#anyways I love how their mask is broken and I feel like that should be more appreciated by people

[neontiger]

shelter

♡ jason todd x reader

♡ fluffy angst. Jason Todd questions his ability to love and be loved.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

There was a time when you could sleep through the night sounds without stirring - every siren, every shout from the sidewalk, every blaring alarm rolled off your body without so much as a toe twitch.

Nothing was the same anymore. Not since Jason had entered, since you discovered what he did at night, who he was. Now you heard the mice in the walls and the wind on the glass. Always hanging off some precipice, always wondering, asking. Tonight?

Was it worth it? Mostly.

So it's a restless sleep you're pulled from when your phone rings. It jerks you into a sitting position and has your heart punching bruises against your rib cage, your hand reaching to the nightstand to answer before it stops.

One deep breath, to calm your heart, though it doesn't have the desired effect. Your voice still trembles. "Hello?"

"Hey. Did I wake you up?"

Jason sounds the same. His voice is always rougher behind the mask, but the image of him in your head has him without it. Somewhere alone in the darkness of Gotham. You imagine an alley; you don't really know where he goes on these nighttime patrols.

"No," you lie. Your eyes dart to the television, asking if you're still watching? "I was a watching a movie. Where are you?"

He grunts, a noncommittal noise meant to be the answer you're looking for. "I didn't mean to. Sorry."

"It's fine anyway, Jay. I don't mind you waking me." You settle back against the pillows. Habit keeps the spot on the side of the window open for him. "Are you coming over tonight?"

"I don't know."

His words, their tone, wash over you like ice water. Fixing the blanket over your shoulders does nothing. But you don't ask, don't overstep the boundaries he keeps around himself. Don't know how yet.

You're not imagining him right.

Not an alley. He's in an apartment. It's trashed, holes in the fabric of the couch, mold on the walls, trash scattered across the floor. Aside from him, there are two others, a woman and a child. He doesn't know them, but he hurts for them: she's blissed out on some new drug, and the kid's asleep without a care or the knowledge of where the night had taken Jason, or why that even matters to a kid like him. He doesn't know the mistakes that have been made. Not until the sun rises.

He wants to believe it's everything that's happened to him, that's why he's so angry, why he sometimes feels like a million pieces of broken glass trying to fit together again. Why control feels like such a far-off thing, always out of reach. His hands react before the rest of him catch up, and he wants to act like it's everything else - his mother, his father, dying and coming back, Bruce - to blame.

Because if it's on him, then that means he has to be the one to admit it. He has to be the one to fix it.

"Jason." Your voice is soft, like a pillow against his ear. He's woken you up, he knows, and he hates himself for that. He shouldn't have called. Didn't want to talk anyway, but hearing you is fixing something inside him.

"Go back to bed," he says. "I have to take care of some things. You have work tomorrow?"

A little noise, hmm, from your pursed lips. He knows it, makes him smile. The woman nearby moans softly. "Maybe," you say. "Feeling like I might be getting sick, though. Maybe I should skip, just in case."

He's ruining you. Upending your life and throwing it off course, and how undeserving he was of that privilege. This needed an end. It would only get worse from here, and you would end up hating him, or dead.

That thought cuts like a light through the fog. Blinding. Consumes him, swirls in his skull. He looks up at the woman again, and how deserving he is of this scene - of this particular mess he's made, not even considering the kid in the other room who no longer has a father, soon won't have a family at all. Another life destroyed.

Can't destroy yours. This has to end and it has to be now. Better to be hated than speaking at your funeral.

Jason swallows. "I...we need to talk."

"Then come over," you say. "I miss you. I'm worried. You don't sound good."

The words don't come. He's not sure what to say.

"If something happened, you can tell me. Or not, if you're not feeling up to it. I'm not going to act like I understand or I know, like, the shit you do, but you need a space to talk, I'd like to be that space."

Again, he can't answer. He listens not just to your voice but to the sounds you make on the line: the bed complaining as you shift, the rustle of the blanket. And he decides, maybe not yet. Maybe a little longer.

Cruel, that. You deserve more. He can't give it.

"How much longer will you be?" You ask, as if this is the most normal thing.

"Might be morning before I get to you," Jason says. "Don't wait up."

You laugh, and he can't help but smile. "You're not the boss of me. Besides, I don't think I can fall back to sleep. Your fault. I'm not complaining though."

Just a little longer, then he'd figure out a clean break. "Alright. I'll try to be quick."

"Careful over quick, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." His fingers tighten on his phone. There's words he wants to say but he knows he shouldn't, if only because it will make things worse in the end. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll be waiting. Be careful, Jay. I want you home."

Home. Was that you?

"I will. Go back to sleep," he says, again, for no reason. Bids you goodbye and hangs up finally to deal with the situation in front of him. More lives he's about to ruin.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The sun is shaking sleep from her eyes by the time Jason makes it to you, appearing on your fire escape with a soft thud. The sound pulls you from your show, and you watch his grand entrance: prying open your window and slipping inside, still in uniform, mask and hood concealing his face. You leave the warmth of the bed to help him undress wordlessly, and retrieve from your closet clothes he's left here.

"Sorry I'm late." He tugs on a pair of sweatpants while you catefully arrange his uniform on the armchair by the window.

"Better late than never." You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist before standing on tiptoes to kiss him. "Tired?"

He nods. "Long night."

That's all he'll tell you, and for now you have no option but to accept it. It's fine.

You wonder what he thinks, as he slips into bed with your, pulls the covers up and you into his arms. What goes through his head. Tonight, he smells like iron and gunpowder, like he does so many nights. Maybe that's part of it; there's things he's done he doesn't want forgiveness for. How do you deal with a man like that? One who sees himself in the most undeserving light?

It's confusing, and there were times to give it up, but those have long passed. Now his future is mapped on yours.

You brush your fingers lightly over the scar that cuts down the center of his abdomen. "I love you, Jason," you whisper, words light kisses to his neck.

He hugs you tighter. He won't say it, and that, too, is fine for now. There is always tomorrow, and there always will be.

In time, sleep will come for you both: you first, then Jason. But for now he lays awake, holding you as your lips part and eyes close, your body relaxing into exhaustion again. He thinks about too many things. Can't calm his thoughts.

But maybe there is tomorrow. Maybe for now, you can be his home.

[the-oblivious-writer]

Heavy

Tara Carpenter x Reader

One-Shot

Summary: After surviving a brutal attack that left you in a coma, you awaken to find the love of your life, Tara Carpenter, has vanished from your side despite the endless nights she spent holding your hand through the worst of it.

Warning(s): Trauma, no pronouns, references to past (Scream 6) violence, mental struggles, survivor's guilt, stalking, emotional manipulation (self-imposed), and PTSD.

Notes: I was listening to Red Hot Chili Peppers while writing this.

You never looked more beautiful than when you were dying.

That thought haunts Tara as she lies in her empty bed, tracing patterns on sheets that still smell faintly of your perfume. Three months since she last held your hand in that sterile hospital room. Three months of pretending she made the right choice.

The machines kept time with your heartbeat, a rhythm she memorized during those endless nights at your bedside. Sometimes, she still hears it in her dreams - that steady beeping that meant you were still fighting, still here, still hers. Until she decided you couldn't be hers anymore.

Sam stopped by earlier, concern etched in the corners of her eyes. "You're punishing yourself," she'd said, leaving a container of soup that now sits untouched on Tara's nightstand. Maybe she is. But isn't that better than the alternative? Better than waiting for the next masked figure to emerge from the shadows, seeking to add your name to the growing list of people she's lost?

Your coma lasted six weeks. Six weeks of Tara reading to you, singing softly when the nurses weren't around, telling you all the things she should have said before. How you made her feel safe in a world that had given her every reason not to be. How your laugh could chase away the darkness that sometimes threatened to swallow her whole. How you never treated her like she was broken, even when she felt held together by nothing but stubborn will and surgical tape.

She remembers the first time you kissed her, after that night at the bowling alley. You'd been so careful with her, like you understood without being told that touch wasn't always easy for her anymore. Your hands had framed her face like she was something precious, something worth protecting. If only you'd protected yourself from her instead.

The phone on her nightstand lights up with another missed call from Chad. He's been trying to get her to come out, insisting that isolation isn't the answer. But how can she explain that every time she closes her eyes, she sees you in that hospital bed? The bandages, the bruises, the way your chest rose and fell with mechanical precision because you couldn't breathe on your own. All because someone had wanted to hurt her, and you'd been brave enough - stupid enough - to step between her and the blade.

"I can't lose you," she had whispered to your unconscious form. "I won't survive it."

But when you finally opened your eyes, weak and confused but alive, Tara realized something worse than losing you to death: losing you by choice, pushing you away to keep you safe from the curse that seems to follow her like a shadow.

The breakup was clean, surgical - like so many of the scars that map her body. She'd practiced the words in front of her bathroom mirror until they stopped making her cry. "I can't do this anymore. I need space. I need to focus on healing." All the clichés that meant nothing and everything at once. You'd looked at her with those eyes that always saw too much, and for a moment, she thought you might fight her on it. Almost hoped you would.

But you didn't. You just nodded, pressed a kiss to her forehead that felt like goodbye, and walked away. Maybe you understood. Maybe you were tired of loving someone who carried death in her wake like a bitter perfume.

Tara rolls onto her side, pulling your old high school sweatshirt tighter around herself. It stopped smelling like you weeks ago, but she wears it anyway, a form of self-torture she can't seem to give up. On her desk, photographs mock her with frozen moments of happiness - you and her at the beach, your hair wild with salt air and sunshine. The two of you at the twins' birthday party, your arm around her waist as she actually smiled for the camera. A quiet morning in your apartment, where you'd captured her making coffee in one of your oversized t-shirts, looking at peace in a way she rarely felt anymore.

Her friends tell her she's different now. Quieter. The spark that had started to return during your time together has dimmed again. Even Mindy, who never comments on anything serious, asked if she was okay the other day. Tara had wanted to laugh. Okay? How could she be when you're forced to bear wounds that were meant for her? When she spends her nights parked across from your apartment, engine off, watching the soft glow of your bedroom light like a moth drawn to flame?

She tells herself it's protection, not obsession. That someone needs to make sure you're safe, even if you don't know they're there. But the truth sits heavy in her chest as she watches your silhouette move behind curtains - the way you still favor your left side, a reminder of wounds that were meant for her. Sometimes, she catches glimpses of you leaving for work, and the sight of you walking alone makes her hands shake against the steering wheel. You look smaller somehow, or maybe that's just the distance she's forced between you.

Last week, you almost saw her. You were collecting mail from your box, and something made you turn, scanning the street with that sixth sense you always seemed to have. Tara had ducked down so fast she'd knocked her head against the dashboard, heart thundering so loud she was sure you'd hear it even from across the street. When she finally dared to look again, you were gone, but she could have sworn there were tears on your cheeks.

She knows it's wrong. Knows that if Sam or Chad found out about these nightly vigils, they'd tell her she's sliding back into old patterns, letting trauma dictate her choices. But how can she explain that sleeping is impossible unless she knows you're safe? That every time she closes her eyes without checking on you, her nightmares paint your death in vivid technicolor?

It's only a matter of time before you two cross paths again. It happens at the corner market three blocks from your old shared apartment. The same place where you used to buy cookie dough ice cream at midnight, where Tara would pretend to complain about enabling your sweet tooth while secretly loving how your kisses tasted afterward. She's reaching for coffee - your brand, though she'll never admit it - when she hears the soft intake of breath behind her.

Time stretches like taffy, sticky and overwhelming. Your reflection in the freezer glass is both familiar and foreign - thinner maybe, or just holding yourself differently. The scar above your collarbone peeks out from your shirt collar, a silvery reminder of everything she's tried to forget.

"Tara."

Her name in your mouth still sounds like coming home. She forces herself to turn, to face the reality of you standing three feet away with a basket of groceries hanging from your arm. The fluorescent lights cast shadows under your eyes that weren't there before, and she wonders if you're sleeping any better than she is.

"You look..." The words tangle in her throat. Alive. Beautiful. Like everything I've been running from. "...good."

Your laugh is hollow, nothing like the sound she keeps locked away in her memory. "Liar." You shift your weight, and she catches the slight wince - another reminder of what loving her cost you. "You've lost weight."

"Haven't been hungry much." The confession slips out before she can stop it.

Something flashes across your face - concern, maybe anger. You take a step forward, and she matches it with a step back, her spine hitting the cold glass of the freezer door. The coffee can in her hands shakes slightly.

"Don't," she whispers, but she's not sure if she's talking to you or herself.

"Don't what, Tara? Don't care? Don't worry? Because I tried that. It doesn't work." Your voice cracks on the last word, and she watches you swallow hard. "I see your car, you know. Outside my apartment."

The confession lands like a physical blow. Heat crawls up her neck as shame mingles with something else - relief, maybe, that you still know her well enough to notice. That some part of you is still watching for her too.

"I just..." She closes her eyes, unable to bear the weight of your gaze. "I need to know you're safe."

"Safe?" Now there's definitely anger in your voice. "You want me safe? Then stop making decisions for both of us. Stop deciding what I can and can't handle. Stop-" Your voice breaks, and when she opens her eyes, there are tears tracking down your cheeks. "Stop acting like your love is a death sentence."

The coffee can clatters to the floor, forgotten. Her hands ache to reach for you, to wipe away those tears she caused. But she forces them to stay at her sides, nails digging crescents into her palms.

"You almost died," she says, the words tasting like copper in her mouth. "Because of me. Because I thought I could have this - have you - without danger following. I was wrong."

"No." You step closer, and this time she can't make herself move away. "I almost died because some psychopath decided to come after us with a knife. Not because of you. Never because of you."

Your hand reaches out, hovering just shy of touching her face. She can feel the heat of it, the promise of contact that makes her chest tight with wanting. The market's muzak plays faintly in the background, some old love song that feels like mockery.

"I miss you," you whisper, and it's the gentlest violence she's ever experienced. "I miss you, and I'm not sleeping, and sometimes I think I see you everywhere, only to turn around and find empty space. And then I realized I wasn't imagining it - you were actually there, watching over me like some heartbroken guardian angel."

A sob builds in her throat. "I don't know how to stop loving you."

"Then don't." Your hand finally makes contact, cupping her cheek, and Tara breaks. "Don't stop. Just... come home."

She leans into your touch for one heartbeat, two, allowing herself to remember what it feels like to be held by hands that know all her scars. Then she steps back, away from your warmth, your forgiveness, your love that feels too much like salvation.

