#because thats what the untamed is.

[biolums]

hiii hope ur well do u have. bl recs..i trust ur taste immensely 🫶🏾

HIIIIIII SORRY THIS IS SO LATE I WANTED TO HAVE TIME TO DO THIS AND NOT RUSH IT!!!!!

so first of all. i DO watch a lot of shitty bl its a past time i greatly enjoy BUT this will be a list of shows i recommend because theyre GOOD fjdjsjkfksjdkf also idk how much bl youve watched if any!! so if youve seen all of these i can and WILL rec more im just putting the ones i would recommend MOST rn

adding a keep reading. this is a bit long i apologize jfsiodjf

1. Bad Buddy (available on youtube)

WAGHHH this show changed me as a person… rivals to friends to lovers, romeo and juliet, secretly dating… its just sooooo good. its about pat and pran, who have lived next to each other their entire lives BUT their parents Hate each other. occurs mostly in college where they live across from each other now (sighs.. fated lovers…) AND their friend groups hate each other too. rivals 2x… however theyre forced to work together because the university is threatening punishment if the two groups dont stop fighting.

this show seriously is just SOOO good and i relate to pran on a personal level. both like… autistically and loving pat-ingly (ohm pawat.. whew hes Such a man)

2. Where Your Eyes Linger (available on viki? or dramacool if you want to pirate it lol)

OK a lot of people rate this kind of mid in kbls BUTTT its forever my favorite idc. its about a chaebol and his bodyguard who was essentially adopted by the family for the Sole purpose of being his bodyguard. set in high school and features just the most wonderful yearning and also for some reason they only have one bed in the apartment they share. goes into power structures and stuff a bit which i thought was cool :) basically the bodyguard has been in love with the chaebol his whole life but never acted on it because 1. thats not his place and 2. taejoo is Straight. he yearns quietly until Uh Oh… someone starts taking kang gook (the bodyguard)’s attention away from taejoo and he gets jealous.

3. I Told Sunset About You (available on viki. i watched it on dramacool)

AUOGGH.. this show will tear you into pieces. its just such a BEAUTIFUL and cinematic experience i love it so much… notable things to mention: features cheating and an obscene amount of crying. i love this show but i cannot do crying scenes. it was a struggle fjsjdjfjdjdjf anyways this show is about two childhood friends who are now rivals. theyre trying to get into college and taking classes outside of school to prepare, where they meet each other for the first time in quite a few years. teh is insanely jealous of oh aew for being popular amongst other things and it causes a lot of. tension. teh has a girl hes been flirting with for years and oh aew has a guy he likes but they both feel an INTENSE pull to each other. one that isnt easy on their relationships or theirselves.

OH!!! also this show features a ton of thai-chinese culture and is set in phuket as opposed to almost every other thai show being set in bangkok.

also i dont recommend the sequel. i havent watched it but it has some. problematic tropes that leave a bad taste in my mouth. also just destroys the characters! idk thats just my opinion though im sure SOMEONE likes that show..

4. Until We Meet Again (available on youtube)

ok. first of all. this show is about the red string of fate and reincarnated lovers. im warning you now that it literally starts with a double suicide scene and its. its a lot. HOWEVER. i do really like this show!! its sweet and does justice to both its trope and the couple who commit suicide. basically pharm, a stick of a guy who experiences panic attacks and nightmares that he cant explain, enters college and meets dean, the captain of the swim team. they both definitely know something is up and have feelings for each other but they have to navigate flashbacks and discovering what happened to their past selves (in and korn). ALSO has a side couple whos show is currently airing!!!! im not putting between us on here since its still airing but i do recommend it :)

ugh second warning. this show ALSO has soooo much crying……….

5. Gaya Sa Pelikula (available on youtube)

when i say this show changed me as a person.... god i genuinely have sooooooooooooo many emotions about this show. it follows karl, an architecture student. he moves into his apartment and.. some guy runs in and puts a hand over his mouth and tells him to be quiet. No he is not getting robbed but he doesn't know that. QUEUE fake dating and cohabitation to appease vlad (the guy who ran in)'s sister. genuinely has some of the best most incredible characters ever made and features incredible depictions of internalized homophobia and struggling to live your own life rather than the one someone else made for you. god just thinking about this show is makingme emotional i miss karl and vlad :(

i think this show was supposed to have a season two but something happened with the cast/production crew (im pretty sure it was SA but im not sure) and so theres no sequel. it has a cliffhanger/bittersweet ending but genuinely i think that shouldnt impact whether or not someone watches because its sad YES but its just actually such a good ending and i would have hated if they ended it another way. one of the realest and most human shows ive watched. the BEST depiction of the gay experience ive ever seen. genuinely please watch this show just for that it made me cry and laugh and sob and giggle with how nuanced and thoughtful it is about gayness

6. cherry magic (ITS AVAILABLE ON CRUNCHYROLL??? i watched it on dramacool. lmao)

AHHHHHHHHHHHHH the movie sequel just came out and i haven't seen it yet but im soooo excited for it. cherry magic is one of the most endearing shows but it doesn't sacrifice character development or plot for cuteness. the premise is that when you turn 30, and youre still a virgin, you turn into a mind reader. which is a big premise to sell i KNOW. but they NAIL IT. adachi (the mindreader) is introverted, insecure, and uncomfortable in his skin, but his new powers force him to come to terms with himself and exist as a person. he avoids touch as much as possible as everyones thoughts can be A Lot BUT he brushes against the office hottie/mvp and finds out that he (kurosawa) has a crush on HIM. adachi doesnt understand but tries to figure out why this incredible guy could love a shy and awkward person like him. features an aroace side character and a side couple i ignored (save for the cat. udon lovers unite) its just such a sweet but powerful show and i love the characters so much :((((

7. hes coming to me (available on youtube)

OHM PAWATS BACK IM SORRY HES JUST MY FAV AND ALSO THE BEST ACTOR EVER. anyways this show has SUCH a soft place in my heart i truly think its such a special show. its about a ghost who is never visited at his grave and therefore cant pass on and a guy who can see ghosts. Thun has seen ghosts for most of his life but he hasn't really talked to any. Mes has been dead for awhile and longs to have someone SEE him and TALK to him. when thun is a kid, he sees mes and leaves him some offerings. but he doesn't return for a very long time. thuns now a college kid and when he returns to the graveyard, he finally talks to mes and they click. from there, they work together to figure out how mes died to try and help his spirit move on, but develop feelings along the way. has the most HEARTBREAKING coming out scene ever. ohm pawat seriously deserves so many awards. ALSO has a lot of thai-chinese culture!!

i have mixed feelings about the ending. its complicated i like it and i dont like it.. if you watch it youll see what i mean sdfhsoidfjsido

OIADJOASI:JDOIS IM STOPPING HERE THIS IS SO LONGIM SORRY LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT MORE I JUST DONT WANT TO MAKE THIS NOVEL LENGTH IOJF:SDIJSDOI:JIOD

OMG EDITING TO SAY THAT GAP THE SERIES IS A GL CURRENTLY AIRING THAT I SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO RECOMMEND AS WELL!!!!!!! we stan the autistic queen sam is and mon whos just doing her best in a lesbian world. without knowing shes a lesbian. Somehow

[tea-cat-arts]

Getting told The Untamed is the best version of mdzs fills me with the exact same emotion 10 y/o me got whenever someone said they loved the Percy Jackson movies (I'll be fair to Untamed fans though- it sounds like a good series, it just doesn't sound like mdzs)

[gentil-minou]

When I was deep in a feverish haze all I could think about was Wei Wuxian's first illness post golden core transfer because cultivators never get sick so when wwx does for the first time he's absolutely awful at it.

Like he's walking around lotus pier trying to pretend he's fine but he's stumbling into walls and almost walks off the deck into the lake at some point. And of course everyone just thinks he's drunk or something cause cultivators don't get sick and wwx goes with it and laughs it all off, pretending he's hungover and absolutely fine, until he ends up shivering in bed until shijie brings him soup with a concerned look in her eyes he refuses to acknowledge.

When he gets better he cracks jokes and pretends it was nothing and hides his lingering cough in his sleeve.

With the Wens it's only a little bit better bc they do know about his core and Wen Qing is a doctor and can help him, but you see wwx can't lie down and rest how can he when there's so much he has to do?

He works as hard as he can, making sure to lift everything for granny even though his body aches and using all his energy to keep A-Yuan happy and distracted, in between moments of clearing resentment, all until he passes out in the middle of an empty path with no one around to see him fall.

Eventually Wen Ning finds him and carries him back wei wuxian wakes up to Wen Qing forcing some awful broth made of scraps of meat and yelling at him to go to sleep and rest. But of course the moment they're all asleep for the night he goes back to work. He can't rest there's no time, even as his head pounds and his body screams and the sickness eats away at his insides as the resentment does the same. There's no time for rest.

Post canon the first time Wei Wuxian gets sick he falls into a old habits and doesn't tell anyone, just continues puttering about and acting fine, distracting the juniors during their lessons and hanging off Lan Zhan's shoulders to tease him while he works.

But of course Lan Wangji notices the way his husband sways more than just with his usual dramatic swagger, and how he keeps shoving his favorite foods away saying he's not hungry as he rubs at his throat.

The final straw is when Wei Wuxian says he's too tired for their everyday but then plays it off as a joke at the look of concern Lan Zhan gives himso they do it anyways. And even tho Lan Zhan is tender and slow tonight Wei Wuxian still passes out from shear exhaustion before either have even finished

Lan Wangji has a moment of panic, thinking he broke his husband but then connects the dots...

When wwx wakes up he's smothered by their warmest blankets and wearing lwj's softest underrobe (because when A-Yuan was sick he liked to wear the robe too for the comforting smell and warmth). He looks around groggy and half asleep calling for his Lan Zhan, feeling bereft and confused.

He's about to get up and find him himself, even though the thought of getting up makes him feel dizzy when lwj comes back and glides to wwx's side with a bowl of congee that has just a hint of red in it. Wei Wuxian teases him about "there must be a rule about breakfast in bed Lan Zhan" and tries to get to his feet, but Lan Wangji pushes him down gently murmuring, "Rest, Wei Ying."

And suddenly its like the Jingshi has melted away replaced with the jagged stone walls of a familiar cave because Wei Wuxian you see he can't rest, there's things to do and people need him and he has to be strong he can't just rest he isn't allowed and what about the Wens he needs to get up he cant just lie here he needs to save them and he cant breathe and his head is going in awful circles and it feels like something is clawing its way out of him and he has to go do something and fix something, until Lan Wangji pulls him onto his lap and starts humming their song as he rubs soothing circles along wwx's back. And even though wwx's breaths are still coming out in terrified waves as his eyes dart around for some unseen threat, despite it all he starts to relax little by little to the sound of his Lan Zhan’s familiar baritone.

When he finally calms down enough he realizes he's been crying, blubbering like a baby leaving disgusting snot stains in the illustrious Hanguang-jun's robes and he tries to wipe them them away before Lan Zhan sees but lwj just holds his face between two hands with the most softesr care, his expression open and honest in a way it only ever is for Wei Ying, and he just keeps humming nonsense and nursery rhymes as he kisses wwx's tear tracks away. And tho wwx still can't stop crying lwj doesn't say anything, doesn't chide or lecture or tell him anything, just holds wwx and lets the smell of sandalwood wrap a comforting and warm embrace around wwx.

Eventually wwx does drift off and he comes to still huddled against lwj's chest, a lovely spot of drool right over his husband's brand and heart, as he reads a book about dual cultivation. It's past midday now and wwx asks about Lan Zhan's duties, fiddling with the edge of his forehead ribbon.

But Lan Wangji simply says, "Wei Ying is most important" and kisses his forehead and goes back to his book.

And Wei Wuxian burrows back into his husbands chest as if he tried hard enough he could carve a hole and bury himself besides Lan Zhan's heart forever, and pretends the flush he feels is from the fever.

They spend the next 2 days like that, with lwj guiding wwx back down to rest whenever the anxiety tries to make him feel bad and then comforting him through it all, kindly never pointing out the way every so often tears start to fall silently down wwx's face when he gets to thinking too much and even more kindly not pointing out the awful inelegant sound of wwx's honking wet coughs.

At some point Sizhui even visits, bringing an attempt at lotus rib soup using what Wen Ning remembers. It's not quite the same but it's more than enough and finally Wei Wuxian feels his shivers subside completely.

When Wei Wuxian wakes up on the 3rd day, well rested in a way he's never felt after being ill, he immediately jumps his husband and smothers his face in exuberant kisses that make Lan Wangji smile his special Wei Ying smile.

And although no one says anything Wei Wuxian knows deep within his gifted bones that from now on whenever he falls ill, there will always be someone to catch him.

(Orignally a threadfic here)

[madtomedgar]

"Even with conflicting moral obligations there is still a clear right and wrong choice" no, sometimes there isn't, that's the point. The idea that just doing the right thing is always simple and the only reason not to is selfishness or cowardice is cartoon logic. Grow up.

[snapcracklepop-myjoints]

wow haha you* think this large area of land is uninhabitable and empty ? wow thats so funny that sounds so much like this fucked up terra nullius thing but surely you arent all mindlessly peddling that colonial narrative of australian land as uninhabited and therefore free for the taking, right ? that would be silly.

and its not like there's a common law doctrine that was only legally discredited in the last 30 years that literally refers to "desert and uncultivated" land as a justification for taking land that is inhabited but is deemed to not have "settled" inhabitants or "settled law" according to colonial standards, right ?

because if there was then it would obviously be super fucking racist to continue to legitimise and perpetuate the erasure of indigenous presence by reaffirming the conception of large swathes of land as desert and uncultivated empty and uninhabitable.

and obviously it would be not only racist but factually incorrect to identify an area as "uninhabitable" purely on the basis that that it was deemed less compatible with colonialist + capitalist agricultural and settler projects and practices, (putting aside the fact that nonnegligible areas are, in fact, settled and used as such) because that would not only continue the erasure of a diverse array of indigenous ways of life, but would also continue to give legitimacy to the idea that presence on land must be identifiable by colonial signifiers thereof, otherwise it is not real and does not count. so obviously you would not do that, yeah ? good talk <3

*"you" as in the ppl in screenshots/ppl who are saying this shit, not op. Just to clarify.

[mejomonster]

Rewatching The Untamed, and finally reading the book. It really makes me want to write a sequel to Just a Ribbon ToT

[softnoirr]

Different anon here who happens to have your notifications on… I can’t tell you how happy I am to know that there is someone else on this planet who finds Glennon epically irritating.

i can only say that i am SO sorry if you have my notifications on right now given the everything...however no yeah she's insufferable to me the majority of the time. i think she hit a very specific niche at the perfect moment with untamed and like. don't get me wrong i was drinking the koolaid, i convinced my then-girlfriends mother to drink the koolaid, but the koolaid was always terrible.

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Astrology Observations Pt. 10 Losing Control

Mars in scorpios intensity is unmatched. There sex appeal comes through when they are their most boastful and confident. There power is in their rage, their silence and their need to express there selves through physical activity. These angels must allow for all of their darkness to come through in order to receive full control over it. When they force themselves to not look into their darkness, they are blocking change from coming in. The ugly truths of their power comes in and they must reckon with that 'devil' at all times. At some point, they will know that the devil that they see is the power, change, and evolution they need to move forward.

All in all, mars in scorpio is in its second rightful home. Mars is the original ruler of scorpio so it works out for these martian babes. They must go through different stages of life learning how to harness this power. Because everyone sees it in them, however it moves so quietly others will begin to test you to see where is it.

Uranus Conjunct Mars individuals have a certain power in their consciousness that puts them up on game faster than others. Its literally levels to this sh*t, and they've got it down packed. In order to move into their highest potential they must be quick on their feet when going into new domains. Their curiosity will be the birth of a new horizon if they live a little. They challenge the status quo by being and doing what they want when they want it. And allowing others to mimic this motion with the help of grasping for air. Their intensity comes from the mind and everything they do has been tested in the dreams & ideas they had before they go for the big one.

However, another thing I've noticed is that sometimes you just have to jump. Just go for it, no thought in it what so ever and thats the BIG one for em. Sometimes you just gotta make that move even if you dont got all the answers. Cause usually uranus/mars doesn't care about the answers, it just cares for the result. Losing control of the mental will allow evolution to change course, and hopefully a new reality will take shape. Because now they have the abilities to do whatever it is they choose, and the brain power to make things happen.

Venus in Aries mission is to be the most confident, the greatest, and the most liveliest in what they do. Their is a need to be more than what they are at the time, and normally lose control of this feeling and go in for the big one. They never approve of being at the lowest or even third place. They gotta show it off and know that they are the truth. When the world is doubting them they will eat that energy up and transform it into higher power. Their truth is getting used to the world not understanding them, but they make peace with it. This is what makes them so attractive over all, because the world changes in their favor with time. When they decide to let go of control on how the world views them and ultimately how they view themelves, they will grow into their personalities and become a self-master in what they wish to have for themselves... And then the world will have to eat in the palm of their hands soon come. ;)

Sun Conjunct Mars... Whew boy. Yall are different. Yall have an incredible force hiding within you but the world doesn't see it yet. You have problems with dealing with this entity that is a fire haven of destruction. The world will call it 'demon', but you will call it 'life'. This world doesn't see the realm of fire in the way that you feel it. In a cage locked away so that the world can feel safer. You remind others of what its like to climb the top of the mountain and reach it with not an inch of sweat down your back. Your caged senses are abilities that can grow and help you navigate earth in multiple ways then one. You're like a creature that's naturally untamed, but the world has to have a mission in feeling in control.. so they try to take you down with them. Its like bigfoot finally getting control of itself, not playing pretend and being more open to jump the boat. Getting out their and showing your strength even if it hurts others to look. You don't care what the world sees in you but you know the way to the heart. Your mind is capable of bringing its true raw power to the light. This warms up the hearts of many, but intimidates others too. When you lose yourself, you bring back control because theirs so much rare power in you that NEEDS to be in the spotlight. You NEED the world to see your body, to see your mind, your heart, your soul. The world needs inspiration to move better, do more, to be motivated. Thats your spark. Thats your truth.

Taurus Mars - Energy healers. Your gift is through bodily movements. Every touch, every feeling creates a surge of raw energy forming through your body. Your pain can be transmuted into more if you allow your feelings to get the best of you. Don't let go, just allow it to flow within and find power in embracing it. Thats the message.

Sun/Mars Trine & Sextile peeps.. Use that force to drive away any leeches trying to gain power over your life. Your brilliance is jaw dropping, and the waves you create by just being yourself is more than anyone could describe. Be confident in whatever you choose to embark in. Rage is a perfect tool to heal any wounds from the past, and that rage is protection for you in future endeavors and/or people who don't know you enough to try and stop+control you from your calling. Your gift is in getting to the bottom of that massive power and using that energy in an outlet that matches your frequency. Your energy can come by tiny blurts of emotions pushing through to contain more outside force, after-all is done it'll before larger than life. You just have to work with it.

