#and to those confused/outraged at my indifference:

[muddlemore]

boys its getting harder to ignore milton

[wing-ed-thing]

Those Called Jinchūriki (Naruto x Jinchūriki!Reader x Gaara) Part I

Synopsis: There are only so many Jinchūriki to meet, and Naruto is outraged by your treatment. Unable to do much himself, Naruto enlists the help of Gaara to set you free and grant you sanctuary in the Hidden Sand.

Word Count: 2k

Tags/Warnings: No Reader Pronouns, Jinchūriki!Reader, Slight Angst, Gaara isn't in this chapter

Notes: It's always been my personal hc that Naruto considers "jinchuriki" a slur. I'm pretty sure this is canon, but I haven't been able to track down manga evidence so don't fight me on this.

Considering how formal the event was, Naruto was eerily well-behaved. 

He had insisted on coming, and after making himself more of a nuisance than ever, Tsunade had placed him on the mission with one strict condition: don’t cause trouble. And so he sat, a mocktail in one hand and leg bouncing as he stared directly at the entrance at the top of the stairs. He didn’t hear Yamato notifying him that appetizers had been served, nor did he notice his new squad leader hovering over his shoulder, following his gaze up the carpeted steps. 

Naruto couldn’t wait to meet you.

You were the reason he had traveled all this way to your little land that hardly had a place on the map. You were why he had donned his finest clothes to attend this prestigious political gathering and waited patiently for your arrival. The moment he saw you, his eyes went wide.

The guards opened the ornate double doors with spears in hand as you emerged at the top of the grand staircase—elegant, layered fabrics draped over your shoulders, binding stiffly around your waist and neck. A golden chain littered with charms, ornaments, and sacred tags crowned your head, swooping adornments around the circumference of your skull. 

You stopped at the top of the grand stairwell. You held a stoic expression on your face, remaining only cordial as you took the skirt of your robes in your hands and bowed deeply. Naruto’s bright irises glittered at the sight of you. 

A holder of a tailed beast, dressed in fancy clothing and presented for all to see— Naruto’s chest ached with bitter happiness as he watched you live out his deepest dream and desire. He glanced toward the back of the room, where a decorated table sat waiting for you, elevated slightly taller on the ground where all could see you.

Like royalty.

A host of a tailed spirit, respected.

“Presenting… the Jinchūriki!” 

Naruto whooped and hollered, nearly jumping out of his seat in applause. But his praises were swiftly silenced as a roar of laughter and jeering erupted from the crowd on the room's lower level. Naruto’s forehead knitted, causing him to stop mid-clap. He swiveled in shock, scouring the room in search of answers as he sank back into his seat. He turned around, mouth agape, to make eye contact with Yamato, who only shrugged. Yamato looked about as confused as Naruto, his stare trained on you as his lips subtly contorted downward. 

The people swarmed you as you walked across the room to your table, faces smooshing around you as your indifferent guards put mediocre effort into keeping a walkway for you. Naruto couldn’t help but jump up from his seat, joining the nobles and political figures who crowded you. He jumped at the back of the mob, head bobbing over the sea of greased hair and overcomplicated updos. 

Naruto shouted your name, but the commotion drowned out his voice. 

You were never seen in public, after all.

You eventually reached a single table at the opposite end of the dining room. Naruto could see the top of your headpiece as he raced around the perimeter of the crowd. Little by little, the ornately decorated tablecloth appeared, matching the jewelry adorning you. You sat on the plush cushion, your guards finally able to keep the floor of people at least a few feet away from your table. 

People, but apparently not Naruto. 

You could only watch on in alarm as he slid between the legs of a nobleman, slipping on the hard tile floor as he scrambled between the guards and right up in front of you. He slammed his hands down, causing your silverware to rattle and you to jump. Your wide gaze darted around, searching for a guard to get this crazed madman away from you.

You stared, restraining your concerned expression as you wordlessly watched him. He huffed, catching his breath, even reaching across the elaborate table setting to help himself to your glass of water as he held out a hand. Not knowing what else to do, you offered him a cloth napkin. 

“Hiya! My name is Naruto Uzumaki, and wouldn’t ya believe it, but I’m also the host to the Nine-Tails and—”

Naruto stopped short, the sight of you stealing his words from his lips. It wasn’t the expensive jewels that littered your skin or the delicate fabrics, but the thick metal collar shacked around your neck. The weight of it left visible irritation on your skin from years of wear, bunching your robes and pinching at your collarbone. The cuffs were painted in ancient runes, spelling “Jinchūriki” exclusively and repeatedly. 

Naruto’s attention dropped to your hands, following the long stretch of chains from your neck to your bound wrists. The sleeves of your robes were folded up neatly to accommodate your bindings that held your hands less than a shoulder’s length apart. 

“What the hell?” he uttered, breathlessly horrified as Naruto’s baby blue irises flicked up to yours. Your eyes were about as wide as his. You placed a delicate touch on the table's edge, rising slightly from your seat. 

“Nine-Tails?” Your gaze explored him and darted frantically over his face and hands. You spoke lowly, almost in a whisper. Panicked concern painted your face. “Where are your bindings?”

