#Lu’s lovely words
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mysteria157 · 2 days ago
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I wanted to wait until I was free of distraction to start this. And I’m so glad I did. I love reading a fanfic that makes me feel like I’m also reading a novel.
Lu, this is only chapter one, and I’m hooked. You capture that mysterious edge of Toji so well. He’s wrapped up in this life of a killer, cold around the edges and gruff, but he’s curious about you. He keeps coming back day after day. Not even to flirt, but to just…watch.
I love the way you describe the reader. She’s so carefree, but not naive (at least that’s what I get from it). She’s gentle but not fragile, like you said. Her and Toji have barely spoken and he’s already taken with her. And when they do finally speak, that banter is everything.
“You talk too much for someone who hasn’t introduced themselves yet.”
“And you’re too quiet for someone who’s been coming here for weeks.”
Yesssss, I need—I NEED
And that guilt, oh that guilt he feels for studying a woman who isn’t Mamaguro, who reminds him of Mamaguro. “She’s not her.” Just that line alone. It’s a feeling I imagine most widows would feel when they find someone that captivates them after losing the love of their life. Wanting so much more of it but chastising themselves for even daring to look.
And his relationship with Megumi. Distant because of the years away from his father, a hint of curiosity but guarded enough not to get his hopes up. It’s just so realistic, Lu. I feel like you caught the dynamic of estranged father and son trying to come together again so well.
I struggle with writing reviews, so I hope I wasn’t all over the place. But Lu, you are such an amazing writer. This is a side of Toji I feel like we don’t see, and I need so much more of it.
I’m starting chapter two now. This is truly amazing. Thank you for writing this 💕💕
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Chimera
Chapter One of De Novo! All content warnings and anything to do with the series can be found here.
thank you for reading! ✨
The rain poured relentlessly, turning the streets of Tokyo into glistening rivers of asphalt and reflections. Dim neon lights from the signs above the small restaurant flickered in the distance, casting a faint glow through the raindrops. The scent of steaming broth and sizzling meat lingered in the air, cozy and familiar to Toji as he sat in the corner of the modest establishment.
It was a place tucked away from the bustling chaos of the city—far from prying eyes and familiar faces. He’d found it by accident, driven here by a need to not go directly home but also needing to keep his head low after his last job. He picked at the steaming bowl of Goto udon in front of him, the rich broth sending a tendril of warmth through him, though his sharp gaze never lost its edge.
Right now, he was simply a man with nowhere to be. The scent of fresh rain mingled with the food, and for a moment, the noise of his thoughts quieted. Then you walked in.
The door slid open with a soft chime, and a gust of cold air swept in with you. Toji's eyes lifted from his bowl. The downpour framed your silhouette, the muted light from outside casting you in a soft, ethereal glow. You wore a pair of rain boots, completely soaked from head to toe as your sweater stuck to you with water dripping from the tips of your fingers onto the wooden floor. Drenched clothes clung to you, highlighting your form, but it was your joyous, unbothered demeanor that caught his attention. The way you moved—deliberate, relaxed—made you stand out.
  “Shit. It’s really coming down out there.” You began to pull the sweater over your head and Toji’s eyes immediately went to the soaked camisole tank that you wore underneath. Pulling it away from your skin before throwing the sweater over the shoulder, he watched as you brushed a few strands of wet hair out of your face, your fingers delicate but not fragile, before you greeted the older couple working behind the counter with a small, knowing smile. They exchanged words in quiet tones, clearly familiar with your presence. The older man who served Toji his food wagged his finger at you before steering you toward the closed-off back room.
After a few minutes, you came back out and moved with ease as you tied a simple apron around your waist as if this had been your routine for years.
Toji’s eyes narrowed slightly, his curiosity piqued. You weren’t antsy, fidgety, or overly polite. You were fluid. Moving with ease.
“Goto is best enjoyed hot, just in case you were thinking about letting it become a cold soup.” The sound of the elder woman’s downbeat but calm voice brought him out of his mind. “Want it to go?”
“Yes, please. Thank you.” Toji watched the woman grab a container then let his eyes go back to you leaning against the counter expertly measuring flour, letting it cascade into the bowl before cracking an egg with one hand into the same bowl. You didn’t seem to notice his unwavering gaze on you as you used your hands to mix whatever concoction you had. But Ayame did.
The older woman cleared her throat before sitting the carryout bowl down with just enough force to make Toji’s shoulders jump. “I’ll pour this up for you.”
He sat like a schoolboy who had been scolded for being a perv watching Ayame transfer the lukewarm soup over to a clear bowl with a lid. “Thank you.”
“Uh-huh. Enjoy your night and be careful in this weather. Suppose to get worse through the night.”
Toji stood up, slipping his hood over his head and throwing his bag over his shoulder as he steadied the soup in his free hand. The bell dinged as he walked out of the doors.
You looked over at her as she cleaned the table Toji sat out. “Was he a bother Ayame-san?” Sucking her teeth, Ayame shrugged her shoulders as she gave the table another wipe with a damp cloth.
“He sat and ate. Can’t be a bother if you’re a paying customer.” The graying temples of your maternal figure lifted as she looked at you. “Too bad about that wedding band on his finger. You would make cute little babies with him.”
Shaking your head as if you’d been hit with the most baffling words you’d heard all day, you let out a dry chuckle and continued to knead your dough. “Ah well. Maybe the next man who orders Goto will be the one, Aya. Gotta deal with me til then.”
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Days passed and Toji found himself returning to the restaurant every other night and ordering enough food for at least a family of three to eat at what Ayame called the “big bulls table”. Every time he came in, there you were—sometimes serving customers, sometimes preparing food in the back or a small fresh station in front—but always with that same air of mystery. And each time, he found himself studying you, watching your calm movements, your gentle interactions with others as they always commented how much they loved the homely eatery and your hospitality. But despite the intrigue you stirred within him, it remained just that—observations from a distance. His was built from silence and secrets, and Toji didn’t let himself get too close to anyone.
Until the day you spoke to him.
It was late, the dinner rush had long since ended. Toji sat in his usual corner, his bowl of udon half-empty when he noticed you approaching his table. Your expression, as always, was neutral but with an underlying hint of curiosity. You carried a fresh cup of tea as its steam rose, and without asking, you placed it in front of him.
“You’re always here, but you never say a word,” you spoke up, voice as calm as the rest of you. There was no accusation in it, no suspicion—just a simple observation, delivered with a smile that barely reached your eyes. “Are you always this quiet, or is it just the rain that makes you mute and introspective? If so, I understand.”
Toji met your gaze, cold but not unfriendly. His lips twitched, almost amused by your straightforwardness. He didn’t respond immediately, taking a long sip from the tea you offered, feeling the heat travel down his throat. Finally, he set the cup down, the sound of ceramic against wood breaking the silence between you.
“You talk too much for someone who hasn’t introduced themselves yet.”
Your smile widened slightly as if his bluntness only fueled your curiosity. “And you’re too quiet for someone who’s been coming here for weeks.” You raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused at his deflection as you gave your name then sat a napkin down beside his tea. “My folks run this place. Now, what’s yours?”
Toji raised a brow, looking to find the older woman he now knows as Ayame and looking back to you, obvious that there was no blood relation but keeping mute on the subject. “You sure you want to know my name?”
“Unless it's something hideous. Which in that case, don’t bother.”
“You can call me Fushiguro.”
Your lips quirked as you wiped down the table beside him. ‘” To bow, hide or conceal. Black.”
“Hm?’
“Your last name. That’s what it means. Loosely, at least.”