If you want me to explain in more detail, drop a comment below! i'll work with you on getting more insight on these placements. thanks for reading <3

[staraxiaa]

+ extra lines bc i ran out of tag space .

If you cross the river (will the fighting end?)

Contrary to what granny once said, Kita thinks he won't ever truly know who you are. You are the one who waits by the river, watching as he scrubs dirt from fresh carrots and dirty shovels. You are the one whose presence lingers like mist over his skin when you part. You are the one whose eyes he always feels, at every moment—the eyes granny reminds him of when they wipe the floor or prepare a meal together.

You are the one who knows that it does not matter, that he would still perform his rituals and hold unwavering conviction even if you were not there. Because he is Kita; he is Shin-chan—repetition, perseverance, and diligence is how he lives...because it simply feels good.

You are the same, committed to your duty to watch him from the moment you were pulled from the glory of a summit. And he is committed to being watched by you.

shinsuke kita x GN reader character study for shin, reader is a river/rain spirit, themes of disaster, mentions of dying/minor character death, fluff and angst, slow burn (i think), slight spoilers for haikyuu!! timeskip 20.4k words | oneshot, complete

notes: This fic is set around the premise that Kita's gran lives in the mountains of eastern Hyogo, just above Osaka. I have his parents living in the city while Kita is cared for by granny until it's time for him to start school, around 6 years old. He goes to Osaka during the school year and no longer spends time in the mtns. Since canon doesn't offer a whole lot of information, I took liberties with the setting and backstory to fit the plot of my fic. I hope this can help negate any potential confusion! + (It's another fic spanning childhood to adulthood. With a magical reader. I am unfortunately not able to escape my own tropes.) + shoutout to this fic for inspiration

ao3 option

One moment you are a carefree being, gleefully running along a series of falls wedged along the mountain summit. The sun is setting and you are soaking in the glory of the day: with swaying leaves and shimmering droplets, and the last bit of light streaming through pockets of trees.

The next you are falling, rolling, bumping your way through the water. A current sweeps you away without warning, your vision goes dark, and you have left your place above the sun to land in the depths of a looming valley. You have to carry onwards, knowing there is no going back, so you search for the one who brought you here.

There is a dim light beyond the bank. It seeps from the open screen of a traditional-style house, illuminating the wooden beams and eaves from behind. It's a bedroom, with a small boy dutifully putting his futon down for the night, smoothing out the bumps and lining the base to be in its exact spot. He has salt and pepper hair and you think he is the youngest old person you will ever see. He never looks your way, but you sense that he knows you are watching.

So you watch, now that you're here.

"Granny, who's that?"

He is a toddler, carried along the path next to the river by his grandmother, a thin arm clutching him tightly against her hip. Her eyes slowly move from his face to his finger pointing towards the water. She can't see what he sees: another child, waist deep in the gentle rapids, mysteriously faded—like a mist lingering instead of wafting to the sky. She smiles gently when she understands, bringing a hand to pat his hair softly.

"You'll learn when the time is right, Shin-chan."

She knows how this story will go.

Someone is always watching, Shin-chan.

Kita's life is built upon the small things he does everyday, and the end results are no more than a byproduct of that.

Someone is watching over you.

Rain streams down the mountain gullies and pools in the river at the center of the valley.

The sun rises. Over and over and over again.

Childhood

The morning light streams through open screens, crawling up the veranda and into the adjacent interior. It’s the beginning of June—cleaning day, the tatami mats moved aside for inspection and rotation while Kita and granny scrub the wooden floors together. Foam bubbles from the rag when he wrings it out, excess water trickling into the bucket. He wipes it across the floor of their living room, watching carefully as the wood darkens slightly, but not too much, leaving shiny streaks and stray bubbles behind. He smiles to himself gently.

A grin tugs at granny as she watches from the opposite side of the room. It was Shin-chan’s own decision to clean with her today. He gave her no reason as he simply said, “I’ll help,” when she grabbed her bucket and rags. He already started pulling the mats aside, then struggled to move the table in the center by himself. Granny chuckles to herself at the recollection before returning her attention to the floor, her section a little lighter than Kita's.

He looks to her side and the faintest crease appears between his brows, a slight purse of his lips. When he wrings out his towel again, he pulls the ends a little tighter before bringing it back to the floor with a new gentleness. The result brings the twitch of a smile to his mouth. It makes him feel good.

From outside, he hears the rustling of leaves, creaking as bamboo sways in a light breeze, and the scrapes of shrubs against the house. The morning is cool, bringing in air that will hopefully linger as the day drags on. The only chatter comes from the birds, quick raps of storks in the river and singing sparrows in the trees. Kita feels a warmth, one from inside, as he listens. Focuses.

He thinks it could be praise, from the spirits that are watching.

It’s still morning when they finish, the mats brushed and switched with the ones in the closet. After they return the table to the center of the room, granny quietly thanks Kita for his help. He only nods in return. Quiet Shin-chan. He thinks he’ll read until lunch, or maybe help some more if granny plans to work in the garden.

She interrupts his thoughts. “Let’s go for a walk, to Fujiwara-san’s.”

Kita's brow furrows ever so slightly, but he nods. Granny sometimes likes to visit the neighbors, though without any clear pattern or schedule. He thinks she might be doing it for him, so he can talk with other kids his age, especially with his sister always gone to a friend’s and his baby brother in the city. He would rather read, but agrees regardless since it’s granny asking.

They slip their feet into sandals and start down the path along the river, towards the right. Kita reaches for granny’s hand and she smiles down at the top of his hair. They walk slowly along pebbles and dirt, accompanied by the sound of water rushing next to them. Eventually they approach a bridge, granny having to grasp the railing as she walks up the steps. When she reaches the center of the river she pauses, a ritual, to watch the water run by.

“Fujiwara-san said he has exciting news,” granny offers in a delayed explanation. Kita doesn’t respond. 

Granny takes another minute to step down on the other end of the bridge and continue walking. They go left, towards the house that sits opposite of theirs. It takes slightly longer with the incline, but it’s quaint and Kita feels no hurry.

The house is open when they arrive, doors aside to let the last cool minutes waft through. There’s nobody home, however, and Kita looks up to granny curiously after they step onto the exterior veranda.

She only offers a smile as they wait a few moments. His attention is diverted when he hears the thumping of footsteps, small and quick, getting closer. They’re followed by Fujiwara’s muffled voice, worried. Kita's hand tightens in granny’s as he watches closely.

Out runs a child, his age, tracking dark footprints along the tatami mats from the back entrance. Not just with dirt, but smudges of mud, smearing on the woven grass. His chest tightens at the sight and he has the urge to scold, to clean the mess, but then he feels eyes on him and—

That watchful gaze he remembers clearly, despite only seeing it once, years ago. A gaze he still feels everyday, most intently at night. You are grown, but only as much as he is. And you’re…real. With a weight and embodiment, a person instead of a misty image on the river’s surface. You’re also brighter, both in appearance and spirit, as you put a small handful of grapes (fat and crisp and green) into your mouth (skin and seeds included) and chew quickly before swallowing and smiling widely at him. 

Again, Kita wants to protest the sight, tell you the skin is dirty and you can’t eat seeds, but the words are trapped. Something is tugging at his chest—something other than his apprehension, something that makes him want to physically step forward.

But then Fujiwara-san is rushing in, though not very quickly. He’s another old-timer in the village, with crinkly eyes and little hair remaining on his head, paired with a thin physique and hunch in his back. In one hand he carries a woven basket, filled with more bunches of grapes, shiny and wet. In the other is a wooden cane, pale with a reddish tint—Kita thinks maple. The old man never needed one before, and Kita wonders what’s changed.

He looks back to you, the one change he’s aware of.

“Shinsuke-kun,” his thoughts are interrupted by the call of his name. He hasn’t been listening, he realizes, and he turns his attention to the grandpa. “This is one of my grandchildren. My daughter has been busier with work lately.”

Kita, for a third time, wants to protest. He’s met all of Fujiwara-san’s grandchildren before, and if he hadn’t, granny would have certainly told him about another five year old. He doesn’t know how to respond, can’t, and so he watches blankly. You are smiling at him the entire time, with a joy he doesn’t understand—at least, not entirely.

(There is a tightness in his chest at the sight of you, like it wants to expand beyond its capability. He’s not sure what that means.)

“Have some grapes!” you exclaim in a soft voice, thrusting the bunch towards him. Two fall from the force of your sharp movements, and he watches as they roll on the ground, leaving another stain. He doesn’t accept them, just continues to stare at the mess.

Granny fights a smile as she encourages him. “Let’s try some Shin-chan.”

He wants to say that he’s already had them before. He knows they will be delicious and crunchy and refreshing, especially now that the heat is rising with the sun. He knows that Fujiwara’s grapes are the best, and now two have been wasted and splattered on the tatami. Instead of reprimanding you, he reaches his arm out to take the bundle. Since granny asked.

His eyes widen when you then crouch to pick up the fallen fruit from the floor and eat them (skin and seeds included) without so much as wiping them off.

Who are you?

The faintest tug on his hand makes him turn to granny, who’s pulling one off the bundle he’s holding to give it a taste. “They’re delicious as always,” she says. “I’m surprised it’s such an early harvest.”

Fujiwara smiles, eyes crinkling further. “Snow came early this winter,” he reminds her.

She hums thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. The weather has been quite unusual this year.”

Unusual, Kita wonders to himself. Because of you.

You smile at him again and that inexplicable tightness arises in his chest once more. He frowns, the first genuine frown of displeasure today. His mind tells him to ask granny if he can go home, but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t understand how that could be possible, to want and not want something at the same time. His frown deepens.

Kita thinks his time at Fujiwara-san’s is excruciating. Kita is also hesitant to leave when granny says it’s time to go. He misses a knowing smile that rests on her face as she tugs him gently, watching as he glances back during their walk home.

You are nosy. Kita was already aware, given he could feel you watching him at every moment, even when he can’t see you. But you are nosy when you are physically near him. And you are around him often now, nearly every day for the past week. Whether you simply show up at random or granny is pulling him along to Fujiwara’s, Kita learns that being around you is inescapable, inevitable. 

At the very least you aren’t noisy, just curious. At granny’s you quietly hover whenever Kita switches tasks or activities, a ghost floating over his shoulder. Once you’ve fulfilled whatever interest you have, you keep to yourself in your own part of the room. You’re helpful in the garden, for some reason, but you make him grimace when you pull a carrot directly from the ground and take a bite, dirt and all. You don’t help him wash the harvest, just crouch next to him by the river water and watch his hands diligently scrub.

You are, however, incredibly messy. It’s as if you don’t even register what a mess is, mud and leaves and water following you everywhere. Always. Trekking through the door with bare feet, smudges of grime trailing behind, sometimes with dripping hair—undried hair—that leaves dark circles and puddles on the mats and wood.

Every time it happens his chest flares with irritation, that urge to scold you. But granny is near, so he says nothing and instead looks at her intently. Granny only ever smiles back, sometimes handing him a towel and reminding him that he can help, if he wants. He doesn’t want to. He’s not sure why the adults haven’t explained it to you, surely Fujiwara-san can’t keep up with the cleaning he must have to do to house you. If Kita and granny always have to scrub your mess after you visit, Fujiwara must be mopping every hour. Sometimes they clean when you’re here, while you just sit and watch, only to dirty the floor again the following day.

After a week of this passes and you show up again, uninvited and with your bare feet leaving mud on the veranda, he caves.

“Don’ come around here if yer jus’ gonna make a mess,” he says firmly—but also quietly, wary of granny’s proximity. Why do you always enter through the veranda anyways—not the genkan, where the mess would be easier to contain?

You don’t appear deterred, smiling as you hold up a basket. “I brought you grapes, Shin-chan.”

He blinks. “That’s kind,” he admits, “but I don’ want ‘em.”

“Well I do,” Granny’s sweet voice says from behind him. Kita tenses when he hears it, turns to look at her guiltily. Her calm, smiling face makes him uneasy.

He starts to protest, those disagreements he felt a week ago, since the moment she wanted to go to Fujiwara’s, bubble up together. “But gran—”

“Shin-chan,” she cuts him off. Her voice is gentle and soft, but holds a different kind of firmness that Kita can’t deliver. One that makes him listen, because he has to.

“It’s okay,” you say, interrupting the conversation that would have followed. You’re still smiling, unfazed. It flames Kita's annoyance, while calming his nerves. Again, he doesn’t understand these feelings. “I’ll go home if Shin-chan wants me to.”

The boy’s eyes widen at that, heart plummeting as if he’s done something wrong. Why do I care? he immediately wonders. Maybe because granny is watching over his shoulder, or because Fujiwara-san seemed so happy to have his not-actually-grandkid (Kita is still certain) around his house. He doesn’t know what home you’re referring to, Fujiwara’s or the city or…somewhere else. Regardless, it would be easier if you went back and let them rest, granny especially, since she must be tired from the extra chores. He still hasn’t answered, caught between wanting to agree, waiting to disagree. He’s not sure which part of him wants what.

Instead of caving to his irritation for a second time today, he sighs and says, “It’s fine…jus’ wash yer feet.” He realizes he’s resolved to clean up after you so granny doesn’t have to. What is he doing?

“Okay,” you say easily, smiling. That relief fills him once again, and he can only stare at you, as if explanations for that feeling in his chest will surface if he looks hard enough. They don’t.

“Here are the grapes,” you assert, raising them in front of you. He hesitates, staring at them in accusation after he finally grasps the handle of the basket. Then you say: “Okay, bye now!” and run off the veranda, your bare feet landing in the dirt and carrying you along the trail and across the bridge.

Kita watches you with a pained face, and he realizes his free hand lifted slightly, as if reaching for you. He scowls and forces it down. Then he turns to granny. She’s smiling at him, he can sense it’s with amusement. He wants to ask why you left, if you really are going home, wherever that is. But he can’t, not when granny is giving him such a look.

“Stop cleanin’ up after others,” he tells her instead. Granny blinks, wondering why she’s being scolded now, too. “I’ll do it. Jus’…jus’ rest.”

She smiles warmly. “You’re a good kid, Shin-chan.”

Kita doesn’t think so. Not right now, with the way you ran away.

“Some people need time to learn the ways we live,” she continues vaguely. “Not everyone comes from the same place.”

He wonders why someone from the city would run around without shoes, through mud.

That inexplicable relief returns when you stand in the outdoor veranda the next day. He still doesn’t understand why he would want to see you, maybe for the confirmation that his words did not actually send you away—that granny and Fujiwara-san can continue to enjoy your presence. Regardless, he stares pointedly at your feet, the dirt clinging to them.

“Sorry,” you say, with the tact to at least look sheepish this time. “I washed them at Jii-chan’s, but they got dirty again.”

Kita is too stunned to react. Do people from the city not understand how shoes work? Or water? Dirt? He sighs, attempting to find his patience, as he tells you to stay put while he leaves. He grabs two pairs of sandals from the genkan and re-enters the veranda. He slips on one pair, then ushers you to follow him down the steps to the spigot.

“Rinse your feet,” he instructs. You do, poorly, but he supposes he can only ask for so much. He puts the second pair of sandals on the ground and tells you to step your feet in after you rinse. It’s an arduous process, but finally you are mostly clean and in the sandals. He then walks you to the entrance of the genkan and tells you, “Enter here. Wear those shoes when ya visit and put ‘em—” he points to a cubby, “there when ya come in.”

You are smiling, always smiling, when you reply. “Thanks Shin-chan!” Then you kick off your sandals and toss them into the cubby. Kita's chest flares again with displeasure at your haphazard treatment of his things. Suddenly you grab his hand and pull him inside, and all he can think is that your skin is cold. He can’t find it in himself to comment, heart racing as he stumbles and tries to slip off his slides before you tug him to the main room. He watches as your undried feet leave dark prints in the tatami in front of him—he thinks of the mold that has probably started growing under them since your first visit.

He passes granny as you pull him through the rooms. He gives her a wide-eyed look, one that tries to ask for help. She only smiles.

Kita feels a little bad for his outburst, once a few days pass and he understands that you aren’t intentionally helpless. You enter through the genkan, with relatively clean feet. You’re careful when you eat after he points out that you tend to make a mess. You help clean, when he asks you to. You still leave crumbs around and wet patches, you scrub too hard sometimes and other times not enough, but you try. And Kita finds that he doesn’t mind so much anymore.

You just don’t know things.

The more he ruminates on your…unfamiliarity with the world, the less sense your story makes—the city story that Fujiwara-san told him and granny. It’s obviously not true, but it also has to be, if everyone believes it. Someone from the city wouldn’t look so surprised that their feet collect dirt. He recalls that evening a few years ago when he was only two, when he could see you in the river. He thinks about the never-ending feeling of being watched. You’re from here, from him.

It becomes apparent why you’re here, why you hang around him at home and linger in his presence. One night he wakes up hours before sunrise. He struggles to re-enter his slumber and curiously opens the screen facing the river, to gauge the time. The mountains loom behind the image of a small figure on Fujiwara’s veranda. You, offering a little wave.

He doesn’t react, just watches as you swing your feet. The moon sits high between you, illuminating the river below, the mist that lingers on its surface. He wonders if you’ve always been there, why he never saw you until a couple weeks ago.

The spirits are all around us, in every living thing. Granny’s voice calls from his memory.

As he watches you, the river, he wonders what defines a “living thing”— if it’s breath or blood or growth. Something else entirely. He thinks the river breathes; it absorbs the air when it bubbles over rocks. Its blood is the water itself. It grows in its own way, banks expanding and collapsing, body winding and pooling, collecting life, collecting stories and history. He’s curious about your story, why it’s part of his.

He closes the screen and goes back to bed.

Shinsuke is not the kind of person to ask unnecessary questions. Even as a child, he keeps those curiosities within, assuming they’ll be answered eventually. Like granny said, You’ll learn when the time is right.

So he doesn’t ask, instead infers. Analyzes and assumes. You aren’t the same. Throughout the summer, as you spend time together, you are always asking. Asking and smiling. Sometimes they’re necessary questions: how to properly wash a dish, or where to set a gift of vegetables. Most of the time they’re unnecessary, asking how Kita is feeling, what he thinks of the weather. Sometimes they’re downright invasive.

“Where are your parents?” you ask him one hot July day, laying in the main room. Kita is fanning himself and wondering why you aren’t sweating.

“Osaka,” he says curtly. He hasn’t seen them in a while, hasn’t thought about them either.

“Do you miss them?” You ask, nosiness unsatisfied.

He shakes his head, no unnecessary response. He likes it with granny, always misses her the few times he’s gone to the city.

You hum, like you heard his unspoken answer. He thinks that’ll be the end of it. It isn’t.