He was torn away in an instant. 

It all happened in a moment, from the time Naruto introduced himself to you to the moment a guard grabbed him around the torso from behind in an attempt to wrestle him to the ground. Naruto kicked, struggling against the tight grip that pinned his arms.

“Wait—”

“Sit back down!” you were commanded. 

You shot back down in your seat without a second thought, spine erect. In the chaos, Naruto’s team rushed around in the background, trying to intercept the commotion, but too many people had crammed together. Naruto elbowed the guard in the face, thrashing his arms to break away and make a mad dash back toward you. 

His team members came in from the sides, engaging with the guards and attendees alike as they tried to avoid a violent confrontation. Yamato placed himself between the crowd and Naruto, arms and flat palms held out in front of his body. His assertive pleas for everyone to take a second were disregarded. 

Naruto’s hand wrapped around the link between your cuffs, tugging your longer chain as he held your bound hands up. You flinched, jerking your hands back, but his grip was too firm. The movement caused your eyes to twitch shut as you turned your head. You had little idea what was happening, let alone catch the rage simmering on Naruto’s expression.

“What the hell is this?” His shout cut through the commotion, bringing the entire hall to silence. You spotted orange from where you flinched, your head nestled between your arms. Your face slowly rose to catch a glimpse of black and orange markings etched across Naruto’s cheeks. He held up your bound hands again. The crowd backed up. The guards had broken from their confrontations with Naruto’s team to protect the gathering of elites with spears pointing forward. A strangled growl tore from Naruto’s throat as he repeated himself, “What the hell is this?”

Naruto’s grip closed around your cuffs, the tips of his rapidly sharpening fingernails causing tension in the metal. The entire room looked upon him in terror as you all watched his fox-like trains bubble to the surface. Even as tears gathered in your waterline, you waited motionlessly, watching like a cornered animal.

“Is this how the Land of Paper treats its sacred spirits?” He dropped your chains and stormed forward, causing the crowd to retreat with horrified gasps. The guards moved to confront him before Yamato swooped forward to forcibly hold Naruto back by the torso.

“Naruto, stop—” he hissed.

“How dare you!” One of the guard’s noses contorted into a foul, disgusted wrinkle. The rest of them came to surround the Hidden Leaf representatives. His lip curled as he held up his weapon. “And how dare the Hidden Leaf lack enough decency to bring a feral Jinchūriki to this gathering!”

“Don’t call me that!” 

“Naruto!” Naruto jerked forward in Yamato’s grip. He lowered his center of gravity, just barely able to restrain him. You sat face down on the table, the ornaments on your hair pointed outward like defensive horns, covering the back of your head with your arms. Your chains hung over it all, anchoring you to the room’s disturbance.

The guard turned to Sakura, who happened to be the closest, with a snarl. 

“Take your Jinchūriki pet and leave. You Leaf Shinobi are no longer welcome here.”

“Please, we have no malicious intent—” 

“Out!” The soldiers moved closer with their pointed spears.

“Go to hell!” Naruto yelled as Yamato tried his best to wrestle him away. You barely rose from your cowering position, but Naruto managed to meet your eye. He pointed directly toward you. “I’ll come back to save you! Don’t you worry!” 

The rest of the team followed, having no choice but to abandon their mission in disgrace.

The commotion ended as soon as it started. A few servants swooped in to clear away spilled beverages, and the hosts resorted quickly to damage control.

“What excitement!” one of them laughed nervously over the gather. The rest were easily convinced to laugh along. Uncertainly dizzied your head as you wondered what just happened.

***

“What the hell, Naruto?” Yamato shoved Naruto’s shoulder up against a wall at the back entrance. Naruto’s head bowed, unreadable, as Yamato held his shoulder pinned. The Jōnin was quietly seething himself.

With the Akatsuki slowly making their way across the country collecting tailed beasts, it was integral to make contact with the Land of Paper. While most tailed beasts made homes in large, established shinobi villages— or entirely off the grid in solitude— the Land of Paper continued a long tradition of keeping their tailed spirit for strictly spiritual and ornamental purposes. Compared to the Bijuu cultivated for wartime, Yamato had been informed that you hardly stepped outside your secluded temple, making you a prime target for the Akatsuki. 

They needed to talk to the important people gathered in that dining room, but now all that was squandered.

“I understand you’re angry—” Yamato resigned with a heavy sigh. He turned to rub his hands over his face, letting Naruto crumble to the ground. Yamato took a sharp intake, fist pressed against his lips. —“But that was not helpful, Naruto. We needed to get on the good side of a lot of people in that room. I don’t know what you were thinking—”

A single sniffle cut off Yamato’s rant.

Then another.

“I’m sorry, Captain Yamato.” Naruto’s voice was small. He curled in on himself, fingers weaving through his messy blond hair. Yamato stood in front of him silently. The rest of the team held their tongues, giving Naruto and Yamato their space as Sakura tugged Sai away. Naruto’s body jerked with his sobs, tears falling into his folded lap. “I’m sorry.” 

Yamato’s expression melted at the sight of him, and with another deep sigh, he knelt down to Naruto’s level.