He wasn’t sure if you were bluffing or what. But in that moment, it didn’t matter. He only watched you as you turned away, boots squeaking softly against the floor as you moved back toward the kitchen, leaving him with a name and a sense of unease he couldn’t quite place.
He finished his soup and then left, leaving the half-sipped tea on the table.
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It was late afternoon, the light rain now reduced to a gentle drizzle outside the fogged-up windows. Toji decided to break his four day absence and sat in his usual corner of the restaurant, the air thick with the smell of simmering broth and freshly grilled skewers. His eyes followed you as you moved around the dining floor, movements so fluid and practiced that they seemed almost effortless.
He didn't know why he kept coming back here. It wasn’t the food, although it was more than excellent enough to warrant return visits. It was something else. It was wearing a well-loved baseball shirt and those rain boots again.
Every time he watched you, that unsettling, uneasy feeling crept in—the way you hummed to yourself, the way you wiped your hands on the back of her apron without a second thought, how you barely seemed to notice the world outside the restaurant walls. You existed within your own bubble of stillness, seemingly detached from the city’s chaos.
Your existence was familiar. Too familiar.
  She’s not her.
The thought hit him hard, but it wasn’t enough to shake the feeling. You worked your way through the restaurant, greeting customers with that quiet smile and something tugged at the back of his mind. The way your eyes glimmered with subtle amusement when a regular and his daughter came in showing you her perfect grade on a test or the quick moment you caught him watching you. The casual way you leaned against the counter to talk to the other staff—it all echoed memories of a woman long gone.
She’d been the same—aloof, unbothered, and yet, there had been something wild and untamable beneath the surface, something that only he had seen. He remembered how she used to cook, standing at the stove with the same absent smile you wore now. He remembered the warmth of her hands, the sound of her voice humming songs he never learned the words to...
His grip tightened around the teacup, fingers curling as the past bled into the present. His jaw clenched, a flash of anger bubbling beneath his skin. How could he let his mind go there? How could he let you—this stranger—remind him of something he had buried long ago?
You stirred up ghost he had no right to revisit.
His late wife’s face flickered in his mind as he envisioned her eyes, her smile—and guilt hit him like a brick. What was he doing, coming back here again and again? Was it nostalgia, or was it something else? He had never been the sentimental type, but now, watching you from across the room, he felt the uncomfortable sting of guilt gnaw at his insides as he looked at you with ire.
Before he could sink deeper into those unwelcome thoughts, his phone buzzed in his jacket pocket, dragging him violently back to reality. The sound was sharp, and intrusive. Toji blinked, exhaling sharply as he let the tension bleed from his knuckles. He reached for his phone, flipping it over to see the name on the screen.
Shiu Kong.
Of course. It was a call he couldn’t ignore.
He brought the phone to his ear, his voice low and controlled as always. “What?”
“Where the hell are you?” Shiu’s voice cut through the static, the irritation clear in his tone. “I’ve been trying to reach you. We need to talk—there’s been a change in plans for the job.”
Toji’s eyes flicked back to your form, which was now cleaning up a table a few feet away, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside his head. He felt a tightness in his chest, a mix of frustration and something else—something he didn’t want to name.
“I’m busy,” Toji muttered, though his voice lacked the sharpness it usually held.
Shiu sighed on the other end of the line, his impatience clear. “Busy? You can’t be fucking busy, Fushiguro. If you’re calling sitting at one of those fuck ass dives betting and drinking being busy, you really are falling off. This isn’t the time to slack off. We need to wrap this contract up cleanly. You can’t afford distractions.”
Distractions.
Toji’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the back of your head. Was that what this was? A distraction? He had spent too many years knowing exactly what he wanted, what needed to be done, and dealing with it swiftly. But now, this place—you —were pulling at threads he didn’t want unraveled.
“I’ll handle it,” he finally said, his voice flat, his mind snapping back into place. “Send me the arrangements and I’ll be on my way in 20. And don’t call again unless it’s important.”
“Don’t screw this up, Fushiguro,” Shiu warned, though the line was already dead. Toji slipped the phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable.
As you turned around and caught his gaze, offering him that usual calm smile, Toji felt the wrath brewing in his chest again, conflict pulling deep inside. He didn’t smile back. Instead, he gave you a curt nod and stood up, making his way out the door.
The rain had picked up again, the sky a dark, relentless gray. Toji stepped outside, feeling the cold drops immediately hitting his head as he walked down the sidewalk, but he didn’t mind. He needed the clarity. The chill grounded him.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked to his apartment, the thoughts of his late wife still lingering in the back of his mind, mingling with the image of your calm, smiling face. Serving him his tea then recalling your plush hips swinging around the corners of the tables as you graced every patron with your service.
Putting a bullet through someone’s chest would probably absolve this little issue he was having. He was sure of it.
Phone buzzing in bursts, Toji quickly took it out and read the text.
14:45
IST, ICA
Ticket information incoming:
This is just another job, he reminded himself. That’s all it ever is.
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Toji sat in the dim light of his temporary apartment, the faint hum of Istanbul nightlife filtering through the closed windows. The city had welcomed him back like an old friend—an old, dangerous friend. He’d settled in quickly, taking care of what needed to be done, and now, as he leaned back in his chair, fingers toying with his phone, his mind wandered until he went into his contacts.
Megumi.
It had been months since he’d seen his son in person. Megumi had been living with Gojo Satoru for a while now, far removed from Toji’s world. He wasn’t blind to the fact that Megumi was growing up to be different from him, under Gojo’s care, and it was for the best. Still, something gnawed at him tonight. He wasn’t the type to call to check in without it being planned, as requested by Megumi himself, but Toji took it as a sign that he should call to check in.
His thumb hovered over the contact list on his phone. A deep breath, then a quick press of the button.
The phone rang once. Twice. Then, a familiar, flat voice answered.
“Hello? What do you want.”
A small smirk tugged at the corner of Toji’s lips. Straight to the point, as usual.
“Good to hear your voice, too, kid.”
There was a pause on the other end, filled only by the faint rustling of fabric like Megumi had shifted and moved to a quieter spot. Toji could almost imagine the slight furrow of his son's brows, the ever-present look of exasperation in his eyes. It made Toji chuckle under his breath.
“Are you calling for a reason, or is this another one of those rare, cryptic check-ins?”
“You’re getting mouthy,” Toji shot back, but there was no bite in his tone. “I’m out of town on a job and wanted to see how you were doing.”
There was another brief silence, followed by a half-hearted sigh. “I’m fine.”
Typical. Megumi’s responses were always short, rarely offering more than he had to. But Toji wasn’t expecting anything different. He knew his son well enough to understand that ‘I’m fine’ covered everything from mundane boredom to potential life-or-death scenarios. That was the curse of their bloodline—always withholding, always distant.
“Yeah? How’s training been with Gojo? Still going?”
“Unfortunately.” The dryness in Megumi’s voice wasn’t lost on Toji. “He’s still... Gojo.”
Toji chuckled softly. “Sounds like him.”
“Yeah.”
The conversation hit a lull, but Toji didn’t rush it. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as he tried to gather his thoughts. He wasn’t great at this—fatherly concern, casual conversation. Megumi had been out of his life for a long time, and part of him knew he had no right to ask for more than what his son was willing to give. Toji was appreciative he was even allowed a chance to talk to him. And he knew to be thankful to even Gojo who supported the rekindling.
But tonight, something felt different. Maybe it was the rain, the quiet, or the subtle reminder that life moved on regardless of what he was doing in the shadows.