“Your hair must be a mix of theirs,” you say plainly. “Whose is grey?”

He shakes his head, “Neither.” They both have black hair, the same with his sister who’s never home and his baby brother in the city with a nanny.

You’re surprised. “Oh. Do you know whose it is?”

He shrugs, uncaring.

But you smile for some reason, with genuinely joyful eyes. “Maybe it’s your gran’s,” you say happily. It makes him blink in surprise, mystified. He inhales, chest lighter. “It’s cool how that sort of stuff happens.”

He can’t look away from you, your smile that pierces right through him.

That night after his bath, he looks at himself in the mirror, intense, searching in a way he’s never done before. He sees the traces of his mom in his eyes and his lips, his dad in his nose. Both of them at the tips of his hair, that lower section by his neck. He continues to stare, looking for granny. He sees the way she influenced the nose he got from dad. He sees the way she claimed his hair, cradling his head and framing his eyes and cheeks. He wonders what it means, to be chosen by the traits from a generation before.

When granny says goodnight, Kita puts his arms up for a hug. She’s warm, always is. His head nestles into her neck, his threads of grey and black hair tangling with her sea of silver. He doesn’t know what it means; he is a five year old without the vocabulary to articulate the tightness in his chest, something akin to longing and fear. He is a five year old incapable of grasping what it means to be alive.

Only a couple days later, Kita catches a new perspective of you. 

You are barefoot in the genkan and Kita is ready to scold you, this one he knows is deserved after all he’s taught you. Before he can, you speak.

“Come with me today.”

Your hand is outstretched and inviting, but Kita is apprehensive, not sure what you mean. Before he can ask, granny speaks from behind him. “Go on, Shin-chan.”

He frowns and looks at her. Neither of them know what you’re talking about, where you even want to go. But granny looks calm and assured, without a worry in the world.

You don’t wait for an answer, grasping his hand when he’s still turned away and giving it a tug. He feels that same chilliness on your skin, one that makes him think you might be sick. He manages to protest long enough to step into his slides before you pull him out the door. 

It’s a beautiful day. The sun still hangs to the side, the heat of July not yet settled in the valley. The sky is a bright blue, populated with innocent fluffy clouds, white and rolling in the breeze. A group of sparrows sing in a shrub you two pass, and a toad leaps off the path to get out of your way. Kita inhales deeply, the air humid but clean.

“Where’r we goin’?” he manages to ask, quickening his pace to match yours. Your hand has loosened its grip, but he doesn’t let go.

“The forest!” you cheer easily.

His eyes widen. The forest? He’s been to the forest before, to pick bamboo shoots and tea leaves with granny, but he’s not supposed to go without an adult. Does granny know? Why would she let them go by themselves? These are necessary questions, he thinks, and yet he swallows them down and lets you take him without protest.

You are fast despite being barefoot, rocks and sticks seemingly unnoticed as you dart along the path. Kita follows along diligently, stumbling only a few times. He wishes he wore his athletic shoes instead of the sandals. He glances back to the house, studies the way it shrinks from the distance. The two of you are still on the southern side of the river, not yet crossed to the northern mountains, where granny takes him.

Kita decides that he likes running like this, despite the heat and his shoes. It’s a gentle jog, with a destination in mind, his hand in yours as you lead the way.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, just follows you up and along the path until the two of you reach its end. It’s the first time Kita has seen it, the way it stops before a rock face that climbs up a mountain west from his house. He looks down the path, into the valley from the incline.

He looks back at you, waiting for an explanation for what to do next. You don’t offer one, walking to the bank of the river. To get in the river, he realizes, and for the first time since leaving granny’s he tries to pull away.

You turn back to him, smiling softly. “Trust me, Shin-chan,” you say.

He’s not sure why he should, why he did, to let you take him all the way out here in the first place. Because of granny’s encouragement, he thinks. Go on, she said. Did that mean all the way? To the ends of wherever you wanted him?

You have turned and continued down the bank. Kita does not try to escape your grasp, letting you pull him along.

The water of the river rushes over his feet, cool and surprising. It runs up his ankles, his shins, his knees, and finally his thighs. You are leading him forwards, upstream and past the rock face that marks the end of the trail. His toes bump rocks covered in algae, slipping and wavering as he wades slowly. You, however, are sturdy, never faltering with your sure steps.

You approach a pile of rocks, scrambling over them to bring yourself back onto land. You help hoist Kita after you. He pauses when he steps onto the forest floor, the softness catching him off guard. He looks down to see reddish-brown piles of pine needles coating the ground, dotted with lush bundles of ferns and patches of vibrant moss. The land rolls gently, small and soft hills of fallen pine covering rocks and dirt and life. A mist lingers from the proximity of the water, the sun pulling the moisture into the air. The scenery is dark, quiet from the hazy canopy above. Kita inhales deeply in attempt to regulate his exhausted panting, the essence of wood and mint taking over him. He is in awe, not used to being swaddled in pine. The forests here are mostly a mix of leafy trees, oaks and maples and chestnuts, with pockets of bamboo. Not secret havens of sweetness and tang.

You tug him along, bouncing through the fluff of the soft ground. He follows, eyes wide and soaking in the scenery, wanting to memorize every moment. You show him your enchanted forest, its mysterious darkness splattered with occasional sun that manages to seep through. He spots a white hare leaping away, watches birds flutter from the trees. At one point you guide him to cross the river on a fallen tree, green with moss and bundles of young sedge. Behind your skipping form he walks carefully, arms outstretched for balance.

His heart freezes when he steps down onto the other side, catching sight of a grey wolf waiting its turn. He clutches your hand as the creature steps forwards, two smaller ones following. They look at him blankly before leaping onto the natural bridge, continuing their own journey without looking back.

When he turns to you, you are smiling, and tug him forwards once more. The sun starts to stream in, brightening as pines transition to those oak and maple and chestnut trees. The ground is no longer soft, but firm dirt and clumps of rocks, leading to one larger slab of jagged earth that juts out from the mountain entirely.

You step out into the sun and he follows, taking in the view in front of him.

He is not at the peak of the mountain, maybe halfway there, but the outlook forces him to understand the vastness of the valley. He can see the large span of the mountains as they roll and crawl in the distance, his house a small square along others. The river is more apparent, winding intensely down the mountain and softening into a gentle curve next to the village. He can see crop fields and the road that has taken him to Osaka before.

You speak, the first time since bringing him into the water, “Some people climb mountains to look from above. I like when I still feel inside of it, can still see what’s happening.”

Kita thinks he understands, remembers the way the mountains from his house are like a promising wall, a guardian. How the depth of the valley cradles him. He thinks of the hare and the birds, the wolves, the journey here striking wonder and awe into his heart. He recalls that feeling of being watched, your gaze always near.

The sun approaches its peak in the sky, nearly noon. It illuminates the valley, brings light into the forest behind them. Kita watches it light up your face, already bright from your joyful expressions.

“Happy birthday, Shin-chan,” you tell him, taking him by surprise. He forgot, in the excitement of the past hours with you. Granny gave him some books this morning as a gift. You’re giving him the forest. His smile is small and reserved, but it’s the first time he offers one back to you.

He thinks he understands now: what you meant when you said home.

The sight of your back with a hand pulling him along defines the next year. After you show Kita the forest, he trusts you wholly, no doubt that you will look after him. He is happily tugged again and again into that realm of magic. He encounters more animals—badgers and pigs, bears and herons. In the winter he sees foxes and macaques. The river freezes and snow becomes the new carpet of the forest. You don’t shiver either, he learns.

You take him to the summit once, so he can see the view. The pine transitions to a highland, bald of trees and instead coated in grass and shrubs. It’s beautiful, a clear day when the entirety of the valley is visible and he can spot granny’s home, how it sits across from Fujiwara-san’s. When he looks up, there is only the blue of the sky, not a single speck of cloud coverage. They stay until dark and watch the Milky Way span across the blackness of night, its subtle hues of pinks and blues, the way meteors shower down in flashes.

He watches life rise from the ground when the weather warms once again, as seedlings sprout and newborn animals wander through the land. Flowers bloom, coating pockets of earth in the full spectrum of light. He is witness to deer learning to walk, stumbling awkwardly over roots and rocks. He sees the other clumsy ways animals go about the world, how a sparrow drops its worm, how a duck trips and rolls into the river behind its mother. He collects these moments in his memory, happy to observe, solely to understand.

And you observe him, because Kita knows that is what you are meant to do. He still doesn’t know who you are, or why him, but he feels your eyes constantly. He doesn’t admit it, but they are comforting.

On the days you two are not parading in the mountain, you are still usually in each other’s presence. Kita no longer reads while you look over his shoulder or sit on the other side of the room. He reads to you, the books granny rents him from the library. You like to lay on the veranda while he sits and swings his feet, paying close attention to pronouncing the words. He still cleans up after you, since you never fully get the hang of doing things yourself. It’s only crumbs and small puddles, untidy blankets or cushions, an untucked chair at the table after dinner. He finds himself volunteering to take granny’s extra harvest of leeks to Fujiwara-san’s, under the pretense that he wants her to rest.

He walks there briskly, and stays for an additional hour. You have a lot to say, your nosiness still strong even after nearly a year.

“Jii-chan told me you’re starting school soon,” you say, eating one of the leeks. He watches you chew the entirety of it, uncooked. Some water squeezes out and dribbles onto the floor.

“In April,” he replies. April is two weeks away. It’s when he’ll go to Osaka. He’s supposed to stay there for the week leading up to school to prepare. He gets the sense that you’re leaving too.

You don’t look sad, and his shoulders feel tense when he notices. He’s not sure why.

Kita doesn’t ever ask unnecessary questions, but right now he is compelled to ask you many things. Sometimes it seems like you understand what he’s thinking, but you never respond unless he says it outright. As a result, he never gets to know.

He surprises both himself and you when he asks, “Are ya goin’ to school, too?” He already knows you aren’t.

You shake your head. He wants to ask why, wants to ask if you’re going somewhere else. He wants to know if you’ll be here when he comes back during break. He wants to figure out why you came in the first place.

Another question: “Are ya goin’ home?”

You nod your head this time. He watches you, thinking you’ll return to the pine forest. You shake your head when he thinks it, and give him the reprieve of elaborating. “The river.”

He frowns, confused. The river? You were always in the forest, guiding him along its greenery. He thinks about how he has to wade upstream to enter the forest in the west. He recalls the memory from years ago, a child in the water watching him. 

“I came from the forest,” you try to explain, “but the water’s my home now.”

Kita is reminded that he was born in Osaka, but would always rather be at granny’s house in the northern mountains.

It’s hard for him to leave granny’s, more than any time before. When the driver comes to get him and he squeezes in the back with granny, he looks out the window towards Fujiwara’s house. You sit on the veranda, waving while your legs swing. This time the sun is high in the sky and the river releases a blinding reflection. When the car drives away and he can no longer see you, his chest hurts.

Osaka does not make it easier. His mother coos at how big he’s grown while his father watches disinterested. Kita is shown his baby brother, now a toddler awkwardly walking around and speaking. Kita doesn’t know how to talk to him, but he tries. He says hello to his sister—who he hasn’t seen since she decided to stay in the city—when she finally makes an appearance at dinner. Granny stays for the meal and the night, and then leaves in the morning.

That night, the second one in Osaka, he cries while laying in bed. He isn’t sure why, the feelings simply overwhelming and in need of release. The squishy mattress in a raised bed frame doesn’t comfort him. He thinks about you, about granny. The mountains and the forest. The river. When he looks outside his window—a square of glass punched through plaster walls—he only sees pavement and blocks of concrete. Other homes, maybe with other children crying for reasons they can’t explain. There is no mountain in the distance or river running along the ground. The sky is hazy, no stars in sight. The only twinkling comes from his own eyes, his teary squinting blurring streetlights and windows with every blink. Each time his eyes close, for a moment he thinks he can see you.

If Shinsuke is one thing, he is malleable. He can fit himself into environments, his adherence to routine giving him a means of finding comfort no matter where he is placed. Responsibility grounds him, distracts him. He can redirect his energy to doing well in school, looking after his brother. These things feel good to him, to simply do them well.

Even though you are not with him, he can feel your eyes at all times. He is reminded of being at granny’s, her washing the floor as she tells him that the spirits are everywhere, always watching. He finds himself cleaning up after his brother, thinking of you. He wonders what you think, if you’re reminded of the same.

School is as alien as Osaka, with its concrete exterior and plastered walls. They are painted white and lined with large sheets of glass. They slide open, but only for students to shout at their friends outside, not to let the morning air in. 

In class, he sits quietly at his desk and listens to the teacher. He doesn't talk with other students or pass notes under the desk. He doesn’t even wonder about you, the feeling of your eyes always on him. He watches the teacher closely, diligently records the lessons. He watches other students, gathering first impressions and additional observations. He notices the way some of them doze off or scribble in their books. He sees the meaningful glances some make to each other, usually girls as they eye each other and specific boys in the class.

When he studies for his first exam, he thinks that he can feel you in the room with him. First looking over his shoulder—a cool breeze wafting from behind him, and then laying on his bed—the sheets oddly chilly when he goes to sleep. He remembers how you sat by him while he read aloud just a few weeks ago. He murmurs to himself as he reviews information, wondering if you can hear him.

Kita scores at the top of his class. He doesn’t feel anything when teachers congratulate him and other students whine. There is no pride in his chest or sense of satisfaction at the results. He thinks back to his nights studying, your presence lingering over him. It just feels good, he thinks, to do things well. The process of trying and dedicating himself to something.

He makes a routine out of it, delegating time after school to review material. It falls easily into his schedule, after dinner and before he readies for bed. He still has time to play with his brother, usually reading or offering him toys. His sister is always gone, either busy with club activities or friends. His parents get home late too, but they usually manage to have a full family dinner.

They’re eating quietly, having debriefed their days as they reach the end of their meal. Kita glances at his family, realizing that they’re different from the people at school. He’s known them for his whole life, people without first impressions and instead ingrained understandings. He looks at them intently, notices the way they eat, listens to the way they speak. He knows them intuitively, no running list in his mind to keep track of information. He is reminded of the time you asked about his hair, and he stares at his mom, then his dad. His mom’s hair is long and brown, artificially lightened from its original dark color. His dad’s is black with a sprinkling of silver from age. Kita wonders if his will do the opposite when he grows old.

There’s another exam the following week, this one for his science class. Kita is the first one in the classroom, watching students filter in. The boy who sits next to him—Daiki, tall and skinny—plops down with a sigh just a few minutes before the teacher is supposed to arrive.

“Gahh, I’m so nervous,” he says to Kita, laying his head on the desk. When Kita doesn’t respond, he asks, “Are you?”

Kita shakes his head at that, not sure why he would be. He studied. 

When the results come back after a few days Daiki whines that Kita is a goody-goody, trying his hardest to get the teacher’s attention. Kita looks at his full marks and once again feels nothing. He thinks it is the natural result of his efforts. He wonders what you would say, if he could talk to you. He thinks you would ask nosey questions about his siblings. It makes his chest feel hollow.

Some kids try to be his friend, or at least try to talk to him. But he’s quiet, not very eloquent or forgiving with his words, and so they eventually leave him alone. He thinks about how you diligently stood by him, how you smiled when he scolded you.

When he gets home and returns to his room, it is exactly as he left it. There are no crumbs to sweep or puddles to wipe. His brother is out with the nanny, but he feels restless, the need to do something. He thinks he can get started on his homework early, pulling out his notebooks and folders. He can’t focus on the words, eyes skimming the pages without understanding. He knows that studying now is futile, and decides to continue later. He settles on bathing early instead.

His bath draws on, longer than usual. He finds himself pausing, getting lost in thought—though more lost in feeling, since his mind drifts blankly. He’s still restless by the time he finishes, but slightly relaxed. He stands to wrap himself with the towel and steps carefully onto the bath rug. Once he’s dried and his towel is secure around his waist, he leans over to pull the plug and let the water drain. Just as he grasps it, there’s a lurch of water that spills out and onto the floor. His eyes widen in disbelief and his chest flares with annoyance knowing he will have to clean the mess. He looks at the floor incredulously before turning back to the bath and—

His eyes widen further, mouth opening slightly at the sight of you—a misty figure over the water. You’re wearing a sheepish expression as you lean over the edge to assess the mess.

“Sorry,” you say quietly. Kita's disbelief increases at the sound of your voice. “I’m still getting the hang of it.”

Kita slams the plug back down and stands to face you clearly. He feels the water pooled at his feet, but all irritation has fled his body. Instead he is filled with a warmth, a contrast to the coolness wafting from you.

“You made a mess,” he tells you, unnecessarily. You know that already.

“Yeah,” you say. You apologize again.

“Don’ do it again,” he tries to scold. His body wants to step forward, to reach you. He’s not sure why, and he frowns with skepticism.

You nod, then lift your leg experimentally. When it’s pulled above the water, there are no droplets falling. Instead, you appear airy, like the water sits around your body. You step out and onto the bathroom floor, successfully avoiding increasing the mess. You smile brightly at your success. Kita continues to watch, wondering if you’ll disappear, evaporate at any moment. You look at the water on the floor and then meet his eyes, smile turning sheepish again.

“I should mop,” you tell him, breaking him from his quiet spell.

“I’ll do it,” he says immediately. “Jus’...jus’ don’ go anywhere.”

You nod.

Mopping helps him calm down, perhaps needing a task to manage his agitation. You watch, and then follow him to his room once he’s finished. He dresses while you distractedly rummage through his things, then walks over to you at his desk. He feels a wetness under his foot and looks down, seeing footprints scattered along the floor. They’re light and clearly yours, and he ignores them, continuing over to you.

“You can go back to studying,” you tell him.

He can’t bring himself to look away. He’s not sure why, chest tight with anticipation.

There’s a knock at the door, mom’s sign that dinner is ready. The noise startles you and there is a poof, the sound of you evaporating into mist, wafting up to the ceiling. Gone. The only traces of you are those faint, damp footprints and few misplaced items on his desk.

For the first time in a long time, Kita feels a sinking disappointment.

Adolescence

Contrary to what he expected, Kita doesn’t leave Osaka during break. His parents think it would be good for him to have a consistent lifestyle. Kita doesn’t protest, but he can feel a heaviness in his stomach. He asks about granny, if he’ll see her soon. They tell him she will visit some time, and she does, though rarely. He thinks about the forest and the mountains, when he’ll see them again.

On the first day of fourth grade, Kita wakes up on time. He uses the toilet, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and changes his clothes at his usual pace. As he splashes cool water along his forehead and cheeks, he is reminded of your touch and wonders if he will see you this morning. He often finds himself waiting, without realizing until a significant amount of time has already passed. You are irregular and unpredictable. It puts him on edge, that you might disrupt his perfectly crafted routine.