"I can't." The words taste like ash. "I'm sorry. I can't."

She runs. Past the dropped coffee, past the concerned clerk, past everything but the sound of you calling her name. It follows her all the way home, where she collapses against her front door and finally lets herself cry for everything she keeps choosing to lose.

The worst part is knowing that if she could do it all over again - live another life, make different choices - she'd still choose you. Still fall for the way you dance off-beat to every song, still melt at how you bring her coffee just the way she likes it, still love you with every broken piece of herself. She'd just do a better job of staying away before you could love her back.

Night settles around her like a familiar weight. In the darkness, she can almost pretend you're still here, that this is just another evening where you'll wrap your arms around her and keep the nightmares at bay. But the bed stays empty, and the shadows stay thick, and somewhere across town, you're probably sleeping peacefully for the first time since you met her.

"I love you," she whispers to the empty room, words she never said enough when she had the chance. "I love you, and that's why I can't keep you."

The silence offers no comfort, no contradiction. Just the steady tick of her bedside clock, counting down the moments until another day without you begins. Another day of being strong enough to keep her distance, of choosing your safety over her happiness. Another day of remembering that sometimes love means knowing when to let go, even when every cell in your body screams to hold on tighter.

Sleep will come eventually, bringing dreams of your smile, your touch, the way you used to look at her like she hung the stars. And tomorrow, she'll wake up and do it all again - loving you from afar, keeping you safe the only way she knows how. Because that's what love is to Tara Carpenter now: not a fairy tale, not a happy ending, but a sacrifice she makes every day to keep you breathing.

Even if it means she can barely breathe herself.

-----------

A/N: the meaning behind The Maria's "Heavy" inspired this.

[zeropro]

Comment Section: Sunstorm edition

Wow! Thanks for the analysis and thoughts, I really appreciate it!

I agree, Starscream is allowed to not want to associate with Sunstorm at all, but he still shouldn't be mean about it haha. It's not like he told Sunstorm to not follow him around and was ignored. Sure Sunstorm should pick up on the hints that he isn't wanted but lbr he was raised by Shockwave in isolation, kid’s a little bit socially inept XD

My Sunstorm isn't as crazy religious as he is in the Dreamwave comics, but he is religious enough to make people like Starscream uncomfortable, especially when as you said he uses religious language to try and connect with Starscream. I personally like the idea that Sunstorm doesnt actually think the old stories are literally true, but he finds comfort in them and so chooses to view his life through that lens. He's more of a philosopher than a religious zealot, and ultimately he is more interested in observing and understanding than converting or preaching. Still, it's one of his special interests so he will talk about it if given the chance, and it definitely makes a lot of people uncomfortable for the reasons you've stated.

Love the observation about Starscream not being used to forgiveness. He don't trust like that, no sirreeeee.

Also it was Rodimus who pushed for the group therapy and Starscream def agreed to it, but he hasn’t really been taking any of the therapy sessions seriously. He was using them as a way to make people like him, like look I can behave, I can do your little therapy stuff, I can pretend to be emotionally and mentally stable, im totally working on myself even tho theres nothing wrong with me and even if there was something wrong with me it’s so deeply rooted theres no point in working on it anyway i mean what? It's all very calculated. Maybe he decided to vent about Sunstorm during their session because he thought it would make the kid leave him alone? Haha, unfortunately for him the opposite happened.

thanks again for your thoughts, hope you’re feeling better by now

If only Starscream could communicate his feelings like a normal person haha.

I like the way you put this. The situation is mad uncomfortable for Starscream yeah. And thanks! I hope you like where it goes.

When I wrote Sunstorm’s dialogue my intention was for starscream to feel validated in a way that he isnt comfortable with but doesnt altogether hate, but then a few people pointed out how it comes off like he’s straight up forgiving him for having trauma (hes forgiving him for saying mean things to him!) and like, yeah starscream wouldnt appreciate feeling patronised x3 Prolly pissed him off. But like, maybe a little bit of the intent made it through? I wanted Starscream to feel seen, but being seen is terrifying when you feel like theres nothing but broken ugliness underneath. so i guess starscream just ends up feeling judged. But also…accepted? Starscream does a confusion.

Starscream has had like three therapy sessions and isnt making any notable progress because he’s more concerned with how he’s being perceived than actively working on himself rn. I actually think this is fine, change doesnt happen quickly. we’ve introduced starscream to an avenue of help and as calculated as it was he did still try it out. I think the seed was planted if he ever does decide he wants to do better. and In his defense, the focus rn for everyone is what do we do about Megatron’s sudden return

lmao this made me chuckle. I wouldnt say he held composure even at Megatron’s worst, but yeah he’d def be frustrated whenever he accidentally goes mask off around the autobots.

That would be very cute, but starscream isnt quite there yet XD. not that anyone would want to hurt sunstorm, he’s like the best boy!

Starscream might worry about Sunstorm exploding, but only because he doesnt want to get caught in the explosion. after therapy, he still couldnt care less if Sunstorm deactivated, but he at least sees him as a person he dislikes rather than an abomination that shockwave made. so…yay progress?

He’s radioactive, so it’s a valid concern! Not that he will explode, he does have control over his outlier ability.

i imagine Rodimus is chill with ex decepticons? he went on a gay roadtrip space adventure with his best friend who is an ex decepticon and they met cyclonus who is an ex decepticon and later picks up sunstorm who is a decepticon affiliated seeker. i think as long as you prove to him you can be chill then he’ll be chill. tbh I think he just wants people to like him.

and It’s not that he doesnt mind if sunstorm blows up, he just has so much confidence in sunstorm not blowing up he doesnt think its a concern!

yeah since his spark is radioactive it hurts passively all the time. it hurts more when he pulls it in and away from others, and the pain spikes when he activates his outlier ability to actually use it, but it hurts less after it’s expelled. part of the reason why he spends so much time in a cr chamber while at shockwave’s lab is because it syphons his energy output and alleviates the pain. a win win for shockwave as he uses that energy to power his lab.

in his defence, he didnt make him radioactive on purpose, that just sorta happened

haha I’m glad y’all really liked that joke XD

of course he has, who hasnt met sunstorm! oh right, megatron…

i wouldn't recommend it. it will burn

TC has seen Sunstorm around like some cryptid, and Bumblebee prolly explained the situation after Sunstorm started staying at autobot base. TC is probably also creeped out by Sunstorm’s existence, but something about his bright eyed apperance reminds him of Starscream before the war…

Skywarp just sees him as some other guy, he’s like not bothered at all. he’s curious about him in that there hasnt been a new seeker in generations. as far as he’s concerned, Sunstorm is literally nothing like Starscream haha

Sunstorm feels bad for TC, and he empathises with Skywarp’s malfunctioning outlier ability.

Im so hecking sorry XD Sunstorm is like basically not in IDW1 at all (he shows up once in the background, and then the second time he’s in the comic arcee hecking murders him pfpfpf). If you want sunstorm content I think he features more in Wings universe and the Dreamwave continuity. I havent read them tho so I don’t actually know haha

but like, aah thanks so much, I really appreciating your kind words. and also thank you everyone who sent me asks and comments and tags. I legit had no idea this project would turn into a whole thing but I’m having fun so I’m glad you all are enjoying it too.

[raikirikiri]

anbu tattoos remain one of my favorite things in naruto purely because they’re like a sign of ownership. anbu ninja are tools moreso than than the normal shinobi of their village. so much so that the village marks them with a signature that everyone recognizes. and even when that anbu—that tool—is allowed to rest, manages to leave anbu ranks, or dies, they remain branded by the village that owns them. they don’t truly escape, they can always be called on again because a tool does not have feelings, it does not have choices, it’s only made to be utilized by those who know how to wield it.

anyway. anbu is so fucked up and minato…i love minato but the illusion that he’s a pure little guy who’s a wife guy and a little shy nerd is crazy. he saw kakashi, someone he’s seen grow up, someone he’s guided and taught, some he’s supposed to care for. and he thought, ah yes, i need to keep you close to me. how best to do it? perfect! you are now forever marked as an asset to me and the village! and he does it with what he assumes to be love in his heart.

and i’m not saying this is a good or a bad thing, the morality of minato’s choices within the context of the story is nothing entirely out of the ordinary, but the way in which he’s portrayed, how we see him and his demeanor… it’s all very much a sweet facade to mask what’s hidden underneath. he’s twisted and calculated and ugh, i love him. because he genuinely thinks he’s doing the best thing he can by kakashi and also by the village. kakashi is talented. he has a sharingan and he’s vulnerable. of course minato wants to help but he also sees an opportunity and he strikes. now they have kakashi of the sharingan in their highest ranks, and he won’t ever be able to escape the duty instilled in him. not unless he becomes a nukenin but everyone knows by that point that kakashi is so indoctrinated, the thought of leaving never crosses his mind.

and then minato dies. and kakashi is still a tool. his feelings should not affect his use. but they do. and for the first time…

kakashi of the sharingan, anbu hound, thinks maybe… leaving the village might be a good idea. if not to get away from everything. he can’t be a good tool if he’s rusty and broken. he can fix himself, he can he can. he doesn’t want to keep breaking over and over again. it hurts it hurts it hurts and the village never puts him back together the right way and for once he just wants to feel whole.

so when kakashi disappears, it’s quiet. it’s full of guilt. ashy tongue, scratchy throat, tears in his eye, and aches in his joints. but he leaves because he needs to be whole to be useful again. but it hurts. it’s not right. he’s not supposed to feel this way. he’s a tool he’s a tool he’s a tool. a weapon. an extension of the village’s wide reach. he almost can’t bear it. he throws up bile all night, on the verge of returning and getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness. he didn’t mean it, he’s sorry he just wants to be better. to feel better.

he doesn’t return that night if only because he can’t make himself get up. his body weak and feverish. he’ll go back the next day.

but he doesnt. he feels better the morning after. only a little bit but it’s enough. maybe he can take care of himself. he can mend his wounds, tighten the loose screws, clean off the rust and dirt. he can do it.

and for every day he stays away, he feels better. more whole. he’s still a shinobi. he does odd jobs when he can but mostly, he takes to helping out villages in need. he likes to help out on different farms, it feels right to him, like something in his muscle memory. he’ll also help with construction if needed, anything that uses his hands in a thoughtful, meaningful manner is good. it makes him feel good.

he likes being a shinobi, he thinks. it doesn’t feel quite right when he says that anymore. but he loves the way it feels when he builds something instead of destroying it. when he uses chakra to make the kids in all the villages he visits eyes light up with joy and wonder. he loves using katon for fires that create. he loves it he loves it he loves it.

it takes time to learn what he’s feeling, and the ever remaining guilt and shame linger in his chest when he remembers that’s he’s supposed to just be a tool and he has to return back to his wielder at some point. but for a long time, years even, kakashi lets himself be something else. something that feels close to human and he thinks he can put off going home a little longer.

[xxspringmelodyxx]

“𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑔𝑜𝓉…”

┗━⊱ 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒅𝒂𝒚, 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒑𝒂𝒚 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 ⊰━┛

⊱ 𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: 𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒐𝒋𝒐, 𝑺𝒖𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖 𝑮𝒆𝒕𝒐, 𝑲𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝑵𝒂𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒊, 𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒐 𝑲𝒂𝒎𝒐, 𝑻𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝑭𝒖𝒔𝒉��𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒐, 𝑺𝒖𝒌𝒖𝒏𝒂 𝑹𝒚𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏 ⊰ wc: 7.0k

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Warnings: Swearing, angst, comfort ⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿✿⋆·˚❀˚·⋆✿

Thank you to another anon for this request! I hope you enjoy! <3333

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Satoru Gojo⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

I sat quietly on the couch, staring at the clock. The day was nearly over, and Satoru still hadn’t mentioned it. My heart ached as I replayed the events of the day in my mind, hoping he would say something—anything—to acknowledge my birthday. But he didn’t. Instead, he went about his usual routine, too busy with his own life to notice how much today meant to me.

When Satoru finally walked into the room, I could barely look at him. Anger, hurt, and disappointment swirled within me. How could he forget? After everything we’ve been through together, how could he overlook something as important as my birthday?

“Hey, baby,” he greeted me with his usual bright smile. “I’m starved. Let’s get something to eat.”

I forced a smile, trying to mask the hurt that was clawing at my chest. “Sure. You go ahead and pick something.”

As we sat at the table later that evening, Satoru was his usual carefree self, talking about his day, his work, and everything else that crossed his mind. But I could barely hear him over the thoughts racing in my head. The man I loved had forgotten my birthday—the one day I had hoped would be special.

That night, as Satoru slept soundly beside me, I lay awake, formulating a plan. If he could forget my birthday, maybe he deserved a taste of his own medicine. Maybe then he’d understand just how much it hurt.

---

A few weeks later, it was Satoru’s birthday. I woke up early, just as I always did, and went about my morning routine. I made breakfast for myself, not bothering to prepare anything for him, and left for work without so much as a “Happy Birthday.”

The entire day, I ignored his texts, his calls, everything. I knew he was probably confused, maybe even hurt, but I didn’t care. Not yet, anyway. This was his punishment.

When I finally returned home that evening, I found Satoru sitting on the couch, a forlorn expression on his face. He didn’t even greet me as I walked in, which was unusual for him.

“baby,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Did I… do something wrong?”

I glanced at him, feigning indifference. “Why would you ask that?”

“It’s my birthday,” he said, his eyes searching mine for some sign of affection. “But… you haven’t said anything. You’ve been distant all day.”

I looked away, the memory of my own forgotten birthday fresh in my mind. “Maybe I just didn’t think it was that important.”

His face fell, and I could see the hurt in his eyes. A pang of guilt tugged at my heart, but I pushed it aside. This was what he deserved. He needed to understand.

“I’m sorry, Satoru,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. “But you didn’t think my birthday was important enough to remember, so why should I care about yours?”

His eyes widened as realization dawned on him. “baby… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to forget. I’ve been so caught up with work, but that’s no excuse. I know I hurt you.”

I turned away from him, not wanting to let him see how much his words affected me. “I just wanted you to understand how it felt. To know what it’s like to be forgotten by the person you care about the most.”

Satoru didn’t say anything for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost broken. “I do understand. And I’ll spend every day making it up to you. Just… please don’t shut me out like this. I don’t want to lose you.”

My resolve weakened. I had hurt him, just as he had hurt me, but the satisfaction I thought I would feel wasn’t there. Instead, all I felt was a deep sadness.

“Come with me,” I said quietly, taking his hand and leading him outside.

