#VERY mild spoilers tho

[aquilaofarkham]

it probably won't happen but it would be funny if the hades placeholder sprite was actually narcissus' official portrait. the most beautiful man in the world and you can't see what he looks like

[lt-catbolt]

Miles Morales: I respect all my villains equally. Kingpin, the Prowler, Fisk, *checks smudged writing on hand* Spit

[charlottedabookworm]

#2 - Horizon

feat Nadir

sticking with nadir for now lol. time will tell whether i end up writing with him the whole month or bouncing between multiple wols

The sky was on fire.

“First time seeing a sunrise, lad?”

Nadir tears his gaze away from the sky and directs it towards the man beside him. “I have seen many sunrises,” he says slowly, his heart beating a drum against his horns. He had taken the morning guard shift for half a decade, he had seen more sunrises than he could count but this… “But none like-”

The sky is on fire.

His hands shake at his side, each breath tinged with the scent of remembered smoke and iron, Yedlihmad is burning and there are screams in the air and-

“Ah,” the man - Staelwyrm? Stalwyrn? - says. “First time away from home? Never quite looks right when you’re starin’ at a different horizon, don’t matter how many different horizons you’ve seen.”

He breathes.

His gaze wanders back to the sky. It is a vivid, familiar shade of orange that sends a chill down his scales, but he forces his eyes to the horizon - to a sea the wrong shade of blue, to white sands and green fields. He lands upon the Eorzean city towering in the distance, the white stone a burnished orange. It still looks as if it is burning.

It is not his home.

This is not Thavnair.

“Everything is so different, here,” he whispers to himself, aching for his home. Nahbdeen would have nudged his shoulder and smiled, would have spoken endlessly of the beauty of the rising sun over Yedlihmad.

His brother isn’t here. He may never see him again and, even if he does, it will never been the same.

(Nahbdeen is alive to hate him and that makes this worth it)

Staelwyrn - he is certain that is his name - laughs softly. “Aye, it always is.”

Nadir stands at his side and watches the sun rise.

[smewduck]

#5 and/or #26 for the wip ask game? :3

woah i ended up rambling

5. What are the main themes?

I would say the main big one would be good+evil/moral ambiguity? I really like looking at morality in stories.. because of this reason I could name very few genuinely 'bad' cats in this story lol

plus whatever theme goes with some sort of corrupt system :] I love those (fictionally) :]

smaller themes like power, death, war, hate/love etc and these are all looked at specifically in context/influence of their little corrupt cat society

26. What do you still need to plan?

a whole bunch of stuff! there's many little plot issues that annoy me that I'd love to fix, the main two big things however are Rainpaw's character arc and the entirety of Part 3. um lots of text under the cut

Rainpaw's my main protagonist, he gets pov throughout all 3 parts but. idk what he's really doing. its hard to get him to the end point of his story because I'm not really sure what would change his mindset to get there? His ultimate job is to restore StarClan after like a year of anarchy (a plot problem in itself because I don't want to portray the downfall of a corrupt government-ish figure as bad lol that's a good thing) but he starts SL totally anti-StarClan in comparison to his Clan. Right now I'm kind of passing it off as the inter-faction conflicts he faces after StarClan's fall make him want to restore the Clans as they were supposed to be when they were formed, but I also don't want anarchy (? for lack of a better word I guess) = chaos because that's boring and kinda shallow in my opinion

WHICH LEADS INTO part 3 because I have the end of it etched into my soul but the rest of it is just everyone. existing. totally unplanned I have no idea what will drive the plot of part 3 yet. I want to explore the conflicts between the different factions that are created after the Clans fall apart so that may drive the plot for Petalclaw and Rainpaw/storm but as for Night? I need to plan what she's doing because her one goal is to destroy StarClan. Once she's done that (end of part 2), idk what will lead her to everything I have planned out for her at the end of part 3, which is again her vs starclan :/ it's like when Night is there but StarClan is not there is nothing driving her actions so I need to figure that out...

WOAH SORRY FOR ALL THAT BUT IT WAS FUN. sorry if it makes no sense... it distracted me from the worst history assignment of all time from hell itself so thank you for the ask! :D

[milk-leaves]

MY FIRST TIME RUNNING INTO A FOREIGN PRINCE DURING A ROUTE

and I have a feeling he won’t be the last one 😳

[welcometoteyvat]

. windblume

[starry-kattz]

I dead-ass had to take a break halfway through this case. I considered not finishing the episode and reading it later, but I'm glad I finished it (oh the irony). Warnings, it's very gross.