“I was angry too,” he admitted, one wrist resting on his bent knee. “I didn’t know they treated Jinchūriki like that. If I had known—”

“Don’t use that word.” 

Yamato paused, staring deeply into the top of Naruto’s head. He studied his unmoving form, a soft concern in his dark eyes. Yamato placed a gentle touch on Naruto’s arm. 

“What word, Naruto?” It took a moment before he answered, his voice muffled as Naruto spoke into his knees. Yamato sat fully on the ground, repeating Naruto’s name softly and assertively. He leaned forward on his knees. “What word shouldn’t I use?”

“Don’t call us Jinchūriki.” Naruto sniffled. “Please.”

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed, and supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

Notes: You know, it's here, it's cheesy. The direction of this kinda reminds me of the style of early 2010s fanfic? Does that make sense to anyone else?

[experimentalmadness]

Quiet Safety

Summary: Astarion isn't one to offer selfless comfort, so when he does for Tav the very action takes him by surprise. Maybe love doesn't need to be spoken to be known.

Come get y'alls free hurt/comfort, folks.

You can find more of my fic here!

***

“This is hardly the place to wander off on your own.” Astarion sauntered up to the dismal, gray clearing. 

Eidel practically jumped out of her boots. He had caught her alone, under a dead, black tree. For a moment he thought she had been meditating, but she was only looking up at the moon. Ever enchanted by the cosmos. 

“Oh! You scared me,” she let out a thin, gasping laugh. 

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

Eidel’s reply was swift and very much a lie. She looked uncomfortable as she shifted cross-legged on the ashen grass. Astarion decided not to call her out on the obvious, he had many ways to uncover her secrets. He sat down next to her, close enough that their legs touched. “Not hoping I’d follow you out here and you’d get me alone, were you?”

It was becoming easier to tease her when he knew full well she had never desired anything sexual from him. The blush that dotted her mottled cheeks was always a sight. “No,” she said before realizing how that sounded. “I mean! Not that I’m not pleased! To see you!” she stuttered before giving him a peck on the cheek. 

Astarion caught the slight wince on her face as she pulled away. “Something the matter, darling?” He asked, affecting the tone of casual indifference. 

“Fine. You should go back. I’ll be along.”

He frowned. Her words were clipped, strained—unusual for her normally ever cheerful, joyful voice. “Trying to get rid of me already?” He didn’t truly want to press, but it had been some time since he had been able to manufacture time alone for them. And as they drew closer to the city he needed to solidify her bond to him. He pushed aside the pang of guilt as those big eyes widened in sudden panic. 

“No! I’m not! I—” she raised her arms to wave off his concerns but as soon as she managed to arch her shoulders she dropped them. This time Astarion was able to read the wince for what it really was: pain. 

“Darling, are you hurt? Let me see.”

Eidel scrambled up and away from his touch. Before he could peel back the coat from around her shoulders. “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“No sense in putting on a brave face when we have healers aplenty at the camp,” Astarion shrugged.

But it was hard to ignore that desperate crawling look in Eidel’s eyes. That familiar look of being hunted. She reeked of fear, he could smell it in her blood. He tampered down the very sudden, outrageous urge to offer, of all the things, comfort. It would be the smart play no doubt, but the decisions didn’t come from a place of calculation. He…ached, at the pathetic sight of her. 

“It’s…it’s an old injury. Sometimes it hurts. That’s all,” she said, weakly trying to rub at her shoulder. “I don’t like to bother anyone with it.”

“Well at the very least, will you sit back down? You’re acting like I’m about to bite you. And I promised to only do that if you asked me nicely,” Astarion smiled, patting at the empty space beside him under the tree. 

It took a moment, but eventually Eidel resettled. “Now,” Astarion said. “I believe I may be able to help, if you’ll let me?”

“Help? How?”

Her confusion wasn’t some ploy. She seemed genuinely nonplussed and by proxy so was he. He always was when it came to her. Astarion repositioned himself so that Eidel was sitting between his legs with her back facing him. He placed his hands on her shoulder. She was stiff as a board. Frozen, he realized. “Eidel, darling,” he whispered in her ear. “Trust me.”

“I do,” she said. “Just promise me you won’t take off my clothes.”

His stomach twisted at her words and he hesitated, giving her head a comforting kiss before realizing he had done that without thinking. “Only this coat, but other than that, you have my word.” 

She nodded and slipped out of the ratty, gray coat leaving her in only her equally rustic tunic. He’d have to get her something finer in the city. Why…had he thought that? 

Astarion once again placed his hands on her shoulders. “Relax,” he ordered gently before massaging the stiff muscles. He could feel how tense she was, and through the thin fabric the pads of his fingers felt the rough, raised markers of scar tissue. 

After a few minutes, perhaps when she was satisfied this was all he was after, Eidel finally uncoiled, a whimper of pleasure spilling from her mouth. And what a sound that was. “Astarion! That feels…so…”

Not quite how he imagined he would have gotten her to cry out his name, but it was satisfying nonetheless. “I know,” he teased. “I am rather good.”