We walked in silence to a small clearing in the nearby park. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the area. I had prepared a simple picnic, just some of Satoru’s favorite foods and a blanket to sit on.

“I didn’t forget your birthday,” I finally admitted, my voice soft. “I just wanted you to know how much it hurt when you forgot mine.”

He looked at the picnic and then at me, his eyes filled with emotion. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, pulling me into a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

Tears welled up in my eyes as I returned his embrace. “I know you are. And I forgive you. But you need to understand that it’s not just about the birthday. It’s about making time for each other, about showing that you care, even when life gets busy.”

Satoru nodded, his voice thick with emotion. “I promise I’ll do better. I never want to make you feel like that again.”

We sat together in the fading light, sharing the simple meal I had prepared. There was no need for grand gestures or expensive gifts. All that mattered was that we were together and that we had both learned something valuable.

As the stars began to appear in the night sky, Satoru took my hand in his, squeezing it gently. “Thank you for this,” he said softly. “And happy belated birthday, baby.”

I smiled through my tears, leaning into him. “Happy birthday, Satoru.”

And as we sat there, wrapped in each other’s arms, I knew that this was a moment we would never forget.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Suguru Geto⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The day had started like any other. I woke up to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains, the sound of birds chirping outside. I turned over in bed, expecting to feel Suguru’s warmth beside me, but the space was empty. He must have gotten up early, probably to meditate or attend to his responsibilities.

As I got ready for the day, I found myself checking my phone more often than usual. Every time it buzzed, my heart would leap, only to be disappointed by a random notification or message that wasn’t from him. The hours passed, and still nothing. Not a single mention of my birthday.

I tried to push the thoughts away, convincing myself that he was just busy. Suguru always had a lot on his plate, and I didn’t want to be a burden. But as the day wore on, that familiar ache in my chest grew stronger. How could he forget?

It wasn’t until late afternoon when I heard the excited footsteps of Nanako and Mimiko running through the house. They burst into the room, their faces bright with smiles.

“Happy Birthday, mama!” Nanako exclaimed, throwing her arms around me.

“We made you something!” Mimiko added, holding out a small, hand-drawn card filled with colorful hearts and stars.

I smiled, my heart warming at their thoughtfulness. “Thank you, girls. This means so much to me.”

But the warmth quickly faded as reality hit me. They remembered, but Suguru hadn’t. The girls must have noticed the change in my expression because they exchanged worried glances.

“Did… did Suguru say anything?” Nanako asked cautiously.

I shook my head, forcing a smile. “He’s been busy. It’s okay.”

Mimiko frowned, clearly upset. “But it’s your birthday! He’s supposed to know that!”

“It’s not fair,” Nanako agreed, crossing her arms. “He should be here celebrating with you.”

I tried to reassure them, not wanting to dampen their spirits. “It’s fine, really. Sometimes people forget.”

But as I said it, I knew it wasn’t fine. Not really. And I could see that the girls weren’t convinced either.

---

By evening, I had given up on hoping. I found Suguru in the garden, sitting under the large oak tree, his eyes closed in quiet contemplation. He looked peaceful, almost ethereal, as if the worries of the world couldn’t touch him. But I couldn’t share in that peace. Not today.

“Hey,” I called out softly as I approached.

Suguru opened his eyes and smiled up at me. “Hey, you. Come join me.”

I hesitated for a moment before sitting down beside him. We sat in silence for a while, the only sounds around us being the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of the city.

“I was thinking we could do something tonight,” he said eventually, turning to me with a gentle expression. “Maybe grab dinner, take a walk, or just stay in and watch something. What do you think?”

My heart sank. Even now, he didn’t realize what today was. “Sure,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “Whatever you want.”

Suguru reached out and took my hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Are you okay? You seem a little… distant.”

Before I could respond, Nanako and Mimiko came rushing into the garden, their expressions a mix of disbelief and frustration.

“Suguru!” Nanako exclaimed, her hands on her hips. “How could you forget Y/N’s birthday?”

Mimiko nodded vigorously, her eyes wide. “We remembered, and we’re just kids!”

Suguru’s eyes widened as the color drained from his face. He looked at me, then back at the girls. “What…? No, I didn’t forget…”

But the truth was written all over his face. He had forgotten.

“Suguru,” I said quietly, pulling my hand from his. “It’s okay. I understand that you’ve been busy.”

“No, it’s not okay,” Nanako insisted, glaring at Suguru. “You need to make this right!”

Suguru looked utterly lost, his usual calm demeanor shattered. “Y/N… I’m so sorry. I’ve been so caught up in everything else, but that’s no excuse. I can’t believe I forgot.”

The girls stood there, arms crossed, waiting for his next move. I could tell they were upset, not just for me, but because they looked up to Suguru so much. He was their protector, their guide—and he had let us all down.

I took a deep breath, feeling the hurt begin to ebb into something more manageable. “Suguru… maybe you should talk to the girls for a bit. I’m going to go for a walk.”

---

The days that followed were a blur of awkward silence and half-hearted attempts at reconciliation. Suguru apologized repeatedly, but something between us had shifted. We still lived together, went through the motions, but it felt different. The warmth, the easy laughter—it all seemed distant.

I could tell he was trying. He left me small gifts, little notes apologizing again, and gestures meant to make up for his forgetfulness, but I wasn’t ready to forgive so easily. Every time I looked at him, I couldn’t help but remember the hurt I felt on my birthday, the sting of being forgotten by the person I loved most.

Instead of dwelling on the pain, I began working on something special. Each time I withdrew from him, it was because I was spending hours in my little crafting corner, crocheting. I decided to create something that would remind him of what mattered most—something that would mean more than words ever could.

I crocheted tiny versions of us: Suguru, me, the girls, and even his beloved dragon. Each doll took hours of painstaking work, and every stitch was filled with the love I still held for him, despite the distance between us. As the days passed and his birthday drew nearer, I worked in secret, pouring my heart into the project.

On the morning of his birthday, I acted as if it were just another day. I made breakfast, but didn’t acknowledge the significance of the date. Suguru watched me, his eyes filled with hope that today would be different, but I remained distant, giving him only short, polite answers to his attempts at conversation.

As the day went on, I could see the realization dawning on him. I wasn’t going to acknowledge his birthday. He tried to mask his disappointment, but it was clear in the way his shoulders slumped, in the way he avoided meeting my gaze.

By evening, Suguru seemed to have given up. He sat on the couch, staring blankly at the television, but not really watching it. The once lively atmosphere in our home had turned somber, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension.

I felt a pang of guilt. This wasn’t how I wanted things to be. I had wanted him to understand, but now I was only adding to the pain. Taking a deep breath, I decided it was time to make things right.

---

“Suguru,” I said softly, approaching him where he sat. He looked up at me, his eyes tired and filled with a mix of emotions—confusion, sadness, and a glimmer of hope.

I began, pulling out a small box. I opened it to reveal the tiny crocheted dolls, each one representing him, me, the girls, and his dragon. His eyes widened in surprise, his breath catching as he took in the sight.

“I didn’t forget your birthday,” I continued, my voice trembling slightly. “Every time I ignored you, I was working on this. I wanted you to have something that would remind you of what’s important—of us, of the family we’ve built.”

Suguru stared at the dolls, his fingers gently brushing over the tiny figures. Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked back at me. “Y/N… this is… I don’t even have words. Thank you.”

Before I could say more, I signaled to the girls, who had been hiding nearby. They came out, beaming, carrying a small cake with candles lit. As they started singing "Happy Birthday," Suguru’s face broke into a wide, emotional smile.

The girls’ voices were filled with joy, and as they sang, I could see the weight lifting from Suguru’s shoulders. When they finished, he blew out the candles, and the girls cheered, wrapping their arms around him in a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru whispered to me as the girls giggled and clung to him. “I’m sorry for everything.”

I leaned in, placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “I know, Suguru. I forgive you. Don’t do it again though, or else I’ll never make you crocheted stuff again!” I joke

He nodded, his eyes still misty. “I promise, my dear. I’ll do better. I never want to make you feel like that again.”

As we sat together, sharing the cake and enjoying the night, I felt a sense of peace settle over us. The tension had lifted, replaced by the warmth

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Kento Nanami⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

The day Nanami forgot my birthday, I felt the hurt sink deep into my chest, but I didn’t let it show. I had spent the entire day waiting, hoping he would remember—waiting for a text, a call, something to acknowledge the day. But as the hours passed, it became clear that he wasn’t going to.

When he finally got home late that night, he looked exhausted, his usual composed demeanor weighed down by the day’s work. He walked in with a tired smile, greeted me with a kiss on the forehead, and headed straight for the shower without a single mention of my birthday. Not even a glance at the beautifully set table I had prepared or the dinner that was now cold and untouched.

I swallowed the hurt, forcing a smile when he emerged from the shower. I knew that if he didn’t care enough to remember, I wasn’t going to remind him. Instead, I decided I would give him a taste of his own medicine.

The days turned into weeks, and I carried on as if nothing was wrong. I acted like the perfect partner, hiding my disappointment behind a veil of normalcy. I waited patiently, knowing that Nanami’s birthday was approaching, and I had every intention of “accidentally” forgetting it.

When his birthday finally arrived, I made sure to play my part flawlessly. I woke up early, just like any other day, and went about my routine without acknowledging the significance of the date. Nanami, ever the observant one, noticed the lack of celebration. He glanced at me throughout the day, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and disappointment, but he never said a word.

By the time evening rolled around, I could see the weight of the day pressing down on him. But instead of confronting the silence, Nanami buried himself in paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. It was clear he was using work as a distraction, trying to avoid the painful realization that I hadn’t acknowledged his birthday.

He sat at the dining table, papers spread out before him, the soft scratching of his pen the only sound in the room. Every so often, he would glance at the empty space where I usually sat, but I stayed in the kitchen, letting the silence speak for itself.

As the night grew late, I knew the lesson had been learned. Nanami’s shoulders were tense, his movements growing slower as the exhaustion and disappointment weighed on him. He looked up as I approached, his eyes weary, filled with a quiet hurt.

“I’m going to the kitchen to grab something,” I said casually, as if the day had been completely ordinary.

He nodded absently, his focus returning to the papers in front of him, though I could see the conflict in his eyes. He was trying to push through the pain, to keep working, but the disappointment was too heavy to ignore.

A few minutes later, I returned with a small cake in one hand and a neatly wrapped gift in the other. Nanami looked up, his pen still in hand, and his eyes widened in surprise as he saw what I was holding.

“Happy Birthday, Kento,” I said softly, placing the cake on the table beside his paperwork.

His expression was a mixture of guilt and relief as he slowly put down his pen. “You… you didn’t forget?”

I shook my head, a small smile playing on my lips. “No, I didn’t forget. But I wanted you to feel what I felt.”

He stared at the cake and the gift for a long moment before finally meeting my eyes as he was hit with realization. His voice thick with emotion. “I’m…im sorry, honey. I’m so sorry for forgetting yours.”

I sighed, sitting down beside him. “It wasn’t just about forgetting the date, Kento. It’s about feeling like I don’t matter enough to be remembered. That hurts more than anything.”

Nanami reached out and took my hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You do matter. More than anything. I’ve been so consumed with work that I lost sight of what’s truly important. I’ll never let that happen again.”

I smiled, leaning into him as I spoke. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

As we shared the cake and he opened the simple, meaningful gift I had prepared—a reminder of our time together—I could see the relief and determination in his eyes. The tension that had built up over the past few weeks began to dissolve, replaced by a renewed sense of connection between us.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Choso Kamo⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

It was already midday, and I hadn’t heard a word from Choso. The hours had slipped by with no messages, no calls—nothing to indicate that he remembered what today was. My heart sank a little more with each passing minute, but I tried to push the thoughts away, convincing myself that he was probably busy.

I picked up my phone, deciding to reach out to him instead. Maybe he was planning something and just hadn’t had the chance to text yet.

“Hey, what are you up to today?” I typed, hoping for some sign that he hadn’t completely forgotten.

A few minutes later, his reply came through: “Hanging out with Yuuji! We’re at the arcade right now, having a blast. How about you?”

I stared at the screen, the pit in my stomach growing heavier. He was at the arcade, completely engrossed in his day with Yuuji. And he hadn’t even asked about mine.

“Glad you’re having fun. I’m just relaxing at home,” I replied, trying to keep the bitterness out of my words. I didn’t add anything else, not wanting to come off as passive-aggressive. But it hurt—there was no denying that.

The rest of the day passed slowly. I tried to distract myself with chores, reading, anything to take my mind off the fact that Choso had forgotten. But nothing really worked. The disappointment lingered, gnawing at me with every hour that passed.

By the time evening rolled around, I had resigned myself to the fact that Choso wasn’t going to remember. I decided not to cook anything special; instead, I settled for leftovers from the night before. I sat at the table, eating alone, the quiet of the apartment only amplifying the ache in my chest.

It was well into the night when I finally heard the door open. Choso walked in, his face lit up with a smile as he kicked off his shoes. “Baby, you should’ve come with us! Yuuji and I had the best time today,” he said, his voice full of enthusiasm as he headed toward the kitchen where I was tidying up.

I glanced over my shoulder at him, forcing a smile. “Sounds like you had a great day.”

He nodded, oblivious to my strained tone. “Yeah, we did! We hit up the arcade, grabbed some ramen, and then just wandered around for a bit. I haven’t had a day like this in a long time.”

I turned back to the sink, scrubbing a plate a little harder than necessary. “I’m glad you had fun.”

Choso’s smile faltered as he noticed the tension in my shoulders. He walked over to me, placing a hand on my arm. “Hey… are you okay?”

I shrugged, not trusting myself to speak just yet. I could feel his eyes on me, searching for answers that I wasn’t ready to give.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice softer now, laced with concern.

I set the plate down and turned to face him, meeting his gaze head-on. “Choso, do you know what today is?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. “Today? Uh… it’s Saturday?”

I sighed, the hurt in my chest expanding. “It’s my birthday, Choso.”

His eyes widened, and the color drained from his face as the realization hit him. “Oh, no…baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I was so caught up with Yuuji that I didn’t even think—”

“You didn’t think,” I repeated, my voice trembling. “You spent the entire day with Yuuji, having fun, while I sat here waiting for you to remember. But you didn’t.”

Choso’s face crumpled with guilt, and he stepped closer, his hands reaching for mine. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I forgot your birthday. I didn’t mean to—”

I pulled away, shaking my head. “It’s like I’m not important enough to be remembered. Like I come second.”

His shoulders sagged, and he looked down at the floor, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not second, baby. You’re everything to me. I just… I messed up. I’m sorry.”