He is the first to sit down for breakfast and the first one to finish, everyone else but his mother just having started. He stands to put his dishes away and gather his school things when she rushes into the room. She’s fumbling with her shoe, trying to get it in place while collecting her things to fill her purse. Her face brightens when she sees him and asks about his first day, if he’s excited or nervous.

Kita shakes his head, neither. He’s been going to school nearly everyday for years now, what reason would he have to be nervous? What’s to be excited for?

He turns to leave, but she calls for him. She asks if he’s planning to join a club.

He shakes his head again, not sure why he should.

But his mother protests, “I think it’d be good for you to do a sport. You don’t exercise much, with all the studying.”

His father hums in agreement from the table and his sister stands to excuse herself. His brother knocks his bowl over, spoon clattering to the ground. Without hesitation, Kita walks over to return it.

“Just try one, okay?” his mom asks. Kita nods in response before finally leaving. 

In his room, he gathers his books and school supplies into his backpack, double checking that everything is there. He slips it over his shoulders and then turns to the window. It’s translucent with a sheen of moisture from inside. He wipes it away and glances at the sky. It’ll probably rain, he gauges. As he steps away from the window to leave, he catches a glimpse of you in the reflection.

His first day of school is like any other, spent seated at his desk near the center of the room, watching the teacher, observing his classmates. He diligently helps clean at the end of the day: sweeping duty, not missing a single spot. Once finished, he changes his shoes and makes for the exit. Some students say goodbye, and he nods in return. He can hear the soft pattering of rain as he approaches the door, and pops open his umbrella before stepping outside.

The walk home is quiet, with occasional groups of students chattering by. Kita walks at his typical pace, unrushed. He hears his shoes tap against the pavement with each step, the plopping of raindrops above his head. The occasional car rushes by, veering aside to avoid splashing him. He runs through a mental list of what he needs to do for school, but it’s short given it being the first day.

When he’s only a few minutes from home, he hears splashing behind him, as if someone is running through a puddle. You, calling his name.

He doesn’t turn to look, but his steps slow while his heart speeds, giving you time to catch up. Within a few seconds you are by his side, your now-usual misty and translucent figure at his side. You smile when he glances at you, but he appears unfazed. You’re unbothered as you walk with him, light on your feet.

When he reaches the door of his home and unlocks it, you let yourself in first. He closes his umbrella and gives it a shake before setting it on the rack. While he removes his shoes in the genkan, he eyes the light trail of footprints you left on your way to his room. He leaves them, knowing they’ll evaporate before anyone else comes home. He stops by the kitchen, dumping a bag of carrots onto a small plate, and then he briskly enters his room and closes the door behind him.

He sees you laying on his bed and he feels an itch of annoyance, knowing the sheets will be damp. But he doesn’t say anything, instead setting the plate on his desk and sliding his bag onto the floor. You smile and ask how his day was.

This has become part of Kita's routine, your irregular visits. He walks through life with an anxious anticipation, waiting for you to come. He is relieved when you appear, but he is never entirely pleased. There’s a warmth in his chest regardless, one that reminds him of granny.

He wonders if maybe that’s why he accepts the interruption so easily, because it momentarily brings him home, his life in the mountains, granny’s voice telling him that someone is watching over him. He knows that someone is you. He wonders if granny knows about your visits, if you ever tell her about him.

His answers are short, per usual. But he talks about his classes, his classmates, how mom wants him to join a club. He knows that you know all this, but he says it anyways, gives into you.

“Do you know what club you’ll join?” you ask.

He shrugs. “A sport, since I should exercise.”

You nod at that, “It’s too bad the forest is so far away. Exploring is good exercise.”

Kita thinks about the forest often, seeping into his spare time when he’s not caught up in classes or the growing responsibilities of life. He’s heard from mom about wildfires in Hyogo, ones that spring at random in the dryness of summertime. Luckily nothing near home, but still within the province. He recounts those memories of rabbits and monkeys, remembers the flowers that are blooming right about now. He's curious if it’s raining, how visible the stars are tonight. These questions bring a pain to his chest, one he can’t explain, one that doesn’t make sense. Sometimes he calls granny and the pain goes away. Sometimes it gets worse.

When you’re in his room with him like this, he thinks it’s a different pain entirely.

Eventually your questions lull and Kita knows that this is his queue to start his schoolwork. He doesn’t have much to do, though. Instead he wants to ask a question of his own. You can tell, and you wait.

He doesn’t know how to phrase it, so he never asks. As a result, you never answer.

A week later the school allows them to pick clubs. Kita looks at the other hopeful kids as they play rock-paper-scissors for a spot for the popular sports: basketball, football, baseball. He eyes the groups that are smaller, have less interest. The running club looks crowded, so he makes his way over. He still has to do a round of rock-paper-scissors, and he’s one of the three who have to find another option. To his right is another small group, and he asks to join without knowing what they are. Volleyball, apparently. He’s not sure if he’ll be any good, but he figures it’s only for the year and he can try something different in fifth grade.

Volleyball, it turns out, is difficult. He learns how to receive a ball, but it flies in the opposite direction of where he wants it to go. He watches the other players, trying to understand how to improve himself.

Volleyball, it turns out, is technical and requires a lot of practice to sharpen his skills. He diligently attends practice, two days a week for fourth-graders. The coaches appreciate his efforts, how he runs his full laps and takes every suggestion seriously. Kita finds that he just enjoys the process of training, improving his abilities and caring for his body. His legs feel tired at the end of the day and it reminds him of running through the forest. It reminds him of his efforts, makes him feel good.

Volleyball, it turns out, is the perfect distraction. From you.

It becomes part of his routine, filling in the gaps of time that he normally finds himself waffling in, waiting for you. He learns to walk through everyday as if it’s the same, just himself, but allows it to shuffle when you make an appearance. 

Volleyball helps as he enters middle school and your visits lose frequency. Your lack of presence, however, makes the feeling of your gaze on him even stronger. He feels it every time he’s on the court—though he only ever plays games in practice. He in turn watches his teammates, their ticks and habits. He watches his opponents, offers notes to his team about patterns and flaws in their styles. He’s not a powerhouse like the standout players, doesn’t have any exceptional talent, and so despite his hard work and consistent practice, he doesn’t play a single game, doesn’t even receive a jersey.

You ask him about it one evening, on break before high school starts.

“Are you going to join the volleyball club?” you ask, to which he nods. It makes you hum as you sit on his bed. He can see the wall behind you, how it darkens slightly from the moisture of your form leaning against it. 

“I hope you get the chance to play more,” you tell him honestly. “I don’t know why they don’t let you.”

But it means nothing to him, that sort of attention and recognition. He just plays to play the game, do the drills, learn the mechanics—to take care of himself. You know this, but you like watching him, the way he watches the game, moves with it, into it.

He doesn’t say anything in response, knowing that you know what he thinks.

Instead of pushing further, you change the subject. “I’m not going to be able to visit very often,” you tell him. You sound regretful, and his chest is agitated. He thinks of the fires, happening at random across the country.

“I know,” he tells you. He could sense it, recognized the increasing infrequency of your presence. He wants to ask why, but he can’t get the words out, for whatever reason.

You look at him closely and say, “I’ll be around though.”

He nods at that. He knows.

Inarizaki is a prestigious school, known for academics and athletics alike. Kita makes it in easily with his grades, and joins the volleyball club despite knowing he will likely never play in a match. The coaches note that Kita is inexperienced in competition, but they know an asset when they see one. His skills are too sturdy, too well-practiced for Inarizaki to not take advantage of him.

During his first year, he hardly plays. Even so, he is the first at practice, one of the last ones to leave, and the most diligent athlete on the team. He runs the entire length of the track, finishes every rep during weight training, and completes every drill and penalty without complaint. The coaches find that he does not have star power—he is unassuming and ordinary—but he is exceptional in his efforts, and his efforts meet returns when it counts, when they need him on the court as his usual Kita-san.

Some of the older players tease him for his diligence, others admire him because of it. Everyone realizes that he pays no mind to what they think, only ever doing what he wants, what fits his values. He respects his elders even when he disagrees with them, but he is blunt with his fellow first years, unafraid to call out their behavior, especially if it contradicts something they’ve said before. Some say it’s rich coming from him, someone who only warms the bench.

Aran is the one who talks to him, one day in the locker room. A tense conversation between Michinari and Shinsuke unraveled earlier when Kita commented on how the libero attempted too many unpracticed receives in-game, that he should have stuck to underhand until he perfected his overhand off the court. Michi has a temper, and his frustration was pushed by the spiker’s comment. He shouted that Kita wouldn’t understand, that he hasn’t been put in a game, hasn’t had the opportunity to feel the pressures of expectation.

Aran lingered when the others filed out of the locker room—partially to make sure Kita was okay, and partially to suggest he cool it with the critique.

“Don’t take it to heart,” he offers. “Akagi-san gets bad nerves. He knows what he needs to do.”

“I don’t understand the point of being nervous,” Kita responds.

A machine, Aran thinks. This guy is a machine. He says as much, and thinks there’s truth to Michi’s comments, that Kita must not understand because he’s never played in a match that counted.

But Kita explains—that it doesn’t make sense if you’ve practiced the skills and know your capabilities. That it’s the same with eating, shitting even. He thinks Michi’s underhand receives are enough, that they have saved the ball from Inarizaki’s own powerhouses in practice. Why would he need to try anything else?

Aran’s eyes widen as Kita speaks, starting to understand his perspective. It becomes apparent that his criticism towards Michi was more of a poorly delivered compliment: that their first-year libero is enough as he is, that he could save them with the tools he knows—he doesn’t need miracles. This glimpse into Kita puts Aran’s teammate in a new light, recontextualizes his diligent attitude towards their training and the criticism he gives his peers. He trusts the process, knows that the results will follow suit.

Aran begins to notice how Kita fades to the back, his presence unassuming on its own. Kita does not play for recognition or adulation, he simply does what needs to be done. His diligence to get every ball in the air goes unnoticed when the flashy ace pulls an impressive cross against three blockers—a move that would not have been possible without Kita, committed behind him. But Kita doesn’t care, doesn’t ask for attention. 

Aran already held immense respect for his teammate, for his repetition, diligence, and perseverance. But now he feels a special type of awe when he watches him more closely.

Kita does not make a fuss of convincing others of his praiseworthy traits, but Aran takes it upon himself to point them out to his team, to give new context to Kita's seemingly harsh words. Slowly but surely, they will understand, too.

What Aran doesn’t know is that Kita feels like he has already been noticed and recognized, always has been and always will be, at every moment—by you.

(Your eyes continue to bore into him no matter where he is. They feel stronger the longer he goes without seeing you. Your visits are few and far between, but he has his routine, knows to follow it independently and let it shape around your irregularity.)

The following season, a handful of talented first years join, including a freakishly synchronized twin duo and a sly middle blocker. They fight with each other. Some of them cut corners. One particularly troublesome one likes to work himself through illness, inspiring misguided awe in other first years. Kita as a second year has no qualms scolding his teammates, now sometimes including his upperclassmen. The underclassmen pout and grumble while the elders know the intent resting behind his abrasion. 

You only visit him twice during the school year, both times at the hotel for nationals. The first is during the Interhigh National Tournament; he is sitting in the tub at the end of the day, running through his observations of other teams he saw, considering what would be useful to share with the others, to exploit. His head is resting on the ledge of the tub, staring at the blank ceiling as a canvas for him to visualize what he saw: bad crosses, a fragile ego, delayed timing for a back attack. He thinks about the team they’re playing tomorrow, the most imperative information to note. He thinks he should finish bathing so he can write it down.

When he straightens his head to look forward, he jolts in surprise, water splashing out and onto the bathroom floor.

You’re there, sitting on the other end of the bath in your misty form. Your eyes are wide, head turning to look at the puddles on the tile. Kita can’t even consider the mess, body tense at your proximity. He’s never been flustered around you before, never felt strange about his nakedness if you appeared after a bath. It’s been a long time since you’ve come from a bath. And this—this is a closeness and intimacy he has never imagined. You, sharing the water, right beside him. He is frozen when your eyes move back to his face.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” you whisper, and he recalls another variable to add to the situation: Aran, likely still in their shared room.

Kita shakes his head, not knowing what to say. “You—” he stutters, unlike him. “What’re ya doin’.” Ever since middle school you only appeared in the rain. He didn’t know bathtubs were even still a…vessel of transportation.

You smile. “Good luck tomorrow.”

Kita blinks, torn between the urge to scold you, the urge to reach for you, and the urge to make you leave before Aran learns of your presence. He finds it exhausting, the way you pit these conflicting pieces of him against each other.

Instead he tells you, “I probably won’ play.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “You’re doing it right now.” The analysis of his opponents, you mean.

A sound at the door makes you jolt, the water softly rippling around you. It’s Aran, asking if things are okay. He doesn’t comment further, but he swears he hears the murmuring of voices.

Kita calls back that he’s fine, just about to get out and be done for the night. He gives you a look afterwards, a sign that you can’t stay. He wishes you could.

You surprise him by leaning forwards, reaching for him. He is suddenly swept into your chilly embrace, arms wrapping around his shoulders. His body is tense, on edge from the intimacy, but he only feels your body above the water, arms and chest and head as it settles into his neck. Despite your cold temperature, Kita's body heats at the contact.

“I’ll see you,” you say, and then you are mist, dispersing into the air.

When Kita exits the bathroom, Aran thinks for the first time that he looks amused—a mirth settled in his eyes and his lips slightly quirked.

A few months later during the Spring High Nationals, you appear in his room, again shared with Aran. Luckily the spiker is out for the moment, allowing Kita the freedom to speak with you. He’s getting dressed from the bath while you flop onto his bed. When he finishes he stands over you, inquiring why you came.

“To wish you luck again.”

Where you’re laying on the bed, his hand hangs by his hip only inches from your face. He is called to reach for it, hold it gently. He’s not sure why but this visit makes him uneasy, like it could be the last. He wonders if these are nerves.

The sound of the key opening the door interrupts his thinking. You have already faded into the air by the time Aran enters, followed by the twins barreling their way past him.

Atsumu (the obnoxious) immediately makes for Kita's bed. He flops down onto it, not unlike how you did minutes before, but immediately tenses and shrieks. He rolls himself off, pushing Kita back from where he was standing, all while shouting, “Kitaaa! Why’s it wet—”

Kita thinks he should thank you, next time you visit.

You don’t visit again.

Rather, Kita goes home to you. He decides to leave for break instead of sticking around for club practice, a choice he’s never made since he started volleyball. Something in him calls to visit granny. So at the end of March he boards the train headed towards the north station, and then hails a ride to the village. Granny is home when he arrives, and she marvels at how tall he is, not having seen him since she visited in middle school.

He towers over her small figure, awkwardly hunching in a hug. Granny says that he’ll be a big help with his height, and over the next day she sets him to dust the high shelves and put away dishes. She comments that he can move the table in the main room all on his own, no longer small, five year old Shin-chan.

The ease Kita feels in himself when he is here, with granny in the mountains, is undeniably because this is his home. He is malleable, shapeable to the life he’s lived in Osaka, but this is where he should be. He knows that when he enters this final year of high school, he will be given a sheet that asks for his three career plans. With his grades and diligent work ethic, he knows that he can put himself on any path and make it work. But in this moment, in granny’s embrace, the warmth of a home lined with screens and tatami, Kita knows that he wants to be here, no matter what.

That night he lays out his futon, smoothing out the creases and carefully lining it to be perpendicular with the wall. He smiles, this routine of preparing his bed one of many things he missed in the city. Before he lays down, he is overcome by the feeling of being watched. He turns to the screens that lead outside, towards the river. He walks over and opens them, looking into the darkness of the night.

The moon hangs low in the sky—a crescent, a smile. It shines softly on the water, Fujiwara-san’s house behind it, and the form of the mountains beyond. You aren’t there, but the river is misty, a bluish haze settling thickly on its surface.

In the morning he decides to go for a run, an attempt to maintain conditioning while he’s gone from practice. He goes left—west—towards your mountain.

The jog is peaceful, with March air cool and crisp against his skin. He is calmed by the sound of the water rushing next to him, running the opposite way. There are birds singing when he passes and a small hare jets by his feet. Running feels like a trip through his memory, recounting the times he tried to keep up with your pace, the adventures you went on together. He is running through the blue of wanderlust, along the breathing water and between the distant mountains, under the bright sky above him. He is running through the green of nostalgia, the lush vegetation, stalks of bamboo and solid trees, mostly oak and maple and chestnut, but occasionally the mysterious pine.

He is running to you.

It isn’t apparent until he reaches the end of the path, to that rock face at the foot of the mountain, and you are there—in the flesh—waiting in the river. The water is cold during spring, and yet you smile warmly, unfazed by the temperature. When he takes your hand to let you guide him through the water, through soft pine and hazy light, your touch is cool and refreshing against his—hot from exertion.His heart lurches at the contact, an inexplicable mix of tightness and lightness blooming in his chest. He can’t tell if it’s hollowing him out or overfilling him. It feels like hello and farewell all at once. There is a knot in his stomach, one that feels like nerves. It is exhilarating, magnetizing, like falling into you completely. He lets himself. He has no other option.

You come back with him to granny’s and have breakfast together. She doesn’t say anything, only calls you “dear” and thanks you for your help cleaning up. She does not mention Fujiwara and neither do you. Kita feels whole, sitting on the floor at this table.

At night you sit and watch as he prepares his futon. He looks at you and asks, “D’ya need one?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Don’t sleep.”

He nods before getting up to turn off the light. He opens the soft blanket and lays down. He turns to you, hesitating. He wants to know if you’re staying, if you’ll be here all night. Part of him wants to invite you to lay next to him.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you curiously.

You are smiling over him, as always. One of your hands reaches to smooth back his hair and he softens. Even with your skin always cold, his body will forever warm at your touch.

These days continue and Kita feels light, enjoying time with you, as a person. His questions fade after he succumbs to focusing on soaking in your presence. It feels good, not unlike the satisfaction of completing his daily rituals.

He looks at you closely, the way you’ve grown with him. You are still smiling, still diligent in ways that he initially failed to see as a five year old. Watchful, joyful. He doesn’t feel the smile on his face, a small one that granny notices. You are smiling too, as you take dishes he’s finished washing and run a rag across their surface. You miss some spots, little droplets sticking to the ceramic. Some fly off and land on the floor and counter.

Kita is entirely at ease. It is quaint, quiet, content.

After a few moments, you suddenly pause your drying and turn thoughtfully, towards the river. Kita watches as the faintest furrow appears between your brows, your face both pensive and concerned. You drop the rag on the counter and step away. He stares curiously, still scrubbing a plate.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you say. Nothing else, no unnecessary information. 

Fear germinates in his chest, his heartbeat picking up speed. Granny smiles at him, reassured. He wonders how she retains her calm demeanor.