“You’ve got that baseball game coming up, right?” Toji asked after a beat.
Megumi’s tone shifted, not in excitement—never that—but in slight surprise. “Yeah. I told you about that last month.”
Toji nodded, even though Megumi couldn’t see him. He had remembered, and that alone had been on his mind for days now. “I’ll be back in town by then,” he said, his voice lower. “I’ll come watch.”
The silence on the other end of the line grew a little heavier, as though Megumi hadn’t expected that. When he finally spoke, his words were clipped, almost dismissive. “You don’t have to. It’s just a game.”
Toji felt the weight of those words, the subtle layers beneath them. Megumi didn’t ask for much—never had—and maybe part of him didn’t want to expect anything from Toji. But this was something Toji had decided on. He’d be there, even if it was just standing in the shadows, watching his kid on the field.
“I’m coming,” Toji said firmly, cutting off any further objections. “It’ll be the first home game, can’t miss that.”
There was a beat of silence, and then the slightest shift in Megumi’s tone. “Okay.” Not enthusiastic, but it was as close to acceptance as Toji would get.
Toji exhaled, letting the tension in his shoulders relax. It wasn’t much, but it was something. “You practicing enough?” he asked, falling back into the rhythm of conversation, knowing Megumi wouldn’t dive into the details unless prompted.
“Yeah,” Megumi replied. “Gojo keeps bugging me about it, but it’s fine. My swing’s better than his, anyway.”
“Of course it is.” There was the faintest trace of pride in Toji’s voice. Not because baseball meant much to him, but because Megumi always seemed to excel at what he put his mind to. And in some twisted, distant way, that stubborn determination reminded Toji of himself.
“And thanks for the bat. Got it the other day. Just hadn’t had time to call and give a proper thanks.”
“It's cool, kid. I’m glad you got it. Hope it's working for you.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the faint sounds of Megumi moving about in the background. Toji wondered what kind of teenage nonsense his boy was up to. Surrounded by decent people who put him first always, cared for by people like Gojo. His world had become something Toji couldn’t touch unless he was given explicit approval, a place far removed from the blood and shadows of his own past.
“...You good, kid?” Toji asked, his voice rougher now, as if he was trying to dig past the surface. “With everything?”
Another pause, longer this time, and when Megumi spoke, his words were as controlled and measured as ever. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
Toji knew better than to push for more. Hard to read, guarded like a stone wall. He’d learned it from Toji himself, whether consciously or not. That was the legacy Toji left him: a life of distance and silence. But despite that, Megumi was surviving. He was finding his way.
“Alright.” Toji cleared his throat, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest of his chair. “Thanks for taking my call. I’ll see you at the game.”
“Yeah. I guess.” There was a slight hesitation like Megumi wasn’t entirely sure how to end this call either. “...Just don’t stand out.”
Toji smirked. “Don’t worry, kid. You won’t even know I’m there.”
“Good.” Megumi’s voice softened ever so slightly, though his words were still layered with his usual indifference. “I’ll see you, then.”
“Yeah. Take care, Megumi. Call if you need anything.”
The line clicked, and the quiet hum of the city returned, filling the space around Toji. He sat there for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling on him like the lingering rain outside.
Toji stood, stretching his arms before walking over to the window, staring out into the dark, rain-slicked streets. A part of him was still trapped in the life he’d left behind, but Megumi... Megumi was his connection to something real, something outside of the killing, the blood, and the shadows.
The city’s reflection stared back at him as he embraced the stillness of the room as a text came through, Gojo’s name popped up:
“He’s glad you called. Told him to at least say more than “I’m fine” but he’s part Zenin so what more can you expect? 🤷🏼 See you at the game.”
Toji lied down on top of the duvet, sprawling out on the king-size monstrosity as his mind flickered between his late wife, his son, and the new plague that encroached on his mind like a parasite:
You.
dividers from the lovely @/thecutestgrotto <3
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and I wouldn't lie, I never really wanted more than what I ever really needed after all: someone that hates to see me go (for @brown-little-robin)
Georges Bataille // Hanif Abdurraqib // Emily Elizabeth Miller // Ocean Vuong // Lisel Mueller // Sara Daniele Rivera // Louise Glück // Lucy Gross Smith // Rainer Maria Rilke // Ellen Bass // caption: Gerard Way, How It's Going To Be
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luna-loveboop · 2 months ago
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I love Malon.
She sees a face she likes
And she grabs it
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It's a love language! She grabs the faces she likes. There's so many times it happened- like every time she was showing affection.
To anyone
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Of any species
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If you are near Malon and she likes your face it will be grabbed, sorry
She's gonna be such a great mother
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Time is not immune, as her husband he signed up for it
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Art and comic by Jojo @linkeduniverse au!
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quotefeeling · 9 months ago
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It hurts every day, the absence of someone who was once there.
Marie Lu, Champion
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thoughtkick · 3 months ago
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Each day means a new twenty-four hours. Each day means everything's possible again. You live in the moment, you die in the moment, you take it all one day at a time.
Marie Lu
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demaparbat-hp · 6 months ago
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Zuko was a child when he met Agni. Then, the spirits started coming to him. Eyes hidden in the hallways, voices pleading for help, for recognition, for remembrance.
Zuko could see Agni. He could see the broken remains of a Great Spirit and the empty smiles of amnesiac ghosts.
And they could see him in return.
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perfectquote · 4 months ago
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You rarely regret the things you do, but always the things you don't.
Marie Lu, Rebel
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asoftepiloguemylove · 2 years ago
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i love you like a rotten dog, i love you like my canines are falling out of my gums. like a monster, like a beast. like something not worth loving back.
Marie Lu The Young Elites / @/bloodyhellharry (on tumblr) from The Infamous Willow Prank, Part Three / Hélène Cixous excerpt from Love of the Wolf, "Stigmata: Escaping Texts" / @/thymoss (on tumblr) / Virginia Woolf The Waves / Deborah Landau Soft Targets / Tory Adkisson Anecdote of the Pig
i. Marie Lu, The Young Elites
[ "So. Tell me, little wolf. Would you like to punish those who have wronged you?" ]
ii. @/bloodyhellharry
[ Pencil drawing of three panels of a comic strip. The first image is of a closed hatch. The second image shows the hatch being opened slightly. The third imagine is the largest. It shows a wolf with a large shadow, snarling at the cracked hatch. "IF HE'D GOT / AS FAR AS THIS HOUSE, / HE'D HAVE MET A FULLY GROWN / WEREWOLF" ]
iii. Hélène Cixous, Love of the Wolf
[ "The lamb loves its wolf. The wolf turns all white and starts quivering out of love of the lamb. The lamb loves the wolf's fragility, and the wolf loves the frail one's force. The wolf is now the lamb's lamb and the lamb has tamed the wolf. Love blackens the lamb." ]
iv. @/thymoss
[ Messy sketch of the head of an animal with teeth surrounding the outside of it's face, pointing away from it. "I will / remove my teeth, for I / want to remain / kind despite / my anger" ]
v. Virginia Woolf, The Waves
[ "I press you to me. / Come, pain, feed on me. / Bury our fangs into my flesh. Tear me asunder. I sob, I sob." ]
vi. Deborah Landau, Soft Targets
[ "We are animal hungry down to our delicate bones." ]
vii. Tory Adkisson, Anecdote of the Pig
[ "Do you still believe myths / can save you? Foolish creature. / Let me be clear: every version of the story / ends with you being slaughtered." ]
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thehopefulquotes · 1 month ago
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Everyone has a different way of escaping the dark stillness of their mind.