[officialspec]

can you pleeeeease post your dm sexuality/gender hcs on here.... 🥺 i don't have a twitter but i wanna know. it's like a pandora's box to me now i'm like scratching at the door. let me in

heres the link 2 the thread (mild spoilers btw) ill post a transcript under the cut for ppl who dont have twitter

first off i think laios relationship to sex is super removed for like 50 reasons without even getting into his actual sexuality

he grew up in a place with very repressed ideas about sex and has a lot of fear about asserting his presence in situations

his special interest takes precedent over any social interactions he has and the level of closeness he feels towards people

he has a hard time figuring out his feelings towards other people both bc hes autistic and bc he has freaky deviantart fetishes that make sex in his mind a very abstract concept <- this one is me projecting mostly

that aside, i feel like gender-wise hes attracted to ppl so infrequently it may as well be entirely case-by-case

the idea of him being gay appeals to me from the 'raised with traditional values he Does Not fit into/hasnt begun to question it yet' perspective, i lauve characters who put a lot of stock into performing a role thats expected of them and fail miserably for unknown (gay) reasons

from his perspective tho i dont think he would ever really label himself anything. hes going to pride parades in the shirt+shorts Ally Fit to clap for his friends

hes also 'cis by indifference' imo... i love tmasc laios hcs it just doesnt mesh w his personal history to me. i do think hes got some kind of therian gender thing going on (not trans or nb but a secret third thing) but i cant see him changing anything abt his appearance/pronouns to accommodate that post-canon. hes just doin his thang

falin is in a similar boat for gender. i LOOVE tfem falin but the village repression thing has been bugging at me so i dont think i subscribe to it anymore (canon purist sorry) BUT if u hold that hc i am clapping and cheering regardless

instead i was propagandised to a while back and i LOVEEE the idea that being fused w a male dragon and the residual traits she has after being revived have given her a type of gender euphoria she didnt realise she was missing. a little boygirl swagger if u will

sexuality-wise i also dont think she would care to label herself, shes a lesbian by virtue of only being interested in One woman and zero other people. without marcille i do think shes still exclusively attracted to women, and i like to imagine she might experiment around a bit during her travels post-canon (pre-relationship). hearing abt it might put marcille on the news though

marcille is very simple That is a transfem lesbian. she cant get pregnant, shes obsessed w being femme and all that combined w her half-tallman struggles to be seen as 'properly feminine' by elf standards reads very transfeminine to Me. also her bookboy crush REEKS of comphet its not subtle

i think a more comfortable marcy might have the space to experiment w being elf butch like her manga boys but thats mainly self indulgence for me. utena could have saved her

senshi is gay his whole thing is abt not being able to perform dwarven masculinity to a proper standard (soft hearted, not as strong or rugged as his peers) which is like gaycoding 101. also hes a bear. homosexuality be damned by boy can work a grill

adding onto this i rly think senshi got some type of euphoria from being an elf in the changeling chapters. he was feeling himself so much i think he was using it as an outlet to have fun being a little fem and fruity without needing to justify it. do u understand

i dont have any particular opinions abt him gender-wise beyond that. his bulge is an essential part of his character design but i also saw a transmasc senshi a couple days ago that made me nod my head thoughtfully so i could go either way

chilchuck is cis and bisexual this is just canon. not even just his old man crush on senshi altho i do think thats very funny but they put his ass on a cover themed like hes in a dating sim with all the men and women in the cast and then slapped it in front of a chapter called "bicorn". i simply cant pass up that kind of overt signaling. its so fucking funny what else is there to say truly

izu to ME is a transmasc aroace lesbian (this one has the least basis in canon i just know it to be true) shes a little genderfluid with it nd uses he/she i think. i like to imagine she consistently uses masculine personal pronouns to refer to herself either way tho (boku, ore)

i think izutsumis gender/sexuality is entirely secondary in priorities to her body dysphoria. she has a lot of learning and acceptance 2 do before that kind of self discovery is on the docket and in my mind eschewing gender on some level is part of that. get sillay

shuro is cishet but at least he feels bad about it. next listen listen to me i dont think he would ever actually examine this but i need u to put on ur tin foil hat with me for one second. i think estrogen could have saved her. i have more thoughts on this but im not gonna propagandise too much on this post just know that im right

kabru is a transmasc bisexual this is also practically text. his whole thing of being treated like a doll by milsiril to put in pretty dresses, plus i think it would be pretty easy for him to stealth in the west since tallmen are seen as inherently more masculine than elves

(i also think changing genders is just more common for elves. theyre androgynous enough that it wouldnt be hard and like who in their right miiiiind would be the same gender for 500 years. dwarves too)

i think he started presenting as male socially in the west but didnt need to consider medical transition until he moved to a more mixed culture where other races might see him as a woman

i dont have to explain the bisexual part. have u seen him

namari is a butch bisexual this is just canon straight up. shes not transmasc but i think the default settings for dwarven women is like 4 years of T regardless. shes a hit at all the local cruising spots despite her renfaire nerdisms i know this

and just bc im thinking abt em kiki and kaka are identical and kiki is tfem :} theyre both attracted to women but kaka is a sub so i forgive him

THATS ALL 4 NOW theres a lot of characters so i cant have thoughts abt all of them at once but i hope this was good. im right about everything forever as per usual

[glindaselphie]

very mild the marvels spoiler but probably the funniest part of the film to me is carol doing her captain marvel thing and kamala watching her and going “oh captain, my captain 😌”

the biggest mood tho

[niinnyu]

Cursed.