When nearly ten minutes pass and you don't return, Kita tells granny he’s going to check on you. She nods in understanding as he slips on his sandals and exits through the genkan. He spots you immediately, standing between the house and the river. You’re facing the northern mountains with a frown on your face. Kita realizes this is the first time he’s seen you anything but joyful.

You answer his silent question when he stands beside you, “There’s something wrong.”

“In the forest?” he clarifies. You nod, looking onwards. He watches you for a silent minute, the way you study the sky over the ridge. 

“I think…” you start. Pause. “You should leave, with your gran. And everyone else.”

Kita's brow furrows as he looks at you skeptically. You turn to him, eyes unwavering. You never look this serious. Always nosy, unnecessary questions. Lighthearted. Messes on the floor.

“Shinsuke,” you say firmly. He startles at the sound of his full name. “Tell everyone there’s a fire—in the northern mountains. I’ll try to keep it at bay, but it’s spreading. By the time they see it, it’ll be too late. If you can evacuate the houses on the other side of the river before it’s visible, things should be okay.”

He feels a strike in his lungs, like he’s gasping for breath. He wants to ask for details, but you’ve made it clear there’s no time. You are grabbing him, your cool hand holding his wrist, as you start towards the bridge in a run. He is momentarily brought back to his sixth birthday, running behind you as you guide him along the path to the base of a mountain—your mountain. He remembers thinking that running behind you was fun.

This time you are serious, almost panicked, bringing him across the river and pointing at the houses, which ones he should evacuate first. The ones with the oldest people. Fujiwara-san is one of them. You let go of his hand and run, sprint towards the base of the mountain. He feels panicked, wondering how long it’ll take for you to come back. What it means for you to keep the fire at bay. You fade away, the blue of distance settling between you two, mistiness.

The next moments are a blur. He knocks on doors and is greeted by elders he hasn’t seen in years, ready to exclaim at how he’s grown. Their coos are interrupted by his apologies, an explanation that he got news of a wildfire and wants to make sure people have time to evacuate. He suggests that they get into their cars and head east near the highway, and to wait for official advice for next steps. He says the words, but they don’t fully register when his mind is still occupied with the memory of you sprinting to the danger. The families look at him skeptically, but they get a move on when they remember this is Shin-chan, the quiet and good-natured village boy.

He makes his way down the homes to relay the news. He asks neighbors to tell the others, and to call emergency services. There are 26 homes on this side of the river, and by the time he knocks on half the doors, smoke hangs over the mountains. No fire is in sight, but the signs are there. It makes the next conversations much quicker, and he is relieved as he watches cars pile out towards the highway.

Suddenly an alarm starts blaring. The emergency intercoms spaced along the neighborhood release a sharp and repeating warning sound. A deep voice calls out between the noise, commanding evacuation. Kita's breath is labored from the exertion of running between houses, but his chest feels lighter knowing that his responsibility has been lifted.

By the time he crosses the bridge back to granny’s home, the sky has darkened significantly, black smog blowing along and spewing upwards. There’s the slight lick of a flame creeping over the ridge and he feels his heart begin to gallop. His stomach clenches roughly when his mind flashes with images of the western mountain forest, deer and wolves and rabbits and birds. Flowers and pine and ferns. He glances that way and sees that it’s still untouched, for now.

He runs inside granny’s, calling for her to get in a neighbor’s car, since she doesn’t own one herself. She stands slowly, at her elderly pace, and Kita is restless as he helps her exit the house as quickly as she can. He takes another glance at the mountains and his heart plummets at the sight. The fire has crept over the ridge, and he can hear the distant crackling as it runs forward. Kita's eyes trail down to a figure by the bank on the opposite end of the river and recognizes you. His chest constricts with relief and concern at the sight. He tells granny to walk down to the next door neighbor, to see if she can evacuate with them. He has to lower his head to her ear so he can be heard over the sounds of the sirens and the voice on the intercom.

He starts jogging towards the bridge, to cross it, but you yell his name. It’s loud and fierce, a demand to stay put. It has a firmness that forces him to listen.

His feet stop, now directly across from you. He can see your face, the intensity in your glare. You’ve never looked at him this way.

“Don’t come!” you yell, voice almost lost over the commotion.

Kita is frowning, brow furrowed and mouth open in disbelief. He doesn’t have time to yell back before you continue.

“You have to go, Shin!” You shout. Kitas chest is heavy, and his shoulders are rigid. The flames are growing closer, rolling down the mountain. There’s a gust of wind and it blows the smoke towards the village. He can feel the heat of the burning forest.

Suddenly there are popping sounds, loud like fireworks squealing and shooting through the air. He doesn’t understand where they’re coming from, what they mean. They don’t stop, ringing through the valley and compounding with the blaring alarms, the warning voice on the speakers.

Kita doesn’t want to leave. When he looks at you, the despaired expression on your face and the many layers of hurt—layers he doesn’t understand, has never understood because he never asked—he knows that he can’t leave you. He has to do something, he is restless, like a child waiting for something that has no regular pattern, no rhyme or reason to be there in the first place. You, visiting him in Osaka.

But you won’t have any of it. “GO, SHIN!” you yell, voice booming—akin to a clap of thunder. The popping and splintering noises grow louder, and it strikes him that they are from the bamboo at the base of the mountain, the moisture in their chambers expanding enough to turn into deadly explosives. He sees a flock of birds lift from the forest behind you and fly east.

He tastes salt—tears, rolling down his cheeks and through his open lips. His voice is choked as he yells back in a desperate attempt for you to leave with him.

“I’m yer burden,” he reminds you, face scrunched in pain. His voice isn’t as loud as it should be, for you to hear him across the river. But he knows you can anyways, knows that you know he means don’t leave me, I’m the one you’re supposed to look after.

You smile sadly. He can’t tell if you’re crying too, but he can feel the same pain on your end. Your voice is equally too quiet to be heard when you respond, but it rings clearly in his mind.

“But I’m not yours.”

Your gaze is looking behind him, beyond him. He turns and his eyes widen, spotting granny slowly making her way down the path. His stomach churns—she didn’t catch the neighbor driving away. She’s coughing, unable to walk at the same time. With the smoke blowing over and granny’s old lungs, she can’t carry onwards alone. Kita hears himself curse and he rushes to her side, no hesitation as he lifts her frail body against his chest. Her head lands against his neck—her hair soft against his—and she coughs another long fit. He knows he has to leave. 

He takes one last glance at you, then at the fire crawling towards the now-emptied homes on your side of the river. The heat is increasing, blowing towards him with more smoke and ash. Five deer appear from the woods behind you and run across the bridge. You are staring at him, urging him to follow their example. He knows that he has to take care of granny, but he thinks this is the most pain he’s ever felt, buried deep in his chest. It’s the kind of pain that comes from hollowness, recognition that something vital is missing and yet somehow life is forcing him onwards regardless. He doesn’t know why this tension is there, when there’s a clear job for him to do, to do well. His face pinches, another round of tears welling before he blinks and turns to run down the path.

In this moment, he summons that unwavering confidence he has in himself. Not one of arrogance, but from the knowledge of what he is capable of, what he does everyday without failure. He runs east along the river, clutching his grandmother close. He tells himself this is any normal day of training, running to improve his endurance for volleyball. He is running besides Suna-san, who’s looking for a shortcut. He is running behind you, on your way to explore the enchanted section of pine in the mountain.

He is a toddler, carried along the path next to the river by his grandmother, seeing a mysterious child his age standing in the water. He asks who it is, pointing to a figure that granny can’t see. She tells him that he’ll learn one day, when the time is right.

He is sprinting down the same path, through smoke billowing over the valley erupting from a fire to his left, separated only by a river. Separated by you.

The honk of a car sounds behind him, a noise he barely catches with the sirens and the voices and the explosions pounding around him. He turns and sees the car of another neighbor, ushering him to get in. He veers to his left, letting the vehicle pull up beside him, and he yanks the door open, climbing inside with granny still against his chest. They lurch forwards as the driver steps on the gas and Kita guides granny to the seat beside him, reaching over to buckle her in. The interior blasts cool air and Kita is handed a water bottle.

“The fire department’s tellin’ people to evacuate to the next city,” the neighbor says. Kita nods numbly in response, unscrewing the bottle and helping granny take a few sips. She still coughs, but they’re smaller, less frequent.

With granny somewhat stable, Kita looks out the window to his left, facing the burning mountains. The car nears the ramp to the highway, starting up a mountain east of the fire. It gives him a clear view of homes being swallowed, Fujiwara-san’s one of the first.

Kita is breathless at the sight, reminded of everything these people will lose. He recalls what is already lost: the forest, the animals, the delicate combination of life that dwells in this valley. He thinks your mountain will be lost too, watching as the fire creeps west.

The popping sounds are dwindling, with the fire moving past the burnt bamboo sections and the car speeding away from the scene of destruction. But it is not quiet. There is a sudden clap of thunder that rumbles, long and gritty and deep. Kita watches as winds blow ferociously. Untouched trees sway while burning ones topple from the force. The sky is dark, a mix of smoke and storm clouds, though Kita isn’t sure when the storm began to form. He can see the water falling from the sky, blown at a sharp angle from the strength of the wind. It pelts over the mess of heat, releasing bouts of swirling steam into the air, to condense back into rain clouds.

As the car climbs higher up the mountain and the road, Kita watches the battle unfold before him. The power of rain as it fights the flames of red and gold eating the landscape. He watches the mist rising at the contact between elements, the water evaporating on impact.

He sees you in his room, that first time in Osaka when you were startled by a knock on the door. The way you went poof and disappeared.

They house granny in Osaka, taking over Kita's sister's room since she's at university in Tokyo. Kita is the one who looks after granny most carefully. It reminds him of caring for his brother when he first came to the city. He learns that granny’s house wasn’t caught in the fire. The river was an effective barrier and the rain came in time to manage any embers that had gotten blown over. The reports on the event stated that it was a miraculous storm, one that came from nowhere, completely unpredicted. It was an eventual downpour, enough to contain the fire within minutes and smother it completely in less than a half-hour. Footage from a helicopter shows the water rushing down the gullies and pouring into the river. With it carried embers, soot, ash, all piling together and flowing downstream. The next town down the river reported black water filled with sediment. A truck came in to deliver hundreds of cases of bottled water.

Aerial images reveal that nearly every house on the northern bank was claimed, only a few saved towards the east. He sees photos of the destruction. Your forest didn’t manage to escape in time, the fire stealing your enchanted pine. He wonders if you could have saved it if you didn’t prioritize his home.

There was one death: a backpacker, the person everyone believes is responsible for the disaster. Her body was completely charred, things almost entirely unidentifiable. Emergency services only picked out the metal of a stove—the decided perpetrator.

Kita has no time to grieve, with only a week before school starts again. After he helping granny get situated in the house, he immediately went to practice as a distraction. His teammates are appalled at the news, offering pats on the back and words of condolences, sighs of relief that he was lucky to leave in time.

But they don’t know what he lost. Not just the forest and the mountains, or the ability to visit his real home for months at the earliest. Even with the fire out there may be coals smoldering underground, or dangerous air wafting in the sky. The mountains won’t be green for at least a year, needing time for seeds to take root and sprout, needing seasons to accumulate rich dirt again. There’s no telling how long it will take for animals to return, birds to nestle back into shrubs or rodents to burrow again. The wolves and the deer are surely gone, evacuated to the next viable plot of land.

These aren’t the worst of his losses. What grasps his heart tightly, enough that sometimes he struggles to breathe, is the sight of you running into that smothering roll of flames. The loss of your eyes watching over him.

He dreams of fire, of heat and searing pain. His mind flashes with streaks of red and orange, billowing greys behind it. He hears the crackling of a burning forest and the popping of erupting bamboo. He wakes up panicked some nights, coated in sweat from the searing sensations he conjures in his sleep. In these moments he thinks it would help if he could be with you, your body always cool and damp, the sort of comfort that eases him, that could put out the fires of fear that grasp him.

A week later during practice, coach hands out jerseys. Kita is called first, given the number 1—captain. He blinks in surprise, having expected it to go to Aran. Nonetheless he takes the jersey and the title, and sits on the gym floor. He doesn’t register that he’s crying until he sees the teardrops fall onto the fabric, little spots of grey appearing where it was originally white.

He can hear Suna’s comment about the unfeeling robot showing emotion. He doesn’t care. He sniffles. There is a warmth in his heart that he hasn’t felt the past two weeks. He doesn’t understand where it comes from, why this of all things brings him comfort.

He tries to explain while walking home with Aran.

“I tend to agree with the adults…that the journey is more important than the destination.” His words remind him of granny at home, the way her hair skipped over his dad and went straight to him. The ace turns to him curiously, not sure what he’s getting at.

“I am built upon the small things I do everyday, and the end results are no more than a byproduct of that.”

He’s not good enough to go pro or make a living off volleyball. He just does what needs to be done, what fits into his routine—taking care of his body, cleaning up after himself, being courteous, and…volleyball. He holds up this jersey, looks at how it’s branded with 1, the captain’s number.

“Maybe this is just another result of the things I do.”

Aran blinks, stutters for a moment when he realizes what Kita is implying. “Don’t just—don’t sweat the small stuff! You don’t have to have some sort of logic behind your feelings!! If you’re happy, then you’re happy…that’s it!”

They hold eye contact after Aran’s outburst, and then Kita erupts into laughter. The ace watches his captain skeptically, not intending for his heartfelt advice to be amusing. His shoulders slump when he realizes this is the hardest he’s seen Kita laugh, ever.

Kita is reminded of all those times he couldn’t understand what he was feeling, why he was being drawn to do something he knew he logically didn’t want. All the moments he saw you and felt skeptical of the questions he wanted to ask, the embrace he wanted to pull you in, the warmth he felt in your presence—the way his brain and his logic denied him something he wanted, because there was no explicable reason for it. He thinks of the way you left, the way it hurt like no injury he’s ever lived through. He thinks of the lack of your gaze following him since just two weeks ago, the way he misses it but refuses to admit to it.

“You’re right,” he tells Aran.

By the time school is ending and he plays his final match, you are still not watching him. He feels the eyes of his granny and the eyes of his school on his back. The brooding eyes of Karasuno are on him when he is subbed for Aran in the second set. But yours are still missing.

He, however, has his eyes on his team the entire game, picking out their mistakes and what he knows is the misguided thinking behind them: Gin’s impatience, Atsumu and Osamu’s carelessness, Suna’s laziness. He stands behind them, the defense specialist who will receive the ball, and the one who’s eyes linger on their backs. He is watching them. He is like the lingering mist that wafts behind them, telling them that someone will see, whether they work hard until the very end, or let themselves succumb to their impulses. 

Kita has lived his entire life under your careful gaze. To cope with its absence, he has learned to become the omnipresent eyes backing up his team.

Adulthood

Granny always told him that someone was watching, and your gaze was proof. But at some point he realized that he wasn’t doing it for the spirits, that it didn’t matter either way. His work ethic would be the same even if you never saw him. This realization holds more weight when it is carried out in practice, Kita living his life with the same repetition, perseverance, and diligence in your absence. It makes him feel good, eases the emptiness. So he does it well, and he does it everyday.

He graduates at the top of his class, with grades that could get him into any university, launch him into any career he could imagine. And yet when the year passes and granny says she wants to return to the valley, Kita knows where he will go.

When he pulls into the neighborhood, his eyes are glued to the mountain. There are still trees and bamboo standing, though they are charred corpses. Debris of coals and fallen leaves litter the ground, coating the forest in brown and black. A light layer of green sits atop the earthy tones, sprigs of saplings and shrubs breaking the surface. Kita’s chest expands at the sight, a glimmer of hope.

There are only a few other neighbors who have returned, most still with family in the city. Kita speaks with some of them and gathers that they figure it’s a sign to leave the countryside—to better opportunities and a more convenient life. He wonders what will happen to this village if everyone decides to flee, who will take the land. Maybe the government will turn it into a Hyogo heritage site, a place people will flock to as a sort of pilgrimage. To see the brittle remains of homes and the earth’s attempt at recovery.

Kita knows that he wants to stay here, that granny does too. He’s not sure how it’ll work, but he can’t imagine himself anywhere else. His parents are skeptical, figuring that he’ll make an attempt only to eventually fold for a city job, but they forget that one of Kita’s life pillars is perseverance. He will find a way.

The way opens itself to him the following day. The April air is cool when he goes for a midday walk, crossing the bridge to the burned edge of the river. He trails along the slight incline towards the skeleton of Fujiwara’s home. There is only the charred foundation and a couple ragged beams standing upright, the rest collapsed into rubble. For a moment he can imagine you, running from the back door and into the front room with a bundle of grapes. He hears the distant whispers of Fujiwara’s protests as he follows slowly.

Kita walks to the once-veranda, experimentally standing on the elevated foundation. The charred wood creaks beneath him, but feels sturdy enough to hold. He carefully ambles along the collapsed room, scanning the damage. He manages to cross the house and reach the back exit, and he pauses at the sight.

The ground outside is similarly littered with earthy debris, patchy with occasional new grasses and saplings. Fujiwara’s garden is gone, no more grape trellises or rows of starches. But there is a small square, less than a tsubo, dug into the dirt. Kita knows what this sort of sunken patch means, has seen them in some of the neighbors’ backyards growing up, flooded and filled with lines of grassy crop. He steps carefully from the foundation of the house and curiously stands over the square, imagining the rice that would be planted at the end of the month.

He hears footsteps from near the house and turns to see Mayumi-san, the one who drove Kita and granny out of the valley during the fire. She looks healthy despite being in her seventies, carrying a shovel and a hoe as she makes her way over.

“Ah, Shin-chan,” she greets him. “S’been a while, good to see ya again. What’re ya doin’ out here?”

He bows slightly as he greets her and explains that he was exploring the neighborhood, since he only just returned. He asks about the rice garden.

“I was testin’ to see how it’d grow, since the ash can help sometimes,” she explains. “I came back early after the fire, n’Fujiwara said I could use his yard since he’s probably stayin’ in the city with his daughter.”

An excitement sparks in Kita’s chest, like something clicked into place. He’s not sure what it is exactly, but he presses her. “How’d it do?”

Mayumi smiles, one that looks devilish and would be frightening if he wasn’t accustomed to seeing it. “Shit’s the best yield I’ve ever had. M’gonna try to dig a few more plots, maybe sell ‘em at the city markets.”

This is his way, he realizes. He sees the shovel in her right hand and hoe in the left and speaks before he can register the words. “Y’want any help?”

The rest of April is spent preparing the land with Mayumi and pouring over books on agriculture. He soaks in his elder’s expertise on the subject, in the abstract and the field. When the end of the month rolls around and the two of them begin sowing seeds, Kita thinks that for the first time since your absence that he feels whole. He is here in the valley, between your two homes, dedicating himself to the land that you led him through as a child. He thinks he can feel your presence while working, your hands misting over his, transplanting seedlings with him. The rains that come in are well timed, bringing rushing water down the mountain to flood the few squares of crops.