Marie Lu, Warcross
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resqectable · 30 days ago
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It hurts every day, the absence of someone who was once there.
Marie Lu, Champion
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perfectfeelings · 9 months ago
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It hurts every day, the absence of someone who was once there.
Marie Lu, Champion
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mysteria157 · 2 days ago
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This is—I just—
Lu I inhaled this, wtf. I need more. I need more. I need more.
Toji is going through it. I say this all the time but Toji LOVED mamaguro. Threw away his life, stopped killing, became what they both needed to keep her. The emotions that would take from a man like him, while effortless, were probably so strong that he had no choice but to lock them away when she passed. And now, with the reader, those feelings are rattling again and they make him uncomfortable and upset and wary. The fact that he had to leave in the middle of a conversation speaks volumes. The way you wrote it was breathtaking. It makes my chest tight because I just want him to be happy for once.
And the club scene?? Her costume, the way she danced?? You’re so detailed with her movements. I could feel the tempo as I read, like I was in the crowd watching her move. And to know that this is also pieces of your culture? That this is fragments of Lu in these words? I ate it up! I love learning more about others. Thank you for sharing this piece of yourself 💕💕
The fact that Kirara and Shoko tease how she is such a shy and sweet person and then becomes this fiery dancer, really shows a different side of the readers personality. She had the audience—and Toji—hooked.
“Uncomfortable? No. Fighting hard against calling you a beautiful goddess? Yes.”
Same, Toji, same LOL
And the twist at the end?? GOD, I’m not ready. I mean I am, but BOY am I in for a ride.
Ahhh I’m so excited for this series, Lu. Can’t wait to see what the next chapter brings!
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Return To Sender
Part two of De Novo (Toji x Reader). All parts as well as content warnings can be found here!
a/n: Hello! I am very happy with this. I struggled on how I wanted to present apart of my own culture while getting through my analysis. This chapter is a bit lengthy but that's okay lol. Thank you for reading and hope you enjoy!
The job had been quick—clean, like always. Toji moved through the darkened room, the faint tang of gunpowder still lingering in the air as he looked over his work
Middle aged man, maybe 40. Bad smoking habit, horrid hairline and a thing for faux gaudy Versace print from the look of his matching jogger set. “Hm.” He stepped over the body, his face expressionless while checking the contents of his latest marks pockets.
Wallet, phone with a now shattered screen, keys and some candy.
Toji helped himself to something called a chewy lite while sifting through the wallets contents. All run of the mill cards, bit of cash and random receipts but a card with a Roppongi address messily written across the matte finish caught his attention.
“Running from business? Dirty boy.”
He pocketed the card and barely spared a second glance as he holstered his weapon. The only sounds were his own footsteps and the muted hum of the city beyond the window as he propped the dead man up in the bathtub. This part of the city felt empty, even in the middle of the night. He preferred it that way.
Shiu was waiting for his call, so Toji slipped his phone from his pocket as he made his way down a back stairwell. He pressed the call button, listening to the dial tone, his mind already drifting as he waited for Shiu to pick up.
“It’s done,” Toji muttered as soon as he heard Shiu’s voice.
“Good,” Shiu replied, sounding unsurprised, as always. “I’ll clear it on my end. Are you heading out tonight?”
Toji gave a brief grunt of confirmation, glancing at his watch. “I’ll be back by morning.”
There was a pause on Shiu’s end, and then a clipped, “Alright. Just keep a low profile. Go to the butcher when you make it back to town.”
The line went dead, leaving Toji alone again, his thoughts thick and tangled as he pocketed the phone. Shiu was efficient, reliable; he trusted him to handle things, and the basis of their strange relationship was built on the brotherly trust they had for one another.
The buildings security leaving meant he was free to leave, his job here complete. The night was cool against his skin as he stepped outside, rain misting through the air, yet he hardly felt it, hardly registered the wet slick of the pavement beneath his boots as he walked back to his hotel.
Inside, Toji stripped off his blood-streaked clothes, methodically packing them in a plastic bag he would toss somewhere on the way to the airport. He turned on the shower, the sound of water filling the tiny bathroom, and stepped under the stream, closing his eyes as he let it cascade over his skin.
And yet, even as the water ran over him, he felt nothing—no sense of relief, no real need to scrub away the evidence of his work. It was just another task, another motion, another night.
The scalding heat of the shower did nothing to clear his head. He leaned forward, bracing himself against the tiles as steam clouded around him, his thoughts adrift. Was this just how it was now? The same endless routine, going through the cognitive process without pause, without thought? He opened his eyes, chuckling as the ghost of a smirk curled on his lips at the absurdity of it all.
As he dried off, the buzz in his mind faded slightly. He dressed quickly and packed his backpack before heading out to catch his flight. Each step, each action, was methodical, mechanical—like clockwork. Nothing about this felt real, and in a way, that made it easier.
“The less questions you ask, the better. Do the job, get paid, live knowing you just knocked off scum.”
Toji couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head remembering just how easy Shiu made it all sound. A fresh first time father with no family to help but a family friend who tried to kill him once.
Two jobs a month, tell everyone you work security if they ask, make it look like an accident if possible and pray you aren’t stupid enough to get caught or for the powers that be to get tired of you.
Easy.
By the time he was settled on the plane with the hum of the engines vibrating beneath him, he found his eyes growing heavy, his thoughts blurring. The lights dimmed as the plane took off, Istanbul's skyline shrinking below him as he drifted into sleep.
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Toji was back in Tokyo but knew he wouldn’t feel right until he had his fix of food. He dropped his bag off at home before going to the restaurant, the familiar scent of simmering broth and spices thick in the warm, palely lit air. The usual hum of clattering dishes in the kitchen filled the dining room with it being a slow night. A muted background, leaving an almost intimate silence that seemed to settle just for him.
You walked up to his usual table and stood across from him, close enough that he could see the subtle gleam of light in your eyes, the small, knowing curve of your lips as you looked at him.
"Back so soon? Feels like you were only gone for one day." you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you reached out, fingertips brushing over the back of his hand. The touch was tentative at first, a mere whisper of contact, but it sent a pulse of warmth through him, something familiar and comforting. He didn’t pull away, though. Instead, he found himself turning his hand over, meeting your touch halfway, his rough palm against your smooth, warm skin before he pulled you into his lap.
“What can I say, baby doll? I missed you too much to take my time.”
Toji leaned in to kiss you and your scent filling his senses—something faint and floral, warm and soft, almost lulling him into a state of hazy tranquility. Your fingers traced up his arm slowly, lingering as though you were savoring the feeling, and he shivered under the gentleness of your calming touch.
Toji’s eyes fell to your lips as you pulled away, watching the way you tilted your head, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. It was subtle, unhurried, as though you were in no rush, letting the tension simmer between them. He felt his own breathing deepen, a mix of anticipation and need pulling him toward you.
“Pretty mama…” His voice came out rougher than he intended, the pet name slipping past his lips almost on its own. You responded with a soft, amused hum, fingers slipping up to rest against his chest, your touch warm even through the fabric of his shirt.
The distance between you vanished, face inches from his, eyes half-lidded as you studied him. “Toji,” a faintly whispered, his name rolling off your tongue in a soft, intimate murmur that seemed to slip past all his defenses. Your breath was warm against his skin as your lips brushed his ear as you ran your hands slowly down his chest, fingers pressing slightly as though anchoring yourself to him.
Then, in one smooth, deliberate movement, your lips met his.
