished wicker basket with a soft hum. "Good then, though I hope all this playing is not getting in the way of your chores." He extended the basket to Zenyatta, who too it sheepishly.

"My apologizes, Master Mondatta.." Zenyatta held back from pinching Emile's squishy cheeks once more upon hearing the human giggle at his scolding.

Mondatta found himself admiring the quickly closing gap between his siblings. How fast they'd gone from hatred glances to sitting hip to hip. He still wasn't sure how they'd come to this, but he was happy non the less.

With a hum Mondatta motioned for the two to come stand, "Well then, if you two are ready, Ramattra is already outside awaiting us to head to evening meditation."

Zenyatta stood quickly and started to pull Emile up with him, but the human waved him off, "Go on ahead of me, I'll catch up."

Despite the quick relations Emile had formed with Zenyatta, he could tell Ramattra was still holding a distance, one he attempted to cover with a high voice and faked laughs. As much as he enjoyed Zenyatta's company, he wanted to give the monk time with Ramattra as well.

"Are you certain?" Zenyatta asked, "It's no trouble."

"I know. I'm fine, go on."

Zenyatta hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded and quickly was out of the room.

Mondatta watched his brother go before offering his arm to Emile, which the human took and pulled himself from the bed on wobbly legs. His ankle was still wrapped and stung when he'd put his weight on to it, and his chest still ached when he breathed too deeply, making meditation rather exhausting, and his wrist still occasionally seized in pain. All part of the healing process.

Still, Mondatta noticed the way his student would flinch upon stepping, or when he'd grab something with his left hand without thinking. He hated to see his siblings in pain...

Emile smiled up at Mondatta, "Shall we get going? Wouldn't want to be late."

Mondatta looked over his student once more, cheeks flushed red, glasses broken, old bruises littering his exposed skin turning green and yellow, wrapped in patchy bandaging. He wondered to himself if it was right to allow him to stay..

And then he remembered the laughing he'd heard from down the hall, a mix of human and omnic, joyfully playing together with nary a care in the world

Mondatta pulled Emile's robe up snugger on his shoulder, adjusting his clothes for a moment to be sure they kept him warm. He belonged here, same as all of Mondatta's other siblings, because he too was in tune with the iris.

"...Perhaps you should put on a few more layers first"

[abstractfrog]

Happy 1 year anniversary to Mr Sherlock Holmes! Here's a litttleee celebratory comic from me

[kimdokjas]

@animangacreators challenge ⟡ spring 2024

↳ WIND BREAKER

You haven't given up on others yet. And you don't need to give up. At the least I'm looking your way, Sakura. So why don't you look this way as well? If you do, I'm sure… you'll become what you want to be.

[necrotic-nephilim]

i personally have very complicated feelings on the Gotham Knights video game and the routes it takes with characterization. i think it has a charm to it and it goes in an interesting direction with everyone (especially within the confides of the plot of the game) but it does have certain moments that veer painfully fanon for me. (such as: the dialogue where Tim drinks too much coffee) it's an interesting story for what it is but i don't view it comics-based for characterization and therefore don't care to interact with it much for like. fanfic purposes.

that *said* though. i do have to give the game some kind of credit for giving one of the top five JayTim moments that lives rent free in my mind. every since i played the game, the cutscene lives in my mind daily. it's the specific cutscene where Jason and Tim are arguing about whether or not Jason's non-lethal bullets are too dangerous for the field, and the argument leads to TIm *standing in front of the target* Jason is shooting and telling Jason to shoot him. it lives rent free for me. i never stop thinking about this.

the absolute certainty Tim has that he is in no danger standing in front of Jason, who has a loaded gun pointed at his face. the way Jason *hesitates* for just a moment before lowering the gun. he thinks about it for just a second. Gotham Knights JayTim seem to get along very well and can rely on each other, but Jason still clearly holds a bitterness about his death and Tim that flickers through in some lines of dialogue under the guise of jokes. especially since this game deals *heavily* with concepts of Pit Madness causing an altered state of consciousness, i think it's believable that occasionally, Jason fights the urge to fight and hurt Tim for the feeling of being replaced.

i like their tension so much in this canon. they get along but you can *tell* Tim is afraid of addressing Jason's trauma or even addressing Jason head-on, and Jason leans into spooking Tim about it. which isn't very comics feeling in their dynamic, but it is an interesting way to place their dynamic if you're playing with a more timid Tim who's newer to the role of Robin. (which he seems to be in-game) he really doesn't want to offend Jason, or worse, piss him off. but he'll still face Jason head on for things like this, while completely aware of what Jason could be capable of.

and Jason seems very protective of Tim and respecting Tim as a Robin in typical Jason fashion. if Tim pushes, Jason *will* relent. he knows this is a kid who's proved himself and should be treated with equal respect, sometimes even more than Dick and Babs do in-game.

so for all that to culminate in Tim stepping in front of Jason's loaded gun that he *knows* is on the edge of being too dangerous, just to force Jason to listen? it's the most unhinged way Tim could've gotten his point across in this scene. he was literally daring Jason to hurt him and playing with a very dangerous fire. but he did it anyway bc he believed he could make Jason heel just at the thought of hurting Tim. and he was *right*. they're gay and i'm feral ty.

[nenoname]

stan twins the canon cptsd brothers i will always think about all your unaddressed issues that would make perfect plot fuel for your spinoff

and also the whole 'stan getting that poem by bill via a website which contrasts with bill getting one from the axolotl via a website' foreshadowing thing

like idk i would love something like su future but like more optimistic, aka not an accumulated breakdown that has to be mostly resolved off screen at the end :/// but something thats being kinda addressed throughout? (although would love to see one of them turn into a monster thats always fun lol)

stan having severe issues from his dad and those years of being homeless that we keep on getting more info on but never really getting confronted on (the drifter catalogue and tijuana incident...), him being completely alone for like twenty years when running the shack before soos comes along to the point that 1998 is noted as his low point, and him not really learning about bill+what he did to ford until ages after he killed him if he ever did get the full context

while i think amnesia and everyone seeing him as a hero actually helped with stan's 'i'm a worse version of my brother' thing its still a lingering issue too and we now got him being insecure over his own hands

ford being immediately thrown from 'being tortured by bill' to 'being stuck in the multiverse and being chased by bounty hunters constantly', him fully expecting himself to die when destroying bill, and him only now being safe for the first time in 30 years ....relatively safe, he's still in constant danger because of course he is

idk in the end the series wants them to be happy and they deserve it, its why i wasn't too worried about the book being like 'ooh bill is back!! and the book is haunting ford' thing cos i knew they'll be ok

[sk3tch404]

Yandere Donnie Darko Hcs

A/n: I finally came around to watching Donnie Darko while I was styling my hair this morning. It was so good and omgg HIS CHARACTER!!! Love it 💜 What he voices in where he rebels against authority resonates with me in the most honest and straight up sense, it's crazy.

CW: Characterizing of psychosis without research (I am in no way claiming this is how individuals who suffer some psychosis or with schizophrenic symptoms act or feel like. This is simply a work of fiction and how I see Donnie's mental state affect the scenario), Donnie is actually very tame here except for his obvious criminal record and acts of violence, and YALL HES A MENTALLY ILL TEENAGE BOY so he's a lowkey soft okay. Y'all see him with Gretchen? So caring and passionate ugh, love him sm. <33 I try to write as close to canon as possible, but sometimes that leads to really soft yans and I kind of doubt my writing. Despite that. I like to think that not all yanderes need to be possessive killing machines in order to fit into the troupe. Everyone's got their own way of dealing with obsession, and so I think I did decently with this one lol.

Proof read a few times, so sorry for wordy/run on sentences and possible wonky grammar.

I feel like Donnie is very observant and patient with his darling. He's quite analytical for a teenage boy which leads him to take time to consider the variables that weigh within your possible relationship.

Donnie is still an awkward kid, so dont be surprised when you accidentally find him staring at you for a considerable period of time in class. In school, he doesn't approach you, seeing as the setting is already suffocating enough. He'd try to catch you after school or when you two have a little bit of privacy.

He's kinda shy and clumsy at first glance--- too talkative in his speech and self-aware of his minor fuck ups. Over time, he'll be more open to what he wants with you. Donnie might not really understand how to handle love and all of its complexities, but hell try really hard to make it work.

Yeah, y'all saw how fast he dived in for that kiss in the film?... Embarrassing, but it's true that he's quite excited to show his affection for you. He'll be "so chill with it," and he is to an extent--- not too clingy at all--- but when he's around he gives you guard dog privileges. Stays at your side and defends you from any brain rotting comments made from the guys around the neighborhood. Donnie isn't much of a fighter, but he's damn well capable of planning and executing a crime if it calls for it. One count of arson, another unaccounted for, severe property damage, and murder? Don't doubt it for one second that he won't consider further acts in the future to come.

His psychosis affects him directly when it comes to you--- as it also does with most things. He already feels so shitty with how things are going in his life, Frank voicing the many thoughts he has about you day to day stresses him further. Sometimes Donnie is scared Frank will convince him to hurt you as the countdown progresses. Despite that fear, he can't keep away from you.

This distress causes Donnie to rebel more often. As he spirals down the rabbit hole Frank keeps digging for him, the anxiety that follows with what will happen to you once the world ends lingers late at night in his bed.

Donnie's main love language is quality time. He walks with you from school and chills with you pretty much wherever. He's pretty book-smart, so he'll pitch in with your projects and homework assignments. His parents don't really seem like they care what he does most of the time, so if he's given the chance, he'll crash at your place for a few before they think he's off sleepwalking or some shit.