The days pass with granny, some quick and others slow. She does well in the village, with other people her age, though the company is sparse. Kita can sense that it’s hard for her sometimes, but like himself she is malleable to her environment, can make do as long as she has her routines. Her lungs aren’t as strong as they used to be, but she enjoys her walks and can maintain the chores—the ones Kita lets her.

When September comes in, Kita and Mayumi spend one sunny day harvesting. Kita wields his scythe carefully, the movement unpracticed. He grasps the dry stalks and runs the blade across the taut stems, bundling them on the ground to be collected. They gather the clumps and carry them to the house next to Mayumi’s—another neighbor who hasn’t returned since evacuation. 

Mayumi prepares a sheet across the main room for them to work on. Then they thresh the harvest, grabbing the bundles and smacking them against the floor, pelts of rice springing off the stems. Kita is reminded of water, of rain splashing against the surface of the river. When all the stalks have been emptied, they spread the seeds of gold with their hands, like smoothing the creases of a futon. The day’s work is over, now waiting for the crop to dry. They exit, leaving a few of the screens open to let new waves of dry air flow through.

Kita finds these processes fulfilling, like his own daily routine. It’s another series of tasks that can be learned and done well. The result is his own sustenance, something he can live off of and share with others. It tastes better, he thinks, once he’s experienced the entire journey.

He tells his old teammates that he’ll be in Osaka next month for the markets. They only have a few dozen bags to sell, but he wants to get his friends’ opinions.

The markets are energetic and amiable. Kita shares with curious shoppers the story of the valley, how the burned houses and their backyards left ash that the rice took to. People find the narrative compelling, and they buy the rice despite the hefty price tag. Other vendors are interested, some make purchases to try in their food. Kita enjoys the atmosphere, the way these people and their businesses are connected. He and Mayumi manage to sell all the rice they brought. It’s hardly a profit, but it’s promising.

The next day Kita is in the Miya’s home with the additional company of Suna and Gin. They talk about life, preparation for nationals, what they’re thinking of doing when school ends. Atsumu is going pro, taking volleyball as far as he can. Osamu is ending it here, contemplating career options. He says he’s looking for restaurant jobs; he wants to be a chef.

“Yer gonna be a farmer, huh?” Atsumu asks, laying back on the couch. “It suits ya, that simple life.”

Kita nods. “Knew I needed to take care of granny, that I was gonna be in the valley anyways. One of the neighbors was growing some an’ I asked to help—wanted to see what it was like. S’gonna take time, but we’re gonna try to get the land from the neighbors, see if we can apply for subsidies ‘cause of the fire. Then we’ll try t’upscale. The market yesterday was good.”

Gin sighs, “Ever the considerate and diligent Shin-chan.”

“The rice is good,” Osamu interjects. “It’d be good for onigiri.”

It is, it turns out. After three years, Osamu decides to leave the restaurant he started working for out of highschool and open his own onigiri store. Kita is their main rice supplier, and a customer who never has to pay. They have classic flavors in the beginning: tuna mayo, pickled plum, ikura. When Kita comes with his next delivery, Osamu sits him in the dining room and has him try new options. The former captain takes his job as taste-tester seriously, his diligence appreciated by the former setter. They decide that the shrimp and beef flavors are ready to be sold, but the chicken needs reworking.

Kita gets into his truck that evening and drives home. The sun sets by the time he enters the valley, winding through roads in the black darkness. When he arrives at granny’s and exits the car, he sees that the sky is beautifully clear. The Milky Way spreads itself over the northern mountains, where life is still recovering, slowly but surely. He takes in the view for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet noise of the night—soft rushing water from the river, chirping insects, occasional wind.

He notices the blinking lights that cross the expanse of stars: planes and satellites. He sighs, remembering a time when he could sit on the top of the mountain and witness an unobscured view of the sky, taking up the entirety of his visual landscape.

Suddenly there is a shooting star, the most intense he’s ever seen. It’s a bright flash of light, he thinks for a moment white and orange and pink, that darts from the east and disappears as it curves west. Its trajectory gives the illusion that if it touched the ground, it would land on your mountain, that special enchanted forest.

After a few more minutes of watching, of relishing the awe, he makes his way inside. Granny is asleep, so he heads straight to bed.

When he wakes the next morning, for the first time in years—since that fire crawled along an entire mountain and you left to put an end to it—he feels the prickly sensation that he’s being watched.

Life doesn’t change with you watching him. Life didn’t change when you stopped. It’s something he knew, something you knew. He carries onwards, his routine of life, one that he does well and does everyday. He and Mayumi expand the fields again, creeping their business along the length of the river. Kita slowly takes on more farm responsibility, knowing enough to work independently when Mayumi needs to rest with increasing frequency. Granny is similar—she likes to help sometimes, with the easier work, but her lungs still struggle, never fully recovered.

It’s a beautiful morning, with cool air entering the house and light diffusing through the shoji. He can hear the birds and the rustling of leaves outside when he wakes, blinking away the lingering visions of orange and red from his dreamscape. He opens the screen towards the river while he puts away his futon and prepares for the day.

Granny isn’t in the main room as per usual. Kita pays it no mind, assuming she’ll be in soon. He makes breakfast and waits for her. She doesn’t come in on time. Kita stands to search, thinking she may have missed the time.

He enters her room and sees she’s still sleeping. He crouches over her to gently rock her awake, but there is no response. At that moment he realizes she is not breathing, not making a sound. He freezes, feels his heart plummet. He carefully lifts her hand from under the blankets—still warm—and checks to see if there’s a pulse. It’s quiet, flat.

He moves slowly, processing, sitting back on his heels next to her. His throat is tight and his chest—it’s hard to breathe. He shakily inhales through his nose and holds her hand in both of his. There’s a stinging behind his eyes and suddenly he is crying, weeping openly as he holds onto her. Death is the logical consequence of living, one of the only certainties of life; knowing this does not make Kita’s loss any less painful. While the hurt sits heavily in his chest, there is a growing spark of gratitude for her, that they were able to spend the beginning of his life and the end of her’s together.

Granny’s passing brings her closer to Kita, in a way. He feels that there are now two pairs of eyes on him, watching over him. When he looks in the mirror and sees his grey hair, granny’s hair, he thinks that he will always be a piece of her living on, that it’s his duty to live earnestly for her. He makes a shrine for her in one of the rooms of the house, placing her urn in the center. It is a beautiful grey clay, narrow and unglazed. A black thread ties the lid to the body.

She becomes another part of his routine, sitting before her remains and her images with his hands clasped and eyes closed.

Life goes on.

A month later he is in the field, tending to his crop. It’s late in the day, when the sun is near setting. The pink of the sky reflects onto the flooded beds, interrupted by sprigs of green. He inhales, appreciating the scenery, before exhaling and continuing his work. When he looks up a moment later, he is frozen by the sight.

There’s a wolf, large and grey, like the first one he saw as a child in the pine forest. He is not afraid, but in awe. A wolf returning means there’s prey: rabbits and deer. It means the forest is recovering, that creatures are finding their way back. He takes in the strong figure of the predator in front of him, sturdy and confident. A movement flashes in his peripheral, three pups catching up. Shin notices that one is nearly white, standing out from the others. He thinks of himself in Osaka, with his relatives.

When the pups catch up, the mother turns away and carries on.

Kita finishes his work before the sun fully sets. A light rain begins, clouds absorbing the vivid hues of sunfall, and he hurries to collect his tools before crossing the bridge home. The drizzling turns into solid pelting by the time he makes it to the empty house. He turns back briefly, squinting through the water collecting in his eyelashes, to see how long the downpour will last.

There’s a figure, at the other side, and his eyes widen in shock. He drops his tools and takes a few hurried steps closer, searching for confirmation.

Through the rain he can see you, standing at the other bank. You are smiling, he can tell, with your shoulders pulled upwards as if embarrassed. He thinks he is dreaming, that this is impossible. You, in flesh and bones, standing in front of the remnants of Fujiwara’s once home. He does not realize that he is smiling back, eyes crinkling and collecting water—his own tears as they spill—and grin spanning impossibly wide. His chest feels like it’s lifting, floating him in the air, to you on the other side.

Suddenly you are running forwards, not towards the bridge, but down the bank, to cross the water. Kita’s face flashes with concern and he starts down his own side, slipping through the mud. By the time he reaches the shore you have swum halfway across, long confident strokes despite the speed of the current. Kita marches forward, water touching his waist when he finally reaches you. He grabs your outstretched hand and tugs you into him, engulfing you in his chest and arms. You are as cold as the water surrounding him, but his body explodes with warmth at the contact, at finally being with you.

His heart races as he clutches you close, in an iron grip that refuses to relent. He thinks he hears you laugh against him, and he chokes out some strangled mixture of a laugh and sob. The water makes it hard for him to stand steady, so he brings one arm beneath you to lift you from the sediment and carry you to the bank. There he sets you down and grabs your waist firmly, staring at you with disbelief. You are smiling with all the glee in the world, eyes nearly closed by the force of it.

“I made it, Shin-chan.”

He doesn’t know what that means, but he thinks of the shooting star and the wolf, the rice fields filling easily without additional irrigation.

You lean forwards and wrap your arms over his shoulders, clutching him close. His arms come around your waist and he thinks he can recognize his feelings: relief and homecoming. There is a fullness, one that is close to painful, a pain he had been living with for years in your absence. He pulls you up the bank, to bring you into the house. He leaves his tools out, to be dealt with tomorrow, and goes straight for the genkan. 

You try to protest when he passes the spigot, “Shin, the mud—”

But he doesn’t care, kicking off his boots to be cleaned later. The mixture of river water and mud splatter on the tile of the genkan, leaving brown puddles and smears. Kita removes his socks and drops them behind him, letting his clean feet be the barrier between himself and the floor. He carries you to the bathroom, to deal with the mess together.

At night you are in his room, watching him set up the futon. He looks at you to ask, “D’ya need one?”

You shake your head, smiling. “Let’s share.”

His heart pounds loudly in his ears. He nods quickly and pushes the blanket aside for the two of you. He clutches you close under the soft comforter, your head slotting snugly in the space of his neck. It sends a shiver down his spine, the chilliness, but it coats him in warmth. He can feel his heart still racing, never fully calmed since seeing you. He feels those questions and thoughts bubbling up, words he always found unnecessary to say. Something about this moment lets him release them, lets him be curious about you.

“Didn’t know if I’d ever see ya again,” he says quietly, into your hair.

You nestle your head further into his neck. He can feel your lips against his throat as you speak. “It took a lot from me, the fire. Always need time to recover.”

His hand comes up to cradle your head, smoothing through your hair.  The image of the rainstorm flashes before him, the way the clouds swarmed from a previously blue sky to pour everything it had—everything you had—to put out the fire. He remembers the awe he felt, the sublimity of the view from a car fleeing the scene.

He doesn’t dream that night, his mind like an empty gulley, letting the soothing rainwater rush through him.

He cleans up after himself in the morning, retrieving his tools and mopping the genkan. It takes a while, though, interrupting his work several times to check that you are still in his room. You haven’t risen by the time he finishes making breakfast. A panic sits in his chest as he enters to wake you. You are still asleep, and he relaxes when he sees the steady rise and fall of your chest beneath the covers.

He sits on his knees beside you and gives your body a gentle rock. Your eyes peel open after a moment of stirring, and you are already smiling. Kita thinks it brightens the room more than the sun streaming in, that life is breathed into him from you.

You notice the granny’s shrine at breakfast. After assisting with cleanup, you ask if the small urn is all the ashes he has of her. He shakes his head and shows you the drawer in the display, where a box lays with the majority of her cremated remains.

“I wasn’ sure where t’put her,” he tells you.

You have an idea.

Only a few minutes later the two of you are exiting through the genkan, dressed for a day in the woods. Kita has a backpack on, the box from the shrine tucked safely inside. He lets you take the lead, turning left down the path and towards the western mountain. He is reminded of his sixth birthday, running to the end of the dirt road for the first time, panting to keep up with you. This time you are calmly walking hand in hand, in no hurry. Kita squeezes yours tightly, a necessary action to express the feeling in his heart.

You smile at him, and bring his hand to your mouth, kissing the back of it. Kita inhales in surprise and you watch his ears turn red, giggling at the sight.

When you two reach the end of the road, the rock face is still standing sturdy. He can see burned trees standing at the base, your mountain not untouched by the disaster. However, like the other forests, it is recovering, hope sprouting in the form of ferns and saplings. He sees a rabbit scurry away and a soft smile crosses his face.

You head first down the bank and into the water as usual, him following with his hand in yours. The cool water creeps up, only up to his knees now that he is grown. The water is easier to navigate in his adult body, and he effortlessly steps up the rocks to the forest floor, ones he used to scramble over on his hands and feet. The ground crunches beneath him. There is a patchy layer of pine needles—short ones—spreading along. The ground is not fluffy from decades of accumulation, but it’s a start. Small saplings bring bursts of fresh green, prickly when he brushes against them. The ferns hide beneath them, avoiding the scorching sun.

History repeats itself as you pull him forwards, along the river and through the early rebirth of the enchanted pine forest. The fallen tree that once served as a bridge is miraculously intact, though the top is scorched and he feels unsteady walking to the other side.

Wandering through the forest is another type of home. He hadn’t taken it upon himself to explore since returning, not wanting to disrupt the delicate healing of the ecosystem. He trusts you, though, and the path you’ll lead him to experience the land without damaging it further.

He notices that you are taking him to a section that he hasn’t been often, not a regular spot during your times together as kids. But it makes sense when you arrive at the small clearing and he sees the massive pine from his memory. It is thick with twisting branches, sturdy. Some of them are blackened from the fire, but others are coated in fresh needles, long and green, waving gently in the wind. He is surprised he hasn’t seen this miracle before, from the house. Maybe the distance obscured the view.

Kita walks slowly to the base of the tree and looks up towards its canopy. He can see the contrast of the charred and ashy sections of trunk against the rich brown of its healthy, resilient branches. The green shines brightly against the black and grey, proud of its revival.

He shrugs his backpack from his shoulders, understanding that this is where granny should be. He lowers to his knees before he unzips the bag and carefully removes the box. It’s a light wood, with tan streaks running along the grain. Pine, he thinks to himself in disbelief.

He slowly unlatches the box and sets it on the bed of brown needles near the trunk. There’s a plastic bag inside, tied with a simple overhand knot. He undoes it gently, slowly unfurling it to roll open and over the edge of the box. It’s the first time he’s looking at her remains, he realizes, and he notices that they are grey, grey ash with clumps of small black coals.

You watch as he moves slowly, cupping soft remains in his calloused hands.

“It’s like your hair,” you say.

He cries, letting out soft, ragged breaths between quick inhales. His weeping lasts the entirety of the time it takes him to spread the ashes at the base of the tree, where it meets the ground. When he finishes you crouch behind him and wrap your arms around his torso. He continues to cry. You feel it, his chest heaving with grief and mourn, love and gratitude. He brings his palms to his eyes to wipe the tears, but they continue to fall, splatter the earth beneath him with feeling.

You listen quietly as his sobs fill the space between rustling leaves and distant cooing birds. Eventually you take one hand from his torso to rub his back slowly, soothingly. 

His noises eventually lull, quieting to the occasional sniffle. He gently pushes the bag into the pine box and then slowly closes the lid and does the clasp. He returns it to the backpack with careful, practiced motions. Your arms release him when you sense he wants to stand. He turns around to face you, you and the valley below.

He watches you closely, runs his eyes over your face, eyes and nose and lips. He wants to memorize your soft smile, the way it warms him like the sun.

You bring your hands to his cheeks, their coolness refreshing after crying so heavily. He leans into your touch and closes his eyes, soaking in the contradicting ways you make him feel—this tug between heat and cold. He feels you press a kiss on his temple, then the other. They’re smeared with the grey ash and black coals, transferring the dust onto your lips. He sighs, in peace, and brings his hands to cover yours. 

When he opens his eyes once more, he looks behind you through the space between the trees, to the valley below him, spanning wide. He is reminded of the thousands of years it took these mountains to form, the thousands of years it took for the forest to grow on top of it. He knows that the fire he witnessed was not the first to rage across the land, and it certainly won’t be the last. He takes in the growth and change that has developed in the past few years, sparkles of hope in a collapse of despair. He recognizes that the destruction is an opportunity for something new, for him to be part of building the next beautiful forest that will rise.

He has lived for what feels like forever, and yet an entire life lays ahead of him. A life with the forest and the mountains and the river. A life with granny’s spirit watching over him, her hair and remains guiding him forwards. A life of working the land and growing something for himself, for others.

A life of unnecessary questions, ones he struggles to ask. A life of inexplicable feelings, ones he’s learning to let in.

A life with you. Here.

i know i said minor character death and then killed granny,, she's a minor character in haikyuu!! but she is a main character in my heart

anyways here's the afterword

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

July 26th

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1. hi! pease help me find this fic because i really want to re read this.

junior quartet got sent back around sunshot campaign (i think?) because in the future, the four were there in the guanyin temple face off with jgy, together with lxc, lwj, wwx, and jwy. they were really losing and the seniors told the juniors that they're going to find a way to get out of there. turns out, the seniors sacrificed their life to send the juniors to the past through an array but the juniors didn't know about this. jin guangyao also went back in time because he got into the array in time.

here are some details that im not sure if they're are a part of the fic or it's from others (my mind sometimes mix things up). i hope these help:

- jingyi found young jingyi when they were sent back.

- the juniors went to burial mounds and the people there wer skeptical about them

- later part of the fic, zizhen was not accepted in his family (i forgot why) @moonyramie

FOUND? ❤️ Tragedy is Not the End by Hobbsy3 (T, 358k, wangxian, Time Travel, Torture, Hurt/Comfort, Golden Core Reveal, Canon Divergence from Qiongqi Pass, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Yunmeng sibling bonding, good dad wwx, good dad lwj, JZX Lives, JYL Lives, Junior Quartet Dynamics)

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2. Hello there again! Im looking for this one sci-fi fic where wei wuxian was a scientist and lan wangji was a military soldier. They met during an Alien invation. In the fic they try to figure out how to kill the aliens or how they even got in earth. Thankyou!

FOUND? Number 2 sounds like Son of a SoliderMan, by FireAwayy, who deleted it and quite a few other Untamed fics because of harassment. // Also had Jiang Cheng and Wen Ning as ambulance drivers, Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue and Song Lan as solders who were sent into the area.