She laughed, and the sound was almost as satisfying as the name. When he worked his hands lower down her back she melted into him. He was silent for a time, listening to her little sighs and whimpers. But when she cocked her head back he saw a tear stain on her cheek reflected in the moonlight and he stopped. “Eidel?”

“Oh, I’m sorry!” Eidel wiped at her eyes. Why was she apologizing? “I’ve never felt anything like that before. It was…nice.”

“Sometimes you say such things, my sweet,” Astarion shook his head, resuming the massage. “They make me wonder where exactly you came from.”

“You have so many names for me,” Eidel said, and Astarion knew when someone was sidestepping a question. “I had none and now I have more than I can count.”

“None?” Again, the things she said.

She was quiet once more, drawing her knees up to her chest. “I never had a name,” she said so softly Astarion wondered if he had imagined it at first. “I… I’d rather not talk about where I came from, but I escaped. Months before the nautiloid found me. On my first real day of freedom I heard a woman calling for a child named Eidel. I saw her go…running up to the woman. Her mother, I think. And the woman scooped her up and held her so tight, spinning around and around laughing as she kissed the child’s head. I didn’t know what any of it was at the time. I just…it all looked so wonderful. I wanted it so badly.”

Eidel turned around as Astarion’s hands fell away. “I’m sure you think that’s all very foolish.”

He did. Of course he did. Of course he should. But he had so many questions from the little she had revealed. Escape? Freedom? No name? Eidel didn’t look to be in much of an answering mood; however, so he let his own imagination run wild. And he did not like what he was capable of conjuring. No wonder she had been such an easy mark. He needn’t have worked half as hard as he had. 

But just now, she didn’t feel like some mark. Something called to him in those mismatched eyes of hers. He wanted to kiss her, stroke her hair, hold her, tell her stupid, genuine things like how extraordinary she was. How she hadn’t deserved whatever life she had led before. But what in the hells would that get him? And what if he wanted nothing in return anymore? A far more frightening thought.

“Even if I did,” he said, finding it difficult to keep control over his tone. “You would never expect me to say so, would you?”

She smiled and burrowed against him, arms going about his waist as she rested her head on his collar. “You’re wonderful, you know?” she sighed. “I feel…that is you make me…safe. I’ve wanted that for so so long, Astarion.”

Safe? He was the one person she was the least safe with. 

He couldn’t do this anymore. He cupped her head to his chest, fingers tangling in her already wild hair. Selfish as ever. She was giving him everything and what was he going to demand in return? A possible suicide quest. She shouldn’t be anywhere near Cazador or his siblings. Once upon a time she’d have made excellent prey. He didn’t want to think of that—how trusting she was, how sweet, how unfit for a liar like him. 

“Eidel.” He should tell her now. Tell her how he had been playing her, manipulating her, and how for the first time he wanted no part in that anymore. How maybe, just maybe, they could start over and be something real. 

“Yes?” she asked, laughing a little at the sound of her voice being muffled against his shirt. 

But what if she didn’t want that once she knew the truth? What if she looked at him with those trusting eyes of hers as he broke her heart? One more victim in a long line of victims. 

“I…you know I’ve forgotten what I was going to say.” 

Eidel nuzzled against him playfully, a mock apology on her lips as she kissed his chest. Her heartbeat echoed into the hollow space between Astarion’s ribs. 

Tomorrow, he decided, he’d tell her the truth tomorrow.

[catladywriter]

Inotan Fanfic: Nosebleed - Chapter 3

Secrets

Synopsis: Inosuke's mundane task of cleaning the neighbour's storeroom took an unexpected turn when he stumbled upon a hidden collection of erotic paintings. As his eyes roved over the provocative artwork, a nosebleed erupted, capturing Tanjirou's attention. As Tanjirou fussed over Inosuke's well-being, a flurry of unexpected and confusing emotions overwhelmed Inosuke, leaving him with a newfound awareness of his deeper feelings for Tanjirou.

Amidst the confusion, Zenitsu burst into the room, misinterpreting the situation entirely. Convinced that he had been excluded from a secret pornography viewing session, Zenitsu's outrage reached new heights, and all hell broke loose.

Pairing: Inotan (Inosuke x Tanjirou)

Setting: Canon AU, 1 year after the main story ends. Precursor to the Series: Where the Wisteria Always Bloom.

Wordcount: 9000+ words across 4 chapters

Chapters: 1 2 3 4

Status: Complete

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

In the confined storeroom, with only Inosuke and Zenitsu present, Zenitsu once again attempted to extract information from his stubborn companion regarding Tanjirou's mysterious "experience."

"Inosuke, come on! Just a tiny hint, please?" Zenitsu pleaded, his eyes wide with anticipation.

Inosuke’s folded arms and icy stare showed his resolve. “I already told you, it’s Monjirou’s secret, and it’s my duty as the Boss to protect it. Quit asking, or I’ll punch you!” A trace of hostility tinged his voice, sending a clear threat to Zenitsu.