I watched him, my heart heavy with the weight of the day. I knew he hadn’t meant to hurt me, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear. “I needed you today, Choso. I needed you to remember.”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. And I’ll spend every day making it up to you. I promise.”

For a long moment, we stood there in silence, the words hanging between us. Finally, I sighed, letting some of the tension slip away. “It’s okay,” I said quietly. “But next time, don’t forget.”

Choso looked up at me, his eyes filled with remorse. “I won’t. I promise.”

He pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly as if afraid to let go. I leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace soothe some of the hurt. It would take time to fully move past the disappointment, but I knew that we would get there. After all, love isn’t about never making mistakes—it’s about learning from them and growing together.

A few months passed, and Choso’s birthday was just around the corner. Despite his promises to make it up to me, the hurt from my birthday still lingered in the back of my mind. I decided that maybe it was time for him to experience what it felt like to be forgotten—just for a little while.

When his birthday arrived, I played my part perfectly. I woke up early, just like any other day, and went about my routine without acknowledging the significance of the date. Choso seemed puzzled, his eyes flicking toward me with an unspoken question as the morning passed in silence.

Instead of spending the day with him, I made plans to hang out with Shoko. “I’m going out for a bit,” I said casually, grabbing my bag and heading for the door. “Don’t wait up.”

Choso looked at me, his confusion deepening. “Wait, where are you going? It’s—”

“Just meeting Shoko for lunch,” I cut in, my tone light. “I’ll be back later.”

I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I left, closing the door behind me. As I walked to meet Shoko, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. He had no idea what was coming.

Shoko and I spent the day gathering everyone together at the park, making sure everything was set up perfectly for Choso’s surprise party. The weather was perfect—a clear, sunny day with just enough breeze to keep things comfortable. We set up tables under the shade of the trees, decorated with lights and streamers, and laid out blankets on the grass for everyone to sit on.

It was hard to keep the secret, especially when I received a few texts from Choso throughout the day, asking what I was up to and if I was planning anything. I kept my replies vague, letting him stew in the uncertainty.

By evening, the preparations were complete. The park was filled with our friends, all smiling and laughing as they waited for the guest of honor. The atmosphere was warm and inviting, with the smell of grilled food wafting through the air and the sound of children playing in the distance.

I texted Choso one last time, telling him I was on my way back and that I needed him to meet me at the park. He responded quickly, his messages a mix of curiosity and confusion.

When he arrived at the park, he looked around, clearly unsure of what was happening. I walked up to him with a smile, taking his hand and leading him toward the gathering.

As we approached, everyone jumped out from their hiding spots, shouting, “Surprise!”

Choso froze, his eyes wide as he took in the scene before him. The park was filled with our friends, all smiling and cheering, the tables laden with food and a cake in the center. Shoko was grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying the look of shock on Choso’s face.

“You… you planned all this?” Choso asked, his voice filled with disbelief.

I nodded, unable to suppress my smile. “Happy Birthday, Cho~”

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at me with a mix of awe and guilt. Then, without warning, he pulled me into a tight embrace, holding me as if he never wanted to let go.

“I thought… I thought you forgot,” he whispered against my hair, his voice trembling slightly.

I pulled back just enough to look up at him, my smile softening. “I wanted you to know what it felt like. But I would never forget your birthday, Choso.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with emotion. “I’m sorry for what happened on your birthday. I’ll never take you for granted again.”

I leaned up to kiss him gently, letting the warmth of his words sink in. “I know you won’t. Now, let’s enjoy your party.”

As we joined our friends in the park and celebrated his birthday, the lingering hurt from my own began to fade away. Choso had learned his lesson, and I knew that our bond was stronger for it. After all, love is about forgiveness, understanding, and sometimes, a little playful revenge.

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Toji Fushiguro⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

It was late, the darkness outside the window deepening with each passing minute. The apartment was quiet, save for the distant hum of city life. I sat at the dining table, staring at the cold meal I had prepared hours earlier. The candles had long since burned out, leaving only wisps of smoke and the scent of wax lingering in the air.

Toji was supposed to be home by now. He had left early in the morning for a mission, one of those jobs that could go on indefinitely. I knew how these missions worked—time blurred when he was out there, his focus entirely on the task at hand. But today, of all days, I had hoped he would remember to come home.

As the hours stretched into the night, I finally realized that he wasn’t coming back—not in time to celebrate my birthday, at least. There had been no message, no call, not even a sign that he remembered. The weight of disappointment settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I couldn’t shake it off.

I cleared the table quietly, putting away the untouched food. My movements were slow, almost mechanical, as if any sudden motion might crack the fragile calm I was trying to maintain. I blew out the last candle and headed to bed, my heart heavy with the realization that Toji had forgotten.

When I crawled into bed, the sheets were cold, and the emptiness beside me felt like a void I couldn’t fill. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying the day in my mind. It hurt more than I wanted to admit, but I wasn’t one to dwell on things I couldn’t change.

The next morning, I woke up to the sound of the front door creaking open. Toji’s footsteps were heavy, and I could hear the rustle of his clothes as he dropped his gear by the door. He was back, finally.

I stayed in bed, listening as he moved through the apartment, his footsteps hesitant as he approached the bedroom. The door creaked open, and I felt him pause in the doorway.

“You awake?” His voice was low, cautious.

I turned over, meeting his gaze. He looked tired, his clothes rumpled and his eyes slightly red. I nodded, sitting up slowly. “Yeah, I’m awake.”

He came closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t get back sooner. The mission…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“It’s fine,” I replied, my voice steady but distant. “You’re home now.”

Toji studied my face, his brows knitting together in concern. “Did something happen?”

I shook my head, forcing a small smile. “No. Nothing happened.”

He frowned, clearly picking up on the underlying tension. “You sure? You seem… off.”

I didn’t reply immediately, letting the silence stretch between us. Finally, I looked him in the eye. “It was my birthday yesterday.”

Toji blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to realization. He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t… I completely forgot.”

I nodded, looking down at my hands. “I know. You were busy.”

He reached out, placing a hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t mean to forget. You know that, right? I just… I get so caught up in this stuff, and time slips away.”

“I know,” I said quietly. “But it still hurt.”

Toji’s grip tightened slightly, his face clouded with guilt. “I’ll make it up to you. I swear.”

I met his gaze, my voice calm but firm. “I just…sometimes you need to understand that there are more important things than work. I am grateful for you working, but I’m even more grateful when you spend time with me.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing my words. “You’re right. I’ll do better. I promise.”

The week passed quickly, and soon it was the night before Toji’s birthday. He hadn’t mentioned it once, likely feeling guilty about what had happened on mine. But I had a plan, one that would show him I wasn’t holding a grudge, even if I had been hurt.

On the day of his birthday, Toji left for another short mission, unaware of what I had in store. I spent the day preparing, making sure everything was perfect. I arranged a quiet dinner at a small, secluded cabin outside the city—a place where we could escape from everything and just focus on each other.

—

When he returned that evening, he was not met with your wonderful kisses, or the beautiful sounds of your voice or laughter. It was just empty. Were you ignoring him?

He felt a pang in his chest. He didn’t realize how badly it would impact him to be alone on his birthday. It reminded him of old times.

“Doll? You here?” He asked, his voice filled with desperation. But all he heard was the sounds of the lights buzzing.

He slumped over, feeling his heart ache. Now he knew how you felt, and it was awful. He hated the feeling, but he knew he deserved it. Its all he deserved…

As Toji walked further into your shared home, he found a note on the table with instructions to meet you at the cabin.

You had arranged for a car to take him there, knowing he would be too tired to drive himself.

—

When Toji arrived at the cabin, the sun had just dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. The cabin was lit warmly from the inside, a soft glow spilling out onto the porch.

He stepped inside cautiously, calling out my name. “Baby?”

I appeared from the kitchen, smiling softly as I wiped my hands on a towel. “Happy Birthday, Toji.”

His eyes widened slightly as he took in the sight of the cozy, candle-lit cabin, the table set with a simple but delicious-looking meal. He looked at me, his expression a mix of surprise and gratitude.

“You did all this… for me?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded, walking over to him. “I did. I wanted to do something special, just for us.”

He reached out, pulling me into his arms, his embrace tight and warm. “I thought… after what happened on your birthday… I didn’t think you’d want to do anything.”

I pulled back slightly, looking up at him. “I was hurt, Toji. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. I wanted to show you that we can still make time for each other, even when things get tough.”

He nodded, his expression softening as he leaned down to kiss me gently. “Thank you, doll. I needed this. I needed you.”

We spent the evening together, just the two of us, away from the chaos of his work and the pressures of everyday life. As we sat by the fire later that night, Toji pulled me close, his voice soft and sincere.

“I’ll do better,” he promised. “I won’t let work come between us again.”

I rested my head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of the fire and the steady beat of his heart. “We’ll be okay, Toji. As long as we have each other, we’ll be okay.”

✩⁺₊✩☽⋆Sukuna Ryomen⋆☾✩⁺₊✩

Sukuna was never one to dwell on sentimentality. His world was one of power, control, and dominance. He wasn’t one to coddle or concern himself with trivial matters like birthdays. I knew this about him from the beginning, yet, somehow, a part of me hoped that he would remember—just this once.

The day passed quietly. Sukuna was his usual self—intense, brooding, and wholly consumed by his own thoughts. We spent the day in the manor, a place that felt more like a fortress than a home. The dark halls echoed with silence, the air thick with an unspoken tension.

I had learned long ago not to expect much from Sukuna when it came to displays of affection. But today, of all days, I had hoped for something different. A simple acknowledgment, a word, anything that showed he remembered.

But as the hours slipped by, it became clear that he didn’t. There were no subtle glances, no lingering touches, nothing to suggest that today held any significance for him. The weight of disappointment settled over me like a shadow, growing heavier with each passing minute.

By evening, I had resigned myself to the reality of the situation. Sukuna, the King of Curses, had forgotten my birthday. It shouldn’t have surprised me, yet the sting was still sharp.

I found him in the grand hall, seated on his throne-like chair, lost in thought. His eyes were half-lidded, his expression unreadable as he gazed out into the darkness beyond the windows.

I approached him quietly, my footsteps barely making a sound on the cold stone floor. “Sukuna,” I called out softly, my voice almost lost in the vastness of the hall.

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze slowly shifting to me as if I were an afterthought. “What is it?” he asked, his tone indifferent.

I hesitated for a moment, searching his eyes for any sign of recognition, but there was none. I forced a small smile, trying to hide the disappointment that threatened to spill over. “Nothing. I just wanted to say goodnight.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing the change in my demeanor. “Goodnight? Already?”

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my voice steady. “I’m tired. It’s been a long day.”

He didn’t question me further, simply nodding as he turned his gaze back to the darkness. “Very well.”

I turned and walked away, my heart heavy with unspoken words. As I made my way to the bedroom, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being forgotten, of being insignificant in the eyes of the man I loved.

The next morning, I woke early, my mind already working on what I needed to do. Sukuna’s birthday was in a few days, and while I had initially planned something special, the hurt from yesterday still lingered. I decided to change my approach—he needed to understand what it felt like to be overlooked.

For the next few days, I continued my usual routine, but I was distant. I didn’t linger in the halls where he might pass, didn’t seek him out for our usual conversations. I kept to myself, letting the silence stretch between us.

Sukuna, in his usual manner, didn’t comment on the change. He was too proud, too detached to ask why I was being distant. But I could see the flicker of curiosity in his eyes whenever we crossed paths, the subtle tightening of his jaw when I didn’t engage with him as I normally would.

The day of Sukuna’s birthday arrived, and I played my part perfectly. I went about my tasks as if it were just another day, not once acknowledging the date. I didn’t greet him in the morning, didn’t prepare anything special. I simply acted as if it held no importance at all.

As the hours passed, I could feel the tension growing. Sukuna wasn’t one to show vulnerability, but I knew him well enough to sense the shift in his demeanor. By the time evening rolled around, the air was thick with unspoken words.

I found him in the same grand hall, seated in his usual spot. His gaze was sharper this time, his expression more focused as I approached.

“My pet,” he called out as I entered, his voice carrying a subtle edge.

I paused, meeting his gaze with a calm expression. “Yes?”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve been busy.”

“With what?” he demanded, his tone growing sharper.

I raised an eyebrow, tilting my head slightly. “Does it matter?”

His eyes flashed with irritation, and he stood, closing the distance between us in a few quick strides. “You’re hiding something,” he accused, his voice low and dangerous.

I met his gaze evenly, refusing to back down. “Am I?”

His grip on my arm tightened slightly, not enough to hurt, but enough to show that he wasn’t pleased. “Yes. You are.”

I sighed softly, letting the silence stretch between us for a moment before finally speaking. “It’s your birthday, Sukuna.”

His eyes widened slightly, the only indication that he was surprised. “You remembered?”

“Of course I did,” I replied, my voice steady. “But you didn’t remember mine.”

Sukuna’s expression darkened, his grip on my arm loosening as he processed my words. For a moment, there was only silence between us, the weight of my statement hanging heavily in the air.

“I…” he began, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

“You forgot,” I continued, my voice soft but firm. “You didn’t even realize what day it was.”

He stared at me, the realization sinking in. For the first time, I saw something flicker in his eyes—regret, perhaps, or guilt. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

“I didn’t mean to,” he finally said, his voice quieter than usual.

“I know,” I replied, my tone softening. “But it still hurt.”

Sukuna let out a slow breath, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m not good at… these things.”

I stepped closer, placing a hand on his chest. “I don’t need grand gestures, Sukuna. I just need to know that I matter to you.”

He looked down at me, his expression unreadable for a moment before he finally nodded. “You do. More than you know.”

I smiled slightly, feeling the tension begin to ease. “Then show me. Don’t just say it.”

He hesitated for a moment before nodding again, more firmly this time. “I will.”

That evening, we didn’t have a grand celebration, but we did spend it together. Sukuna, true to his word, made an effort to show me that I mattered. It wasn’t in the form of gifts or elaborate displays of affection—those weren’t his style. But he stayed close, his presence a silent acknowledgment of the mistake he had made.

And as we sat together in the quiet of the night, I realized that, despite his flaws and his pride, Sukuna was capable of learning, of growing. It would take time, but I was willing to be patient. Because love, especially with someone like Sukuna, wasn’t about perfection. It was about understanding, forgiveness, and the small moments where we could find common ground.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I have been thinking about this for a while

Reader that got sucked into the portal came back, stanley is overjoyed and is slowly healing from the guilt, ford and the others are very happy for them...