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3. Hi! This is for ficfinder. I read this fic a few years ago. Its MDZSXTGCF crossover. Im not familiar with TGCF so maybe there will be some incorrect use of some term and relationship. WWX dies after he jump from a clif and then he become ghost in the ghost city. He work/become a friend with hua cheng. WWX wore a weimao (its either weimao or a red umbrella). HC and XL then feel some disturbance and with WWX they visit a place where they jail jun wu (?) In some mountain. But when they arrive, the jailer tells them its not jun wu. HC, XL, and WWX then continue their investigation and they meet with LXC and NMJ. I think there WWX identity is revealed to LXC and NMJ. They found out that the disturbance is because of yin iron that are thrown to the magma in nighless city acting up. To stop that WWX sacrifice himself and he died again. When i read that fic its still ongoing but i dont know what this fic status right know. Thats all i can remember. Thank you! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! Hi! Im #3 i just found the fic. Its 🔒Can we skip to the Good Part? by pink-lotus-pods (kkomaism) (T, 107k, HuaLian, WangXian, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, YLLZ WWX, HuaLian are in Love , Married HuaLian, Slow Build, Canon Temporary Character Death, Ghost WWX, Fix-It of Sorts, Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Character Study, Panic Attacks, WWX Has a Mental Breakdown, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, unbearable amounts of sexual tension, Suicidal Thoughts, mild but it’s still there!, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Genius WWX)

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4. For fic finder, please! I am looking for a modern fic where Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian are raising Jin Ling together and they had a happy little family life, but struggled financially. The two were strippers who eventually catch the eye of Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji who begin to tip them ludicrous amounts of money. I remember the fic laid out their salaries and tips and they were making hundreds of thousands of dollars but they still bemoaned that they were broke and struggling. My confusion over their finances is what I remember most about this fic, lol. Would love to read again, if this rings a bell for anyone! Thank you!

FOUND! Silk & Satin by Brieeze01 (E, 171k, WangXian, LXC/JC, Modern, Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Pole Dancing, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, Idiots in Love, Child LSZ, Child JL, supportive brothers, hardworking brothers, Uncles and nephews, Love Story, Emotions, brokeass pole dancers meet billionaire bachelor brothers, Kinks, Lipstick, High Heels, Blindfolds, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Gentle Sex, Lube, Strip Tease, Dancing, Dirty Dancing, First Kiss, First Time, Love Bites, Anal Fingering, Rimming, Romance, Silk, satin, Slow Burn, Happy Ending, Wholesome, Pining, kink appreciation, healthy family relationship, Healthy Relationships, Everybody uses lube, Lapdance)

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5. Hi I was wondering if you know about a certain fic that takes place during the cloud releases study arc. Where Wei Wuxian wakes up one day suddenly and inexplicably pregnant with an egg. I'm pretty sure its incomplete but I read it a while ago and it was interesting. One of the main parts I remember is Jiang Cheng asking/trying to convince Wei Wuxian that he's not pregnant and it's just a "food baby". @wolfcubx2

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6. Hi! First of all thank you for the existence of this blog, I'm pretty sure it's saved my sanity more than once at this point! I'm looking for a post-canon fic where wwx is telling lwj something like "of course I died screaming, I was being torn apart, but I died calling your name bc you were the only good thing I had in my life"

Unfortunately I can't remember whether it was a long fic or a short fic, or even the rest of the plot, I read too many to keep track lololol so I don't have anything else to go on, but that part really stuck out to me and I wondered if it might ring any bells for anyone else! (And if nothing else I might get a different fantastic recommendation out of the deal!!)

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7. looking for this fic, I don’t remember much but it was abo, modern au with wei ying as an omega and lz as an alpha. there was a part in it where wei ying was presenting to lan zhan and lan zhan was thinking something along the lines of omegas don’t actually do that anymore, or something like that.

FOUND? Tastes Like You by airinshaw (E, 30k, WangXian, A/B/O Dynamics, Modern AU, Alpha LWJ, Scenting, Claiming Bites, Getting Together, Light Dom/sub)

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8. Hello Hello!!!! So I've scrolled through 20+ pages of my Ao3 history for a fic but can't find it. So I'm hoping yall can help!! Lan Wanji was a vampire who lives alone in the woods away from humans and his family. Wei Wuxian was a traveling merchant who ends up crashing Lan Wanji's place. He breaks the man's privacy by entering a room containing a portrait of Lan Wanji's mom, this inturn leads to Wei Wuxian being kicked out. Lan Wanji feels guilty after a bit and goes out to find him. Wei Wuxian ends up in a bad situation and Lan Wanji attempts to save him. They both end up in like a ravine and Wei Wuxian is near death. The two kiss and Wei Wuxian purposefully cuts his tongue on Lan Wanji's fang. At the taste of Wei Wuxian's blood Lan Wanji goes feral and bites his neck. Wei Wuxian dies right then and there, Lan Wanji is convinced he killed him despite desperately trying to turn him into a vampire. Lan Wanji was successful after a few minutes of mouring and hating himself Wei Wuxian comes to. It ends with a time skip to vampire Wei Wuxian buying something in a market dressed in a sun hat and long sleeves buying something for Lan Wanji @crimson-gay-sought-flower

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9. Hi! Do you know the fic where there's a scene with WWX taking the Wen Remnants away and LWJ is his husband and they kiss goodbye but then WWX tells them no one saw that? I think it might have been a arranged marriage au .. @abijo2024-blog

FOUND? seldom all they seem by Fahye (E, 25k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, or rather Arranged Betrothal, followed by Weapons-Grade Thirst) They're engaged rather than married during the rain scene, but I'd say everything else fits. Hope that helps!

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10. Hi!! I'm looking for a fic where wei ying gets his original body back and absolutely no one recognises him. Wei ying doesn't realise this though and walks around gusu in lan clothing. However people start to think lan wangi's gotten a new consort and get mad at him for doing that to wei ying. @louvoilite

FOUND? Is Your Old Body Considered a Halloween Costume? by The_peregrine_falcon (G, 3k, WangXian, WWX's original body, Junior quartet makes an appearance, LWJ is chief cultivator, Fluff,Canon Compliant, Post-Canon) but I don't recall the villagers thinking he was a new consort

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11. Hello I'm DESPERATELY looking for a Tumblr fic, it's relatively short, in which a demonic cultivation is brought forth to the sects in a conference, and he asks for incense and prays to WWX who, lo and behold, is a sleeping god. Please help??

FOUND?🔒Calling Heaven by mondengel (Not Rated, 2k, WangXian, God au)

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12. Fic finder please! I am looking for a fic that I can’t remember if it was time travel (like WWX went back in time) or if it just was au starting with him as a child. Child/teen WWX joins a theatre troupe and he performs a veiled dance at a Nie gathering and teen Huaisang tries to propose to him thinking that WWX was a beautiful female dancer. It is only several years later that they meet again and realize they had that shared moment. It is a WangXian fic, but this is the scene I remember!

FOUND! The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, WangXian, WIP, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Everyone Lives AU, Except Those Who Deserves to Die, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant)

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13. Soo ik it's a discontinued fanfic of wanxian , and I'm not sure if it's been deleted or the name is changed but, it was on Wattpad i think, and was called 'i will fix everything ' it starts with Wei yung returning in time to when he was at gusu lan for learning, he is sitting in class when he opens his eyes and is shocked by this fact , but then he sees suibian near him and he unsheathed the sword and slit his throat. later it goes as he shows his memories to everyone and they find a way to save

~*~

14. Hello,

I'm looking for a fic, set Modern day, no magic, where Wei Ying runs away/is kicked out? during high-school and years later Lan Zhan finds him at a framers market/ crowded street? .. the scene I remembered specifically that led me to trying to find it is Lan Zhan calling Jiang Yanli and saying "I found him" after seeing him in the streets, and her thinking he means like at a morgue so she starts crying and so he continues with "I found him alive" ...I think Wei Ying also lives with the wens on their farm ...  I realize that that is not alot of information to go on but I read it so long ago, its all i remember, I can't even remember if it is worth searching for to reread but that didn't stop me from spending 3 hours looking before giving up and finding this page to ask

Thank you for taking your free time to to help random people find lost fics! @cassie-joy567

FOUND? clean from the war (your heart fits like a key) by sysrae (E, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Reunions, past xy/wwx, xy is fucked up but not evil because it's a modern AU and I said so, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, past wwx/jfm, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Abuse, Rape Recovery, transphobic violence, Victim Blaming, Past wwx/others, allusions to past self-harm)

~*~

15. Here I am again, begging on my knees: can you help me find a fic where wwx finds a book describing a shrine to a good he's never heard about, and goes out to find it. He ends up discovering lwj ascended a long time ago, but he is bound and his temples were burned and devotees killed by the sects, lead by the Lan. Turns out they bound and imprisoned his body and he can only manifest in his temples, and WWX helps him escape the confinement. It is (was?) a WIP, featuring Wangji and Bichen having human forms, lwj is the one who helps wwx master demonic cultivation, creepy rituals that transfer the conscience of a past sect leader into Xichen, and the one who received wwx's golden core is jyl. Please?

FOUND!🔒 We'll Build This House on Stone (Altars) by FluffyHippogriff (E, 270k, WangXian, WIP, Romance, Supernatural Elements, Old God LWJ, Dumb Baby WWX, Friendship, WWX Finds an Ancient Altar, what happens next will shock you, Hijinks & Shenanigans, YLLZ WWX, There's Always a Price, But For Once It's Not WWX's Sweet Bod, Angst with a Happy Ending, Explicit Chapters Will Be Individually Tagged, Bichen Sword, Wàngjī Guqin, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Bichen)

~*~

16. Hi I have been looking for a fic I read and cannot find where Wei Wuxian doesn't realise he and Lan Zhan are dating. I believe it had a scene where the two of them go grocery shopping and run into Lan Zhan's ex, Mo Xuanyu, who tries to persuade Lan Zhan that they should get back together. Obviously, since he believes he has now started seeing Wei Ying he says no. There was something about Wei Ying secretly picking up ice cream for Lan Zhan. If anyone can remember it that would be fabulous, thanks! @funny-it-worked-last-time

FOUND! without your new eyes by anaphoricae (E, 66k, WangXian, Modern, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Sexuality Discovery, Self-Discovery, Literal Sleeping Together, mentions of WWX/others and LWJ/others, Drunk LWJ, Teacher LWJ, WWX is a… throws dart… computer scientist, No Angst, Jealous WWX, Flirty WWX, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Fluff, Non-Sexual Intimacy, WWX's Love Language is Physical Touch, Guess what: even more non-sexual sleeping together, the plot of the fic is just… co-sleeping, call it the Nap Fic ™, Podfic Available, WWX isn't so much 'oblivious' as he is wilfully blocking some feelings subconsciously, WWX 'idk how I feel' to 'I'm gonna marry him' pipeline)

~*~

17. Hello, I’m looking for a short M or E rated fic, modern au, where wwx talks on social media, likely TikTok, about the benefits of having an older partner who knows exactly what he wants and communicates that clearly. Lwj is older than wwx and has some sort of corporate/business job. There is a chance this was a single chapter in larger work that is a collection of short fics.

~*~

18. Hi! I'm trying to find a Lán Qǐrén/Wēn Ruòhán fic that was deleted on ao3. The title was "God & Monsters." I don't know the author's exact name but I know it had "jupiter" in the username. It's an time travel fic where LQR goes back in time when he was younger during his studies at cloud recesses with WRH, JFM, YZY, etc. I just know it's not "Cursed couple." @cherry1928rev

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19. Argh! For FF, I'm looking for a time travel fixit where Su Minshan time travels and nopes out of CR study arc. It's written in his pov, and he's kind of Indiana Jonesing it, studying the burial mounds for forgotten magics. ANYWAY hope think it would be easy to find Su Minshan redemption/time travel as being reasonably unique, but no. I even failed to bookmark it so help!! @mreisse

FOUND? Dark Promises Amid Rising Screams by meyari (M, 88k, SheYao, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Unreliable Narrator, Major character death, Not Really Character Death, Discussion of Genocide, PTSD, Chronic anxiety, Panic Attacks, Warning: JGS, Warning: WRH, Mind Control, Canon-Typical Violence, Politics, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Sacrifice, Asexual Relationship, Aromantic Relationship, Aro/Ace SS, Aro/Ace MY)

~*~

20. Hi! I remember having read this fic where Lan Zhan is face blind and didn't really notice Wei Wuxian came back to life in a different body, because he just recognised wwx's behavior. It was a very sweet fic and I'd love to read it again, but I totally forgot what it was called and I don't think I bookmarked it :(

I'm pretty sure I read it on ao3, but perhaps it could have just been a tumblr post.

I hope someone knows which fic I'm talking about, but I'm also open to other fics where Lan Zhan (or other characters) are face blind. @ifyourelostjustlookforme

FOUND! Faces by osiesaur (G, 1k, WangXian, lwj is faceblind, wwx and lwj are both learning to communicate better, WWX in MXY's body, they're married, LWJ POV)

~*~

[thetxtdevil]

TXT as Vampires

Welcome Ghouls & Goblins,

The TxT's Devil has conjured a fictional version of Tomorrow x Together as vampires. These characters are very little related to the actual men, but it's fun to fantasize. This will be a guide to know what I am writing about in my future projects. Some elements are inspired from AS YOUR VAMPIRE LOVER by @beomiracles enjoy...

Yeonjun

Level: born vampire, oldest of the clan Appearance: pale, raven black hair, dark maroon irises Special Powers: mind reading, can turn people, fast speed, strength Facts: Works as a Phlebotomist, this means he has extreme self control. He is able to take multiple bites from one feeding stopping himself before the victim runs out of blood. Since he's the oldest he knows a lot, so he's always teaching the boys and then gets made fun of for being old :( Suggestive Facts;) He knows he's handsome... he's cocky and a flirt. Since he can read minds he will read yours especially when you aren't able to say what you're really thinking...

Soobin

Level: turned vampire [cause: a way to save his life from intense injury], leader of the clan Appearance: pale, honey blonde, TALL, brown irises that turn into a flame red Special Powers: hypnosis, fast speed, strength Facts: As the leader, he keeps track of spendings in the house and the whereabouts of the boys. Although he was turned, he is excellent at training others if needed (Yeonjun helps too). Suggestive Facts;) Very sweet, doesn't want to take your blood, but he eventually does after you consistently ask. Secretly wants you to have his vampire babies and to make his own lineage.

Beomgyu

Level: born vampire Appearance: interestingly tan, long dark hair, rosewood irises Special Powers: transforms into a bat, fast speed, strength Facts: Gyu likes to spend his nights with werewolves. He also goes around exploring vacant areas (the haunted house down the street, the closed down mall, etc.). He enjoys the old ways of vampirism so he will wear victorian garments and dramatically roam around the clan's castle. Suggestive Facts;) Drains you… can't help it (he can) but he likes they way you taste and fall into his arms :(( Wants to do it EVERYWHERE, in every part of the castle, in a coffin, in the woods, maybe even his favorite old buildings.

Taehyun

Level: born vampire Appearance: pale, untamed platinum blonde, occasionally dyes his hair red, ruby red irises Special Powers: hypnosis, mind reading, can turn people, fast speed, immense strength Facts: Tae was brought up in a very traditional vampire household (never interacted with humans only fed on them, stayed in the dark) thats why he knows a lot of the powers that get personal. However, since he has been with the clan Tae has spread his bat wings: bar hops with yeonjun, having conversations with Kai about humans, reads A LOT of novels from supernatural to humans. Suggestive Facts;) He has self control when it comes to feeding but tends to lose that control when getting intimate. Loves your throat, loves to kiss it, bite it, choke it... Secretly wants to turn you even though he admires your mortality, he just wants you forever.

Huening Kai

Level: turned vampire [cause: victim of a feral vampire], youngest of the clan Appearance: pale, dark brown wavy hair, TALL, brown irises that turn into a bright scarlet Special Powers: recently found out that he can transform into a bat, fast speed, strength Facts: Kai is a baby bat, so he studies the ways of vampires (the boys help). He tends to forget that he’s allergic to the sun, comes back to the castle with steam off his head and burnt. Kai has learned to control himself with feeding on others, but he’s still a bit messy. Suggestive Facts;) He's learned from his ravenous past that bloodsucking is not always good, so he tries to not feast on you but when you give him the go ahead he won't stop. I suggest to invest in turtlenecks because this man loves to mark your neck. You could be human but he loves when you bite and suck on him too.

Let me know your thoughts on vampire!TxT

Check out -> The Devil’s Vampire Diaries

A nuisance,

TxT's Devil 🧛🏻‍♀️

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

saw some western aus and wanted to throw my proverbial hat in the ring. well. toss it gently. place it down on the edge-

actually no fuck that, slamming down the hat i have Thoughts:

first off, if anything this au should be the silliest looney toons bullshit.

~ of all the revolvers are unloaded. so gunfights are just people saying "bang" at each other and then throwing the nearest thing at their opponent in place of a bullet

~ Wally is the town sheriff, and he's hilariously incompetent. he also has a habit of shoplifting apples from Howdy's saloon / general store fusion. his cowboy hat has a card with an apple on it tucked in the band, but he doesn't wear it, so at nearly all times one of his hands is occupied with holding the hat. also he doesn't wear his badge ever

~ Barnaby is the town deputy, and he's marginally more competent than Wally. however, he doesn't take his job seriously and is usually napping in his chair on the sheriff office porch. sometimes he wears Wally's badge along with his own for funsies

~ also when Howdy catches Wally stealing, he'll call Barnaby over. Barnaby will proceed to arrest and lock up Wally in his own jail until Barnaby feels too bad for leaving him in there and lets him out

~ there is only one horse in town, and its Eddie's so that he can do his delivery runs and get mail from the town over - he has a lil wagon too. Sally has a running gag where she tries to steal the horse, but it completely ignores her and won't budge an inch.

~ on that note, Wally has one of those stick horses. when he needs to chase someone down, he hops on it and Barnaby lifts him by the scruff and runs, gently shaking him up and down to simulate natural horse riding movements. somehow it always works. no one can escape this tactical move

~ the only role i can see for Sally is overly-theatrical outlaw, just as incompetent as Wally. she never succeeds in stealing anything but also never gets caught because, again, Wally is terrible at his job. everyone usually comes outside to watch their wacky "fights" and do nothing about it, including Barnaby. also Julie helps her sometimes

~ Julie i think would be the town banker. she's unusually strict about it and can get kind of scary about technicalities. however the town doesn't really use currency, so they have a point system that they keep careful track of. it would be stickers, but those dont exist. actually fuck that these are puppets, stickers exist and the board is like the gold stars in that one spongebob episode

~ Frank is an entomologist that decided to brave the untamed west to see what new bugs he might discover. what he discovered was dust, scorpions, and an inability to leave the town due to no monies anywhere. he finds entertainment in keeping track of the local ant colonies' wars & affairs, and also complaining at Howdy at the bar

~ everyone complains to Howdy. he has someone at his bar at any given time and he's taken to being incredibly passive aggressive about it. they still have to pay with jokes or favors or whatever they can think of that he'll accept

~ Poppy runs the hotel, where pretty much everyone lives. Julie lives there, Frank lives there, Sally lives there, Wally lives there. Barnaby prefers to sleep in the sheriffs office, as he doesn't want to make the "across the street" commute. Howdy also stays in his saloon/store, and Eddie sleeps in his post office - as canon intended.