Donnie already knows he's slipping off the rails, placebo medication or not, Frank stays to stir the pot. He's almost scared, scared to death that you'll think he's an insane lunatic and he'll scare you off. But at the same time, why be scared if it's the truth? He has evidence, the book, and his own visions. That anxiety doesn't go away when he rambles on about the six-foot-tall bunny rabbit and how that thing has led him to the method of time travel.

You're just left there dumb founded as he stares on at you with that deadpanned look. Too late to back out now. World's ending and you don't got a boyfriend. Well, you got Donnie... and Frank's there too sometimes, but either way, you're all each other's got. You don't want to be alone do you? Donnie knows he doesn't.

He trusts you more than anyone else. Yeah he's on meds, and sure he's loony, but everyone knows that already; not that they seemed to care too much anyway. He feels like he can just exist with you around. All that pent up frustration with the looming guilt of his actions festering inside can be washed out like waves on a cold shore. Of course, it's not a cure-all, but it's damn nice compared to the bone headed friends he got and the tense dinner table back at home.

He has scratch paper in his drawers that are just filled with messy sketches of you. Not sure if he'd be the type to use sketchbooks, but he is pretty organized in his own room. Donnie just finds you so easy and beautiful to draw. Art block has nothing on this boy. He hates it when his sisters barge into his room and see any unfinished piece of you lying around. They tease him so bad about it, he wishes they'd just leave him alone.

"Ooo, is this the girl you're always wasting your time with?"

"No, gimme it. It's none of your business, and get out of my room."

"Geez, fine. Not like that's the freakiest thing you got in here anyway."

Donnie wouldn't be the extreme stalking type, but if he caught a glance of you, he wouldn't be able to look away. He'd also take into account what your daily patterns are as well as your likes and dislikes. He notices your little habits like if you constantly apply too much pressure to your mechanical pencil, making your lead break. He's always have had a passive opinion on the school uniform, but you made it look good, great even. Donnie likes it even more seeing you in street wear. He takes note on your style and even thinks of taking some inspiration from it to feel closer to you.

He's sensitive in places a teenager would be in most. He's irritable and closed off much of the time, even to you if it gets bad enough. Of course, it's not your fault usually. It only makes sense to be defensive in the case of anything he may perceive as a threat, even if that means any possibility of you breaking his heart.

Donnie may be a bit shy in his advances, but what he isn't is hesitant. He's quite bold in his thoughts and feelings. While he is afraid of your judgement in particular, he doesn't mind doing many things in front of you. Your collar is crooked, so let him just fix it up real quick. Talk about something that's got him thinking? He's letting his thoughts pour out like it's happy hour. He sees no issue in doing what he wants to, so if you're feeling unsure or nervous about something, he'll be the one to do it for you. Not many questions asked unless it's got his serious attention.

Kisses are passionate and deep. (Tbh when I first watched the movie I was like, "DAMN dont eat her face- shit.") I dont know if Donnie has had previous experience or not, but he's definitely got the enthusiasm. He tries to match your rhythm if you seem to have trouble following. Not too much tongue, but best believe he's devouring your lips like it's the last 6 hours in the universe. His hands are roaming around your body, feeling the dips and curves so cautiously because Jesus, you're just rocking his fucking world. If you tell him to slow down, he will. Donnie never wants to force you to do anything you wouldn't want to.

Words of affirmation aren't really a thing for him. If he says something to you, it was probably on his mind anyway. If you say "I love you" to him, he'd be almost stunned but wouldn't have a problem reciprocating that energy. He just felt like that connection between you two was already clear enough. No need to say it so directly. Although, it's nice. He really loves and cares for you. Would take a bullet for you--- cross his heart till he dies, all that sappy shit.

If you reject him, let's just say Frank and Donnie will be speaking more often. It pushes him off the edge. Frank isn't in Donnie's head just to do evil shit, but it's not like his presence doesn't perpetuate Donnie's behavior further. He wouldn't go on a killing spree or anything excessively violent like that. He'd be hyper-focused on the time travel aspect of his situation and become more forceful in his methods. He'd demand answers to make sense of all of it. To cope with the fact you didn't want him like how he needed you. Why didn't you like him enough? What didn't he do? Actually, what did he do? His mind feels like its on the brink of breaking as he tries to rationalize all the negativity in his life. He's already done too much, his world feels like it's collapsing in on itself before the actual day could even come. You were a majority of that world, and now it's just broken.

Donnie is so distraught and confused about his adolescent experiences, he almost doesn't know what to do. The only thing to do from then on is to focus on the countdown. Time travel, and how to fix it all. Otherwise, not only would he be left alone, but you would be too. Donnie wouldn't want that for you, not ever. Even with all the pain and frustration stowed away inside his still beating heart, he would never wish to hurt you; one of the only people on Earth who didn't suck so much as everyone else did.

[luxaofhesperides]

Wings AU ; requested by @justwannabecat!

“Are you sure it looks good?” Duke asks for the sixth time in an hour.

Tim sighs and says, yet again, “It looks fine. Just give it to him! If he doesn’t love it, I’ll beat him up for you.”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I could! But you’re right, I wouldn’t. I would just psychologically torment him until he broke.”

“Don’t do that, please. I’d like to actually have a chance with him, even if he hates this.”

“He won’t,” Tim says. He actually stops typing to give Duke a severe look. “Go and give it to him. If you don’t go now, he’s going to think you bailed.”

Duke glances at the time, then jumps. “Shit! Thanks for your help, man!” He’s out of the door before Tim can say another word. He doesn’t bother with the front door, or even going down the hallway. Instead, he opens the nearest window and flings himself out of it, unfurling his tawny wings to catch the wind beneath them and ride them into the city proper.

He briefly considers stopping for a moment to change into his Signal outfit so he can fly above civilian jurisdiction, then decides that it’s far easier to just bend the light around him so he’s invisible. He wouldn’t want to be late meeting Danny, after all. Especially not for this.

He hadn’t been expecting Danny to be into traditional courting methods. Most people tend to go the more modern way of dating, but Danny had mentioned once or twice that he thought it was romantic. He had blushed, mumbling the words, but Duke heard them and went into researching courting methods to see which ones Danny might like best.

Sure, he could just ask Danny out on a date like he normally would if he liked someone, but if Danny wants to be courted, then Duke is going to court him!

It’s why he’s been planning this out carefully, gathering his primaries after his wings molted a few months ago so he could string them together into a thin wing covering. 

Admittedly, this courting method isn’t super common, but the thought of giving Danny his feathers, making it look like their wings are one and the same, has kept Duke up some nights, wanting it so badly. 

Besides, he thinks Danny will like it. Considering the state of his wings after the Accident…

Duke holds his handmade wing covers closer to his chest, flier lower as he leaves Bristol and enters Diamond District. The streets are busy, full of people. Most tend to stay on the ground, wings tucked close to their bodies, but there are plenty still flying above cars and buses that Duke has to carefully fly around. 

It takes another twenty minutes to get to Robinson Park, where Duke drops down to the ground and takes a moment to make sure all his feathers are straight and neatly displayed. Then he walks into the park, heading towards their usual meeting place.

For once, it’s a nice, sunny day in Gotham. Everyone’s taking advantage of it. The park is full of couples and families, walking around slowly, and kids dart through the air, still unable to go very high with their wings not yet fully grown in. It’s nice to hear the laughter and general chatter of people wandering the park. 

Duke doesn’t spend too long walking the paved paths through the park. He steps off of it near the second water fountain on the path, then heads into the trees, passing two moms on a picnic with their three kids rolling around the grass nearby. 

Tucked away in this corner of the park is a small clearing surrounded by thin trees. The tile is dirty and cracked, no one maintaining it at all with it hidden away. 

He sees Danny’s wings first, with long feathers that trail onto the ground, a black that shines dark blue in the light. He follows the lines of his wings back to his body, where Danny sits on a bench, leaning his weight back against his hands as he lifts his head up into the sunlight, basking in the warmth.

He really is so pretty. He insists that he isn’t, but Duke regularly spends time with the Wayne family, all who have modeled before, so he’s got a better idea than most about what pretty  looks like, and Danny fits the bill. 

“Hey,” Duke calls out softly, watching as Danny slowly blinks his eyes open and turns to give him a warm smile.

“Hey! I’m free for the rest of the day, which means we have so much time to complain about things today.”

“I didn’t keep you waiting, did I?”

“Nope,” Danny says. “I wouldn’t mind waiting, though. I like hanging out with you.”

Heart pounding in his chest, Duke walks forward. He doesn’t know if there’s something specific he has to say when presenting his gift, if there’s a courting tradition involved that he didn’t learn about. He’s terrified Danny’s going to reject it. He’s praying that Danny accepts it.

“Are you okay?” Danny asks, standing to get a better look at him. “You seem tense…” He trails off as he catches sight of what Duke holds in his hands, breath stuttering.

“I’m fine. I, um.” Duke steps into the clearing, entering the sunlight, and holds out his wing covers. “I made them for you. You mentioned before that you thought courting traditions were romantic… I don’t know if you like wing covers, but I thought you’d look good in my feathers… Only if you want it though!”

He’s trying so hard not to cringe away in embarrassment. He’s flirted with Danny before, half jokes and half serious, always playful. Duke was smooth then, delighting in how flustered it made Danny before he hit back with his own flirting. Now he’s a hesitant, stuttering fool, tripping over his words and struggling to find the perfect things to say. Maybe he should have thought up a speech, or something. Memorized a few lines to speak his intentions with this courting gift. Done literally any prep for giving the gift instead of focusing only on making it.