If weirdmageddon still happen and stanley has to lose his memory to defeat bill, how would reader react?

You knew it needed to be done but that didn’t make it hurt less to see the man you loved, the man you had spend thirty unfair years away from, look at you like a stranger as you pulled away from the one sided hug.

‘Stanley.’ You whispered in hopes that it would elicit some familiarity within him, but nothing his eyes were still confused and dazed as they were five minutes ago, which only proved in breaking your heart further as a broken sob broke from your lips as you burrowed your face into his shoulder. Stanley didn’t know who you were or what you were to him but he couldn’t let someone as gorgeous/handsome as you cry into his shoulder without at least trying to give you comfort by awkwardly patting you on the back.

‘His mind has been completely wiped y/n.’ Ford began as he could feel his own heart break at the sight of two lovers who were separated unfairly, brought back together, only to be separated once again by means of memory wiping one of them to save an entire town. He couldn’t imagine what you were going through as you had only came back from the portal not even a couple of days ago, it wasn’t fair on you and he knew it but before making the deal with Bill, Stanley made Ford promise to look after you and the twins should anything happen to him during the whole ordeal.

‘He doesn’t remember us…’ he then trailed off as it seemed that his words only made you tighten your grasp on Stanley, who’s tightened in return as he glared as his twin brother, though that major fact was lost on him, as to Stanley he might as week be falling at his own mirrored reflection more so then an actual relative.

‘Hey! Stop making the pretty person cry harder than they already are!’ Stan barks as he rubs his hand up and down your back before his face softens as he whispers to you, ‘someone as pretty as you shouldn’t cry for no one.’ This only made you sob even harder as this was one of the very first things that Stanley ever said to you after your breakup with your douche of an ex. It was also the first time you knew that this man would become incredibly special to you, even if he did do stuff that annoyed you, but you couldn’t help but love Stanley for who he was; a loveable man with a big heart forced to mask it thanks in due to his crappy fathers influence.

You didn’t know if you’d ever get your Stanley back, the Stanley that whenever you were annoyed with him would kiss your face until you smiled, the Stanley that would swipe money form people with deep pockets just to spoil you with it later for an impromptu date night, the Stanley you loved even when he had a mullet and looking good with it too; However you were determined to get him back in any means possible, you didn’t want to go through the remainder of your life without him ever again, you already did that and it was the most horrible thing you’ve experienced.

Sure the portal and the multiverse you’ve traveled and became notoriously wanted in -Stanley would be proud- has hardened you but one thing remained true, Stanley was your weakness, your Achilles heel as he was your soulmate through and through. So if there was anyway to getting his memories back you’d do it no matter what, no matter how long it took because all you wanted was your Stanley back, and you will get him back.

[eternallyordinary]

"He Belongs to You" Part 19

⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。

I KNOW MY KIDS ARE HUNGRY LETS EAT <33333 i've been reading through previous chapters and tweaking some things (note to self: write before you're half a bottle of wine deep) lololol anyways pls send me any suggestions and pls pls reblog if you’re enjoying the series :') i'm so hyperfixated on homelander rn i won't be ending this series anytime soon!!! but if i do find a new obsession i promise i'll give y'all a killer ending hehe. love you baddies <3

Series Masterlist<3

Summary: Homelander has shown you his darkest sides. Why can't you do the same?

Warnings: violence, language, posessive behavior, trauma, SA trauma, controlling partner, yandere (lmk if i forgot something)

⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。

The text message echoed in your mind, looping like a broken record.

we need to talk. it’s about them. we need to talk. it’s about them.

Each repetition sent a fresh wave of unease through you, your anxiety clawing its way to the surface.

And of course, Homelander noticed. How could he not?

No matter how skilled you’d become at masking your emotions from the world, hiding them from him was nearly impossible. He caught the subtle signs—the way your fingers picked at your cuticles, the restless way you toyed with the hem of your top.

Every tell, every shift in your body language, laid bare under his unwavering gaze.

Your phone continues to vibrate against the kitchen counter.

Fuck. Can it stop?

A second time.

A third.

The sound is deafening in the silence, each buzz drilling further into your nerves.

Homelander’s gaze snaps to it, jaw tightening at the way your fingers hesitate—at the way you just stare at the screen, like it holds something you don’t want him to see.

And honestly? You don’t even know why. You have no idea what this message means. But you know how things go. You know how baggage pushes people away, how it warps the way they look at you.

And him? Homelander? He’s the last person you want to see you unravel.

So you hesitate. You stall.

Stupid girl.

As if he wouldn’t figure it out.

His expression shifts—annoyance first, then suspicion.

His blue eyes flick to yours, sharp, searching.

Reading you like a book you thought you’d kept locked shut.

He storms over to the phone, snatching it off the counter before hurling it into your hands.

"You're acting weird." His voice is tight, clipped—like he's barely holding something back.

"What?" you stammer, but you already know what’s coming.

"Unlock it."

"Homelander, I don't know who it is. I promise—"

"Now."

The word is sharp, slicing through the tension like a blade.

Your breath catches in your throat. His eyes are locked on you—unblinking, expectant. The weight of his stare alone makes your hands shake as you bring the phone closer, your fingerprint hovering over the screen before it unlocks with a soft click.

His gaze drops, scanning the message.

A slow exhale.

A pause.

Then—his eyes snap back up.

"Who the fuck is this?"

You swallow hard. "I—I don’t know."

That answer isn’t enough. You see it in the way his jaw twitches, the way his grip tightens around the phone.

His stare sharpens, cutting straight through you. "And why don't you feel like you can just tell me you got a weird fucking text message? You should be able to trust me. Unless there's something you're hiding, sweetheart?"

Your heart pounds. "I promise, I'm not hiding anything, I just... I don't want to keep involving you in my shit."

That was the wrong thing to say.

In an instant, his hand is on your face. His fingers dig into your jaw—not quite bruising, but just shy of it. A warning.

And then—he laughs. Low. Bitter. Cold.

"You still don't get it, do you?" he echoes, shaking his head. "Fucking hell."

His grip doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens.

"I killed them all. And I told you, I'd kill anyone else. I told you nothing you could do, nothing you could say could change the way I feel about you."

His thumb drags over your cheek, slow and deliberate, his tone twisting into something almost... desperate.

"You saw me caked in fucking blood after murdering them, and you still don't trust me. I'm trying to change for you, trying to give you all of myself."

His grip loosens just slightly—just enough for his thumb to trace over your bottom lip, his other hand falling to your waist.

"Why can't you just fucking open up?"

"It's not that I don't trust you. I do. I just..." You hesitate, swallowing hard, your throat tightening around the words. "I'll never not think of myself as damaged goods. And I know you fucking hate that. I know."

His expression darkens, but you push forward before he can stop you.

"I thought killing them would make it go away. But it’s been twelve hours and someone is already saying something else. Next thing, I’ll be plastered all over TMZ, then on CNN, forced to make a statement about my past—about something I was trying to bury. Something I've been trying to let go of for years now."

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to keep going.

"You’re a man. You’re Homelander. You can do whatever the fuck you want. Walk through life untouched. But me?" Your voice cracks. "I’m a woman. A new member of The Seven. And now? Put rape victim on top of that—"

Before you can even finish, he moves.

In a blink, he grabs the coffee maker off the counter and hurls it across the room.

It shatters against the wall—not just breaking, but going through it, leaving a jagged hole in the drywall.

The room is dead silent, save for the sound of plastic and glass hitting the floor.

You go rigid, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Homelander's chest rises and falls, his fingers twitching at his sides, still tensed from the throw. His jaw clenches so tightly it looks like it might snap.

Then—he speaks.

"How many times do I have to tell you to stop talking about yourself that way?!"

It’s not a question.

It’s a demand.

And the way he says it—it’s not anger, not just frustration. It’s something worse. It’s hurt. A raw, aching wound buried under layers of rage.

You freeze.

He’s coming undone.

And it’s your fault.

He doesn’t even look at you as he straightens his suit. He smooths out the fabric, adjusting the cuffs of his gloves with slow, methodical movements. Composing himself. Or at least, trying to.

Rebuilding the mask. Something he's used to do doing.

Then, his voice—flat, cold, distant.

"I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to say something I'll regret."

You reach for him, fingers brushing against his arm, desperate to hold onto something—anything—but he brushes you off.

"Not now."

Those words cut sharper than any blade.

He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders back. "Sorry about the mess. I'll have maintenance come by."

His tone is impassive, detached, like he’s discussing a minor inconvenience, not a coffee maker lodged into the fucking wall.

He’s already somewhere else—mentally, emotionally—leaving you behind before he even walks out the door.

"I have to go to the convention early. Some bullshit VIP booth."

You stare at him, trying to find him in all that cold steel, but he won’t meet your eyes.

"Please don't respond to them. Don’t say anything. And don’t hide anything else from me. It won't end well for either of us."

His head tilts slightly, blue eyes flicking to yours—a warning.

"I mean it."

And then—

In a blur of red and blue, he’s gone.

The force of his departure rattles the apartment, the loose pieces of broken plastic from the coffee maker skittering across the tile.

And for the first time since you met him—he leaves without you.

__

You're still shaken as you gather your things.

What is this feeling?

Guilt? No—disappointment.

You let him down.

The thought clings to you like a stain, sinking into your chest, suffocating. Your mommy issues claw at the back of your mind, flipping through memories like pages in a book—replaying, problem-solving, obsessing. Trying to find a way to make this right.

Trying to find a way to make yourself right.

Because that’s what it always comes back to, doesn’t it?

If you were better. Stronger. Whole.

Then this wouldn’t be happening.

You force yourself to push the morning aside, trying to believe that things will smooth over once you see him again. That this will pass.

It will, right?

It has to.

The last thing you want to do is go to this stupid fucking event—to pretend, to smile, to take photos with screaming kids and their exhausted parents, to slap on a fake fucking grin and act like everything is fine.

But this is what you signed up for.

To be a product. A face. A commodity.

With a sigh, you sling your bag over your shoulder, heading for the door.

Then—your phone rings.

Your heart stops.

For a split second, you hesitate to look.

Then, relief.

A Vought number.

Thank God.

For half a second, you thought it was them. The unknown caller.

Fuck. You need to shake this.

Can someone get you a Xanax?

You press accept.

"Hello?"

A bright, unfamiliar voice comes through the speaker.

"Hey! This is Dana! I’m the new PA. We’re here to pick you up downstairs!"

Ugh.

Too cheery. Too fresh.

You don’t even try to hide your exhaustion. "Right. Be right there."

Let’s just get this over with.

You grab your things and step out of your apartment, heading toward the waiting car.

Then—

A scream.

Sharp. Sudden.

It cuts through the city noise, coming from the alley beside Vought Tower.

Then—another shout. A struggle.

Your instincts kick in.

You round the corner, adrenaline surging, anger simmering beneath your skin—furious at yourself, at Homelander, at everything.

You almost welcome the chance to take it out on someone.

And then—you see them.

A woman, pinned against the wall.

A man gripping her wrists, his leering face close to hers, her body trembling.

Her eyes wide with fear.

"Hey!" you call, your voice sharp, commanding.

The man’s head snaps toward you.

But before you can react—

A sting in your neck.

A needle.

Your body locks up.

Your vision blurs.

Your knees buckle.

You try to speak—to scream—but the sound never comes.

And the last thing you see?

The woman stops pretending to be afraid.

She smirks.

She was never the victim.

You are.

Again.

Then—darkness.

__

Homelander stands stiffly in the VIP lounge, shoulders squared, expression unreadable.

Even though he left in a huff, even though he stormed out without you—

He’s still furious.

At you.

At himself.

He wants you to trust him. Wants you to just let go.

"Hi, sir—anything I can do for you?"

The Deep. Useless. Annoying. As always.

Homelander barely spares him a glance before snapping—

"Get the fuck away from me."

The Deep freezes. His lips part like he’s about to say something else, but he thinks better of it.

"Got it." He backs away.

Homelander exhales sharply. Checks the time.

Then checks it again.

And again.

And again.

You should be here by now.

Before he can look at his watch for the tenth time—

The doors burst open.

FBI agents flood the room.

For a moment, stunned silence.

Then, A-Train mutters, "What the fuck?"

It’s almost cute that the FBI thinks they have any authority over gods.

But Homelander plays the game. Always has.

"You can’t act above the people in power, even though you are, John." Dr. Vogelbaum’s voice lingers in his head.

One of the agents steps forward, rigid, formal.

"Boys… what’s this about?" Homelander’s voice is too calm.

"Sir, we’ve been instructed by the President to take you all to a secure location. Please follow us."

Homelander laughs under his breath. "That’s sweet. But we can handle ourselves."

The agent doesn’t flinch. "You might be able to, sir. But this threat has already taken down one of your own."

The words hit him.

Something inside him snaps to attention.

His eyes narrow.

"Who?"

The agent doesn’t answer. Just glances at the others.

Homelander’s patience frays.

"Fucking tell me—"

Sage nudges him, voice low. "Let’s just follow them."

And for some reason, he listens.

__

The door to the safe room latches shut behind them.

The space is sterile, windowless. Secure.

Homelander cracks his knuckles.

"Alright. Now tell me what the fuck is going on. And tell me now."

The lead agent steps forward, hands clasped, voice calm.

"Thank you for your patience, Homelander. Unfortunately, we have been made aware of an outside threat that has taken a member of—"

"WHICH MEMBER?"

But he already knows the answer.

His stomach twists.

His eyes scan the room.

Only one person is missing.

You.

The agent gives him a tight-lipped, awkward look—like he doesn’t want to say it outright.

Homelander doesn’t need to hear it.

He already knows.

"Yeah, I’m not going to sit here and fucking circle jerk with you idiots. I’m going to find my girlfriend."

He turns to leave.

"Sir, please—"

The agent reaches out.

Wrong move.

Homelander whirls around, fist connecting with the man’s chest.

The agent doesn’t even have time to scream before his heart is in Homelander’s hand.

The room erupts into chaos.

Agents scramble, shouting, reaching for weapons.

Homelander doesn’t give them the chance.

In a single, searing glare, his lasers cut through them all.

The stench of burnt flesh fills the room.

Blood coats his suit.

He turns to his teammates, expression blank, voice even.

"If you don’t help me find her, I’ll do the same to all of you. Try me."

The Seven stare.

Then—without hesitation—

They follow.

__

Your head pounds.

Your limbs feel heavy.

The air is cold. Damp. Rotten.

You’re sitting. Chained.

A soft creak from the corner.