Dejected, Zenitsu groaned and reluctantly shifted his attention back to the task at hand—packing up the cleaning supplies. Yet, a nagging thought gnawed at Inosuke’s mind. Why was everyone making such a big deal about this mating thing? Wasn’t it just a natural process for making babies? And, more bafflingly, why on earth would anyone create graphic paintings of such acts? Paintings were meant for decoration, right? Inosuke couldn’t comprehend who would exhibit such obscene artwork. Judging by their hidden location in a box at the bottom of the cupboard, even the neighbour seemed indifferent to displaying them. He expressed his bewilderment to Zenitsu, who sighed and sat down beside him.

"Having sex, or mating, as you call it, isn't just about procreation, Inosuke. It's also about pleasure," Zenitsu explained. "Remember our mission in Yoshiwara? It's a place where people seek out sexual services for their desires and needs."

Inosuke stared blankly, the concept still eluding him.

Rubbing his head in annoyance, Zenitsu searched for the right words. "Um, you know that feeling when your body is all... um, aroused and you need to find relief?" He made clumsy gestures around his crotch area, hoping to get his point across.

"Huh, yeah, I know.” Inosuke nodded. “Why would I need someone for that? I just do it myself."

"Yeah, that's what I do too," Zenitsu concurred. "But when you’re in love with someone, you crave them and want to share that thrill with them. It's completely different from just satisfying sexual urges. It's hard to describe, but you'll probably get it when you fall for someone you love. You'll want to touch them...but if you're unsure of their feelings for you, you also feel shy and restrain yourself because you're afraid of being rejected and driving them away," Zenitsu said, almost to himself, as if he were reliving very personal experiences.

Inosuke’s mind flashed back to the memory of Tanjirou straddling him to check his bleeding nose, which sparked unfamiliar sensations within him, kindling a desire to touch him back in ways he had never felt before.

Intrigued, Inosuke couldn’t help asking, “Do those feelings grow when that someone touches you while you’re, you know, in heat?”

Zenitsu glared at him. “Aroused, not in heat. That’s for animals.”

“Same thing. Answer me.” Inosuke pressed on.

Zenitsu mulled over it for a moment, puckering his lips in thought. “I guess they should, but honestly, I’m not sure. I mean, no girl has ever touched me,” he said sadly. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he whirled around to face Inosuke. “Hold on! Why are you so curious about this? Do you have some experience?”

A smug grin spread across Inosuke’s face. “That’s my secret.”

Zenitsu’s annoyance reached its limit. “How can you and Tanjirou keep secrets from me? I share everything with you!” He complained, folding his arms with irritation.

“No, you’re just bad at keeping secrets,” Inosuke snorted. "I bet you think about mating with Nezuko all the time.”

“Eeeyarrgh! First of all, don’t use that word ‘mating’!” Zenitsu shrieked, his face turning bright pink. “And secondly, how dare you reveal my thoughts like that?” His voice hit a high pitch, reserved for moments of extreme joy or embarrassment.

“It’s obvious,” Inosuke said, rolling his eyes and shaking his head at Zenitsu’s dramatic reaction.

“I hope it’s not!” Zenitsu sobbed, his voice quivering with panic. "If Tanjirou finds out about it, he’ll do more than headbutt me. He’ll literally chop off my head!”

“Why? You just said it’s something people in love might want to do,” Inosuke argued, genuinely puzzled by the potential gravity of the situation, that Zenitsu would accuse a gentle soul like Tanjirou of extreme violence against his friend.

Zenitsu let out a long sigh, trying to find the right words to explain. “It’s like marching up to someone’s dad and confessing that you want to bang his daughter. That’s just asking for trouble.”

"Bang…?" Inosuke’s eyes widened with curiosity, trying to grasp the meaning of Zenitsu’s word choice.

“It’s just another way of saying ‘have sex’.”

“Oh. But Tanjirou isn’t Nezuko’s dad.”

“Obviously.” Zenitsu rolled his eyes. “But telling someone’s brother that you want to bang his sister is also highly inappropriate. It’s just asking for a beating, you know?”

“Well, I know Tanjirou’s headbutts are no joke, but if you really wanted to, you could probably still fight him.” Inosuke grinned, imagining the hypothetical confrontation.

“Arghh! How did I even get into this topic with you?” Zenitsu sighed, his shoulders slumping in exasperation. “Listen, if you ever want to pursue a romantic relationship with someone, picking fights with their family members is an absolute no-no, understand? And regardless of whether you fully grasp it or not, promise me you’ll keep this as my secret and guard it with your life. Deal?”

“Fine,” Inosuke smirked, feeling a sense of superiority that his closest friends entrusted their deepest, darkest secrets to him. But as the conversation took this intriguing turn, a genuine question formed in his mind.

“Is it okay to tell someone you want to bang them?” Inosuke asked.

“Absolutely not. You’d get slapped,” Zenitsu shook his head, his eyes widening at the audacity of the question. “I mean, if you were actually dating, it might be acceptable to ask. But honestly, I have no clue. I haven’t had any luck myself.”

Inosuke let out a frustrated sigh. Why did this have to be so complicated?

“When animals want to mate, they just do a mating dance,” Inosuke stated matter-of-factly.