The kiss was slow, like revisiting territory to get reacquainted. But he couldn’t hold himself back. His hands found your waist, drawing you closer, feeling the gentle curve of your body pressing against him. Your hands trailed up his shoulders, fingers slipping through his hair, tugging slightly, igniting a low heat that unfurled deep in his core. He responded with a quiet, involuntary groan, his fingers tightening on your waist as the kiss deepened.
His hands moved, gliding over your back, tracing your spine as he felt the subtle shift of your body beneath his touch, soft sighs fanning over his skin.
Your breaths mingled, and your lips parted beneath his, letting out a giggle as he nipped at your bottom lip. The world around you faded—the restaurant, the distant city outside. All that remained was your touch, your warmth, you whispering his name against his skin.
“How much longer until you’re off? I figured we could grab dinner and spend the evening inside.” Your fingers traced his jaw, drifting down his neck and lower, sending sparks through him with each soft, lingering stroke. “Ayame-san will understand a man missing his woman, I’m sure.”
His hands moved instinctively, pulling you tighter against him, feeling the way you fit against him. “Just a few more minutes, urso. Then I’m all yours again.”
_____
The plane jolted, pulling him abruptly from sleep. Toji blinked, the remnants of the dream fading as he sat up, disoriented, his pulse still racing, his skin tingling with the phantom sensation of your touch.
“What the hell..” He clenched his fists, dragging a hand over his face as he tried to shake the lingering warmth from his mind. Some lovesick fool chasing fantasies. But that dream—the softness of it, the unexpected comfort he’d felt—had struck something deep, something he was sure he couldn't ignore. And that pissed him off.
As he lights in the cabin brightened, signaling their descent, Toji let out a slow breath. He’d shake this off, he told himself. He’d go back to his life, to his usual routines, and forget all about the strange warmth you’d had stirred in him, even if it was only in a dream.
But as he stared out the window, Tokyo coming into view again beneath the early morning light, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed.
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It was past midnight, and the rain had stopped leaving behind the dewy smell and light breezes as the muted glow led stragglers to there next destination. Inside, the space was warm, a small refuge from the cold outside, and the soft clinking of dishes and low chatter filled the air. The late shift had drawn in its usual crowd: bleary-eyed patrons drifting in from bars, hungry and noisy, laughter and murmured voices bouncing off the walls.
You moved between tables with a relaxed familiarity, apron showing signs of the days work, hair casually tucked under a colorful scarf you had tied on your head. You greeted the stragglers with small nods and the quirk of your lips, the softness in your voice was bright as you took orders and traded jokes with ease.
“Still got room for ‘nother round, or should I bring a broom to sweep you out?” you teased one of the regulars, who responded with a hearty laugh.
“Oh, don’t start, —if I leave, who’s gonna keep you entertained?” the older gentleman replied, grinning as you swatted his shoulder with the order pad. Rolling your eyes but smiling, you leaned on the counter continuing the banter, tone light and unhurried.
Across the room, Toji slipped into the diner as quietly as possible, practically scurrying to his usual booth tucked in the far corner, watching as you moved around the space. The scene stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in years, lingering somewhere between fascination and discomfort. The easy laughter, the way you brushed off the boisterous remarks from the rowdy customers, all of it felt painfully familiar, pulling him back to the dream he’d had on the plane.
It was almost torturous, the memory slipping in and out of his mind: your soft touch, how your breath against his skin made him feel that carnal desperation he missed, the warmth he’d felt enveloping him. He could almost feel your fingers tracing his arm, hear the soft whisper of his name. The vividness of it left him unsettled, as if he were seeing you now not as you were, but as you had been in that dream—closer, vulnerable, undeniably warm.
Leaning over the counter to pour coffee, and he caught the way you tilted your head back just slightly, the relaxed smile lingering on your lips. It was a simple, innocent gesture, but to him, it felt charged, stirring up desires he’d long since trained himself to ignore.
Before he could regain his composure, your gaze drifted over and your eyes lit up as they landed on him.
  “Oh! And here I thought my charms scared you off,” you called out, voice playful as you finished with the last customer and made your way over. Your hands resting on your hips as you looked at him with something close to amusement. “Where’ve you been, stranger? Thought you’d gotten tired of my Ayame-san’s cooking.”
  Toji gave a small shrug, his face impassive, though he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from lingering on you just a second too long. “Got busy,” he said, his voice low, keeping the reply as neutral as possible.
“Well, she was convinced something horrible had happened to you.” you’d leaned in conspiratorially, eyes glinting with humor. “She almost sent out a search party, you know.”
Toji’s gaze softened without his realizing it. But as soon as he felt himself beginning to relax, that familiar warmth tugging at his defenses, he remembered the dream again—the way you had looked at him, your fingers tracing his skin. Like you had been his for years and not a beat missed. He could feel it so vividly, the phantom sensation lingering, stirring something painful and dangerous in his chest.
“Glad to see you’re still breathing,” you continued with your playful jabs, the smile in your eyes bright and unguarded as ypu studied him. “You don’t have to come in every day, you know. But a week without your brooding in the corner—it was starting to feel empty.”
  Your tone was light, almost like a challenge, but Toji felt his chest tighten, the simple familiarity of your words scraping against something raw and tender. He’d come here tonight seeking some distance from the dream since you never worked Friday nights from what he remembered. Was suppose to be a way to bury the memory of your warmth and that unbearable softness, but you’d only pulled it all closer to the surface. The calm that you seemed to exude so naturally was seeping into him, softening the tough shell he’d built, leaving him vulnerable in a way that felt too close, too dangerous.
  And he couldn’t afford that—not now, not ever.
You were still watching him, the smile unbroken but something shifted in your expression as you noticed his tense silence. “Are you okay? I’m sorry if I got too fresh with you.” The gentleness in your voice now was hard to miss, genuine concern breaking through the humor. “You seem… distracted.”
  It was too much.
  Before he could stop himself, he slid out of the booth abruptly, giving you a curt nod as he moved to leave, his eyes hardening again, cutting off any trace of vulnerability. “I’m not doing this,” he muttered, his tone colder than he’d intended.
He didn’t wait for you to reply, didn’t even glance back as he strode toward the door, ignoring the looks from a few of the other patrons. Your gaze followed him, a slight frown forming as you watched his retreating figure. Your face softened with worry as you walked towards the exit as though you might go after him—but before you could, one of the regulars piped up, his voice cutting through the air with a mix of curiosity and concern.
“Hey, Is everything alright? He looked like he’d seen a ghost.”
You forced a smile, shaking your head slightly as you tucked the order pad back into your apron pocket. “Yeah, he’s fine,” you said, though you voice was softer now, the usual brightness dimmed. “Just one of those nights, I guess. We all tend to have them.”
“Can I ask you a question, Yaga?” you walked to the table of your regular who was still looking in the direction of exit, attempting to assess what transpired.
“What?”
Maybe you were being too nosy, but it had been burning into your mind for awhile now. “Have you ever heard of a Fushiguro family? Like around here?”
Yaga sipped the last of his coffee before turning back to you. He seemed almost surprised at the question. “Fushiguro? It sounds familiar but I can’t say I know anyone with it close to me. Why?”
Trying to gather yourself from the whiplash of him leaving so quickly, you walked to the cash wrap and worked on the register as it dang. You didn’t mean to offend him but everyone is different you suppose. “Hm. Just heard the name in passing a few times lately. Figured I was missing out on local gossip or something.”
“Gossip? How about this.” Yaga pulled his wallet out and went to the front counter, “There’s a teaching position at my school now. Great benefits, full lunch hour and you’d also be filling the seat as an after school instructor.”