A masked figure steps forward.

Their voice, smooth. Mocking.

"You could’ve replied to my text faster, at least."

They tilt their head.

"I told you we needed to talk."

⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。°✩₊✩°。⋆˚⁺ ˚ ༘ ⁺˚⋆。

tag list: @raginginkedslut @helreyy @lilyalone @naty-1001 @emily048

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆REGRETS

Content warnings: Angst, Death, Foul Language, Toxic behaviors, Unhealthy Relationships.

Pairings: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem! Reader

“Are you still thinking about her?”

Obanai questioned, leaning  into the oak tree with his hands behind his head as his heterochromic eyes dissected every flicker of emotion on the wind hashira’s face, searching for clues hidden beneath the mask of indifference that sanemi had.

Sanemi didn’t answer at first, opting to shred a blade of grass between his calloused fingers. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

“No i’m not.”

He avoided Obanai's searching gaze, staring up into the leaves instead as they rustled gently in the breeze.��

Obanai gave him a look.

The serpent hashira knew how sanemi’s mind works. He was probably thinking about you again, and fuck was he right, Sanemi was thinking about you.

He was thinking of you like some lovesick idiot, he was thinking of your smile, the way you’d bark insults back at him whenever he’s in the mood to be grumpy.

The way you feel, and the sweet sighs you’d breathe into his skin.

He missed how well you knew him, able to read his moods with just a glance.

And damn, did he wonder what would happen if he didn’t acted on impulse back then?

What if instead of breaking up with you, and telling you to just leave the corps, he supported your decision?

Would things be different? Would the two of you still be together?

Would he be able to marry you like he had always wanted to?

“I know you’re thinking about her, Shinazugawa.” Obanai interrupted his wishful thinkings bluntly. Sanemi shot him an irritated glance but didn’t deny it.

There was no point in arguing — Obanai could see right through him anyways.

“Thinking of what could have been if you didn’t split up, yeah? Putting a ring on her finger?”

“Tch. Mind your own business,” he grunted.

“So what if i am thinking about her? It doesn’t matter.” sanemi answered bluntly, making obanai sigh.

“You should move on. it’s been a year and a half.” Obanai replied.

“It’s pathetic to still yearn for a girl. When you wwre the one who broke up with her in the first place.”

“I know it’s pathetic. You don’t have to remind me.”

Sanemi scowled.

He hated it—the reminder that he was the one who had broken your heart, the one who had walked away.

The mere mention of you was like a blade, pristine yet serrated; It was a very sensitive topic for sanemi.

Whenever you were the topic, Sanemi grew sensitive—He disliked discussing about you, because it hurts and left him feeling ashamed.

He loathed this conversation, this topic that dug into the wounds he thought had scabbed over, and he was ashamed that he was the one who broke your heart, when now he was the one pining and in pain. 

Why the fuck did the both of you have to be so stubborn?

All he wanted was to protect you—to shield you from the bloodshed and gore he faced daily as a demon slayer—yet your determination to join and spill demon guts for vengeance for your family was as immovable as a mountain.

Time and again he pleaded with you, begged you to reconsider, to choose another path, any path but that one. But you wouldn’t bend. 

It hurts him whenever he remembers that you and two had something special back then.

Every time he returned home injured from a mission, you would gently clean and dress his wounds with a tender touch, wanting nothing more than to ease his pain.

Your days were spent caring for the handful of stray dogs he had rescued from the streets, nursing them back to health alongside your own beloved pets and your relationship with him was basically all sunshines and rainbows.

But that was until a demon attacked and slaughtered your family.

Your gentleness turned hard as stone. Gone was the refuge you once shared; in its place grew thorns of bitterness, vengefulness, and distrust. All the love you had poured into caring for sanemi and your home seemed wasted and all you cared about was getting revenge. 

And your relationship became toxic, always arguing and all.

Though, one argument made him snap — when you said something hurtful about him.  He knew that he shouldn’t have risen to the bait, shouldn’t have let his temper get the best of him, but damn you just know how to push his buttons.

And before he knew what he was doing, the words were spewing from his mouth like vomit—words he could never take back, words meant to wound as deeply as you’d wounded him, and in the heat of the moment, he ended up storming out and dumping you on the spot, so that you’d quit the corps because he knew you wouldn’t want to see his face anymore or some shit like that.

Sanemi ran both hands roughly through his white hair in stress, tugging slightly in frustration as the events replayed in his mind. The hurtful words you had said were burned into his memory.

He let out a groan and leaned back against the tree, eyes closed as he tried to forget the look on your face when he left.

But no matter what he did, he just couldn’t escape the guilt.

And the fact that obanai just kept mentioning you was just adding salt into the wound.

 “If you miss her so bad, why don’t you just send her a letter and apologize?” Obanai asked casually, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Lower your pride a little. It wouldn’t kill you.” He added.

 “Trust me, I’ve always wanted to apologize.” Sanemi huffed out gruffly. 

“Damn it... I look like such a dramatic fool.” He grumbled to himself, cringing as he recalled his rash actions.

“Then why don’t you send her a letter? You know where to find her...” Obanai said with an arched brow, as if the solution was obvious.  

“I don’t wanna bother her.” Sanemi muttered, already dreading your possible reaction if he tried to reach out, he feared that you’d just tell him to fuck off.

But maybe Obanai was right... He really needed to apologize.

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐀/𝐍: i was listening to xxxx by loonie when i was writing this dawg, it fits the theme & atmosphere of this fic... Same ground by kitchie nadal fits this aswell.

(this is totally not inspired by my previous rs)

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Suddenly remembered something I wanted to say re:Akechi, because I think it's really core to his character (at least the way I interpreted him?) and I feel like it explains a lot of his contradictions. Essentially, he is incapable of seeing himself as just a person - he's either the greatest hero/detective ever, or he's some violent monster, and it's like there's no in-between. It's very in keeping with his obvious superiority-inferiority complex, but it goes deeper than that too; when he's in a role, it seems like his self-perception kind of changes too depending on how he is perceived by others. He really does get a confidence boost from being the Detective Prince. He really does shut down emotionally as the Black Mask.

They're masks that he's made, and it's not that aspects of them aren't based in truth to some extent, but I think it goes to show why he's not actually that fantastic a liar (imo, I found the outright lies pretty obvious), but he is a very good actor. He's either an angel or a demon, and never a person, but there are conditions to that. He is an angel when he is perfect - to society. He is a demon when he is vengeful - again, to society. He is never a person, because he never was seen as one - to society. He was disregarded. To be anything of value or notoriety, whether that's hero or villain, he has to be wildly more or less than who he actually is, and he's been building these masks up for so long that I really think he lost sight of the actual person behind it all. And I don't think he wanted to see that person anyways, because that person "wasn't good enough" and I do think he'd rather be anything other than himself. That trickery, that deflection from the person within, in itself brings him pride and satisfaction. He wants to be loved and needed instead of being cast aside, but I also think that if he can't have that then he'd much rather be hated than never have mattered at all. He weaponizes his own loneliness - if he can't ever be accepted then he'll build his own pedestal apart from everyone else.

It's so fascinating too, because I just wonder how much of this he was consciously aware of pre, during, and post engine room. There's this recurring thing with him where he goes "I can only be myself" etc but I just want to shake him because, well, who is that, Akechi??? Or, who do you think that is? Do you actually have an answer? Is it predicated on your actual feelings or solely on your success at fooling everyone around you? Is there any part of you that you actually like that isn't based on a painstakingly constructed mask? Isn't it all mostly lies to deflect from the truth? Isn't it all founded mostly on truth, nonetheless?

It drives me insane. And I think this is a big reason why he breaks so hard in the engine room, because so much of his mask requires his "audience" to perform in a particular way. And here he is, and the Thieves have beaten him, so there goes the first mask, because he's no longer "perfect". He swings wildly into the ugliest sides of him, but this mask is broken too, amidst him vehemently and desperately denying that he has any other emotions than hatred and rage, or any other needs or desires than vengeance. And after that, it's just him. And they should reject him, right? That's what happens. He's not useful, he's not needed or perfect, his hands are stained with blood. But the Thieves, again, don't play the role he expects them to. They, despite everything, relate to him - because he is in fact very similar in a lot of ways and they acknowledge him as a person - not a hero, or idol, or villain, or tool, or unwanted child - but as a damaged teen like the rest of them. And he does not know what to do with that. His identity is intrinsically dependent on getting the right reactions from other people as a form of ingratiating himself - if he does not get that reciprocal reaction he's looking for, his act falters, and, I really do believe that so does his self-perception. That's why you see different aspects of him seep out when he's spending time with Joker, because Joker does not react the way he expects, and Akechi both does and does not like this, because it leaves him feeling both intrigued and vulnerable.

I do think this particular aspect of his character is something a lot of the Thieves don't fully grasp - certainly, I think Joker "I need the mask" Persona 5 understands to a degree, but the sheer degree of reliance and the level of pride attached to it is something that confuses him a little, I think, especially in Mementos Mission. I think the thief that comes closest is actually Morgana, who has a similar superiority-inferiority complex and a desperate need to be seen as competent and useful lest he be discarded. (This is a big part of why the rather lackluster writing with Morgana's arc frustrates me so much because I really do feel it was meant to be contrasted with Akechi's, but I digress.) Morgana is the one to make that emotional appeal to Akechi, which makes a degree of sense - Morgana struggled all along with finding a place in the world. His form leads others to underestimate him; he visually doesn't fit in. He's acting out the role of a chivalrous and cool phantom thief but is more pragmatic with how he views relationships, at least at first. He wants a place to belong where he is appreciated more than anything but his pride won't let him spit it out. Accepting that he belongs and that he is loved even if he really did have nothing of value to provide is a big part of the resolution of his arc. He tries to offer that learned lesson to Akechi in turn ("Follow your true feelings. Even if you think people hate you, or don't want you around-"), but Akechi just wasn't in the right space to listen. There's also an important distinction between the two - Morgana envies humans and looks up to them. Akechi envies humans and looks down on them. Morgana is perfectly happy once he is assured a place amongst the group, but Akechi see-saws wildly between wanting to belong and wanting to be a step above the rest and separating himself further. So while Morgana actually really did cut to the core of the issue, his appeal would never have worked at this point because a) Akechi's pride is dependent on him maintaining his solo act, and b) he just got outed as not actually hating Joker in front of seven other people including Joker himself lmao.

So, uh, sorry, Morgana. Points for trying.

[taeyongdoyoung]

point of view

summary: you sneak into your ex-boyfriend's ship with the desperate hope to save your Jedi friends. but you discover more than you bargained for... pairing: seonghwa x reader x chan genre: space opera, romance (?), science fiction, fantasy warnings: morally grey characters, mentions of past crimes (unspecified but we're talking Anakin Skywalker level of crimes), betrayal, cheating (?), kissing, crying, just overall Star Wars setting with no clear-cut boundaries between good and evil author's note: the events are loosely based on certain scenes in Revenge of the Sith and the title is inspired by Ariana Grande's pov word count: 2.3k

The lightsaber glows brighter as you near your destination. All along, you knew it was a bad idea to infiltrate Darth Mars's ship all by yourself. But you have no choice. If you do not confront him yourself, you are afraid that your Jedi friends will be in danger.

Considering your history with Darth Mars, a small part of you still believes that you hold some kind of power over him. He is the one who taught you everything you know now about being a Jedi. He is the one who taught you how to fight, how to defend yourself and how to look after the ones you care about.

So, when he turned to the Dark Side, it was not only your heart that was broken, but also your trust. In him and in everything he stood for. He was the chosen one, for Force's sake...You have to admit, you miss him more than anything. You miss the man he used to be. You even miss your past self. The one who was not haunted by the consequences of his betrayal. The one who still had hopes for a better future for the Galaxy.

"Very foolish of you to come alone," Darth Mars, or should you say, Seonghwa, says, appearing from the shadows.

Bravely, you point the lightsaber at him.

"I taught you better than that," he scoffs.

"Have you?" you attempt to taunt him, because you know your fighting skills are nowhere near his supreme excellency. You can only use your mind and your tongue as a weapon.

"Did you come here to kill me?" Seonghwa chuckles lightly. "Go ahead, then. I don't intend to fight you, of all people."

"I have no intention of killing you."

"Pity. I was beginning to grow tired of it all. Even so, it wouldn't be in your style to kill me while I was defenseless. It wouldn't be honourable," Seonghwa spits the last word out as if it's dirty.

"What do you know about honour? You betrayed us, turning to the Dark Side. And for what? More power? What did you do that for? You left us, Hwa!"

"That's not my name," Seonghwa shakes his head in denial, still hiding beneath that mask. You feel so sad. You wish you could make him see...See how much he hurt you. See you.

You let go of your lightsaber, pulling his mask off.

Oh. His face is not like you remember. Filled with scars and burns and so much pain, as if reflecting the way he changed. Not just on the inside but on the outside, as well. No, you refuse to believe that. Some part of him is still your Seonghwa, the one you fell in love with. The one, that despite everything, you still love.

"Who did this to you?" you ask softly.

"Who do you think? My Master..."

"No, Chan would never...He loved you," you argue.

Chan is the Jedi who taught Seonghwa everything. Just like how Seonghwa taught you, the relationship between Master and Padawan is so special and sacred. But you cannot imagine that Chan would do something like that to Seonghwa.

"Fine, I did it to myself," Seonghwa shrugs. "We had a fight over our...differences. Things escalated and...well, let's just say a planet filled with lava is not a good place for exchanging blows."

You shake your head, still in desbelief. How could this go so far? How did you let it?

"Don't beat yourself up," Seonghwa grins darkly. "This would have happened with or without you."

"I never looked at Chan that way, you know? Not while I was with you, anyway."

"But you do now," Seonghwa states. Not really blaming you, just stating a fact.

"I do," you admit. "But I never stopped thinking about you."

"Not even after everything I did?" Seonghwa murmurs and is that...regret in his voice? You are unsure if he's still capable of that. Or any feeling for that matter.

"Not even then," you sigh.

"Why did you come here, Y/N?" Seonghwa needs to know.

"I came to beg you not to kill my Jedi friends. Leave Chan and the others alone. I would do anything you want. Just let them be."

"Would you stay with me?" Seonghwa tilts his head and in that moment, it's like you're back to when it all started. Deep down, he's still just a boy, desperate to be loved.

"I said anything, didn't I?" you insist. If this means never seeing your Jedi friends again, so be it. At least, they would be safe...Or that's how you delude yourself.

"Very well, then. I won't touch them provided that you don't go back on your word," Seonghwa promises.