Zenitsu rolled his eyes, clearly exasperated. “Seriously? I’ve told you this already. Animal mating is not the same as human relationships. Look, if it helps you get the idea, think of dating as a sort of mating dance. No actual dancing involved, but you hang out with someone and do things to impress them, showing off your strengths and making them want to be with you.”

Inosuke thought back to the moments he shared with Tanjirou, recalling how Tanjirou often asked for his opinion on important matters and openly expressed how being with Inosuke made him feel secure. He felt a warm and fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Got it!” Inosuke exclaimed, smacking his palm with a fist. “So…I’m dating Tanjirou?”

Zenitsu’s eyes popped out with disbelief. “No, you moron! Hanging out with a friend is not the same as dating! Gosh, trying to teach you is enough to make my blood vessels burst.” He said, his voice shrill and frantic.

“Tsk. Then how do I know if I’m dating someone?” Inosuke scowled.

Zenitsu started to explain but quickly changed his tone, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Why all the sudden questions? Do you have someone in mind that you want to date and bang?”

 “No way!” Inosuke snapped, feeling his face going red. 

“Oh, come on! You already know my darkest secret. Share yours with me,” Zenitsu coaxed.

"Damn right you are! I know your darkest secret, and if you keep asking, I'll tell Tanjirou and Nezuko," Inosuke threatened.

“That’s not fair!” Zenitsu whined.

*

A few hours before dawn, Inosuke tossed and turned in bed, tormented by frustration. Sleeping through the night had never been a problem for him until that fateful afternoon in the storeroom. For three consecutive nights since, he had been rudely awakened by a series of perplexing and disconcerting wet dreams, an unsettling fusion of lewd scroll scenes intertwined with visions of Tanjirou.

“Damn you, Gompachirou,” Inosuke muttered, sitting up and casting an annoyed glance at Tanjirou peacefully slumbering beside him. How dare Tanjirou sleep so soundly when he was the source of Inosuke’s insomnia? Part of him wanted to shake Tanjirou awake, rough and abrupt. But as he leaned closer, an odd warmth and tingling sensation washed over him, making him hesitate.

His fingers wandered to Tanjirou’s hair, which had grown longer over time. Tenderly, he caressed the strands, reliving past memories. He vividly recalled the first time he touched Tanjirou’s hair after the final battle, after Tanjirou had returned to his normal self. It had felt like the best thing he’d ever touched, despite being damp and sticky with perspiration and blood.

Suddenly, Tanjirou’s eyes fluttered open, causing Inosuke to startle and fall backward in surprise.

“Why did you suddenly wake up and scare me like that?!” Inosuke exclaimed, clutching his pounding heart as Tanjirou sat up.

“Sorry. But why were you leaning over me and touching my hair?” Tanjirou asked, sounding genuinely curious.

Inosuke’s mind raced to find an excuse. “There was a bug in your hair! I was removing it,” he eventually blurted out. He hoped Tanjirou would buy his lie.

“Oh, I see. Thanks, Inosuke!” Tanjirou beamed with gratitude. He reached out to pat Inosuke’s head, making him blush harder.

“Hmmph,” Inosuke huffed, though relief washed over him more than annoyance. Zenitsu always gave this excuse when caught touching Nezuko’s hair, and Inosuke found it foolish. Nezuko would give Zenitsu a strange look whenever he said it. It was clear that she didn’t buy it either. Inosuke couldn’t believe it was the first lame excuse that came to his mind. Fortunately, Tanjirou seemed unsuspecting and genuinely appreciative. Stupid Gompachirou, always making me feel weird all over, he thought.

“Anyway, I woke up suddenly because I smelled blood,” Tanjirou explained. “Your blood, to be precise. I hope you didn’t get bitten or something.”

Inosuke had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment as Tanjirou held a lamp near his face.

“It’s your nose! It’s bleeding!” Tanjirou exclaimed.

“Huh!” Inosuke brought his hand to his nose and discovered blood on it.

Oh no, not again! Inosuke groaned inwardly. He had suffered from occasional nosebleeds over the past three days since coming back from cleaning the neighbours’ house. It usually started from a burning itch in his nose, which would make him lift his boar mask and rub it vigorously. He always managed to take care of it before anyone else could notice. He tried to shrug it off because a nosebleed seemed like such a trivial thing compared to the battle wounds he had endured in near-death experiences before. But he couldn’t help feeling uneasy now. Why did it keep happening, seemingly out of nowhere? Could it be because of those stupid wet dreams? Could Tanjirou be the cause of this?!

“How do you feel? Are you dizzy? Are you unwell?” Tanjirou cupped Inosuke’s face in his hands, closing the distance between them. Inosuke could feel his heart pounding, his face growing hotter by the second. Part of him wanted to pull Tanjirou closer and bridge the narrow gap between them.

Zenitsu’s grumpy, sleepy voice came from Tanjirou’s other side. “Why are you both making such a racket this early in the morning?”

Snapping out of his trance, Inosuke shoved Tanjirou away and dashed out of the bedroom, shouting for Tanjirou not to follow him.