Laughing, you took the gentleman's money, counting out his change. “I tell you I’m a former teacher a few times and all of a sudden you’re scouting me.”
“Did I tell you that that you make the best coffee I’ve ever had in my life? So robust and flavorful? The way you brew-”
“Yaga.”
“Hm.”
“Are you single?”
Yaga couldn’t keep up with the train of thought and squinted. “Yes. Why?”
You held his hand like a mother holding her kids as you placed the change in his palm and closed it. “It all makes sense. Get home safely, good sir.”
He could only laugh and shake his head. “The offer will be there if you need more. Have a goodnight, young lady.” Yaga nodded with a smile and made his exit a swift one.
He’d disappeared so… abruptly. And its not like it was any of your business. But a patron whose becoming a usual usually has someone around to at least tell someone they are ill or traveling or admitting that they hate the food you serve. He just up and ghosted for a week.
You prepped for closing, locking the front and wiped down the counters with both the job offer on the table and the Fushiguro man on your mind yet again.
________
The quiet late nights sounds of your apartment acted as your reminder that you should go to bed soon. You’d been scrolling on your laptop for the past 2 hours, starting with ordering new fabrics for your upcoming design project which led you to attempting to stalk your mystery man. It was late—too late to still be awake, but curiosity had been nagging at you since Fushiguro’s sudden departure from the diner. You obviously didn’t know him very well but he had never come in and been that tense, that closed-off, almost as if he’d been looking right through you.
Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain at first, before finally typing his name into the search bar: Fushiguro.
You scanned through the search results, brows knitting in frustration. It was strange; the name seemed to go nowhere. There were no recent mentions, no profiles, no photos on social media linked to him at all. Nothing but an endless scroll of blank, empty leads.
Like it was scrubbed from the internet or hidden too well.
After a few more searches yielded nothing but the same dead ends, you tried something different, narrowing the results to the oldest records. Maybe there was something…anything that would give you a clue.
And then, finally, there it was. An announcement buried deep in the archives, dated over a decade ago.
Your eyes skimmed the small print.
Death announcement for Fushiguro family.
A newspaper write up digitized with an image attached of a beautiful young woman in her late 20s with dark hair and a soft smile. The text was a short obituary, stark and formal. It detailed little, only that a woman, Fushiguro, had passed away. Her name was there—a name you didn’t recognize. No other photos accompanied the notice, only a single line at the end mentioning that she left behind a young son.
“She seems too young to be his mother. Maybe a sister or wife?” You copied the name to your browser to see if anything else would come up and the only thing was another death announcement but on some site with a broken link.
“Maybe its for the best.” the room dimmed as you put your laptop to sleep and sat in on the empty side of your bed. Your clock showed it being 3:49 am you sighed. 3 hours and 11 minutes to sleep.
You scooted into a lying down position, the words lingering in your mind, stirring up questions but ultimately laying it to rest. From your new perspective, Fushiguro seemed to be a lonely guy. No searchable background, a possible dead relative who even they were a bit of a mystery. Maybe it was the death anniversary. The thought of being alone with no one to turn to made you feel a little bad for the man. Almost pity.
With heavy eyes, you drifted off to the thought of the brooding man. Sending up a prayer that maybe your loved ones could find Miss Fushiguro in the afterlife and bring her a little comfort.
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Toji sat in his usual table but at a far more unusual time. Bright and early before even Shiu had a chance to disturb his peace. He was out clearing his mind and realized that his now favorite diner stayed open late and opened quite early.
He spent most of the night thinking about you. Tossing about how he overreacted. You did nothing on purpose but everything almost felt intentional. How you moved, the way you spoke. It was like a personal torture for him.
Ayame served him his tea and brought out another bowl of miso soup as he finished the last of his rice and fish. “Thank you.” he wiped his mouth and handed over the bowl to the older woman.
“Of course, big bull. Anything else? You’ll be priority since its still early.”Ayame patted his shoulder.
“Just another mackerel and I will be out of your hair. Please.”
Ayame winked and walked back to the kitchen where she audibly yelled the order out as if it were a team of 6 working in an executive kitchen.
Toji closed his eyes and took in the aroma of his tea. The morning sounds of the day coming to life itself. He sipped slowly, appreciating the calm of the establishment until the bell above the door rang.
“Good morning Ayame!” the sound of your velvet voice brought him back.
You walked through the dining area without even batting an eye to look around. Simply waltzed to the kitchen leaving Toji to crane his neck until you were out of his sights.
He could run before you even noticed him but he’d done it twice already. So he sat, sipping his tea and praying to whatever God that you’d maybe want to cuss him out or slap the back of his head just to start the process of him getting over whatever this was.
“Big bull! Ayame told me you came in early!”
Shit.
“Morning. Yeah. Just wanted some breakfast.” Toji turned his torso to face you as you came up.
You smelled like cinnamon and vanilla as you walked past to the seat across from him. “Didn’t think you’d be here this early. You closed last night, didn’t you.” He said matter of factly.
Nodding, you checked the temperature of the tea pot on the table. “Did indeed. But switched shifts. I have plans this evening. Which speaking of last night. I want to apologize.”
In Toji’s mind, you had nothing to apologize for. If anything, he thought he should be apologizing for thinking about you sitting his lap while his lips found there way around your body. “You’re fine. You didn’t do anything wrong. I was in a shit mood.” sitting his cup down, he cleared his throat.
“We all have those days. Hopefully I didn’t make it any worse?”
“Nah. I could do that on my own.”
You giggled and his heart fluttered. “Fair enough.”
You sat in silence for a moment and refilled his tea cup. “Whatcha doing tonight?”
“Why?” It came out rougher than he wanted.
“There’s this fun show club down in the Roppongi district! Known to be a great mood booster. You should go! Great drinks and food.”
Toji took his soup and slurped a bit up before answering flatly. “I’ll think about it. I don’t do big clubs usually.”
The bell rang at the door and you pushed yourself from the table with a shrug. Think less club and more burlesque lounge. Just think on it.” You pulled the pen from behind your ear with a smile. “The Tantra Show Club. Just in case you decide to go.”
With that, he watched as you sashayed to the incoming guest who was very clearly coming directly from the bars.
A chance to see you outside the diner. It could be worse.
———————-
You stood in front of the mirror, gently unraveling your twist out to loosen the curls, reflection focused and calm. Your third and maybe final performance of the day before you went to hostess duties.
The low hum of Utahime’s shamisen performance drifted through the building to the bright lit dressing room, mingling with the faint scent of perfume and smoke that clung to the air. Warm lights framed the mirrors, casting soft, golden hues on the women getting ready for the night’s performances. The small space buzzed with chatter and laughter, half-empty glasses of wine and lipstick-stained coffee mugs crowding the counter tops.
Leaning forward to inspect your makeup, you carefully blended out a smudge of eyeliner with the practiced ease of someone who’d done it a thousand times. Your satin robe, dark blue with hints of lace at the cuffs, lazily hung off your shoulder as you moved from the vanity to the couch that sat against the opposite wall.
“Ooo, going dark tonight, huh?” came a teasing voice from across the room.
You turned to see one of your fellow performers, Kirara, walking in with a glass of water, already dressed in a costume of sheer black lace and sequins. Kirara smirked, arching an eyebrow as she gave you a quick once-over.
“Always the understated one,” she added with a wink, her tone dripping with playful sarcasm.
You rolled her eyes, grinning. “Maybe I like a little mystery,” you replied, prepping your lips with a light moisturizer. “Not all of us are as bold as you, Kirara.”