You cannot believe it worked. You cannot believe he still cares about you enough to accept this. You never found out why he turned to the Dark Side. Seonghwa was never one to be blindly tempted by power. No, there must have been something else.

"If you wanted to be with me so badly, why did you betray us, then?" you can't go another second without knowing.

"What's the use in telling you?" Seonghwa replies sadly, turning away from you. No, no, he's shutting himself off again. Just as he was beginning to open up...

You grab his wrist as if possessed, forcing him to face you again.

"Please, tell me. I want to understand you," you plead with him.

"You died. You died in my arms and accepting the Sith way was the only way to bring you back to life. If there was another solution, I wouldn't have done this, I wouldn't have left."

"W-what?" you are shaking, not capable of accepting the truth. "I was d-dead?! How did I not know that? How did nobody know?"

"Chan knew," Seonghwa grunts angrily and puts on his mask again. "He insisted on hiding the truth from you. He was certain that if you found out, you'd follow me to the Dark Side...And he couldn't let that happen. Said you have too much potential as a Jedi."

No, no, this can't be right. Truths and lies become blurred in your head as you struggle to decide what to think. Who to trust? Seonghwa? Chan? Yourself? You cannot tell what is real and what is false anymore.

"You don't believe me," Seonghwa guesses correctly. "That's alright. You can ask Chan yourself," Seonghwa tilts his chin forward, as if pointing to something, someone behind you.

In that moment, a bunch of Stormtroopers lead Chan into the room.

"What should we do with this intruder, Lord Mars?" the Stormtroopers ask.

"Leave him here with my other prisoner. I shall question them myself," Seonghwa replies, appearing disinterested. Oh, so you're a prisoner now? Even though you voluntarily offered to stay with him provided that your Jedi friends are safe. You feel so foolish all of a sudden.

The Stormtroopers accept Seonghwa's orders rightaway, leaving the the three of you alone.

"I'll give you two a moment," Seonghwa shrugs carelessly, locking you in the same room with Chan.

For a brief second, you wonder if he did the wise thing. But then you remember, getting on his ship was easy. Getting out? Sounds like an impossible ordeal.

"Chan, what are you doing here?" you ask furiously.

"What does it look like?" Chan replies. "I'm here to rescue you."

"Yeah, and how is that working out for you?" you hiss bitterly. "Now, we're both stuck here instead of just me."

"Did you seriously think I'd let you face him alone?"

"I told you I can handle myself!" you argue passionately. "You always do this. You don't trust me, do you?"

"It's not you I don't trust, it's him around you," Chan cries out in pain.

"Well, I'm not sure I can trust you anymore," you confess.

Chan shrieks back, as if stricken by your words.

"Is it true that I died? Is it true that you knew I died and you kept it a secret from me?" you want to know.

"Listen, I don't know what lies Seonghwa told you but he would have turned to the Dark Side with or without you."

"Funny, I never mentioned that's the reason he went all Sith. You just confirmed it yourself."

Chan gulps nervously, realizing his own mistake.

"How could you, Chan?" you shake your head in disappointment. "I thought you'd never lie to me."

"I just wanted to protect you."

"Protect me?" your eyes widen in disbelief. "From what exactly? 'Cause it seems to me that Seonghwa was the one protecting me."

"And it was wrong! He committed all these terrible crimes just to bring you back. He turned on all his Jedi friends. He turned on me!"

"So, you're saying you'd rather I stayed dead? Is that it?"

"Don't twist my words," Chan closes his eyes, pained to have this conversation.

"You have done that yourself," you murmur, feeling tired all of a sudden and go to the door, knocking as loudly as you can. "I can't stay in the same room with the other prisoner!"

Expecting the Stormtroopers to show up and move you somewhere else, you are taken aback when Seonghwa...well, he's currently looking more Darth Mars, opens the door himself.

"And here I thought I was doing you two lovebirds a favour," he jokes.

"Get me out of here," you respond angrily.

"You're in no position to be giving me orders, sweetheart," Seonghwa chuckles gently. You want to kill him. Or kiss him. You don't know anymore. Everything is so confusing. It hurts so much...

"Get me out of here, please?" you try again, knowing it will infuriate Chan. Oh, how he wishes it was him you were begging. To run away with him suddenly sounds even more imprudent than staying with a Sith Lord.

"Much better," Seonghwa acquiesces, takes you by the arm and leads you somewhere else.

"You'll regret this," Chan warns.

"You'll regret me more," you whisper.

To your further shock, Seonghwa takes you to his chambers. You are uncertain whether he trusts you that much or he's simply confident enough that you won't be able to try anything funny. To be completely honest with yourself, even if you did try something, you would never be able to defeat Seonghwa by yourself. Then again, examples of Padawans beating their Masters are not unheard of...But you are definitely not ready for such a confrontation. Not yet, anyhow.

Not only did you learn that Seonghwa turned to the Dark Side in order to save your life, but you also just discovered that Chan kept that a secret from you. And if Chan knew, then there was a huge chance other Jedi also found out the truth. Chan was never good at keeping secrets from the Jedi. But he seems to be great at lying to you. Thus, everything you ever believed in is put into question. What is right or wrong? What is true or false? What is good or bad? These notions seem so ridiculous to you now that you have no clue what you intend to do next. You can only hope that Seonghwa's sacrifice wasn't in vain. You can only hope to live long enough to find answers for yourself.

"He told you the truth, didn't he?" Seonghwa makes yet another correct guess.

"I tricked him into it," you smirk, somewhat proud of yourself.

"That's my girl," Seonghwa nudges your shoulder playfully.

"What do I do now?" you burst into tears, burying your head in his chest. "Everything I believed in is in shambles. I don't even know if I wanna be a Jedi anymore."

"That's alright. You can always join me."

"Join the Dark Side?" you eye him suspiciously.

"Dark, Light...isn't it all the same?" Seonghwa tilts his head to the side. You hate it, but he has a point.

"Do I even have a choice? You said I'm your prisoner..."

"There's always a choice," Seonghwa insists. "And maybe I'm your prisoner. Did you ever think about that?"

You take off his mask again. He looks away, as if embarrassed.

"Don't hide from me," you beg, placing a hand on his scarred cheek, making him look at you.

"I know I'm not as pretty I used to be..."

"Well, then it's a good thing I didn't fall for your pretty. I like your ugly, too. Wish you could see yourself from my point of view," you insist and kiss him, trying to convey all the mixed up feelings you're experiencing.

Maybe he saved you. Maybe he destroyed himself in the process. Maybe he has the power to destroy you, too. You don't care. Right or wrong, this is where you belong now.

"What do you want me to do with Chan?" Seonghwa asks after a while.

"Are you seriously saying you'd do whatever I asked of you?" you are still shocked to learn how much power you have over him...He may have full control of the Force, but right now, you have full control of him.

"Within limits," Seonghwa replies vaguely.

"Let him live," you reply cleverly. Despite everything that went down, you still care about Chan. Just as how you care about Seonghwa. Your feelings might be irrational. But they're yours. "He might be useful to you one day. Who knows? He might learn to see things from where we stand."

"We? And where would that be?"

"Like you said, Dark, Light...What difference does it make?" you smile at him.

"Hm. I knew you'd get it," Seonghwa embraces you, thinking you're joining his so-called Dark Side.

But there is no such thing. You're on your own side now. And after being lied to and betrayed to by those you considered your closest people, you realize the most important thing. In this Galaxy, you can only trust yourself.

And one day, just like how Seonghwa became stronger than his Master Chan, you are certain you will become stronger than Seonghwa. They both underestimate your power.

It will be their final mistake.

The End

[courtofparrots]

Luis Serra and his use of false bravado

I'm writing a fic right now that requires a pretty in-depth character analysis of Luis, and I wanted to talk about one of my favorite things about him, which is his use of false bravado to get out of sticky situations, and the expressiveness he displays in the moments in between.

We talk a lot about Leon's micro-expressions when he's trying to hide his feelings, which don't get me wrong, I LOVE to analyze, but Luis has such telling expressions as well, and we should talk about it! (I also saw some gifs of Luis's expressions being modded onto Leon and THAT got attention but... neither here nor there).

To me, it always looks like he's using an almost silly amount of swagger when he interacts with others to portray his confidence, and he barely ever lets that wall down. Unlike Leon and Ada, he's a civilian, but he jokes around and flirts every time he's in front of them, despite being in situations where he really should be behaving more like Ashley, like when he narrowly avoided being tortured to death and he's just like "nice, cigs"

We as the audience are only privy to his mask slips in 3 different types of situations, as far as I can tell:

When he feels like his luck is about to run out: he goes from acting confident to suddenly displaying a lot of fear on his face, while he wildly casts around for something to say to help him out. In both of these instances, he completely regains his bravado once he thinks he's safe again, i.e. when Ada saves him from the torturers, or when he realizes Ada knows who Leon is. This is also just kind of adorable. Watch the way his face falls when he realizes Ada is mad, and then the way he flounders when she points her gun at him.

2. When no one else is looking: This one stood out to me from the very beginning because he's actually still speaking with confidence as he explains that the plaga can be removed, but Leon and Ashley can't see his face, where he's clearly showing his trepidation, his guilt about them being infected, etc. and then notice how he goes right back to smiling and confident when he turns around to face them again.

3. When he feels concern for others: Luis is an extremely caring person, and one of the most common moments where he lets his mask slip is when someone else is in danger. Obviously the first thing that comes to mind is his reaction to the medicine being destroyed, but I also want to draw attention to the look on his face when Ada is in danger and she tells him to leave her. And I know I included him looking away from Leon and Mendez in a previous post but here's a higher quality gif so you can really get your heart broken by how scared he looks:

Anyways, I just love the little things that make up characters in this game. I also have analyses about Ada and Ashley that you'll probably get whether you want it or not because I love them, and their characterizations are so interesting.

[rikebe]

couple of ladybug redesigns ive been doodling while stark raving mad about how this show for little kids doesnt have more badass outfits for the characters. i basically take a crack at these every couple of months but this is the first time im really pleased w what i came up with!

i def wanna come back to these and tweak them or come up with more designs for the other characters. and i esp wanna do a hawk moth chloe..........

long winded explanation of my design concepts unser the cut

ladybug - this is kind of my brain process here. her canon design (the worst one in the show imo) just kinda looks like a polkadot onesie so i really wantes to give her more bug-like features. i gave her black eyes bc i think its really cool when miraculiur holders change eye colours to something unnatural and i think its pretty neat and comicbook-y, and also insect-like. i also gave her bug-wing hairclips and changed her pigtails to twin buns so they had more of a shape contrast to the clips. for all wing details i added turquoise as a third colour to give it some SPICE.

my first designs (1-4) went off the idea of a short dress/coat with puff sleeves to suggest the shape of bug-legs, and the coat tails serving as her wings. i think its a cute design that fits marinette's girly style, but i wasn't quite happy with it.

i had the idea of her sleeves serving as her wings instead of her skirt or coat tails, and looked a little into chinese styles of clothing with big sleeves like this to lean more into marinette being half-chinese. i found a style called hanyuansu, which is modern clothes modified with hanfu elements and took inspiration from looking at a few outfits, so i tried a couple different takes. i really like design 6 with the big coat, but it seems really impractical for crime fighting :/ maybe its like a formalwear alt look lol.

7 is my final design that i'm happiest with, as it has all the elements i wanted but is still simple enough to not feel overloaded. i made the yoyo black for a little contrast and just bc i think it looks really cool!

queen bee - chloe was robbed of a character arc and a cool design. i will avenge her.

this ddsign came to me muchhh easier. a beehive hairdo seemed like a no-brainer, as well as fur trims both because she's a bee and because she's a bougie rich girl. i wanted the look to scream elegance and be a little retro and 60ies-inspired to go with her hairdo. the shape and tights are like a cute minidress married to a fur coat meets bee stinger, which is the vibe i want! the gloves are full chic and also sort of like black insect legs.

again a light blue wing detail for a pop of contrast and just because wings are fucking cool, and it gave me an excuse for 60ies inspired blue eyeshadow! yellow eyes cause i love weird eye colours, and it just looks a little creepy and jaundiced hehe

no mask because everyone knows its's her anyways, so why bother? plus masks are sort of annoying to design around lol. i kept her feelers because theyre really cute!

queen bee x butterfly - ive wanted chloe to become the new hawk moth since the concept was teased. well now my heart is broken forever, but i can still dream!! so this is like, an au where she has a full epic villain arc, keeps the bee and also gets the butterfly miraculous and becomes the new big bad!

i kept a lot of thw elements from the queen bee design but modified them. the dress changes shape into something less like a stinger and more like a chic mini winter coat to match the giant fur trim she has now! obviously huge moth wings are a must, and more of a staff than hawk moth's cane because, hey. she's royalty.

her queen bee feelers change to fuzzy moth ones, and the colours are a little different to match better with purple! plus a butterfly mask now, and white eyes with solid yellow irises to diffirenciate her from.......

hawk moth - who is a fashion designer and should really have a better look!

i gave him solid white eyes to make him look less human and goofy, and again for that cool comic-booky look.

i based the whole design on wanting his silouette to mimic thw butterfly miraculous, so i kept and exaggerated his canon lapels and added two pointy coat tails for the bottom of the wings.

the long coat is a bit more dramatique and less basic, and i tried to give his mask a little flourish to keep him from looking so much like a silver thumb.

the only place i kept the silver is for the vest, which is segmented to imitatw to look of a butterfly or moth's belly. i spent the least amount of time on this one but i'm pretty happy with it for a rougher draft than the other three designs.

[mystycalypso]

do you have any advice for drawing in the ok KO artstyle? Awesomesauce AU btw I’m actually going to eat it

Okay so, I'm gonna try to do my best to do this- like professionally ig? Because I know saying "Dude I just fuckin go in" does not help anyone at all ever. I spent the last couple drawings I did over analyzing how I draw just for you guys.

And so you get the full explanation, I'm going to do a screenshot edit for this. It's basically how I draw in the style but just with a few extra steps to show how I've accidentally fooled people into thinking shots exist in the show when- they don't.

We're gonna use this shot of Carol, because the redesigns for Rad and Enid aren't done yet, and I like her posing.

This is the brush I use, at size 1-2px depending on the line thickness, canvas size, etc. If you're unsure how thick yours should be, try drawing over one of the lines on another layer/in another colour, does it match the original lineart pretty closely? Then you're golden. (Please note this brush kind of sucks with the bucket tool sometimes, especially with dark colours, so I recognize the lasso fill tool)

Now, shape language is very important in ok ko, (it's one of the reasons I love it so much) and every character is made up of very distinct shapes for themselves. If you can draw squares and circles, you're basically golden.