Danny doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. He just stares, wide-eyed at the wing covers in Duke’s hands.

That’s a bad sign, isn’t it.

His hands lower just a touch, and he quietly prompts, “Danny?”

Just as he’s about to pull back, step away and try to fix things, messily attempt to salvage their friendship because clearly Danny doesn’t want to be courted by Duke, Danny’s hands snap out whip-fast and latch onto his wrists.

“This is… for me?” he whispers, awed.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s for you.”

“And you’re courting me? Like, for real?”

“Yeah, definitely courting you for real. Do you accept?”

Danny throws himself into Duke’s arms, careful not to crush the wing covers between them. “In what world would I say no?” he laughs, bright with joy. He pulls back a second later, not giving Duke time to hug him back, and turns around, carefully stretching his wings out. “Put them on for me?”

“Of course.”

He starts by smoothing out some of Danny’s feathers. He doesn’t get to do this often; Danny hates having his wings on display for anyone, with how they spasm occasionally, and have empty patches where feathers will never grow in again. The Accident, all that electricity coursing through him, it permanently damaged his wings. There is no healing to be done. 

His wings are lacking too many flight feathers and primaries for him to fly. He’s stuck on the ground now, unable to use his wings for more than a minute. Old burns are still visible closer to his spine. 

Danny prefers hiding his wings away. He hates thinking about the Accident, hates how it’s taken his wings from him, how it’s changed him completely. 

But Duke loves his wings. He loves the softness of Danny’s lower feathers, how they shine in the light, how they always puff up when it gets windy. He’s only gotten to preen them twice before, and he treasures those memories more dearly than anything else.

This easily outshines both those moments.

He gently combs his fingers through Danny’s feathers, straightening them out, then lays the first wing cover over his right wing. His own brown feathers drape over the top of Danny’s wings, hiding the featherless patches from view. He does the same to the other wing, then adjust both until they lay perfectly on Danny’s wings.

As soon as he lifts his hands away from Danny’s wings, Danny is spinning around with a grin, flaring his wings out.

“How do I look?”

“Perfect,” Duke answers. He was right; Danny looks good in his feathers.

He watches, fond and amused, as Danny spins, keeping his wings flared, admiring his new look. “I’m never taking these off,” he says. “I love them so much. I can’t really make one for you, though…”

“You don’t need to.”

“I can’t just accept this and not give you something in return!”

“Well… There is one thing you could give me. Something I’ve been wanting for a long time.”

“What is it?” Danny asks, leaning towards Duke. He’s eager, ready to please, so delighted to be courted. 

Duke smiles. “A kiss.”

“Done.” 

He doesn’t have time to react before Danny is pouncing on him, hands fisting the collar of his shirt as he tilts his head up and kisses Duke. He pulls back before Duke can kiss back, blushing and unbearably cute.

And all Duke manages to say is, “Cool.”

He’s so good at this.

Danny rightfully laughs at him, then grabs his hand and pulls him down to the bench. “Come on, I promised to complain about my teachers today and I intend to deliver. And maybe later, I could take you out on a date? If you want.”

“Danny, of course I want to go on a date with you. I’m courting you! I thought I made my feelings clear!”

“I’m just making sure!” Danny shouts over him, and Duke can’t resist the urge to pull him closer and pepper kisses along his cheek. “Okay, okay, I got it. You’ve made your feelings clear. I’m going to date you so hard.”

“You better. It’s about time you put some work into our relationship.”

“Excuse you?!” Danny gasps in mock outrage, and they start bickering lightheartedly as they always do.

Even with their feelings come to light, even with a courtship started and a date promised, it doesn’t feel like anything between them has changed. 

It’s just them. Just as it always has been.

Duke couldn’t be happier.

[yikes-ajax]

I dont have a clever and witty sarcastic comment tonight, I just think she's cute

[viperwhispered]

Too Much

So this would be the little thing I teased earlier that had the working title of "Jamil's oh shit moment". Whoever the anon was who was curious to see this come to fruition, well, here it is. Hope y'all enjoy this little trip inside Jamil's head.

It all started with an off-hand comment from Kalim.

Well, truth be told, it started well before that.

For a while now, Jamil had found himself strangely fretful whenever you were around.

It was not the sort of irritation he felt with Kalim’s constantly chafing presence, nor the constant worries of what trouble Kalim might find himself in next. Not really like the frustration he got from suffering with Floyd and Ace’s antics during basketball practice. It wasn't even just another of the usual pins and needles of all the small things of his everyday life that kept on needling on his patience.

No, if anything, you were quite…inoffensive.

But he couldn’t help being on edge, on alert even more than usual.

So much so that the other day, when you turned up in Scarabia and your voice suddenly rang clear in the lounge, Jamil nearly spilled the tea he was just pouring into Kalim’s cup.

Or when you’d joined him and Kalim for lunch in the cafeteria, Jamil could feel his shoulders inching up to his ears with the tension that crept into his body. Even holding his utensils and bringing his food to his mouth somehow felt awkward and clumsy.

Most bothersome indeed.

Besides, he already had enough on his plate without you adding to it all, threatening to tear down the precarious control he barely maintained over his life.

And yesterday, you had come to talk with him after the basketball game, saying such things about his performance on court that his cheeks still threatened to redden just remembering it.

You really were just too much.

And the way you had looked at him, like-

“Jamil! What are you thinking about?”

Kalim’s voice startled Jamil out of his thoughts.

“Nothing.”

What was he thinking about? Why were you on his mind like this?

Jamil’s hands kept working, chopping the vegetables with practiced ease. Yet his mind was barely in what he was doing, busy with trying to tease open the budding thought.

…No.

No.

No way.

Surely he was not that stupid. After all, there was no way-

“Oh, you just seemed so happy, but guess it was nothing then,” Kalim said brightly.

The rest of Kalim's words faded out of Jamil's ears.

The steady rhythm of the knife turned more erratic and forceful, sure to leave deep marks on the cutting board. The urge to pull his hood tighter over his face was almost irresistible, Jamil’s hand slightly twitching even as he forced himself to continue with his task as if nothing had happened.

Why had he been thinking about you? About the way you smiled at him the other day?

Shit.

ETA: there's now a part 2! And a part 3. Part 4. And finally, part 5. I originally had more written for this but ngl this seemed like the perfect point to cut it. But who knows, maybe there'll be a part 2 at some point. They played this song in my dance class and it got me thinking of that moment when Jamil realizes just how down bad he is for you. How screwed he is when it comes to you. Jamil certainly wouldn’t be as all in as the narrator in the song is (at least with his NRC circumstances), but the lyrics still sure worked as inspiration. Tagging @colliope @crystallizsch @diodellet @jamilsimpno69 @jamilvapologist @twstgo If you'd like to be tagged for future works, let me know!

[gingermintpepper]

As usual I read your tags always and so you said Apollo did not ask for resurrection of Asclepius and Hyacinthus so i just wanted to share this. About Asclepius death I read it on theoi.com, that earlier authors don't make him resurrect as a god but that's a later development mentioned only by Roman authors like Cicero, Hyginus and Ovid. But still Apollo has a role in Ovid's version

Ovid, Fasti 6. 735 ff (trans.Boyle) (Roman poetry C1st B.C. to C1st A.D.) : Clymenus [Haides] and Clotho resent the threads of life respun and death's royal rights diminished. Jove [Zeus] feared the precedent and aimed his thunderbolt at the man who employed excessive art. Phoebus [Apollon], you whined. He is a god; smile at your father, who, for your sake, undoes his prohibitions [i.e. when he obtains immortality for Asklepios].

So here it is actually because of Apollo the decision was taken to resurrect him as god. And with Hyacinthus, I don't think I've read about Artemis playing the primary role. I know in Sparta there was a picture of Artemis, Athena and Aphrodite carrying Hyacinthus and his sister to heaven.

This is not on theoi.com but I saw on Tumblr it's from Dionysiaca by Nonnus

Second, my lord Oiagros wove a winding lay, as the father of Orpheus who has the Muse his boon companion. Only a couple of verses he sang, a ditty of Phoibos, clearspoken in few words after some Amyclaian style: Apollo brought to life again his longhaired Hyacinthos: Staphylos will be made to live for aye by Dionysos.

So since he is singing inspired by amyclean stories it probably means in that place it was believed Apollo was the one to bring back his lover to life.

Apollo as god of order was very important so i think it shows how special these people (and admetus too) were to him that he decided to go against the order for them 🥺

ANON!! Shakes you like a bottle of ramune!! BELOVED ANON!!!!! I'm littering your face with kisses, I'm anointing you with olive oil and honey - you absolutely made my night with this because, not only did I get the pure serotonin shot of having someone interact with my tags (yippee, wahoo!!) I also got to have that wonderful feeling of "oh wow, have I misunderstood something that was integral to my understanding of this myth/figure this whole time or is this a case of interpretational differences?" which is imo vital for my aims and interests as someone who enjoys mythological content and literature.

I'll preface my response with this: Hyacinthus is by far the hardest of these to get accounts for because his revival itself, as you very astutely point out, is generally accounted for in painting/ritual format which muddies the waters on who interceded for what. I wasn't actually familiar with that passage from the Argonautica - and certainly didn't remember it so thank you very much for bringing it to my attention!

That said, what I've come to understand, both about Hyacinthus and about Asclepius is that in the accounts of their deaths, Apollo's position is startlingly clear.