“Oh, please,” Kirara replied, laughing. “You keep ‘em hooked in a way that half the girls here would kill for. We’re just up here trying to keep up.”
You chuckled, lips lifting in a soft smile as you ran your sheer stockings up your legs, fastening them as you adjusted the garters with a delicate touch. The satin finish of the hosiery shimmered under the lights, accentuating the warm tones.
A familiar voice cut through the den. “You two could at least try to keep it down,” came the dry tone of Shoko as she entered the dressing room, a half-finished cigarette balanced between her fingers. She wore a loose blouse and black slacks, her hair tied back in a lazy ponytail, and her signature look of mild disinterest hung on her face like an accessory. “Some of us are trying to maintain a shred of sanity in here.”
“Shoko, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you only come back here to tell us to shut up,” you teased, your eyes meeting Shoko’s in the mirror. “You’re one to talk, showing up half-dressed as always.”
Shoko gave her a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Hey, I’m not the one strutting on stage tonight,” she replied, taking a long drag on her cigarette before tapping off the ash. “But if I was, I’d have you dress me. Girl knows how to keep it classy.” Shoko nodded her chin towards you with a wink.
Kirara snorted. “Classy? Sure, if by ‘classy’ you mean ‘secretly deadly.’ You should’ve seen the way she handled that one guy who thought he could grab her leg last week.”
You smirked as you sipped your water. “He was lucky I didn’t do worse,” you murmured, the gleam of humor in your eyes meeting Shoko’s approving nod in the mirror.
“Isn’t that why we all love you?” Shoko replied, raising her cigarette as if in a toast. “The classy killer.”
You shrugged, finally tying the belt of your robe a bit tighter as you got up to sift through a row of costume pieces until your found your chosen ensemble for tonight's act—a striking red jeweled wire Samba bikini set. Gold rhinestones trimmed the padding as the halter strap dripped with a fire red stone fringe that matched the ruffled, knee length skirt you’d already slipped on. You rolled your robe down just enough to slips the bra on the front. “Help me out, Sho?”
You held the jeweled bra cups to your chest as Shoko fastened. “This one is new. Must be.”
“Nah, Just never wear it. But I heard the owner was sitting in the audience with special guest tonight and maybe wearing his favorite color will entice him to keep my at for another 6 months.”
Shoko laughed as she helped you adjust the nude colored straps on your shoulders.”He basically said yes to that when he agreed to not cut into your tips and pay your conga players out of pocket. You’re fine.”
Shaking your head with a chuckle, you let your robe fall and looked at your costume. Flashy but not too intense. Definitely attention grabbing. “Classy Killer. Yes.”
Around you, the other dancers moved through their own pre and post-show routines, some gossiping, others touching up makeup or adjusting costumes. It was a world of its own, separated from the outside by heavy velvet curtains and the glitz of stage lights.
Shoko leaned against the counter, one eyebrow arched as she watched you “How do you go from pouring tea and serving ramen to… well, this?” she asked with a smirk. “Quite the double life you lead.”
“Maybe I’m just multi-talented,” you replied, smiling as you adjusted a long, gold chain that traced from your bosom to your navel, catching the light as you moved. “Besides, we can’t all be life saving doctors mighty doctors by day and ghosts bartenders in the night.”
Shoko let out a soft laugh, clearly amused. “Fair. And here I thought I was the mysterious one. But you… you’ve got everyone in this place fooled. Sweet and silent one minute, then this,” she gestured to the dramatic transformation from your usual overalls and boots. “I’d call it impressive.”
Kirara added a final comment, fluffing her curls as she looked over at you. “Don’t let her smooth talk you. Shoko just wants more of those little cookie things you bring in.”
You grinned, fastening a pair of delicate bracelets around your wrists before taking one last look in the mirror, studying your reflection: a quiet, composed zaftig figure with red lips and smokey eyes.
“Well, here’s hoping I give them a good show,” you uttered.
“Break a leg,” Shoko thoughtfully spke, giving a small, approving nod as she finished her cigarette and stubbed it out. “Or better yet, break a few hearts. I’ll be watching.”
With a final wink, you turned and made her way toward the stairs leading up to the stage, the sounds of the dressing room fading behind you as she stepped into the world you’d created for herself—a world of elegance, allure and mystery. Quiet strength captivating all who were lucky enough to watch.
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Your conga player hit the drum once, then twice. You threw your leg from behind the curtain and the crowd seemingly enjoyed the tease as the room roared.
The drums started slow. A dragging, pulsing beat, deep and resonant, filling the dim club. You waited in the wings, letting the sound wash over you as your heartbeat went in rhythm with the bass drum. The warm stage lights softened as the emcee’s voice announced your stage name with a smooth, theatrical lilt.
A vision in red and gold, every move of your Carimbo contained controlled movements that remained languid as the uptempo-ed clashing of the triangle and maracas ushered you to the center. You rolled your hips, the growing speed letting your feet move fluidly on your as if you were almost gliding across the floor. Hurried but beautiful. Your costume caught the light with each subtle shift of your hips, the gold embroidery gleaming, echoing the cool metallic shine of the jewelry around your wrists and neck.
As the drums hit a crescendo, moving you to bring your hands above your head and wine your hips, you turned on your soles to bring your skirt up and moving as you turned in the powerful circular motion. Zhuzhing your hair, running your fingers through it, bringing the coiled strands to life as it moved as its own part of your performance.
Then, with a sudden shift in tempo, the music transformed, a lively Brazilian rhythm swept through the room. You moved with it, your body capturing the passion of the Calypso, hips swaying in smooth, hypnotic rolls as your hands traced the curves of your waist. The movements were sharp yet fluid, bold yet precise, a dance of contrasts that matched the beat perfectly. You spun gracefully, letting your hair fan out in soft waves around your, and as your feet swept across the stage, entire being seemed to pulse with the rhythm, as if the music was woven into your soul.
This was you. The days of watching the lambada being performed by your mother and her friends. The late nights of watching your cousins get prepped for Rio Carnival back in Brazil and finally having a chance to enjoy it yourself at Samba Carnival in Asakusa.
You were living.
The audience’s eyes stayed locked on you, drawn in by the intensity. You moved with an unabashed confidence, a self-assuredness that was almost hypnotic, as though you’d brought an entire world with you onto the stage. There was no shyness here, no subtlety; this was you as you as you were, powerful and alive, your movements a celebration of freedom and vitality. You swayed your arms above your head, stepping into a Samba de Roda sequence, your spins becoming tighter, more grounded, each step strong and deliberate.
You dipped low, then rose slowly, eyes flickering across the audience with a playful glint. The Samba brought a sensuality to the movements, but it was the carried grace and precision that gave your dance depth—a reflection of the balance you maintained in your own life, between the quiet strength of the diner and the fierce expression on the stage.
Every gesture, every flick of the wrist, carried a hint of allure, yet her expression remained serene, focused, as if you alone controlled the intensity in the room. Feet moving in quick, intricate patterns, body flowing in waves that built and fell with the music, hips swiveling in an beguiling rhythm as you met the audience’s eyes with the barest hint of a smile. Sensuality that seemed effortless, unrestrained by convention or expectation, dancing for yourself while the audience only got the residuals.
With one final turn, you slowed, movements transitioning into something softer, more tender. You stood still for a heartbeat, holding the room’s collective gaze before lowering herself into a slow, elegant bow, her face framed by a soft smile.
The applause and whistling thundered through the club, filling the room as you rose, giving one last nod before slipping offstage, breath steady but your heart racing with that familiar, electric thrill. You disappeared into the shadows, leaving the audience enchanted, yet somehow still craving more.