Here's a sort of- quick breakdown of the parts. Sometimes your squares might be more rounded, or your ovals a little more square, but this is generally how I break it down.

Now let's turn the opacity down on our original shot, add a layer and use our shape language to put Laserblast on top

Okay, not bad, but the issue now is he's still built like Carol. But that's okay, now that we know generally how the pose is laid out, we can adjust it to fit his proportions. If you're unsure of what those proportions are, try taking a shot of the character and drawing the shapes over them. THIS IS NOT TRACING. Breaking art down into shapes is vital to style studies and you're only using the original to understand how things are broken down.

Bam! Much better! And you can still see the squares, circles, and triangles he's made up of. Now we're gonna hide the scene beneath our sketch and lower our sketch opacity. If you have a reflection sheet of the character you wanna draw, that's probably already helped you with proportions, but it'll also be important to stay on model. (However, keep in mind, the model is not the Bible for this show's art style, and feel free to break away if it helps exaggerate the emotion or action you want to show.

In my case, my reference image is "Date Night Laserblast" for how he styles his hair, and his outfit.

BOOM SHAKALAKA, YES COB- Sorry

Anyway, you may have noticed his property got adjusted a little between the pose sketch and this one, that's totally normal. Sometimes you don't realize something looks off until after you're basically done sketching, and so you adjust the pose and sizes as necessary. Lasso tool is a digital artists best friend guys. (Admittedly normally I do all of this in one sketch layer, so if that works better for you guys too go for it, but I wanted to easily illustrate the differences for ya) Alright, now with everything but your final sketch hidden, turn the opacity down once more, and do your lineart!

Hell yeah! Next we're gonna colour in our flats. Now in most cases that'll just be- the normal colours of the character, but in this scene there's lighting changes. In most cases you can probably find an image to colour pick from of the character in a similar light, but if not you're just gonna have to use some colour theory. Which- there's way better tutorials on online, I cannot explain colour theory despite it being the part of art I've actually spent time studying.

Don't worry if the flat colours look a little funky on their own. Now we add a clipping mask to our flats, and add the highlights (most scenes/drawings won't require this, because they don't have fancy lighting) in this case like the shading, it's going to lean blue.

Now, you're gonna make a copy of this alone, if you're using ibis "Add from canvas" is what I use, or "Add layer from folder" if you have everything in a folder. Then unhide your background and cover up anything you don't want seen (I can't show that along because I've only got 10 images to explain this) I always do it on a separate layer just too erase any mistakes easier. It's basically a bunch of colour picking and continuing the background.

If you're not trying to make a screenshot edit, you don't need to do this next step. All it's for is to help create that imperfect look a real snip from the show would have. You wouldn't expect the lines to be perfect and crisp when you zoom in.

Finally, take your copy of your character, in this case LB, and use the transform tool, drag the top right corner down until he's about half size (make sure you still have your original version/layers visible as well. Then click okay before transforming the tool again until they line up properly. DO NOT JUST UNDO YOUR TF OR DRAG IT IN AND OUT. It will look blurry, we want this. Turn that layer down to about 20-25% opacity. (your lines should look clean zoomed out, but slightly fuzzy when you zoom in) You should be left with something like this!

As for more general tips, don't be afraid to look at lots of references. The wiki practically knows my fingerprints from how often I look up shots to reference and my gallery is full of images I've saved to help me. Second, practice makes perfect. If you look back even to my earlier posts from this year, you can see a lot of improvements in how I draw the show's style. And there are still characters I want to get better at drawing. (The kids like Fink and K.O. especially)

And finally, as silly as it might seem, don't focus too hard on it! Ian said that one of the major design philosophies of this show was to make it look like doodles. Keep your hands loose and have fun making it look silly! Using and leaning into that philosophy has helped me improve drawing these characters so much. Even during serious-looking scenes, I'm not worried if the shot will look exactly a certain way, but treat it like a quick angsty sketch in my notebook. Don't worry about making it look perfect because the show isn't meant to look perfect.

[dross-the-fish]

I’VE MADE A BREAKTHROUGH IN MY ADAM DESIGN THAT I MUST SHARE WITH SOMEONE BUT NONE OF MY FRIENDS WANT TO GEEK OUT WITH ME SO THAT LEAVES ME TO YOU DROSS

Y’know the I Feel Fantastic video? Or the Daisy Brown ARG with Alan the monster?

I just — I feel like Adam could look uncanny in the way Tara the singing robot does, or have a voice similar to Alan, I dunno, this is just something I wanna share, I’ll share the drawings with you if you want, idk

Hmmm, I should ask you something.. what were some of your major design points with Adam?

I'm glad to hear you had a breakthrough in your design. I'm not familiar with the video you're talking about but music is also a pretty big inspo for me in general and it's a good place to seek ideas. I'd be happy to see your drawings if you want to share them. For designing my own Adam there was a lot of trail and error. I did draw inspiration from existing depictions of the creature, the Boris Karloff version, some aspects of the Bernie Wrightson creature. I really liked the stitched lip from Robert De Niro's creature in the 1994 movie even if I hated like 90% of that film. I kind of just absorbed all the different version of the creature until I felt like I had a good grasp of the character I wanted to make and I've evolved his design over the years. Given that his mouth is limited in how much it can move I did put a lot of focus on giving him very expressive eyes. I felt like it was important to give him a lot of intensity. I also really liked the idea of his pupil being reflective and that reflective shine breaking the boundary of his eye just for a little extra drama. In colored pictures I'll add a ring of a bluish color to make the yellow more vibrant.

As far as coloring him, I stick to the foundation of the book, yellowish skin, black hair, dark lips. I do like to add touches of greens or pink to the lighting. One thing that I decided on for Adam as far as making him corpse-like was to make his skin look a little bit like it wasn't quite attached to him. Almost like he's wearing a suit or mask and you can see the "holes" around his eyes and nose where the skin is kind of broken and discolored. That was an idea that came to me while I was watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Seeing Leatherface with the skin mask. I felt like to Victorian/Edwardian people that would be really difficult to look at for very long.

I did want to avoid making him conventionally deformed. I feel like what makes a Frankenstein creature potentially scary is that uncanny valley factor where he looks like something that was supposed to be beautiful but then it went horribly wrong. You can't really see it in static pictures but I'm really fond of the head canon that he doesn't move quite right. He's either to jerky or too still and he doesn't blink enough. He doesn't look properly ALIVE but he's still moving around and doing things that imitate life. Even people who love him should still find him a little unsettling, I think. For a long time I was resistant to giving him lichtenberg figure scars because they are very time consuming but they look very cool so I added them anyway. They cover all of his back and shoulders and the right side of his face.

[eciiipsed]

kaz brekker / jesper fahey fic recs

yall omg i know this is like a month late but i forgot i was making it.... ANYWAYS here it is !!!! feel free to add more in the tags and i will edit

**if your fic is on here and u want it removed let me know**!!!!

slash (may contain mature content so be mindful)

that peace like a river

Jesper's weird classical-music playing neighbour with no concept of a sleep schedule goes silent, and then he runs into him in a coffee shop, and everything gets gayer from there.

it's a bad idea right? (fuck it, it's fine)

The one where Jesper and Kaz are technically broken up, but nobody knows so they have no choice but to pretend like they're still together for Inej and Nina's wedding.

everything melted in less than a week

Jesper Fahey is the Capitol’s most prized possession. Kaz Brekker has nothing to lose

this is a shameless self promo im sorry; the hunger games au, mostly takes place after they are already victors.

sometimes love feels like a noun in some new foreign language

“You’re both dead to me,” Kaz says. It’s the first time he’s said more than two words to Jesper since he left. I still remember how your lips feel against mine, Jesper wants to say and forces himself to laugh instead.

kazper exes to lovers, literally my favourite fic of all time

how the light gets in

Kaz Brekker, teenage Sun Summoner, loses the battle of wills and and manipulation against the Darkling. This is what happens afterwards.

series of two fics; kaz is the sun summoner and jesper goes to rescue him

no thing defines a man like love that makes him soft

Soft domestic kaz/jesper for the soul

love your masks and adore your failures

Whenever someone brings it up, Jesper tells them he's in on the joke. Yes, his clothes have too many colours and patterns. Yes, they clash hideously. That’s the point. He’s not going to admit he just thinks they’re pretty.

this is the time of our great undoing

“Do you think Kaz could fuck someone in a full-body bondage suit?” Jesper whispers, more to distract Inej from what’s on the screen than anything else, but still—the idea won’t leave Kaz alone.

a private sunrise

Ever since Jesper found out he’s the Sun Summoner, he’s been on the run. Well, sort of. He got side-tracked in Ketterdam, but now that Kaz is talking to Grisha of the Second Army, his five-year reprieve is over. Or is it?

pre slash / can be read as gen

noble occupations

After Jesper nearly costs the Dregs supplies, Per Haskell goes too far in punishing him. Kaz prefers his sharpshooter in working order.

gun it while i'm holding on

Jesper gets shot, and Kaz is the one to find him bleeding all over the cobblestones. A fair bit of grumbling ensues — followed by a race to find help before it's too late.

jesper injured; hurt comfort

eyes and hands (sometimes bullets)

After a confrontation gone wrong, Jesper and Kaz retreat to a safehouse to patch up their wounds. Things soon get much harder than anticipated.

kaz injured; hurt comfort

masks

And now Jesper thought he had the right to give up? Here, in a warm room, with a full stomach and friends who would fight and die for him? With Wylan Van Eck waiting to sweep him into a life of luxury the moment he got his shit together, and Kaz working to keep him from being buried in his own mistakes until then?

homoerotic fistfighting

we owe it to disaster

A spy should be prepared to get caught.

washed up on the beaches

Jesper has no reason to panic. He pulled off yesterday's betrayal with aplomb: fucked over the Dime Lions, saved the enemy's life, got the enemy to promise to buy back Da’s farm, did not get caught. He shouldn’t be panicking now. Why is he panicking.

pre canon

kaz/jesper/inej as a treat

to me you're all i am

He thinks about it often. His arms around Inej’s waist. His fingers in Kaz’s hair. His lips on their shoulder blades. He wants to be close enough to feel them breathing.

kanejesper MY BELOVED!!! modern setting one shot

perhaps the world will end at the kitchen table

Jesper’s spent his life following Kaz and Inej from one mysterious job to the next. He will follow them into bed, too.

this is RLY good, and its mostly kazper (inej is there but not as important). has some explicit themes so read at ur own risk.

[pluckyredhead]

Okay but I am fascinated by Orion and Scott's relationship.

Because for Orion, there must be so much guilt, right? He got to grow up in Heaven because Scott grew up in Hell. Highfather Omelased Scott so that Orion could have a childhood frolicking in rolling green pastures with Lightray and sleeping in a bed made of unicorn farts.

But at the same time I feel like there's also some resentment. Because Scott had the unhappy childhood...so why is Orion the unhappy adult? Why is Scott the well-adjusted one?

(Is Scott actually well-adjusted? He's very good at pretending he is. And I don't think it's entirely a mask. I think Scott is genuinely a pretty lighthearted, upbeat person, and that's part of what saved him from being broken on Apokolips before he could escape. But it's also a defense mechanism. He's a performer by nature and by trade.

I also think he's a deeply avoidant person. Unpleasant feelings? Uncomfortable conversations? Oh no, Scott is going to escape right the fuck out of that! So even though he absolutely is deeply traumatized by his upbringing - King's Mister Miracle was not the first time Scott has canonically had suicidal impulses - he is simply Not Going To Deal With It.

And this is a mask Orion is completely unequipped to see through. No one on New Genesis is familiar with the concept of "not saying exactly what you mean and how you feel literally all the time." I think Orion might be misread as stoic sometimes but he is super not! He literally just says how he feels all the time always! He's never lied even one single time in his life except for how on Earth he goes by O'Ryan instead of Orion! He has no ability to unpack "This person is pretending to be totally okay but actually they're only somewhat okay." Orion has never been somewhat anything.)

So yes anyway I feel like Orion is a little jealous and resentful that...somehow Scott still landed in a better place than him, for certain definitions of "better"? He's happy, he's well-adjusted, he has friends, he has a loving and functional marriage. Meanwhile Orion is having regular rage blackouts on a flying scooter.

But then he feels guilty again because how can he resent Scott after what he took from him? (Not that Orion had any choice in or even real knowledge of the Pact, but if you think Orion is going to let himself off the hook because he was a traumatized bald child when it happened, you don't know Orion.)

The other interesting thing is that even though Scott seems like the affectionate people person, it's Orion who makes all the overtures. Orion is the one who consistently refers to Scott as his brother (Scott's a little all over the map on this one). Orion wishes out loud that they were closer. Lonely, lonely Orion, who has absolutely no one in the universe who understands the tortured duality of his nature ("I am two worlds - like New Genesis, and that demon's pit - Apokolips! - One drifting forever in the shadow of the other - "), longs to hang with the one guy who might get it.

Whereas Scott...well, Scott's harder to read because he doesn't make a speech every time he has an emotion. He doesn't ever display any hostility towards Orion (King's MM run aside, which...yes, please, let's put it aside forever), but he also rarely demonstrates the same interest in building a relationship. His most loving gesture was pretending to be injured one time so that Orion would have to go fight Darkseid in order to lay flowers on a mass grave in Scott's place (it did actually make Orion feel better, so there's that).

I don't think Scott blames Orion, intellectually. I think he blames Highfather, as he should. (Not getting into whether Highfather ultimately made the right choice, just saying that Orion didn't get a choice at all.) And I think Scott is VERY VERY UNCOMFORTABLE with blaming Highfather, because it means he really has to think about what happened to him. In general, I think being around both Highfather and (to a lesser extent) Orion raises a lot of extremely uncomfortable thoughts and feelings and very painful memories, and so he just...escapes. He avoids being around them completely. It's very telling that Scott lives on Earth by choice and almost every time we see him on New Genesis, he's longing to leave. Being on New Genesis makes it impossible to avoid the Bad Thoughts.

So yeah, as much as I want to see these two having adventures together and hugging it out on the daily, I don't know that they can ever have the closeness Orion wants. (And god, can you imagine how much he would beat himself up if he knew that his desire for closeness was hurting Scott? It would be delicious.) But one of the reasons I love Simonson's Orion is that they find roundabout ways to show caring with the limited vocabulary they have, and maybe that's the best we can hope for.