For Hyacinthus, it is established time and again that Apollo would have sacrificed everything for him - his status, his power, his very own immortality and divinity. Ovid writes that Apollo would have installed him as a god if only he had the time:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses. Book X. trans. Johnston)

Many other writers too speak of how Apollo abandoned his lyre and his seat at Delphi to spend his days with Hyacinthus, but they also all agree that when it came to his death - he was powerless. Ovid gives that graphic account of Apollo's desperation as he tries all his healing arts to save him to no avail:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book X. Apollo me boy, methinks him dead. trans Johnston)

Bion, in one of his fragments, writes that Apollo was "dumb" upon seeing Hyacinthus' agony:

(Bion, The Bucolic Poets. Fragment XI. trans Edmonds)

Even Nonnus in the Dionysiaca speaks constantly of Apollo's helplessness in the face of Hyacinthus' fate where he writes that the god still shivers if a westward wind blows upon an iris:

and when Zephyros breathed through the flowery garden, Apollo turned a quick eye upon his young darling, his yearning never satisfied; if he saw the plant beaten by the breezes, he remembered the quoit, and trembled for fear the wind, so jealous once about the boy, might hate him even in a leaf...

(Nonnus, Dionysiaca, Book 3. trans Rouse)

And the point here is just that - Apollo, at least as far as I've read, cannot avert someone's death. He simply can't. Once they're already dead - once Fate has cut their string - all Apollo's power is gone and he can do nothing no matter how much he wants to. And this is, as far as I know, supported with the accounts of Asclepius as well!

Since you specifically brought up Ovid's account, I'll also stick only to Ovid's account but in Metamorphoses when we get Ovid's version of Coronis' demise, he writes that Apollo intensely and immediately regrets slaughtering Coronis. He regrets it so intensely that he, like he does with Hyacinthus, does his best to resuscitate her:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo's regret)

And like Hyacinthus, when it becomes clear that what has happened cannot be undone, Apollo wails:

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo wept.)

Unlike his mother, Asclepius in her womb had not yet died and so, with the last of Apollo's strength, he does manage, at least, to save him.

(Ovid, Metamorphoses Book Two. Apollo puts the 'tearing out' in Asclepius.)

But it goes further than even that because Ocyrhoe, Chiron's daughter, a prophetess who unduly gained the ability to directly proclaim the secrets of the Fates, upon seeing the baby Asclepius, immediately prophesies his glory, his inevitable death and then his fated ascension:

(Ovid. Metamorphoses, Book Two. Ocyrhoe's prophecy. trans Johnston)

Before she too succumbs to her hubris and is transformed by the Fates into a horse so she can no longer speak secrets that aren't hers to share.

These things ultimately are important because it establishes two very important things: 1) Apollo can't do anything in the face of the ultimate Fate of mortals, which is, of course, death and 2) even when Apollo is Actively Devastated, regretful, yearning, mournful, guilty or some unholy combination of all of the above, when someone is dead, he accepts that they are gone. Even if he is devastated by it, even if he'll cry all the rest of his days about it - if they're dead? Apollo lets them go. In Fasti, when Zeus brings Asclepius back, he does not say Apollo asked him to - Zeus, or well, in this case Jove, brings Asclepius back because he wants Apollo to stop being mad at him.

(Ovid, Fasti VI. Apollo please come home your father misses you. trans. A.S Kline)

Even Boyle's translation which you used above in your findings hints that Zeus made Asclepius a god because he wanted Apollo to stop grieving. (i.e 'smile at your father', 'for your sake [he] undoes his prohibitions')

And like, Apollo was deeply upset by Asclepius' death - apart from killing the Cyclops in anger, in book 4 of the Argonautica, Apollonius writes that the Celts believe the stream of Eridanus to be the tears Apollo shed over the death of Asclepius when he left for Hyperborea after being chastised by Zeus for killing his Cyclops:

But the Celts have attached this story to them, that these are the tears of Leto's son, Apollo, that are borne along by the eddies, the countless tears that he shed aforetime when he came to the sacred race of the Hyperboreans and left shining heaven at the chiding of his father, being in wrath concerning his son whom divine Coronis bare in bright Lacereia at the mouth of Amyrus.

It all paints a very clear picture to me. Apollo did not ask for either of them to be brought back. Though bringing them back certainly pleased and delighted him, they are actions of other gods who are moved by Apollo's grief and mourning and seek to mollify him. Him not asking doesn't mean he didn't want them back which I think is a very important distinction by the by, but it simply means that Apollo knows the natural order of things and, even if it hurts, he isn't going to press his luck about it.

Which, of course, brings us to Admetus. And I'm really not going to overcomplicate this, Admetus is different because, very vitally, Admetus is not dead. Apollo can't do a thing once Fate has been carried out and Death has claimed a mortal but you know what he absolutely can do? Bargain like hell with the Fates before that point of inevitability. And that's what he does, ultimately for Admetus and Alcestis. He sought to prolong Admetus' life, not revive him from death or absolve him from death altogether and even after getting the Fates drunk, he's still only able to organise a sacrifice - a life for a life - something completely contingent on whether some other mortal would be willing to die in Admetus' place and not at all controllable by Apollo's own power.

All of these things, I think come back to that point you made - that Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore these people are very special to him if it means he's willing to go against that order but, I also wish to challenge that opinion if you'd let me. Apollo's place as a god of order is very important and therefore, I would argue, that it is even more important that it is shown that he does not break the divine order, especially for the people that mean the most to him. The original context of my comments which started this conversation were on this lovely, lovely post by @hyacinthusmemorial which contemplated upon Asclepius from the perspective of an Emergency Medical personnel and included, in their tags, the very poignant lines "there's something about Apollo letting go when Asclepius couldn't that eats my heart away" and "you do what you can, you do your best, but you don't ever reach too far" and I think that's perfectly embodied with the Apollo-Asclepius dichotomy. Apollo grieves. He wails, he cries, he does his best each and every time to save that which is precious to him but he does not curse their nature, he does not resent that they are human and ultimately, he accepts that that which is mortal must inevitably die. There is nothing that so saliently proves that those who uphold rules are also their most staunch followers - if Apollo wants to delight in his place as Fate's mouthpiece, he cannot undo Fate. And, if even the god of healing and order himself cannot undo death, what right does Asclepius, mortal as he is, talented as he is, have to disrespect it?

The beauty of these stories isn't that Apollo loved them enough to bring them back. The beauty is that Apollo loved them enough to let them go.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive come to realise that i dont actually hate kubokai, i just hate the way people write them

[dawn-moths]

Hello how are you can I request Ronald with at frist shy looking and inocennt s/o,but she is actually really nasty and freaky and like some smut in there to i would be most thankfull i love your blog,lots of love😘😘

hello!! |˶˙ᵕ˙ )ﾉﾞ

i hope you like what i came up with. enjoy!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ronald Knox x Female Reader

word count: 4,000+

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! smut, reader is described as being/dressing feminine, reader is called “good girl, baby” and referred to as "princess", the nickname “daddy” is used for Ron, sub/dom dynamics, size difference, finger sucking, reader is carried, minimal prep, masochist reader, rough sex, biting, choking, hair pulling, nipple play, cock warming, aftercare.

***

It always starts this way, it seems.

What begins as otherwise harmless kissing quickly evolves into something much more explicit. Much more obscene.

Because, just before things start to get a little more heated, you find yourself straddling Ron’s lap, your mouth hovering over his as you both breathe in each other’s air, panting like dogs left out in the afternoon heat.

You, his precious baby with the face of an angel and the mind of a little devil only he’s allowed to know.

You, his own personal little porn star.

And you’re shameless. Eager. So enticing that it takes every ounce of will he has not to just hook his thumbs into the waistband of those pretty lace panties he knows you love to wear and tear them to shreds, to push you back and pin you down to the couch and fuck you until there’s tears in your eyes and your voice has gone raspy and raw from all the sounds of pleasure he’s forced from your throat.

You, his shy little sex kitten, always teasing him in those skirts that are just a little too short, those necklines that are just a little too low, your body’s soft curves the kind that the ancient Greeks used to sculpt statues of, chipping away at cold marble until a woman was found somewhere among the jagged rock. Reverent. Ethereal. Sacred.

Only for him.

Only, you do feel a little bit of shame, if you were being completely honest with yourself. It makes itself known in the way your cheeks heat, in the way your blood goes icy-hot with embarrassment at how you must look like this. How debauched and needy and on your way to no doubt becoming a complete and utter mess by the time this session is over.

But that’s the thing about you.

The more shy you acted now, the more desperate and dirty you’d be for him later.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Ron asked with one of those soft, charming grins spreading across his spit-shined lips, his voice low and soothing. He gently gripped your chin between his fingers and turned your face, which you’d momentarily tried to hide by nuzzling it into your shoulder, back up towards him, coaxing your nervous gaze to follow. “What is it?” he further questioned, though with a lilt of an amused chuckle laced into his hushed tone. “Things movin’ a little too fast for ya?”

In response, all you could manage was a squeak and another attempt to retreat and hide your shy little expressions from him again, but he was faster that time and caught you before you could really escape. When his smile refused to falter you knew he wasn’t going to let you off easy.

“No, no, no,” he said, tone woven with mischievous mirth. “Don’t hide…” Then, leaning in close to whisper in your ear, his lips nearly brushing the shell of it as his warm breath wafted against your neck, he murmured, “Seeing you get all flustered is one of my favorite parts…”

Ron knew that your whole sweet-and-innocent act was merely a mask to cover what you both knew was really true about you. And that was the undeniable fact that you were quite the little masochist. You liked it when he got rough with you. Left you a trembling mess by the end of the night after covering you in the shape of his bite and several shades of bruises from the press of his fingertips.

But, even so, it wasn’t like that shyer side of you was entirely fake, either.