__
Toji finally pushed his way into the front of the club near the stage, his eyes adjusting to the low light as the crowd’s cheers and applause greeted him. He’d been pursuing a lead through Tokyo’s underbelly, coming to the address on the back of the card he pocketed in Istanbul and realizing it was the place you invited him. A crowded place far from the quiet corners he usually preferred but now there was a new issue. You.
He scanned the room, making sure he wasn’t having some sort of episode with pulling his gaze toward the stage where you just danced. He’d know that figure anywhere. He knew it was you.
Seeing you here but on stage. in your element, doing something so bold, so unyielding. It had stirred that uncomfortable recognition that he couldn’t shake and didn’t like.
What the hell are you doing here dancing? Almost angry with himself for even caring but even angrier for thinking he had the right to be upset at you. But that didn’t stop him from storming towards the back door, waiting until you finished for the night until he could tell you about yourself.
_____ “So a dancer.”
“Performance artist. But, yes.”
“And you didn’t think to mention that while inviting me? I thought you were there for fun or some shit.”
Toji walked closest to the street as you tried to keep up with his large strides. “That was a pretty vague invite. You aren’t uncomfortable are you?”
Uncomfortable? No. Fighting hard against calling you a beautiful goddess? Yes. “Far from it. It was interesting. Definitely no apron and chili oil stained shirt, thats for damn sure.”
There was a soft laugh that left you as Toji let his lips curl into a small smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Thank you.” You stopped in front of the diner, peeping in to see Ayame and the waitress, Nobara, taking orders from guest. “Thank you for walking me here. Want a tea?”
“No problem. And I’m alright. Need to get home and rest. Early morning.”
You gave his arm a soft pat of appreciation. “Have a goodnight, Fushiguro.”
He stood for a moment, watching you enter and get right back into your mode. Flashing a warm smile to a patron who waved you down. Toji sighed as he grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialing Shiu.
Only took one ring before the all familiar voice came through. “What do you have?”
“Kenjaku is back and using his brothers show club as a front.”
“Think you can get in good with someone there? I’ll pull some strings to do a full backup sweep on your name if needed.”
The heat in his heart pooled as Toji took a step back and continued to watch you. “Just.. change my name sake back to Zenin while I’m on this. I want it to be an easy clean up.”
“I’ll have it done by the afternoon. Find a connection in.” The line went quiet and Toji slipped his phone back.
It’ll be easier to distance himself if he uses you. You’ll see him as the scum he can really be and this silly little imagination of his that has decided to go into overdrive will then cease to exist.
Use you until you hate him.
Done.
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stay-close · 1 month ago
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Each day means a new twenty-four hours. Each day means everything's possible again. You live in the moment, you die in the moment, you take it all one day at a time.
Marie Lu
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luna-loveboop · 3 months ago
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Wars and Wild as knights in Lu
They have issues.
I have a lot of thoughts on Wild and Wars and their relationship (Order of this post is talking about saluting, Wild and Wars' different perspectives, memory issues, and fire) Rant time.
No saluting!!
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So Wild took a formal- almost/awkwardly saluting pose when Wars confronted him in 'Entrance pt.2'
It's similar to the first time Wild addressed Wars as 'captain'. His left hand is up from where a salute should be, and his overall posture is awkward, with his shoulders and right hand raised, but it's clear he's trying to do a salute in the presence of a fellow knight.
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In the second example his hand is behind his head, but his posture is very straight and his right arm stiff- he's again attempting a formal saluting position. Which is still awkward
It is less clear but his changes in posture clued me in. He goes from like a deer in the headlights to visibly sweating to straight backed and looking up at Wars- looking at the changes in his body language
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Side note but I literally love how Jojo draws the champions tunic so much-
We can't see the action of Wild's body language in a comic, just the positions he went to. But he visibly leaned away from Wars before switching to a straight backed saluting-like posture. He's clearly freaked out, hence Twilight's face: >:(
I think that Wild taking somewhat military poses around Wars is important to their relationship issues because it comes from his struggle with memory and identity
.
So like. All of them have different perspectives
Wars
I adore Wars. He is baby and I love him. I think it is also important to acknowledge that he would not speak to any of the others this way.
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And the scarf man cmon it's so pretty they are so cute-
Why is Wars talking to Wild like this? He's called him out and reprimanded him multiple times in front of the others. Wild has taken it well but tbh if it was Legend I think he would be on fire.
To some extent I think he is in captain mode. I think that he has trouble seeing Wild as not a knight. Wars gives Wild respect as a knight who sacrificed for his kingdom, but now it seems he's taking it away as a knight who's not doing well enough since he 'disregarded the plan'
At least I think that's the outside (or Wild's) view of it. But Wars internally really cares about Wild and he saw him run up to a giant and lose it. Different ways of showing concern perhaps?
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Who wouldn't want to keep Wild from getting more scars?
I just. Don't doubt for a second Wars really cares about Wild- even if the way he's acting still isn't cool. He has no right to treat him like a soldier any more than the rest of the chain, and right now I think Wild is acting as the more mature person.
Wild
I adore Wild. He is baby and I love him. I think it is also important to acknowledge that although he is clearly making efforts after Twilight's injury, Wild has ignored Wars for the majority of Lu, by not speaking to him much, and not thanking or acknowledging Wars when he directly helped him. (Small example being walking with Hyrule not Wars when injured and not directly responding to Wars)
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Wars cares about and respects Wild, but it seems Wild wants nothing to do with him, and he's been cold towards Wars for the majority of Lu. To Wild, Wars reminds him of his perceived failure. Which is valid feelings, but still not fair. And I think that ask is talking about these two.
The thing I love about this is each of them are right and wrong in some ways, leading to the tension between them. So fully blaming either of them is not logical
The rest of the chain is just vibing. Except twilight who's mad and wants them to just grow up, but. Heros of courage not wisdom @uniquevoidflowers ;)
And that ask- '''Are any of the Links ever jealous of another Link for adventures that were less difficult/life threatening?'' ''When you hear Wild say he 'hates' someone you'll have your answer.''' somewhat leads to my next point-
Wild's identity and memory issues exacerbate all of this
In Entrance, Twilight is being stressed and defensive, that's ok. What concerns me most is that Twilight has talked with Wild through stuff like this in his rough moments
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Wild has tried to be formal several times- he is not very good at it
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Four's face I can't didnwidkekfjej
Wild isn't and can't be 'him'- the same 'perfect' (<actually has crippling anxiety) knight he was before, and Twilight knows this. And I agree with him a bit, I think, that Wars is making things worse in Wild's mind by being that perfect soldier, and seemingly holding Wild to a standard he isn't
Wild's attempts at saluting is symbolic of that- Wars makes him feel like a failure trying to be the person he should be. But Wild shouldn't be anyone but himself.
Anyways. Fire.
Wars and Wild have issues, and I want them to work through all their relationship drama so they can reach their PEAK dynamic, which is obviously this
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I mean like. We need these two to be friends
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Anyways. Wild is in this constant state of identity crisis, and being around Wars has not been beneficial- neither of them is or has been showing the other the respect they deserve. Not as knights, but as people and brothers. They need a get along shirt.
All this Art is by Jojo @linkeduniverse au!
:)
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quotefeeling · 20 days ago
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Everyone has a different way of escaping the dark stillness of their mind.
Marie Lu, Warcross
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thoughtkick · 5 months ago
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It hurts every day, the absence of someone who was once there.
Marie Lu, Champion
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