Explanation for this below the cut heh [mild manga spoilers!!]

In ch181 (?) We see this one panel of her super focused very scary, like she meant business (i cannot find the panel tho im sorry). This happens right after Yuuta vs Takako and Ishigori.

I remember thinking ooh maybe Miwa and Yuuta would team up, but then also why??

Then I had this thought of Miwa now having Mechamaru as a curse and going to Yuuta for advice, but because for Yuuta it comes much more instinctively because of his relationship wih Rika,he doesn't have much to offer (mostly because I'd like her to not have to rely on someone else too much) and she has to navigate having a curse with her.

Her recent appearances do make her look like she still has her brand of nervousness, which I like about her, so I've drawn her like that too. I also gave her Kokichi's ear piece thingy, wonder if that's what created the curse oohh.

For Kokichi I've mixed his human form with the bandages and hair and his mech from his fight with Mahito, because I like to think that was his sorta freedom form compared to the usual metal/wooden mechamaru. It was after he got his body ofc but also after trying to right his wrong.

I talk about why I wouldn't wanna exactly see this in the tags tho lol I'm am my own naysayer ✌️(Miwa has to find her happiness!! And that doesn't have to be a person or romantic!!+ more!!)

[bambooshootssoup]

Them and their shy or Introverted S/O HCS

Featuring Giyuu, Kyojuro, Muichiro X Reader

.

.

Long story short, they have a very shy or introverted significant other

CW : Cursing/mild languages, Slight spoiler from manga, it's just for funsies tho, nothing serious here

Disclaimer : Readers are the same age as them, especially Muichiro, I don't want to write Adult X minor thingy, that's a very big No for me

.

.

-Tomioka Giyuu-

- it would be like moonlight and moonlight protector dynamics because you both are loner fr

- at the start of your relationship, he just always feels like he needs to protect you

- but it's always you who ended up protecting him from Sanemi, Obanai, and Shinobu

- Tea house, Library or a garden full of flowers are common places for you both to date, or just somewhere quiet is enough

- it's always calmly comforting around him, he made that eleventh form for a reason, really

- there's one time when Uzui caught you both holding hands, and he cried Flamboyantly from your boldness (after that, you both couldn't have any eye contact with Uzui or the Hashira for 6 months straight)

- there's not much word spoken, but there's one thing that is certain, his love for you is everlasting

-Rengoku Kyojuro-

- he's loud, as fuck.

- he always drags you here and there, and everywhere

- definitely a spokesman, you want to insult someone but too shy to do it? Let him do it!!

- "I'm sorry, but Y/N tells you to fuck off!! "

- he's extremely soft around you, he will order food for you, and always make sure that the place isn't crowded, just in case you're uncomfortable with it

- in a crowded place, he pulls you close and drapes his Haori and has his arm around your shoulder, or just simply hold your hand tightly

- "it's fine, there's nothing to be afraid of ... I'm here, I'm close, and I won't leave you here"

- good old sunshine and moon dynamics

-Tokito Muichiro-

- you're his personal reminder, due to his short term memory, if you have a bad memory too, congratulations, you're a clueless couple (in funny way)

- he may forget a lot of things, but he remembers your name, and who you are to him, and he actually tries to remember things by recalling his moment with you

- dates are spent talking about random things, him playing with your hair and vice versa, and napping together

- his crow is definitely jealous of you

- he cannot stand it when someone insults you, or tries to flirt with you, etc, etc.... He just hates to see you looking so uncomfortable

- "hey Fuckface, can't you see that Y/N is clearly not comfortable with your pathetic ass? Get out of here"

.

.

.

I really love writing this kind of hcs, good old and plain one, because of my uncreative ass🧎‍♀️

Thank you for reading and as always, sorry for the language mistakes

Have a nice day^~^

[justapigeonn]

// ASC WIND MILD SPOILERS

ok so i finished wind it was pretty banging. i would complain that sunbeam still isn't tied into the main narrative strongly enough for my liking, but a neat twist in the final chapters linked to sunbeam's actions earlier on in the book tied it all in together so i can't complain too too much?

at the same time tho i can't help but feel that it was very last minute. we can’t even joke any more that frostpaw is the only cat relevant to the main plot since nightheart’s been helping her out a ton over the past couple of books - meanwhile sunbeam is kinda just there most of the time until the very end of the book

if they really REALLY wanna impress me i wanna see a sick final mother/daughter showdown between berryheart and sunbeam with NO interference from nightheart whatsoever. he’s been dipping in and out of her business all arc so i really wanna see her grab her agency by the horns and have this moment for herself. no “i’m with you all the way nightheart" as they battle her together side by side i want this to be SUNBEAM’S moment and hers alone. nightheart needs to step the fuck back for a minute