Your innocence, whether it was surface level or not, was one of the things that had drawn Ron towards you in the first place, after all. Because who didn’t love a girl who seemed like a little darling on the outside only to discover what a little devil she was hiding underneath all those coy smiles and cute little dresses and lacy lingerie.

Your tender sweetness also happened to pair well with Ron’s proclivity to tease.

“Don’t be mean…” you whined, the corners of your mouth pulling down into one of those adorable little pouts Ron loved to be the cause of.

At this, Ron merely let out another one of those low, borderline sinister chuckles under his breath. He placed both his hands on your hips, readjusted your position over his lap to spread your thighs a little further, pulling where you were no doubt becoming more sensitive and needy down to brush against where his own arousal was growing from under his trousers.

Upon feeling him rubbing against your core you couldn’t help but let out a helpless little whimper, the first flare of impatient need coming to life inside of you.

“Y’know…” Ron reminded you, reveling in every little wiggle or squirm he felt wrack through your body as he pressed you even closer against him, “if you just tell Daddy what you want, it’ll be a whole lot easier for him to give it to you…”

You were shy…

Until you weren’t.

“I want…” you began, voice a shaky little plea. “I want your fingers in my mouth, Daddy…”

The request came out as more whisper than words, your head feeling dizzy from the rush of blood that raced upward to burn from your chest to the tips of your ears even hotter than before, the embarrassment almost enough to cancel out your eagerness, though not quite.

“Oh yeah?” Ron taunted, a slight growl to his voice now as he felt his own desires threaten to spill over the edge, the arousal welling to the brim within him from the thought of it alone. “Well then…” He pressed the pad of his thumb to the plush of your lower lip, gently pulling down to coax your sweet little mouth open wider for him. “Guess I have no choice but to deliver on what my baby needs…”

Slipping one of his long, slender fingers along the slick warmth of your tongue, then two, feeling you sucking the digits down further until they disappeared all the way up to the seam of his palm, your throat bobbing as the tips of his fingers brushed against the back of your gag reflex, Ron couldn’t help but gulp as well, trying to keep his composure the best he could.

“God, baby…” he sighed, as if in prayer. You curled your tongue around him, coating his fingers further in your thick saliva, at which point Ron slowly pulled them free, dragging them flat across your tongue and shuddering at the thought of how your mouth would feel encasing other parts of his body, before wiping some of your spit across your kiss-swollen lips.

The more disheveled or dirty you became, the more beautiful Ron thought you were.

“Daddy…?” you asked, that syrupy shyness drizzled back over the word like you were still his innocent little angel causing his cock to twitch in his pants. You didn’t miss the way he was beginning to shift and squirm as well, likely just as impatient as you now, if not more so. “Do you wanna…?” You glanced over your shoulder at where the bedroom door was open just a crack, as if trying to tempt you with the promise of what lay inside.

Ron followed your line of sight, glancing back to you when you turned to meet his emerald gaze again. A smirk fissured across his boyishly handsome features, his own little demon stirring back to life.

He nudged your nose with his, hummed out a melodic note of affirmation, and then, the next thing you knew, he was hoisting you up to carry you, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as his big palms cushioned the backs of your soft thighs, the silky flesh spilling between his strong grip.

He nudged open the door with his foot before swinging it closed in the same manner, not wasting a second before he had you lying back on the bed, pinned beneath him like a rare butterfly he’d worked hard to collect and had no intention of letting go.

Grabbing up both your wrists in one of his fists, Ron used his free hand to begin pushing your skirt up around your waist, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and rising a wave of chills over you, taking a moment to knead you there as you gently writhed under his hold, trying to squeeze your legs together to create even just a little bit of friction for yourself. But Ron recognized instantly what you were trying to do and coaxed your legs back apart, wanting to be the one to get you worked up himself.

You knew your panties must be soaked by now, the expensive lace likely ruined just from his teasing alone, but it wasn’t until he slipped two of his lithe fingers in through the side to glide through your delicate, drenched folds that you truly realized just what a mess you really were.

Ron let out an amused, prideful breath of a laugh. “So wet for me…” he half praised, half teased, applying pressure to your throbbing clit, making a gasp and one of those delectable little whines escape from your throat. “Just like that…” he said, rubbing skillful circles against the tender, swollen little bud. “So good for me,” he cood. “Always such a good girl…”

He let go of your wrists to use both hands to begin removing the ruined lace from you, encouraging you to help him in discarding it along with your skirt, and once you were left bare below the waist for him, Ron took a moment to admire you like that, all spread and vulnerable for his eyes only.

“So beautiful, baby…” he sighed, entranced. “You’re perfect…”

Ron thought you had the prettiest pussy he’d ever seen, all pink and glistening like the dewy petals of a rose, but he knew that the sight of it was nothing compared to how it felt squeezing around his cock. It was a sensation he was addicted to. Just the mere memory of your most recent time together was enough to make him feel like he could lose all control, becoming more desperate to satisfy his desire by the minute.

Lucky for him though, he knew you liked it rough, so if he didn’t take the full time needed to prep you, you wouldn’t necessarily hold it against him.

You both were still half clothed, and the humidity of the room and the body heat being exchanged between you two was near stifling. You needed the rest of your clothes off soon or else you’d become so hot and frazzled you’d hardly be able to think. Not that you needed to when in Ron’s hands. He already knew what you wanted, what you liked, though, lucky for you, he also wanted the rest of your clothing off.

“Arms up,” Ron told you, already gathering the hem of your top in his hands, halfway to tugging it up your chest, eyes unable to help but catch on the sight of the pretty matching bra that currently cradled your breasts. You obeyed without hesitation and soon found yourself fully exposed, the room now feeling a few degrees cooler.

Ron began hastily unbuckling his belt, the strain of his erection having grown painful with how hard it was trying to free itself from his trousers. He quickly discarded the remainder of his clothing, biting back a groan as he took his pulsing length in his hand, though couldn’t stop the punched out, “Fuck—” that escaped his lips when he slid it between the silky petals of your dewy folds, gathering more of your slick before lining himself up with your tight little entrance.

You wanted him to take his time, allow you to feel every vein and ridge of him, but for as much as Ron usually indulged you, it seemed that tonight time was going to have to wait.

“Now be a good girl for me,” he instructed, already sounding halfway to being out of breath, “and hold still for Daddy—”

With his hands gripping your hips hard enough for bruises to bloom beneath his fingers and one quick, harsh thrust, Ron buried himself down to the hilt inside of you. You let out a broken cry, head thrown back and neck craning as you felt yourself suddenly split by the familiar aching pleasure his cock provided.

And it hurt.

It hurt so much.

But you fucking loved it.

“That’s it, baby…” Ron panted, hunching over you while you both took a moment to adjust to each other’s bodies. “Good girl… Always so good at taking my cock…”

He was peppering chaste little kisses along your temple and jaw, a feeble attempt to distract you from the stringing stretch he’d just forced your body to endure as well as an apology for the soreness he knew you’d feel tomorrow because of it, a thin sheen of sweat already beginning to break out over the both of you.

But soon, all you could focus on was the slow drip of euphoria that was on its way to taking over your brain, some of the pain numbing as it gave way to pleasure.

When Ron first began moving, it was slow and rhythmic, all prior rush gone from his intentions. But the more your cunt clenched around him, the more erratic he seemed to become, hips stuttering in their motions as he struggled to keep a consistent rhythm. And by the time you were whimpering out a pathetic little, “Choke me,” well…

Ron just about lost it.

One hand rested over the delicate curve of your throat, Ron wanting to feel the hammering of your pulse for a moment before he cut off your air supply. Your eyes glittered up at him through the low light, so much love and trust and dangerous desire all wrapped up in your gaze. He held you in suspense for a moment, waiting until the frantic rise and fall of your chest slowed to something much steadier and controlled. Then, after you took your next inhale, his grip tightened, squeezing around your neck and making your eyes roll when you realized, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t breathe.

Not unless he allowed you to.

Ron kept careful count of the time going by though, knowing your limits, having committed them to memory, and when you first gave his wrist a tap he knew you were backing out prematurely. When he refused your first request, he felt your pussy flutter around him, the adrenaline on the verge of surging through you and breaking away into panic. Your vision started to blur and you tapped again, and that time, Ron obliged.

You sucked in a gasp of air, panting in shorter, more panicked breaths for a moment while his hand still rested over your throat as he admired you like that.

He’d ruin you and you’d gladly let him.

But something then seemed to occur to him as his fingers traced down to the line of your collarbones and the supple flesh of your breasts.

Those perked little nipples of yours were looking awfully neglected. And what kind of boyfriend would Ron be if he let that stand?

You let out a squeak when his mouth found the first pebbled bud, being gentle at first, teasing you with his lips and tongue until you were arching your back to push further into the wet warmth of his mouth. Ron had to hold your hips down as you began to squirm, wanting to feel every little shiver, tremble, and twitch your body made as he granted you more pleasure, each reaction felt as your cunt massaged his girth to varying degrees.

As his mouth tended to one side, his fingers took care of the other, only switching when he felt like your reactions became less intense. You were so sensitive everywhere he touched you, it seemed, so delicate to his ministrations, he could play you like a harp. And, in return, you’d make the most beautiful, melodic music for him as his fingers pulled at your strings, your moans the prettiest sound he’d ever heard.

But once your stomach started clenching in rapid succession, Ron knew he had to take a short intermission on this song you two were composing together. Just long enough to ensure you made it through to the encore, at least.

Lifting one of your legs, Ron threw it over one of his freckled shoulders to spread you even wider for him, sinking in so deep you swore you could feel him in your tummy, the mere implication making another rolling wave of arousal course through you and causing Ron to breathe out another one of those helpless, stuttering curses. His muscles clench as he rolls his hips in to meet yours, back to being slow and controlled.