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Author's Notes: This was a short but fun chapter, with more awkward sex talk, sharing of deep dark secrets (lol), and poor Zenitsu being saddled with the thankless task of educating Inosuke. Also featuring one of my favourite romantic tropes - hair touching! In the upcoming and final chapter, titled "Gompachirou's Fault," we'll finally uncover the reason behind poor Inosuke's nosebleed (hint: it's not what the chapter title suggests). Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed my fic, it’d really make my day if you could drop a like, reblog, and/or comment to let me know! This story is also published on AO3 where you can comment anonymously! Although I mostly write for myself, your encouragement keeps me motivated to post and share my work.

[ruminativerabbi]

The Book of Names at the U.N.

The United Nations, so intensely and relentlessly hostile to Israel for almost as long as I can remember, is the living embodiment of the argument set forth in Dara Horn’s 2021 book, People Love Dead Jews, a book I reviewed favorably in this space just a year and a half ago. (To revisit my comments, click here.) Israeli Jews fighting vigorously and strenuously for the security of their nation, uninterested in acting contrary to their own best interests to suit the agenda of their foes and those foes’ supporters in Turtle Bay, and imbued with patriotism born of pride in the might of their military—those people, the United Nations can’t stomach. (For a brief survey of the U.N.’s latest anti-Israel outrages, click here.) But dead Jews, especially in enormous numbers—those Jewish people, the U.N. can’t get enough of.

In 2005, for example, the U.N. took some time off its busy schedule of Israel-bashing to approve General Assembly resolution 607, proposed by (of all nations) Israel itself, recognizing January 27, the day in 1945 that the Red Army liberated Auschwitz, as International Holocaust Remembrance Day. The fact that Jews the world over—including especially in Israel itself—observe Yom Hashoah annually on the 27th of Nisan, the anniversary of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising in 1943, makes the observance of the U.N.-sanctioned day feel confusing, or at least superfluous, for most of us. And yet it’s hard to disparage any attempt to memorialize the martyrs who died during the Shoah. And I don’t. But I also don’t know quite what to do with it.

At Shelter Rock, the day comes and goes each year without us doing anything at all to take note of it. Partially, that has to do with my personal disinclination to do anything at all that could possibly appear to be supportive of the U.N. And partially, I suppose, it has to do with the fact that the importance of marking the specific day the Russians arrived at Auschwitz is diminished, at least somewhat, by the fact that the Shelter Rockers themselves who had been prisoners in Auschwitz were all liberated at Buchenwald by the U.S. Third Army. But most of all we are disinclined to make much of International Holocaust Remembrance Day because we are already firmly committed to observing the annual anniversary of Kristallnacht in the fall and Yom Hashoah in the spring.

Nonetheless, I was prompted to rethink the issue after listening to the address delivered to the U.N. General Assembly by Secretary-General Antonio Guterres on “their” Holocaust Memorial Day last week. Choosing his words carefully, the Secretary-General spoke directly and specifically about the rising tide of anti-Semitism in the world. “We now know the terrifying depths of the abyss into which Germany would plunge,” he said unambiguously, “but the alarm bells were already ringing in 1933. Too few bothered to listen, and fewer still spoke out. Today, we can hear echoes of those same siren songs to hate.” I was impressed—both by the sentiment and by the man’s willingness to say it out loud and unequivocally. And then he went on to observe that the rise of Nazism itself was not an unavoidable natural catastrophe like a tsunami or an earthquake, but rather a fully avoidable nightmare that was specifically made possible by “the indifference, if not the connivance, of so many millions.” Hearing him say that reminded me instantly of the many, many times I heard the late Irving Roth, himself a former Auschwitz prisoners liberated at Buchenwald and one of the truly great Holocaust educators of our time, say precisely the same thing. It was, for me personally at least, a striking moment.

And then Gutteres went on to discuss anti-Semitism in the world today. He was sharp and unequivocal, describing as a “painful truth” the fact that “anti-Semitism is everywhere” and is, in fact, “increasing in intensity.” Nor, of course, is anti-Semitism an isolated phenomenon: “Survey after survey,” he went on to observe, “arrives at the same conclusion: anti-Semitism is at record highs. And what is true for anti-Semitism is true for other forms of hate. Racism. Anti-Muslim bigotry. Xenophobia. Homophobia. Misogyny. Neo-Nazi, white supremacist movements are becoming more dangerous by the day.”

As regular readers surely know, I generally find it irritating—to say the least—when the kind of almost unimaginable barbarism that led to the Shoah is served up as just the Jewish version of some other kind of prejudice. And yet, listening to the man speak, I thought I heard a certain cogency in the man’s remarks. The tide of hatred, including violent hatred, is rising. And, although it once would have, it no longer strikes me as inherently absurd or reductionist to see all of its manifestations as part of the same terrifying phenomenon. And Gutteres also highlighted a fully cogent reason for seeing things in that light in his remarks: “The threat is global, and it is growing. And a leading accelerant of this growth is the online world…Many parts of the internet are becoming toxic waste dumps for hate and vicious lies. They are profit-driven catalysts for moving extremism from the margins to the mainstream. By using algorithms that amplify hate to keep users glued to their screens, social media platforms are complicit, and so are the advertisers subsidizing this business model.” I myself am absent from most social media platforms. I don’t have a Facebook page. I have a Twitter account but haven’t ever tweeted anything out to my non-existent followers, choosing silently to follow American, European and Israeli politicians and read their tweets. I don’t have an Instagram account. I’m sure I’ve never even visited TikTok, whatever that is exactly. So I’m insulated from the kind of material Guterres was describing. But I know it’s out there. And his words sounded a kind of clarion call to me to speak out about an phenomenon I had until recently mostly managed blithely to ignore.