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

IN THE DREAM I DON’T TELL ANYONE, YOU PUT YOUR HEAD IN MY LAP ; SHOKO IEIRI

synopsis; ever since the battle in shinjuku came to its conclusion, nothing’s been the same as it used to. but you don’t think anyone is doing quite as badly as shoko. 

word count; 4.5k

contents; shoko ieiri/reader, gn!reader, canon-typical mentions of death (iykyk), angst, hurt/comfort (but not very heavy on the comfort), jjk spoilers (up to chapter 236!!), mild gore (mentions of blood, autopsies and general gore-ish imagery? nothing too bad tho), shoko ieiri deserves better, includes gojo slander (stay safe gojo nation)

a/n; first of all i just wanna apologize to the shoko girlies for writing angst when we’re already so starved of content, i have like 50 fluff drabbles planned for her but chapter 236 threw me into a mental angst pit so </3 yeah. i love my wife!!

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while.

the thought sneaks its way into your subconscious, as your feet carry you to her morgue — a rotten thought you just can’t seem to rinse away.

it’s not very hard to notice. she doesn’t talk as much, for one. not that shoko was ever much of a talker, but now the silence around her is deafening. thick and heavy like the spine of a knife. and she smiles even less.

you can’t remember the last time you heard her laugh.

the crescents beneath her eyes are darker than ever, darker than you thought possible. a murky purple that you’d find soothing in any other context, but like this it’s just revolting. her eyes are deep and dark, the same as ever, but now they’re glazed over with something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

apathy, maybe.

or bloodlust.

the scent of cigarette smoke that follows her is suffocating. indistinguishable from her natural scent. you don’t know if she’ll ever be able to scrub the tobacco stench off her skin.

(you’ve given up on counting the exact number of cigarettes she smokes each day. you’re not sure you want to know the answer.)

she doesn’t even look alive, anymore. like some part of her already reached its expiration date. a spectre, wandering the hallways, filling the air with the slow, ominous clacking of her heels.

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while — and it’s so obvious. her grief is so heavy, her sleep-deprivation so severe. you’d have to be blind not to notice it. 

so why hasn’t anyone said anything?

you gnaw at your bottom lip, trying to suffocate the bitterness swimming inside your veins. it’s a dumb question, really, because you already know. you don’t want to acknowledge it, because it’s so unfair, but you know. of course you do.

no one has the time to. it’s as simple as that. 

no one’s doing well, anymore. not since shinjuku.

not since gojo died.

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing. always with her, tucked away within those eyebags, in the pockets of her coat. in that smell of tobacco, never-fading, always lingering. it follows her like a ghost, like something she’ll never quite be rid of.

(like something she doesn’t want to be rid of.)

shoko’s grief is a fickle thing, and it always has been. but recently, it’s been downright overwhelming. it used to be subtle, the kind of thing you notice if you look close enough. if you squint. if you even care enough to try.

but now, it’s more like a haunting than a simple ghost.

(geto. nanami. yaga. and now gojo, too.

how many people does she have to lose before whatever’s watching is satisfied?)

shoko hasn’t been herself for a while, and it’s obvious, and it’s sickening. she still does her duty to a tee, but she isn’t quite there anymore. gaze always forlorn, as if she’s trying to convince herself of something.

and yet no one says a thing.

everything is one big mess, right now. you don’t want to blame anyone. everyone’s exhausted, completely and utterly spent, but they’re still planning it all out. even in the midst of their mourning. because they don’t have any other choice. 

this is not the kind of situation where you should be pointing fingers. a part of you is angry, livid even — but you know the others are doing just as badly. it’s not like you aren’t, either.

still, though. isn’t this just too unfair?

”i brought you coffee!”

making sure your voice doesn’t waver is tougher than you initially assumed. just the sight of her sends a tremor running through your ribs; sunken down in her chair, papers in hand, eyes scanning the pages methodically. papers of what, you’d like to ask — but you already know.

(she’s reading through the post-mortem examination report, again. searching for something you don’t understand. you’re not sure she does, either.)

and she looks exhausted.

try as you might, your voice ends up sounding a little stale, as it flows from your lips and reaches her ears. but the attempt is there — the attempt to sound cheerful, calm. normal. to give her something to hold on to.

shoko looks up at you, and her lips curl in a way you think is supposed to form a smile. it doesn’t. her eyes look into yours but it’s like she’s not seeing you at all.

when you go to give her the cup of espresso, your fingertips touch. only for a second, before she curls her fingers around the ceramic handle. she receives the coffee with a small murmur of thanks, but you don’t notice because you’re too busy thinking of how cold her skin feels.

(cold like a ghost. cold like death.)

shaking away the shivers down your spine, you allow your gaze to trail over the morgue. it looks the same as always. cold, empty. foreboding. today, you think it feels just a little chillier than usual. matching the temperature of the outside world, where everything lies buried in heaps of snow and frost.

hesitantly, you plop down in the seat right next to hers. with such a narrow distance, you can smell the tobacco sticking to her clothing. it makes you want to throw up.