But you needed more.

You needed it rougher.

“Harder…” you pleaded, breathless and wanting. 

Ron readjusted the both of you, once again taking your wrists in his grip and pinning them both beside your head, something to anchor you down for what came next, but you coaxed him to let you lock your fingers with his. It feels more intimate his way, and already knowing how rough he can get when you ask for it you feel better knowing that this simple act of handholding will help to balance out the consequences of his strength.

Ron starts to pick up speed, each time pulling almost all the way out before spearing his cock back into you, likely hard enough to ensure he was going to have to take care of you all day tomorrow, his poor little baby too sore and raw to even get out of bed on her own. 

But that’s ok.

That’s what he’s here for, after all.

His glasses begin to fog and his breathing is reduced to shallow panting, the shimmering veil of sweat that covers you both thickening under the growing humidity emanating from your bodies.

When the next request to roll off your tongue is a slurred whine of, “Bite me, Daddy…” Ron doesn’t hesitate that time. He lets go of your wrists, leans down and sinks his teeth into the tender spot between your neck and shoulder, letting out a desperate whine of his own when you followed up with a pained, shuddering exhale of, “Harder​​—”

You let out a yelp as you thrash beneath him, Ron increasing the pressure until the skin breaks and he tastes blood. But he doesn’t let go. Not yet. Because your trembling little hands have formed tight fists in his strawberry blonde locks, pulling so hard at the roots that his scalp prickles with sharp, staticky pain. Just when it was becoming too much, you yanked his head back hard enough that he takes the cue to unlatch his bite from your flesh, pink-tinted strands of saliva keeping his mouth connected to the new wound he’s gifted you for a moment before he created enough distance to have them break.

You were both panting and shaking, like two animals on the verge of death, and when he saw the vicious red indents carved out in the shape of his mouth, saw the blood that was trying to well in the deepest parts of the injury where his incisors had pierced straight through, Ron felt a small sense of dread for a moment. Because, as much as this has become to be expected between the two of you sometimes, he couldn’t help but fear he might go too far. That he might hurt you for real, in a way you wouldn’t get some sick sense of pleasure from, and that you’d stare up at him with fear instead of love.

But, looking down at you now, all he can seem to find as he searches your gaze is that beautiful, tender adoration that he’s pretty sure he would die without at this point.

But now it was time to finish this.

You were both close to the edge.

Ron preferred when you fell together.

Once again, his motions become rhythmic and savoring, ever the master of the push and pull between control and carnality, though kept up the speed needed to match each other’s oncoming orgasms.

He’d come to know your body so well, how it reacted and responded to his, that the moment he felt your stomach return to its rapid fluttering, like a little bird taking flight, legs tensing as your cunt constricted around his cock harder than before, he knew you were mere seconds away from coming undone. After three more thrusts, he’s right there with you, spilling his balmy warmth into your tight wet heat as you gush your glistening arousal all over his cock, both of you making a mess of each other in tandem before all that heady tension begins to slowly bleed away, leaving the both of you to fall slack and satisfied, the air heavy with the scent of your unrestricted love.

But Ron doesn’t pull out just yet. He likes to feel the aftershocks, the way your pussy flutters weakly around him as he goes soft, both of your combined juices drooling out of your abused little hole and staining the bedsheets below while your bodies are still one.

Once some of his senses returned to him, Ron carefully pulled out, bringing a trail of cum along with his blushing cock, and scooped you up in his arms so you could lay draped across his damp chest, his hair a tangled, tousled mess and his glasses smudged, yet something about him being disheveled like that only added to his charm.

He liked to let you doze off, if you wanted to, gently stroking your arm or your back or your hip with one hand while your eyelids became increasingly heavier until they had no choice but to fall closed, allowing him to tend to you once you’d fallen asleep. But when his fingers lightly traced along your shoulder and you winced, sucking in a small, sharp hiss, Ron remembered the mark he left there, the blood having rusted over to glaze the wound closed, but only just barely. Now that some of the adrenaline had worn off, he knew you must feel the sting, all the cuts and bruises he’s caused you flaring back to life and pulsing with the aftermath of the pain.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” he whispers to you as he carefully shifts you over to lay your heavy head on the pillow, venturing into the bathroom to gather all the things he needs to help nurse some of those wounds born from the heat of the moment.

You wait patiently for him to return, blinking open half-lidded eyes to gaze up at him as he reclaimed his seat on the edge of the bed. He praises you as he cleans the bite, tells you what a good girl you were for him, how brave you are when he dabs some disinfectant on the imprint of his teeth and you barely even whimper at the sting of the salve. He looks over your neck, the bruises darkening, and asks you if it still hurts. You shake your head, say you can barely even feel that one, and he hums out a note that alludes to being pleased, but also hints at something secretly prideful as well.

Because who would’ve been able to guess what a high tolerance for pain his perfect little princess hid so skillfully from those around her, a dirty, sinful little secret concealed beneath cute, flouncy little outfits and pretty hair and glossy lips.

But, the best part, it was a tolerance only Ron got to test.

A standard he got to help create.

“I know it hurts, baby…” Ron murmurs as he carefully cleans your sore little hole with a warm washcloth, gently dragging it through your folds to collect all the cum that’s begun to glaze over your skin and harden into salty crystals. “But you’re being so good. Almost done…”

Once he’d dressed you in one of his oversized t-shirts and placed a goodnight kiss to your forehead, Ron tucked you in under a clean blanket and returned to the bathroom to take care of his own mess. He tried to make it quick, knowing there’s a good chance you’d already be asleep before he’s able to curl up next to you, but when he returns and you’re still awake, he can’t help but give you another one of those soft smiles.

“You didn’t have to wait for me,” he kindly reminded you, though he’s glad you did.

When his chest is pressed to your back, his warm arms wrapped around your middle, you unexpectedly shift to turn and face him. He considered you with a slightly puzzled glance, but then you were leaning forward to press your lips to his, your tongue teasing at one corner of his mouth before pulling back.

“There was a little blood,” you told him, those adorable doe-eyes of yours that could just about hypnotize him glittering in the dark, “but I got it…”

Ron sighed out a tired chuckle through his nose as he tugged you in closer to his chest, letting you get comfortable as you found the right angle to intertwine your legs.

“Night, baby,” he cooed. “I love you.”

“I love you, too…” you replied, already sounding halfway to a dream.

And, as if he ever needed a reminder, Ron falls asleep feeling like the luckiest man alive.

Lucky, because he’s the only one in the entire world who gets to call you his.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Decided to take the leap and post the little fanfic I wrote at the start of the month to AO3. The Yiling Laozu takes a break in the burial mounds. Also, there is a worm.

[necrotic-nephilim]

ok ok but jayroytim😏

this feels especially funny if brudick happens in the background and oliver hates the fact he's now in-laws with bruce

so i have to regretfully admit i'm not really a fan of JayRoy, or at least i'm not a fan of the popular version of JayRoy. i think JayRoy could work and would be a lot of fun! but i have *zero* interest in New-52!JayRoy (or New-52!Roy in general) or rlly any version of Jason and Roy on the Outlaws together. both bc i'm a pre-Flashpoint stan at heart. usually i can stand newer content for ship fodder but for these two oh man it grinds my gears how badly Roy got fucked over-

BUT BUT. that doesn't mean i think the ship has *no* merit. because Jason and Roy *do* have some fodder in pre-Flashpoint. they meet briefly when Jason is Robin, and then again when Jason is Red Hood during that Outsiders arc where Black Lightning is in prison. so! there's definitely material to work with. especially playing into the more fucked up nature of Roy knowing Jason when he was Robin. i think it's cute if Jason had a childhood crush on Roy. and maybe Roy even thought Jason was kind of cute, a spunky kid with a lot of energy and passion. then with Jason as Red Hood, Roy openly doesn't trust him and doesn't like that they're working with him. Jason is just a run-of-the-mill villain with a nasty kill count. and sure, Roy's got a record of tangling with people more on the villain side of things, but even going near the Red Hood feels like a step too far.

adding Tim to the mix is really fun. bc honestly it gives Roy some kind of a fetish for guys who have been Robin and i find that to be delightful. like, even if Roy just sees Jason as the Red Hood, he can't *quite* let go of the image of Jason as Robin. like it just won't get out of Roy's system ever since Jason came back. i think, if i were to write these three together, i'd have Roy and Tim get together first of all people, just because Roy is trying really hard to stop thinking about Jason as Robin, especially now that Jason is older and a little meaner. he's full of guilt about it, and he can't talk to Dick because he's still not sure where Dick's feelings fall about the whole Jason thing so. he goes to Tim instead, thinking if he fucks a different Robin, maybe he'll get it out of his system. Tim's pretty and he's just old enough that it's not *too* morally questionable for Roy to seek him out. it takes a while for Roy to work up the nerves because he and Tim aren't particularly close, so how do you even approach that conversation to make it look organic. it's awkward and Tim can definitely tell something is up but hey, who's going to say no to Roy Harper offering sex? one of Dick's best friends? especially if we put this right after Kon and Bart's death where Tim is just. sort of lonely and seeking companionship. in some ways,, Roy would remind him of Kon, just a little. that sort of cocky attitude and snarky smile.