And then, after speaking, Guterres went personally to see the Book of Names exhibit.

This project, undertaken by Yad Vashem and soon to be on permanent exhibit in Jerusalem, is the result of decades of work undertaken by researchers at Yad Vashem to collect the actual names of all the Jews murdered by the Nazis during the Shoah. So far, they have collected an amazing 4.8 million names. There are, historians posit, at least a million names missing. Probably, there are far more than that. When the Einsatzgruppen massacred the entire Jewish population of towns in Ukraine and Belarus, they did not pause to collect the names of their victims. Even those murdered in the camps were not all listed by name: children sent to their deaths, which was basically all of them, were generally not listed in the Nazis’ record books at all. The book itself—a real book, at least of sorts—is gigantic: six feet tall and twenty-six feet wide. And, almost prosaically, the names are neatly arranged alphabetically, each one followed by the decedent’s home town, year of birth, and place and date of death.

The work has been tedious, but continuous: just last year, 40,000 names were added to the Yad Vashem data base and then included in the Book of Names. The hope is to reach the 5 million mark sometime this year. But the work will become harder and harder as the years pass because so many of the names, and particularly of children, were simply not recorded and are therefore not recoverable.

And so I find myself on the horns of a dilemma. I want to see the book. I want to have that experience personally. But I can’t imagine myself setting foot in the United Nations building, a place synonymous in my mind with the most vile kind of anti-Israel prejudice. For me personally, the problem has an easy solution: I can go and see the Book of Names this summer at Yad Vashem itself. But that only solves the logistical problem, leaving me to grapple with a different problem entirely.

Is there some chance that Israel’s enemies at the U.N.—and they are legion—will be moved by the Book of Names to consider their attitudes? Will they see an exhibit and suddenly understand why Israel needs to exist…and why Israelis feel the need to defend themselves vigorously and not just to trust the rest of the world to look after their interests? Will they see the names of these millions of innocent victims and understand why Jews today cannot imagine a future without a strong Israel defending itself against enemies like Iran, a nation whose leaders regularly use Holocaust imagery to describe the slaughter of Jews it hopes one day successfully to accomplish in the Near East? Or will contemplating the Book of Names just be another task for U.N. personnel to tick off on their already over-packed to-do lists: condemn Israel, get coffee, censure Israel, email Mom, promote violence against Israel, tear up yet another parking ticket I don’t have to pay, encourage anti-Israel terrorism, drop by Book of Names, pick up dry cleaning….

I don’t expect much. In fact, I don’t expect anything. But the presence of the Book of Names in the U.N. Lobby combined with Antonio Guterres’s remarks in the General Assembly gives me some smidgen of hope that the U.N. might someday turn back into the force for good it was expected to become and which it briefly was. I suppose we’ll have to see. But Antonio Guterres has done the impossible by making me think that such a thing even could happen.

[hazbinned]

Alastor had never seen Charlie this outraged at anyone who belonged to the hotel. Hell, he had never seen her outraged at anyone who belonged to the hotel, period. The part of him that always swore indifference to the opinions of others was hard at battle with the part of him that was feeling... what was it, now? Hurt? Confused?

If he was going to be accused of something, at least let it be for something he'd done, or could remember doing.

Yes, some of it had been in the trash; the junk that was mixed in with the applications and schedule-pieces, and not the documents themselves. There were a few scribbly doodles done by Niffty, an even scribblier drawing done by Angel, and some crumpled-up flyers that had been pinned to the front doors a few nights ago. He had thrown those away.

But... all of this?

The Radio Demon averted his eyes, worry lines forming beneath them. Try as he might, his smile never quite did away with the fact that he was always rather expressive on the top half of his face.

"I... have no idea." His voice was low. "Have you asked anyone else, or just me?"

He knew it was only him. Charlie had found the documents in his trash, or so she claimed.

"This would be my first time seeing these."

Had she so little faith in him?

Charlie tried to search, desperately, for something, anything, in his expression that would give her some sort of clue to what's going on here. But Alastor's face was as mysterious as it always was. Any other time it was a commendable part of his personality, but it was immensely frustrating now.

"And I thought that you were to go through them first before they reached my desk. Isn't that more efficient than me looking through them both before and after you do?" She could have sworn that they had had this conversation before. He much preferred efficiency hence the order. But to be frank, the order didn't matter right now.

The princess started pacing. Not just because she couldn't contain her restless energy, but because she just couldn't look at him right now.

"Look, even if somehow there was a miscommunication about the order, it doesn't change the fact that these," Charlie gestured to the stack of papers in Alastor's hands, "were in your trash! I was looking for some of the pages in my lessons plans that went missing again, so I was looking through all the trashcans in the office and found the applications. Why?"