(you try not to look over at the couch in the corner of the room, where a certain someone used to slack off. his awkwardly long limbs would dangle off the edges, and shoko would pretend that she didn’t enjoy his company. you were more than content with silently admiring the smile she was trying to hide.)

shoko doesn’t look at you, professional in the way her eyes run across the files. cause of death: damage to central intestines, subsequent loss of blood. from a cut to the stomach, right below the liver and spleen.

you look away before your eyes can read another line.

leaning back in your chair, you exhale a tiny sigh. desperate to fill the silence with something, anything at all. you scramble for topics, racking your brain.

(what could you possibly tell her that she doesn’t already know?)

”the others are still planning everything out,” you speak, playing with your fingers idly to distract yourself. ”i think it’s going well.”

shoko hums, unaffected. ”that’s good.”

she’s speaking to you, but that feeling of unease still won’t go away. her voice sounds still, flat. empty of emotion. but you can tell she’s trying to be polite.

that’s no surprise. shoko isn’t the type to ever show how she’s truly feeling. she’s not the type to ask for help, either. people come to her for help, not the other way around. that’s all she’s ever known.

(in that sense, the two of them were alike.)

but that just makes it all the more important for you to be there. even if you’re a little awkward, and even if you can’t do much. even if it’s only for a moment or two, you want to see her smile. you want to feel for yourself that she’s really there.

looking over at shoko, you wring your hands together, the cold air of the morgue nipping at your sweaty palms. she’s drinking from the cup, one finger around the handle as her other hand flips through the papers.

”does it taste okay?” you ask, softly. if only you could ask her that under better circumstances, with cups of espresso made with better coffee machines than those at jujutsu high. ”i made it myself, so…”

”it’s fine.” shoko takes a sip. dragging her syllables out, as if mustering the will to speak. ”don’t worry.”

short sentences. almost cold, but you know better than that. she just doesn’t have it in her to pretend that everything is normal, anymore.

and it makes you uncomfortable. this silence. 

a couple months ago, it would have felt comforting; a quiet, peaceful kind of solitude shared between the two of you. nostalgic, like the smell of morning dew. or the way moonlight feels on your skin when the world falls asleep.

the silence you had with shoko always felt so tender. a single moment of peace, before the other shoe dropped. just that one moment was enough to give you the hope you needed to make it through another day.

you loved being silent with shoko. you loved her silence, the way she could soothe your very soul without saying a thing.

but now it only stings your skin. you fear that you might drown in it.

there is nothing to say. you want to ask her how she’s doing, but you already know. you want to ask her why she’s still reading the files from gojo’s autopsy, but you already know.

you want to ask her if she can still keep going, like this. but you already know.

she doesn’t have a choice.

(something crumbles, deep inside your chest, like ashes cast into the sea.)

”hey. shoko?”

she hums, again. weak. quiet. absentminded, acknowledging your words but not really hearing them.

you take a deep breath.

”i think i’m going to quit being a sorcerer.”

silence.

for a moment, nothing happens. nothing moves, or speaks. the air is cold and crisp and carries no meaning, no words, nothing at all. 

like time is frozen. frozen like all the bodies shoko’s had to dig inside these past few months. frozen like gojo was when she found him in the snow.

frozen like your youth, a glass marble kept in your pocket for moments when you feel as if the ground beneath your feet is about to slip away. then you’d take it out, and look deep inside it. watch the swirling of greens and blues and purples. that streak of indigo right in the middle of the glass. memories of the past, to give you comfort.

to remind yourself of why you’re doing this. to give you a reason to keep moving forward.

(south or north, it doesn’t matter. stay as you are or move forward, look to the past or to the future — none of it matters if you aren’t alive. that’s the conclusion you came to.)

shoko’s expression, too, is frozen. it doesn’t change, even as you let those loaded words fall from your tongue. you watch her carefully, out of the corner of your eye. she doesn’t even look at you, gaze still glued to the tiny letters detailing exactly what gojo’s pulse was at when he got cut.

but something flickers, in the depths of her irises, so fast you barely catch it. something you can’t identify, but it’s still something. it’s movement. it’s alive.

”not right now, obviously,” you elaborate. suddenly a little nervous, now that the words have been made manifest. ”but… you know. once all this is over.”

not sure what else to say, you trail off, fidgeting with your fingers again. voice wavering pitifully towards the end of the sentence, because deep down you know it’s not a question of once, but a question of if.

(if this ever ends. if i don’t die tomorrow, or the day after that.)

you swallow the lump in your throat, and look at her. trying to find her eyes. trying to keep her alive for as long as you can, this sequence of motion, this moment frozen in time.

trying to reach her.