i would add Jason in by having JayTim happen alongside RoyTim. it's not like Roy and Tim are serious enough to be exclusive and Tim knows Roy is sleeping around, so Tim ends up in a weird hatefucking situation with Jason, which definitely was not supposed to happen. Jason just has a damning way of getting under Tim's skin and won't stop bothering Tim until he gets some kind of attention from Tim. and somehow Jason is interesting enough for Tim to cave. and he doesn't even think about the two relationships he's balancing until he happens to sleep with Jason after being with Roy the night before and there are still marks all over him and Jason does *not* like sharing. so when he interrogates Tim and gets nothing, he does the reasonable thing of stalking Tim to figure out who it is. and it just happens to be the guy Jason had a crush on as a kid.

i think Roy finding out he tried so hard to avoid Jason that he accidentally ended up with the same fuck buddy as Jason would be the funniest thing in the world. like it's not something he can run from anymore and he has to accept that. he tries to awkwardly ask what Tim even sees in the guy bc well, Jason's a killer and not known for being mentally stable. but he's also the guy who exonerated Black Lightning with no real motive besides just helping out. he's complicated and Roy doesn't know how to react. Tim just sort of shrugs bc how do you even explain Jason Todd and well, one thing leads to another and Tim ends up in the middle of the most emotionally charged threesome he's ever been in. love the idea of Jason and Roy using Tim as a toy while they work out their feelings for each other. to me that's the peak dynamic. Jason and Roy are pissed about liking each other and somehow, Tim got roped into things. their relationship is not healthy or normal whatsoever, but somehow, they end up balancing each other out nicely.

background BruDick is also hilarious tho. bc there is no one who hates Bruce more than Oliver and he'd be so annoyed that not only did Roy get tangled up with the Bats, but now everything is so weird their families are pretty tangled together and Oliver has to deal with Bruce a lot more than he wants to. and he's glaring daggers about it the whole time.

[hestzhyen]

Already Waist-Deep

Hi internet void. Please allow me to kagura my bachi all over the place for a little bit. I've got a bad case of the brain worms about these boys that I haven't even had together for 20 chapters yet, so let me ramble a little bit about why they're already so compelling as not only a duo, but a ship.

First off, a caveat. Kagurabachi is a Weekly Shounen Jump (WSJ) action series. That means that if romance is ever addressed in the series itself, the protagonist is going to end up with a girl. Doesn't matter how underdeveloped or lackluster his relationship to her is, or how flat she is as a character. Invest lightly and come along for the ride without any expectations of m/m ships becoming canon. (That said, it might not be the worst thing in the world for our MC to end up with a girl in this case- more on that later.)

Second, I don't really ship that often. Not seriously at least. I need more than two guys being close with each other to start wanting them to be a pair, y'know? So I hope you understand the intensity of the material Hokazono-sensei has been giving us the past few chapters. I am on the brink of going all-in on HakuHiro/ChihiHaku in less than 20 chapters, it's that insane.

Third, I will be talking about current developments without marking potential spoilers. There are only 38 chapters out as of writing this, but there are at least two reveals that would be better appreciated going in blind. Spoilers for the oneshot Farewell! Cherry Boy are also a thing near the end.

Okay? Okay. Let's begin.

Who's Involved? First up is our protagonist Chihiro Rokuhira, an 18 year old boy and the son of a famous swordsmith. He was raised with genuine love and care by his father (no idea what happened to his mom yet), taking care of their day-to-day life while learning his father's trade. And from the very first chapter he is steeped in tragedy as he witnesses his father's murder and life's work being stolen. He then sets out on the long, fraught road of vengeance.

Sounds grim and not exactly compelling, right? Especially when this scene from the first chapter was making the rounds being memed to death:

But there's much more to Chihiro than meets the eye. Flashbacks to his time growing up show him being a natural caretaker to his dad and their fish- cooking meals, keeping his dad on task, and so on. We see glimpses of underlying tenderness when he meets and rescues Char, a sweet little girl with her own tragic past. And we get some insight that he might not be quite as resolute as he's projecting himself to be when he faces off against Sojo, a fan of his father who worships a much different version of the man than Chihiro knew. And now the Rakuzaichi arc has definitively shown us that Chihiro isn't as collected as he seems. One of his father's killers easily cracks the mask and shows us Chihiro is really just a desperate kid with a heaping helping of trauma, then Tenri's pointless sacrifice shakes him to his core. But despite it all he's still doing determinator things in the most badass way possible. Chihiro has layers, man. A lot of them. And the best way to understand our protagonist right now is through his foil: Hakuri Sazanami.

Who is Hakuri? A 17 year old boy with a special lineage, but he's a loser who needs to be saved from common thugs. A pathetic guy who latches on to Chihiro and doesn't take the hint when Chihiro literally runs away to ditch him. An utter failure to his family. A lost puppy looking for a samurai.

Hakuri Sazanami is one of the best goddamn foils I've seen in shounen manga yet.

Let me tell you all the ways I love the writing around this kid and Chihiro because MAN I can't even contain all these feels.

What's Going On? From the start, Hakuri looks like he's just another person for Chihiro to bail out. He witnesses Chihiro's awesomeness fighting Sojo in the streets and decides to imitate it by standing up for a little girl being kidnapped. Instead of winning out, though, he's captured and kicked around. Once he's coincidentally rescued by Chihiro he's immediately all-in on tagging along and keeping Chihiro in his life. Look at this pitiful guy:

Chihiro decides to hear him out due to his connection to the Sazanamis, the Big Bads of the arc. He's initially put off by Hakuri's intensity but brings him along anyway, as Hakuri's insider information regarding the Sazanami family makes him useful. Then, as Chihiro wavers under Hiyuki's assault, Hakuri is truly useful for the first time:

And it only gets better from here. We see Hakuri hanging off Chihiro's every word trying to be as useful as possible for his samurai, striving to do anything he can, though it ends up with him forcing Chihiro to give up his precious sword Enten in exchange for his life. (Yes, Chihiro "buys" Hakuri from Hakuri's own family.)

Later on during the invasion of the auction is where things go into overdrive though. We see their character arcs start to invert and shape each other's as the action unfolds and Hakuri's own tragic past comes to light, eventually awakening him to his special abilities. Chihiro's bravery and strength help him pull this off and finally defeat the older brother that tortured him in the name of "love". Hakuri ascends to being the strongest Sazanami since the progenitor that started their line centuries ago. He's the Special Boy!

All this to say that Hakuri Sazanami isn't just a deuteragonist or a foil…

He's the goddamn heroine.

Kagurabachi's Built Different What makes a shounen series heroine? Firstly, they support the main character without getting involved in most of the heavy fighting. A shounen heroine will usually at most have a fight against another girl while the Big Event is happening nearby, making sure the main character has the spotlight. Second, most of the value they bring to the protagonist's story is emotional. They encourage him, validate him, provide a bit of a refuge for him to safely let his guard down. They can get him to express softer emotions that he wouldn't normally show around others. Third… they're the love interest. Hinata, Orihime, Chichi, and now… Hakuri? Really?

We know the third one will not happen for HakuHiro in canon. But what about the first two? Well, let's recap what Hakuri has done for Chihiro so far.

Hakuri can defend himself now, but his most useful ability is access to an interdimensional storehouse. Given the way that his magic works -he needs to prioritize maintaining the storehouse or using Isou- he'll likely be the means of keeping the enchanted blades safe rather than a front-line fighter. Support-centric character that will still get some combat time against lesser opponents: check.

Hakuri's given Chihiro some much-needed direct emotional validation that he hasn't gotten from anyone else yet. ("You saved me." … "That katana suits you.") Hakuri's words fortify his resolve and Chihiro later pays it back by trading Enten, an incalculably precious sword and memento of his father, for Hakuri's life. He even uses the same phrase when asked why he'd do that for someone as worthless as Hakuri ("That guy… saved me."). He later reaffirms that Hakuri's encouragement gave him the courage to let go of Enten in the first place:

This is AFTER we see Chihiro open up to him for the first time just minutes after they met:

Chihiro's been a stoic good guy with buried trauma up until this point. But somehow Hakuri is the first person he outright admits his fears to- not Shiba, not Hinao, but the freaky kid he just rescued. Emotional support pillar: check.

"Well that's not enough!" you say. "That's just taking some moments and doing that thing you said you didn't do- smushing boys together just because they're close!" OK but look at how Hakuri thinks about Chihiro:

Chihiro has been his inspiration from the first time he saw him. It can be read as admiration and hero worship, but doesn't that feel like selling Hakuri's feelings short when remembering how devoted he's been since they first met?

And just look at Hakuri's face here, he's beaming when Chihiro busts in to save him just like he believed he would:

Mostly, though, Chihiro is the one who gives Hakuri strength in the moment. The Ice Woman broke him free of his family's mentality, and now Chihiro gives Hakuri what he needs most: hope. Something he never had before, which doomed his relationship to the Ice Woman; he couldn't prove to her that there was more to life than despair because that was all he knew… but that completely changed once he met his samurai.

And that's been their thing through this arc. Each one is giving the other the vital thing they needed to grow and keep going. When Hakuri was struggling at the start, Chihiro was his guiding light towards a better future. And when Chihiro struggled in the aftermath of Tenri's cruel death, Hakuri pulled him along so they could finish the job. They're in perfect sync now as they take down the Rakuzaichi. Don't just take my word for it, check out Hokazono-sensei's color page for the most recent chapter (38): https://twitter.com/KaguraShiba/status/1804898273859445181 From Hella (KaguraShiba): >Kagurabachi Ch 38 JP Color Page 「阿吽の呼吸で薙ぎ払え」 "Two people dancing to the same beat, mowing down enemies" >阿吽の呼吸/"Aun no Kokyuu" Synchronized breathing >Or when people are the most in tune with each other >阿吽の呼吸/"Aun no Kokyuu" Is a Buddhist expression in Japanese meaning something close to "harmonizing in sync together" >"Aun" is also used to indicate an "Aun relationship", indicating an inherently harmonious relationship or nonverbal communication Yeesh. But holy shit it's paying off. In chapter 38 these boys are already in harmony- Hakuri registers Chihiro into his storehouse (yes they both "own" each other now) and sends him in to fight his father. During the fight, Chihiro trusts Hakuri to interpret his intent and it works. Chihiro wordlessly tags a bunch of grenades with his spirit energy and Hakuri pulls them out into the real world to bomb the shit out of the Rakuzaichi audience. They didn't plan this beforehand- they had no idea Kyoura had fucking grenades laying around in there. But they're close enough to understand each other's thoughts already. Peak soulmate material right there!