”you won’t ever have to worry about me dying,” you throw in, like the words are light and not heavy as bricks. but you know she needs to hear them. ”i’ll leave, and then — and then…” 

staring down at your lap, you link your hands together. exhaling, a little breathless. sheepish, in a way. ”… well. i don’t know. i haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

you never had the chance to. you didn’t even really think of it as a possibility, as something you could do. and you know it’s not a possibility for shoko. the choice to be a sorcerer was never hers, from the very beginning.

a user of the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing almost any wound, more power and capability than a child should ever have. invaluable. she’s saved so many lives you’re sure she’ll be reborn as a god.

but the choice was never hers.

a soothing kind of ache blooms in both your palms, as your nails dig into the soft skin. hard enough to form crescents, like the ones under shoko’s eyes, that she’ll never be rid of no matter how much she sleeps. the choice was never hers.

isn’t that just too cruel?

they don’t deserve her. none of them do. the elders didn’t, the jujutsu world doesn’t — not even the students. no one deserves it; everything she does for everyone, day and night, just slaving away in the morgue or her office. cutting up curses and old friends. every second of the day, always that same buzzing of her name being called. 

shoko, someone needs healing, come quick! 

shoko, i know it’s 2 am and you have work tomorrow, but there’s a curse that i need you to dissect.

shoko, i think i got a paper cut, would you mind taking a look?

none of them deserve her.

you think of gojo. a flash of white hair, a grin brighter than the sun. a bloodstained smile — one shoko had to wipe away.

something ugly claws its way up your throat.

none of them deserve her. especially not him.

what were you thinking, leaving her all alone like this? so much for being the strongest. you couldn’t even stay alive.

why would you die with a smile on your face? do you have any idea how cruel that is to her?

you idiot. don’t you know how much she missed you?

— yeah. none of them deserve her. gojo doesn’t, the world doesn’t, and neither do you. no one does. 

what shoko deserves is to live a normal life. 

and she never will.

it’s foolish. it’s naive, a juvenile daydream. but you wish for it so, so badly. so much that even just the thought alone feels like too much to bear.

you wish you could bring her with you. 

you wish you could take her hand in yours, and run away. leave it all behind, every single thing, without caring about the consequences. you’d hold her hand and never let it go, and then you’d run and run until you were both high on adrenaline and breathless laughter.

maybe you could go somewhere, together. somewhere better. outside of japan, where there are less curses. money wouldn’t be an issue, you both have more than you know what to do with — one of the perks of having a job that’s bound to kill you. you could settle down in some smaller town, peaceful, maybe a little secluded. just to make sure no one finds you. 

maybe you could open up a little shop, together. or spend all your days tangled up beneath the blankets, catching up on lost sleep. talking and whispering, like you’d do back at the sleepovers you used to have. you’d make her coffee every morning, and tea every evening. you’d spend the rest of your life trying to make her laugh as loud as possible.

there’s nothing you want more. absolutely nothing. there never will be.

— but you can’t ask her.

you can’t ask her to come with you, no matter how much you want to. that’d be the cruelest thing you could possibly do to her.

she would never agree. you’d only be hurting her more. so selfish, all of these wishes. it was so much simpler back when you were just kids. when you didn’t have to care about duties or responsibilities. when your cognitive empathic abilities were just a little more lacking. 

a sigh flows from your lips. resigned, but somewhat hopeful, all the same. tainted with the murmurs of a memory that’ll never happen.

”maybe i’ll open up a bakery, or something.” you tap your fingers against the desk, smiling a little to yourself at the thought. or trying to. ”then you could come visit.”

shoko looks into her cup of coffee. watching the swirling of the vortex, the abyss that gazes back at her. she doesn’t look at you but you can tell she’s listening. then she puts the cup down, and you glance at her now-empty hand. 

shoko’s hands have always been pretty. even when they’re covered in grime, or stained with blood. thin, a little bony, smooth skin obscuring clear blue veins. moles litter her hands like stars in the sky; one right beneath her pinkie, another by her wrist. the more you look, the more you find.

tentatively, you broach the distance between you. curling your fingers around her slender ones, where they rest on her lap. linking hands. it’s a slow movement, drawn out and careful, accompanied by the heavy beating of your heart. 

(her skin is cold to the touch. your skin buzzes with unease, but you don’t let go.)

then you smile. a small thing, not really optimistic, but the attempt is there. something for her to hold on to. looking deep into her eyes, admiring the hazel glow that never quite left them.

”i’ll give you free pastries.”

a moment passes. shoko’s fingers squeeze around yours — weakly, but it’s there. movement, motion, life. a way of reaching out. a way to hold on.

her eyes continue to trail over the page, but you know she’s not reading any of the contents. you’ve caught her attention. a small victory, but you’ll take what you can get.

”i don’t like sweets,” she reminds you, leaning back a little in her chair. allowing her eyes to flutter shut, at last — and it’s not much but it’s something. a moment of relief for those tired, tired eyes. more tired than any 29 year old’s should be.

”i’ll change your mind,” you promise, mustering up enough will to sound smug. ”my pastries will be out of this world. you’ll get a sweet tooth in no time, sho.”

she exhales a breath, vaguely amused. your smile widens, hopelessly. her happiness was always the root of yours, wasn’t it?

then she looks at you, one eyebrow raised in lazy scepticism. ”can you even bake?”