What's got me most interested now, though, is how they will pull/push each other after this arc. Chihiro's going to be focused more than ever on tracking down his father's killer and the swords. But Hakuri, well… I think it would be very interesting if he starts to become a despair monster. A reflection of Chihiro's state at the very start of the manga where nothing mattered to him except exacting revenge. We're seeing shades of this in the most recent chapter (38) where he's slumped over and obviously depressed about how all this is turning out. He's going to end his family's cruel trade but at what cost to himself? Will Chihiro see some of himself in Hakuri and be able to help him out, or at least promise to find relief from the pain together? Obviously a Bad End where Hakuri takes himself out is in the cards given Hokazono-sensei's previous works but… on a meta level, I think his storehouse ability will keep him relevant. I mean yeah he could be used to slap Chihiro across the face by showing what a bad end for his revenge story could look like but I think (hope) that won't happen. [Note to future self: I give you permission to go batshit insane if Chihiro stops Hakuri from committing sudoku.]

And this is where my brain worms are coming from. In just under 20 chapters we have an extremely strong set up between them- so much room for them to teach each other; push to grow and pull back from the brink when tragedy strikes again.

But where's the real meat, you ask? The actual literary analysis in this gushing rant about how much I love these boys I barely know? Well, fine. Buckle up because it's time for some…

Daddy Issues The Rakuzaichi arc really digs into comparing Chihiro's affection for his dad to the Sazanami family structure. And I gotta talk about this because it's the key aspect that makes Hakuri such a brilliant foil.

First off, the similarities. Chihiro and the Sazanami kids are all intensely devoted to their fathers. All of them were raised with love while learning the intricacies of their family trade. We see the Sazanami kids getting praised for doing well, just like Chihiro. Hakuri and Tenri were even told they were special. During the arc, the Sazanami kids put their lives on the line to defend their dad and family legacy with zeal matched by Chihiro's intensity to avenge his dad. When he falls, Tenri's final words are apologizing to his father.

It's truly heartbreaking that Kyora never really loved them back.

You see, the Sazanamis are one of those families that put their lineage and craft over everything else. Every member of the family lives for ensuring the Rakuzaichi auction goes off without a hitch. One of the clan is chosen to inherit the storehouse, and the rest are trained to defend it to the death. Kyoura, the current patriarch, has no compunctions about letting his son Tenri die just to delay Chihiro and the gang for a few more minutes. He had his kids put their lives on the line to defend a storehouse door that he had already broken in secret- making it completely useless. And he's equally cold when it comes to children who can't perform to standards like Hakuri. Once Hakuri (apparently) fails to manifest an ability for sorcery, Kyoura turns a willfully blind eye to the abuse his kid starts to suffer. He knowingly lets Hakuri be tortured by his older brother for years and does nothing, then disowns him once some "merchandise" kills herself in front of him. There's no love for children who can't be useful to the family's traditions. And yet any love that does exist between father and child is manipulated as seen here:

What the fuck man.

So Hakuri is going into this arc firm in his conviction to end his family's evil ways. He's been abused physically and emotionally for at least five years straight; he knows his father doesn't love him. But even now when he's about to bring the whole place down with Chihiro, he's still yearning for his dad's praise. Hakuri's family is fucked up bad and he needs a hell of a lot of healing after all is said and done.

Meanwhile, every flashback with Chihiro shows us that he was truly loved and cared for like every kid deserves. His dad wasn't perfect but he was exactly what a parent should be- kind, understanding, and supportive. His goofy advice helps Chihiro to this day. Chihiro and his dad had a genuine father-son bond that was broken by tragedy and thus Chihiro's desire to do right by his father's memory is driven by grief, first and foremost. So when we see his expression after Tenri's death, we know why he's so badly shaken. They clashed out of love and duty for their fathers, supposedly prepared to pay the ultimate price. The Sazanami version of "love" is a very different, much less wholesome version than the kind Chihiro knows… yet no less effective in terms of motivation.

You can practically hear his heart breaking for Tenri. And his inner thoughts in the next chapter say it all: he was naive to think he could enact revenge while holding fast to the kindness he grew up with. Chihiro's kindness that he learned from his father is a liability to him in this situation. In contrast, Hakuri knew from the start that he had to finally give up the last of his familial affection. He hardened his heart and steeled his resolve to do whatever it took.

Both Chihiro and Hakuri knew what it was like to be loved. Hakuri's version might have been twisted, but it was still painful to have that bond suddenly broken. And now we've seen Edgy Revenge Man's inner softness hold him back while Silly Soft Guy has a heart colder than the arctic. I go absolutely feral comparing and contrasting their situation and how their positions have reversed. Yeah, Chihiro's going to be the action guy who saves the day but Hakuri's the reason he can do it. Hakuri's surprisingly strong core has pushed Chihiro to put his feelings aside to get things done. I can't fucking wait to see how this arc ends and where these boys end up. What will the the most important thing Chihiro takes away from Hakuri here? I hope it leads him to be a bit more openly compassionate and soft around his allies- Hakuri's situation being a lesson in not letting your family's bonds overtake everything else. For Hakuri, well… I think being around Chihiro, Char, and the rest will help him heal. But I hope it's Chihiro that keeps him stable as the person that can relate to him best.

Meta Ramblings Whew. Now then… Yo dumbass writing this, we're not even 40 chapters in yet. Don't you think it's a bit too soon to start getting hyped for a character that could be shelved as soon as the arc is done?

It's interesting to see the themes and characters Hokazono-sensei's reused in Kagurabachi. From the four one-shots available to read, it seems like he's is interested in writing about characters encountering tragedy through various kinds of love. I think it's intriguing that three out of the four end in despair, and the one that doesn't still involves a fair bit of sadness. It's a bit early to say about Hakuri's circumstances since this is only the second proper arc in the series, but given Hokazono-sensei's past works, I think Hakuri is here to stay. For one, Hokazono-sensei seems to love his color-coded foils (Chain, Enten, Roku no Meiyaku). Farewell! Cherry Boy also explores the circumstances of a blindly loyal boy who feels useless being given his first chance to prove himself… I think this is a theme that Hokazono-sensei is revisiting in a more in-depth fashion with Hakuri, so there's a good chance there's more planned.

And just for fun, if we want to look at his romance stories… Madogiwa de Amu is all about one person being the other's greatest hope, their reason to persevere in the face of hardship and seeing that reciprocated in turn. Complete with the weaker person becoming strong enough to protect the person who inspired them first. Hmm. (Hopefully it doesn't end the same way though 'cause man, I can see Hakuri doing something similar right now…) It's also not impossible for Kagurabachi to touch on love given we see Farewell! Cherry Boy incorporating love as the crux of the narrative, despite starting as a gangster story. The true MC is quite like Chihiro as well in terms of motivation and action plan.

I also think it's impossible to overstate how important it is for Chihiro to have a friendly peer to compare to, narratively speaking. Char is a woobie, Shiba's an uncle figure, and Hiyuki is set up to be the aggro rival/frenemy. Hinao could become more than a side character but it seems unlikely at this time. Chihiro needs someone his own age to just be himself with. And that, I am 99% sure, will be Hakuri. A guy who's suffered just as much as he has. Someone who knows what it's like to have a famous last name and lineage to protect. An equal who's unquestionably on his side, who will lift him up when he's down, yet will still need some protection and care. So yes I think Hakuri will be sticking around to be Chihiro's foil. He might take a back seat at times as heroines do, but he'll still be there to support our sad boi through thick and thin.

Anyway that's why I'm ready to jump feet-first into this ship. It's got all the hallmarks of a wonderfully strong bond and I hope we get to see these boys comforting each other for years to come. If you read all this… thank you? Maybe get yourself checked for brain worms? And tell everyone you know to read this amazing action-packed tragedy laced with BL crack cocaine.

[kedreeva]

WIP Wednesday Game

It’s WIP Wednesday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog of this post (so people can find you in the notes) or new thread (w/ rules attached) if you want to play on your own, post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to play!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event or gift fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. I’ll be searching the reblogs to find people to send asks to!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Wednesday Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Requested/Friend event mentions under the cut! If you'd like to be pinged next week, send me a message to ask!

@fiore-della-valle @redbirdblogs @greenbergsays @idkfandomwhatever @luckyspike

@obaewankenope @mad-madam-m @anonymousdandelion @geometricfractal @prettybirdy979

@eriquin @labelleizzy @aparticularbandit @madnessfromthemountains @makeroftherunes

@whimsicalmeerkat @kidsomeday @lizhly-writes @skyderman @adhdavinci

@owlbearwrites @anachronismstellar @anyctibius @rilannon @lazinesswrites

@zyrafowe-sny @dreaminghour @blue-eyedbeta @candyskiez @dreamerking27

@kalira @virgulesmith @i-want-delfeur @selkies-world @exceedinglygayotter

@oitreewrites @post-and-out @1attheedge