”nope,” you deadpan. ”but i’ll learn. you’ll see.”

this time, shoko almost chuckles — and it’s more than you’ve gotten out of her in recent memory. god, you missed that sound. a little raspy, from all the cigarettes, but still so honeyed and smooth. hearing it makes you feel as if everything will turn out fine, in the end.

(what a powerful thing, for a voice to do. one so lovely it anchors you to the earth.)

a faux pout curls its way to your lips, and you squeeze her hand lightly. ”don’t laugh, i’m being serious!” your pout shifts into a soft grin, a little teasing. ”i’ll get you addicted to sugar instead of nicotine.”

”haha…”

shoko laughs. shoko laughs and it’s beautiful.

shoko laughs, a genuine laugh, and it’s so beautiful that you almost don’t notice the tears in her eyes. almost.

and then you realize your mistake.

a memory comes to you, then. you recall a hushed conversation, beneath a cloudy summer sky. the air was heavy with the scent of lilacs and cigarette smoke. two people were beside you, and all you cared about was listening to the tilt of their voices. that, and nothing more. a time before everything and everyone went south.

(”you know, shoko. you really should drop those death sticks of yours.”

”i don’t want to hear that from the guy who needs 40 grams of pure sugar every day just to function.”

”rude! and as far as addictions go, sugar is a cut above nicotine, don’t ya think?”

”whatever. just worry about yourself, gojo.”)

by the time you realize, it’s already far too late. the tears have already begun to fall. little droplets of grief, sticking to her skin.

they trickle down the contours of shoko’s face, and fall onto the paper in her hand, smudging the letters. she clutches it tightly, crinkling it, just to make the damage worse. her other hand is still holding yours, chipped nails digging into your skin gently.

but she keeps laughing. low, hazy laughter — pained. she sounds like she’s in pain, and that’s because she is. even if no one ever cares to mention it.

(how cruel, for her to be born with the reverse cursed technique. capable of healing any physical wound; leaving her with too many mental ones to count. never to be healed or acknowledged, in this life or the next.)

you can only stare. helpless to her sadness. her eyes are a little red, and she’s biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood — a drop of scarlet falls onto the paper, and you think of gojo again.

you think of shoko finding him. running to his side. doing all she could to heal him, to patch him up — getting blood all over her hands and clothes. red everywhere, staining the pure white of the snowfall. like something out of a painting.

she did all that she could. pressing down on his chest, positive cursed energy pouring out from her fingertips in tandem with the snow. pressing two shaky fingers to his pulse point, just in case. just to find any sign of life, absolutely anything. hoping so tenderly that she’d feel the flutter of his pulse. that he’d get up, and laugh obnoxiously, and ask her if she really thought he’d leave her behind so easily.

you’d never seen her look so scared. so desperate, a primal kind of fear you’ve learned to associate with self-driven survival. the way some animals can claw their way out of a predator’s stomach if they’re swallowed whole. but she did that to save him. trying to claw him out, herself. from the belly of the beast.

she did all that she could.

but gojo didn’t do anything. he just laid there, split in two. frozen in time, eternally young. watching the sky. smiling.

(what a wonderful way to die. what an awful thing for an old friend to find.)

before your mind can catch up, your body acts. muscle memory, in the way your arms curl around her midriff to bring her close. tucking her into your side while she sniffles and cries. still laughing, like she’s still trying to convince you that she’s fine. like she’s isn’t falling apart at the seams.

the dam breaks. the ice shatters. everything comes crashing down — and you’re there to pick up the pieces. despite everything.

it’s not enough, it never will be. but at least it’s something.

it’s heart-wrenching, the way she clings to you. like you’re the only thing she has. the dry laughter that spills from her throat devolves into sobbing, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath, nails clinging to the fabric of your clothing like she’s trying to anchor herself. broken sniffles fill the space between you as she hides away, in the crook of your neck.

(the sound makes you feel like someone drove a knife from your sternum down to your stomach.)

all you can do is hold her. quietly, delicately. as if she could break if you squeeze her too hard. as if she’d shatter like a sheet of glass if you were to say the wrong thing again.

you hold shoko like she’s fragile. because she is, regardless of what anyone else says. because she’s a human being, and she’s grieving, and she needs this.

eventually, she musters up the will to speak — and it’s awful, raspy, broken syllables she has to force out of her throat. 

she chokes on the words like they’re poisonous. like she’s been carrying them around for decades, bubbling beneath the surface, waiting to be let out.

“don’t — don’t end up here,” shoko pleads, voice wavering through the syllables. full of fear. “please.”

you know what she means. she doesn’t have to say it, because you know.

don’t end up in my morgue. don’t end up on my autopsy table. 

shoko sounds meek. she sounds close to falling apart. you’ve never seen her like this before, clutching onto your sleeves as if begging you to stay. 

“you’re — you’re the only one i…”

she doesn’t finish, cut off by a broken sniffle. but she doesn’t need to. 

you’re the only one i have left. i can’t lose you, too.

please don’t die. please don’t leave me behind.

a shaky inhale. your arms tighten around her waist, tugging her closer. praying that she’ll feel the steady beating of your heart, the undeniable proof that you’re alive. that you haven’t left her yet. 

you blink away the tears in your eyes, grasping for control over your wavering voice.

“i won’t.”

and maybe it’s cruel, maybe it’s the cruelest thing you could do to her — making a promise you know you might not be able to keep. but you do so anyway. helpless to her sadness. at the complete mercy of her grief. you’d do anything to stop the tears from falling, to soothe the turmoil in her chest.

“i won’t let you be alone, shoko,” you murmur into her hair, with all the comfort you can possibly muster. ”not now, or ever.”

three words yearn to be spoken, resting on the tip of your tongue. three little syllables, desperate to be heard after living in the back of your throat for so many years. 

and for a second, you think you might say it. 

you think you might say it, breathe life into the statement. you can almost taste it, can almost hear it. can almost see what her expression would look like.

but shoko sniffles, and hugs you tighter. protective, like you’ll leave if she doesn’t. so tightly that it hurts a little.

and you swallow the words, once more. 

right now, this is enough. it’s enough that you’re alive, that you’re here. that’s what shoko needs, right now.

she doesn’t need your love. she just needs you to stay alive.

so you will. you decide that you will, no matter what. you’ll leave, and you’ll open up a shitty bakery that won’t get any customers — and you’ll give her free pastries for the rest of your life. you’ll get her so addicted to sweets that she’ll have no choice but to come back for more.

shoko cries like a child. filling the silence of the morgue with her shaky breaths and quiet sniffles, little hiccups and whimpers. the tears never seem to stop, and you wonder how long it’s been since she last let them fall.

you hold her in your arms, smoothing a palm down her back, counting the bumps of vertebra — and don’t say anything. there’s no need to.

for now, the soft patter of your heartbeat is enough.

ijichi stands just outside the morgue, unmoving. not saying a thing.

it’s muffled, hushed and quiet, but still audible. the sound of childlike crying. the kind all sorcerers do their best to keep to themselves.

in his arms lie a bundle of papers. the final pages of gojo’s autopsy report. it’s important that shoko sees them — vital, according to her. something about the six eyes, the possibilities they hold. the hope that maybe, just maybe…

— he clutches them tightly, and then walks away.

[velveteenbard]

Ep6 (mild spoilers amidst the nonsense)

“Help me fix it” I love zuko

No, young zuko looks so happy and baby

Also he and Azula do look like they could be siblings

That was a very zuko angry yell

Okay if that’s the way the Agni Kai went, the scar makeup really should go harder

Nah why did they make Zuko’s vision fine

Dallas Liu is acting his little heart out

I enjoy them giving Zuko’s crew more point and personality

My little boy Zuko getting respect from people BECAUSE he disobeyed and spoke out against his father, I’m crYing

I’m confused where the plot is going and I’ve seen the original many times

Why didn’t it show us where the mask came frommmmmm

Okay that ladder teamwork was very cool tho

[itneverendshere]

finished fourth wing and i read everything in like three days (can you tell im unemployed) and here's my honest thoughts (i know im late to the party stfu):

was it good? yes. did i love it? meh

don't get me wrong the plot and the world building are insane, like really good, i could never in a million years come up with that concept on my own. i loveeee fantasy and i really loved that aspect of it (sometimes all the lore and names confused me and i had to keep checking the maps and other chapters lmao, but that's on me)

xaden and violent: i love them. they're so good together. wish they had more scenes tho, could’ve dived a lot more on her training with him. and less of ass face dain or whatever his name was.

the writing:....it's good, but i was expecting so much more. i feel like there's so many of you on the app who could publish something smiliar or much better. especially for the smut scenes since it's such a slow burn and i kept reading reviews online about being really steamy. it wasn't that bad tbh, pretty mild.

so yeah, i enjoyed it, obviously since i read it so quickly and im excited to get the second book but also very nervous because violet is clearly hurt and pissed🥴 there's nooooothing authors nowadays love more than miscommunication between characters. i've also accidentaly read some spoilers about it and yeah, i kNOW it's gonna piss me off real bad but anyways.

thank you for coming to my ted talk. Ps: love me some shadow wielding daddies🙂‍↔️

[broodwolf221]

the horror of hormak - mild spoilers

only partway thru and i kinda know the gist of it but omgggg the writing is so good it's so fucking eerie

this is one of the major reasons i'm reading TN tho, this story. and at the same time, it's the one i've been the most resistant to reading, bc ik it's gonna change my outlook on ghilly a bit 😂 hard not to!

but i think i have a firm enough grasp of my characterization of her - which is honestly just such fertile oc territory, given the faint shaping of the codex entries and nothing else - that reading a very different take won't make me unable to write her the way i have been, if i wanna stick with that