~ Home is the mayor. don't ask me if he's a person, an object head, or just a building - i do not know. he's probably still a building. no one can understand what he says

~ oh also Frank is incredibly pressed over the fact that the town's lawfolk suck at their job. he swears he has an aneurysm every time Wally chases Sally down the street on a stick horse, or when blatant crime is happening right in front of a very asleep Barnaby. he is tempted to take over as sheriff, but alas, there are scorpions to be stung by

~ and finally: apple chaps. thats all thanks good day

[lewiscarrolatemybrain]

YES EXACTLY THIS THIS IS THE CONCEPT

One of my favorite obscure fic concepts for the mdzs fandom are the ones where Jin Zixuan does some math on his head, decides he's now Wei Wuxian's stepdad and must take responsibility for him. It makes sense too, Jiang Yanli was the best parent her little brothers could have asked for (pour one out for my parentified oldest daughter tho), but since her family situation was what it was she ended up babying Wei Wuxian a bit more, nothing too harmful, she just doted on him a bit more than she did Jiang Cheng (not to say she didn't dote on Jiang Cheng, but bro would not have enjoye getting the exact same treatment as Wei Wuxian on this one), it's not a strech to say she's most likely the closest thing to a mother figure Wei Wuxian had ever since his own died. Enter Jin Zixuan, who now realizes he became a stepdad to a grown ass man overnight, he's not gonna back down tho, he'll earn that best dad mug goddamn it (and if Wei Wuxian screams "You're not my dad" at the least once like some emo kid rebelling against his mom's new boyfriend that just means he's on the right path)

[madtomedgar]

Oh. Horrible Au where somehow sms survives at the end and uh. lxc/sms grief-hate proxy-fucking 👀

[joannasteez]

tanks of blood (1) - circa '09

pairing: biker!roman reigns x black reader warning: this chapter contains detailed explicit content and alcohol. mentions of violence. the perspective changes oddly towards the end but who gives af, this is for funsies authors note: been sitting on this first chapter for a hot minute. its a flashback! just a little establishment of feelings and dynamics. word count: 3k tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @thesamoanqueen @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @spritelucozade @gg-trini i suck at keeping up who wants tags for what. but let me know if you want tags for just this story, roman stuff, cody or everything.

circa '09—

pensacola summers are muggy. sticky thick air that binds to the skin. and even beyond this nasty little inconvenience, pensacola night life rages with a thundering sort of spirit. wood floors groaning under worn shoes, and the walls bleeding with a little taste of everything that's been spilled onto them—overflowed shots of smooth vodka, ice cold tequila cocktails, crisp foamy beer, and the poor stain of some too-slow-to-swing-back assholes blood — till the bitterness steeps into the grain. and this here is no real complaint, because the dross of it is the essence. the thing that stokes the fire of the night till it's a bursting flame. 

and stubbs' dive bar is a staple for all the no good, almost-there-degenerates of pensacola, florida. for not so humble street royalty. but stubbs' dive is only popular because the guys made it that way, what with the vicious rumbling of their dyna's and their cruisers. stainless steel a smooth sharp glisten under the moonlight. and they are as rowdy as their engines, a dirty heavy symphony bordering impatience always. with a mounting lust for the grime of life, inherited surely, from the fathers and uncles and elder brothers who they bore their names from. 

but maybe its nature. the heat of the day simmering quieter men to act upon deep seated urges till their thoughts roam fiery and less ashamed. and maybe thats why randy orton does what he does, acting upon desire with a selfishness, like it's a right born to him. but your indulgence is no better. intrigue rife in your skin till its heating your cheeks. his broad fingers warm, adjusting the pool stick you bend over so prettily to angle with. and if randy is nothing else he is, easy. goes about everything with a deftness that tugs your younger curiosities. so when he touches, just for the sake of touching—because all forbidden things are so damn appealing—the fearlessness in him radiates. excites the skin till its fluttering wild. pulsing. a quick shiver through the spine. the soft of your leg slipping against his rough jeans. 

"easy on the back end here. don't underestimate that hit".

you jitter. his breath warm over exposed skin. "don't underestimate this stick up your ass if i miss this". 

"a little pain is still a good time", his voice low and rumbling. seducing. free hand traveling lower, from the back end of the pool stick to the tender skin of your waist. the easy slip of his playful touch hidden by the shadows covering the back corner of the dimly lit bar. his thumb stroking soft. forcing from you deeper breaths, for the sake of even a little control. 

"randy", you warn. 

"call the pocket sweetheart". 

his thumb feels good, in that forbidden way that urges blood to rush and desire to simmer. untamed and existing messily against your skin. threatening to cause an undoing chaos. he would hate this, and you should too.

"left corner pocket". 

his fingers curl in, more similar to a deep kneading till it's caught firm, just above the denim band of your skirt. and it's a small show of the fire in his fingers, of the possibilities, choosing a tenderness that compels you closer to acting on mere curiosity. and then he's off you. your hand forcing the pool stick to clack against the cue ball. the eight ball falling into the pocket despite his teasing. your heart hammering, refusing to still. hand out as you wait. a hundred dollar bill,  ever the simple prize—carrying the weight of such palpable tension—slips in your grasp. and when all six feet and five inches of him move in to crowd your body, you feel the swell of heat that breaks off him. a lulling force that makes breathing hard. and he doesn't speak as you pocket the money. the low sit of his eyes —mischief in them not so dissimilar to a viper— sharp.

and the others are too rowdy and liquored up to notice, and maybe for both of your sakes it's best. because he would hate this. could possibly even become violent over it. 

randy's thumb, the one that'd so sweetly slipped over your skin, raises to do the same to your cheek till its sweeping over and under to your chin. skimming easy to line your bottom lip. plump and glossed and tempting. and he's considering you, the burn in your eyes, attempting to decipher whether the heat of them is fear, desire, or a mixture of the two. 

"randy", you warn again. 

because you were spoken for. even if the words were silent, known only through secret but not so secret tongue kisses and lingering stares. through wind rushing rides on the back of his dyna and the burdening curl in of his fingers. possession like a nail, screwing into the skin. 

randy's thumb leaves your lip, swiping off a streak of the glossy balm. a sugary cherry on his tongue. your blood beating in your ears, fingers twitching, small and inching towards something that feels like neediness. he knew what he was doing. but he grins, surrendering with silence to the natural order of things. to unspoken rules and terms of engagement. he stalks away, taking with him that burdening heat. the sensation of his touch lingering as your lip tenses through your teeth. eyes floating away and else where to forget that small bout of rebellion against the quiet but ever present force of him. of roman. 

maybe a shot will help the uneasy heat in your belly? or perhaps make it worse? liquid courage possessing its own bursting flame of possibility. no. tequila would be no good. a step in a worser direction. randy's viper eyes still slipping slow over your curves and balmy brown skin, watching the swing of your hips with a quiet admiration, bordering the thick edges of lust that threaten to take him in. but he's smart about such quiet desires. settles for sipping at the chilly beer nestled easy between street scarred fingers. 

you call the bartender. "water please". fingers running anxious over the bar top. 

"still playin' with fire?" the bar loud, the guys and other patrons swelling up the space with laughs and drunk jeers, but nothing stops the recognition of that voice. slightly lisped and ever playful. cody rhodes, oddly dashing for the messy biker life and more judging than the worst gossiping grandmother you've ever met. blue eyes piercing. always looking  for something. 

you sip. "still mindin' my business?"

"if not me, who else?"

"you're such a mom". fingers dipping in to flick the icy water at him. because if cody is nothing else, he's a perpetual pest. 

"and you, a child". 

"fuck you rhodes".

he snorts. snatching your water to finish it. "it would be fun i'm sure but for my own safety i'm gonna have to pass". 

and the music is louder somehow, cody leaving you to step further into the storm of men he'd pulled himself from. their shot glasses empty, scattered and growing still by the hour. voices yelling higher somehow over the hard thumping bass of music. leather littering the bar booth cushions, and any other loose chairs it can find. the worn material sewn with patches, not so dissimilar to tiny precious stones stuck to some grand old crown. and though most of the guys were mere prospects, waiting faithfully for that full patch in, the pensacola streets belonged to them still. riding comfortably off the nobility of their fathers. ripping and running. chaos at their fingertips and mischief in their eyes. 

but the warmth of the night is inviting, breezes the skin more than the stiffness of the bar. roman standing at the opening of an alley just next to the building, roughing out words, unintelligible, but the closer you get to him the better the timbre is. his big boy, taking care of business voice, you're sure of it. that slight underscoring of coarseness, even at such a young age, steeping chills into your skin. his eyes cutting up, on you now, sticking to the dip in your hips till they find lips, and then your eyes. 

he pulls you in, listening to the call still, touch instinctive. possessive. always claiming your body with a certain finesse. a wide palm stretching along your back till its comfortable, slipping into the back pocket of your skirt. and his head tilts, something slight, like he's taking a reading. and his eyes, black pushing against brown, too silent to be anger but silent enough that its uneasy. 

you know that look well. he's annoyed. 

the call ends. his phone slipping into the back pocket of worn dark denim jeans.

his nose flares. "you smell like him". like randy. because the six foot five inch mischievous piece of shit decided to crowd your space. and you'd decided against the good sense God gave you to indulge him. his spiced cologne staining your top. roman's fingers firm and only becoming firmer, slipping out till they grip into the soft of your hips. a smolder more than a bursting flame in his eyes. composed in his displeasure. "you make it real easy for him to try my patience". 

your eyes roll, feet trailing away. the lamp post a blinding yellow that forces you to see his annoyances too clearly. the side of the bar, away from the street corner and eyes of nosy pensacola pedestrians, is much darker. simple dense bricks and gravely ground. 

"you make getting bored very easy".

when you turn he's there. thick chest pressing into yours. easing you into the dampness of the bar's side brick wall. loose tendrils of hair falling against his face, inky and fine. you reach to touch, his own fingers catching yours to fold over them and in between. slipping till his thumb presses your palm. you wrap about his touch there, with soft fingers, void of rebellious intention, before pulling him in by his arms. and he's not so taut here but the wild strength and warmth in him is clear. a radiating heat that lulls you forward. and yes randy's intensity is subduing, maybe even fearfully so, but roman has a familiarity to him. a safety that makes falling into his touch easy. 

his thumb finds your cheek. caressing over the apple of it. a sweet trail over your lips, chuckling at the pitiful little kisses you give it, eyes peering up from below your lashes. ever coy and ingratiating. and down it goes, a slow stripe over your throat, before its up and over to rest at your pulse. his nose knocking tender into yours, lips faint. you can nearly taste the beer he's had. 

"you're not bored". confident in that fact. lips daintily taking yours. barely a kiss. a peak of his tongue after that forces something desperate and feathered to break from you. "just greedy". thumb smoothing into your pulse. "i gave you a little something for the first time a few weeks ago and now you don't know how to act". 

you smile. drunkenly. his scent heady. "so we both agree, this is your fault". 

"everything is my fault". his mouth retreating to tender skin. pulling at the gentleness of it. leading with the slip of his tongue till his lips begin to lay claim. a heated suck that's all possession. 

you moan. "m'happy you know this". 

"if you're happy then fine". 

and if not for the kiss itself, you'd hate the crisp hoppy flavor of his tongue, but the slip of it is too comforting to ignore. the light summer breeze and his warmth, swaddling your skin till it's arresting your bones. an excitement dancing your nerves. and he's holding you tightly, a hand splayed against your back, pressing into him as he's pressing you further into coarse brick. the other roughing and kneading its way over and under your skirt, feeling up the exposure of your inner thighs. the heat there revving the pulse in his blood. surely it wouldn't take much to slip between your panties. to touch you firmly till you came. his legs long, stout, angling wider to trap you in. 

it reminds him of some few weeks ago. his birthday. the day had been loud and crazy. gift after gift, and who would expect anything less for the prince of pensacola. whose father birthed the bloodline. and so that night had went on, you tucked under him by his own wordless request, lingering eyes and his hands searching for comfort in your skin, till you could no longer avoid the heat of them. and so they'd dug and littered pleasure harshly. a greedy taking. a years long build released suddenly and so terribly blissed. sounds he'd never heard before from you, wanting to hear them now all the time. tremblings in your skin that'd bruised the harsher parts of him to a softness. 

the now midnight air streams against your skin, easy but chilling. his touch hot as it fingers past your panties to slip over your slit. and the sudden invasiveness of it is maddening, a sweet rolling over, wet and firm at your clit. your blood taking to a wild thrumming as his tongue licks wide into your mouth. everywhere that he finds himself, embraced over the whole of you, steadied and controlled. a fervor that weakens your knees. 

the honk of a car reminds you of where you are. the coarse bricks of the wall he's fastened you to. the too bright lamp post not so far away. the guys, rowdy in the bar still, and the possibility of a passerby. 

"were-were outside". your voice rushed and whispered. 

"it's dark". the wet glide of a finger pushing patient against lush resistance. lips still working over yours, lapping sweetly, to calm the unease of your nerves. "no one will see us", so sure of himself. stroking gentle through the tight clutch of your pussy. groaning in time with the throbbing take you give his finger. and the intimacy here is odd, exposed to a somewhat weirdly lit street corner, but so very isolated still. your hands burying into the loose knot of his hair, breathing ragged against his mouth. the fear of being found and the thrill of release tugging the nerves beneath your skin. and when he's there, deep and caressing, his lips pulling to smile as you curse into the midnight breeze. "and if you're quiet, no one will hear us either". 

roman's teeth pry at the part of your lips, sinking into the plush of the bottom one. steeping his fingers into the soak of you as his urges crash into you with an easy willingness. his ears sweetened by every sound that stretches out. fragile and dainty one moment, and then overtaken by something more feverish and raw the next. 

"if my birthday is anything to go by though", his mouth at your ear. breath hot. shivering your spine. "then there ain't no gettin you to just shut up and take it huh?"

your belly coils. wrecks your voice. "fuck you"

"whenever you want". 

and his persistence is tiring to the doubtful parts of you. the ones that fear sudden judgement and interruption. white heat over your brows, rising in your cheeks. a second finger slipping in with the first, a deep take as they go, stretching with leisure, as if the night has oh so graciously slowed for this moment. and dammit you wish it did, just a little if it meant holding him against you longer. your nails threatening to break into the muscle of him, running mindless over the leather covering his back. black and worn and familiar, smelling of warm amber wood as it works to soak your skin. a strong silent claim. 

but there were always other things. 

"yoo!", a voice calls. 

it sounded like one of the twins. like jimmy. 

but roman continues his ministrations. shushes into your cheek before kissing you to drown your whimpering noises. and you curl into him, figuring his broad body will shield you. 

and you're nearly there. blood rushing and the heat sharp. pressure in your core, tight and unrelenting. 

but jimmy is closing in. "yoo uce!". step after step, grinding the dirt under his heavy feet. "jey in here going at it. we need them hands". 

the moment caves in till its collapsing, and roman slips his fingers from you. annoyed and sucking his teeth. fishing for something in his pockets till he's wiping your arousal away with a tissue. "i'm sorry", jaw twitching. a sharp clacking sounding in his other pocket. fishing again till he pulls out two carved rings. he slips them on, looking at you still, your eyes and your lips, searching for tells of anger. 

still, he hasn't moved. doesn't want to leave you. 

"it's okay", you break from his eyes. pushing him lightly towards where jimmy's voice calls from. "go".

and your legs, despite the thought-numbing heat, are suddenly cooler now. missing the sweet burn of him as they chill up. a breeze whisking to fill in the absence of him. and the circumstances are annoying. frustration rife in your body as it runs with a shiver. but it seems to be a better deal than toughing it out inside the bar. because even from the outside front of stubbs' you can hear the chaos of it all. screaming voices and wood cracking bangs. a fight of some sort. the inevitable unraveling. because who were the guys if they didn't get themselves into some shit. proud about their leather and proud about their pride. it only ever made for rougher nights, especially after the drinks were poured and savored. words back and forth till a fist flew to silence it all. 

in the end it was sure to be wordless and bloody, because the guys had a perpetual hard on for mess. and then came the screeching wheels against asphalt and parked cars blaring their own sirens. stubbs' bar bound to be lit up with blue and red because the cops had a perpetual hard on for the guys. a cycle of bullshit indeed. 

you wait by their parked bikes. a uniformed line of black and steel. each styled with crimson red fenders. a pout in your lips because tequila sounds like a good deal. something smooth and clear to eat at the unsettling ball in the pit of your gut. 

and the street has a ghostly silence to it. an air that is comfortable in how still it is. 

your eyes close and for the first time, you settle into the quiet of the night. the nothingness of it all, sweet and new. no rattling engines or clinking metal. neither were there jarring or jeering voices, threatening to break against the skin. no ruptures of the air from sure fated chaos. just a simple lonely breath. you like this. 

[qoldenskies]

what's your separated au about? :0

WHERE WE WENT WRONG ASK SPOTTED [LOCKS IN]

okay essentially without going into spoiler territory (it all seems kind of typical but there's a lot of twists and turns i have planned!!! trust me)

VERY basic premise, with leo/donnie with draxum and raph/mikey with splinter. i'm going to keep leo and donnie's names as they are for simplicity's sake and say that at one point they just decided to use the names their bio father gave them when they asked draxum for like... Actual names, they were probably just numbered before. they both have kind of messy complicated relationships with him

^^^ draxum is a pretty shit parent but im not going to make him super abusive (its fine when people do, im just going for the more nuanced approach!!). he's very goal-oriented and for a long time he's struggled to see the weapons he created as people, although he never outright Abused them. he was pretty emotionally neglectful and hard on them when it came to training/pushing them into their roles, and over the course of the story he's going to grapple both with humanizing them and also descending into a spiral of paranoia as things go on (all im gonna say about what's going on with him right now)

personality alterations are more subtle in some places and more obvious in others. raph is a lot more serious and overprotective, mikey's very similar to his canon characterization but he's a lot more rebellious and determined to prove his own independence, and donnie's actually very blunt and deadpan to counteract leo being UHHHHHHHHHH. hmmmmm. an insane person!! (lmao raph/mikey are dog-coded in the way that mikey is an excitable puppy and raph is an old sad sheepdog, and leo/donnie are cat-coded in the way that donnie is a cat that stays in high up places and glares at you, and leo is the type of cat that rolls on its back and looks cute and then ATTACKS when you try to pet it. thats the best way i can summarize them)

donnie was very much the family stickler on his side of the equation and leo was unruly and untameable, but that kind of... switches after some things happen. leo becomes complacent out of fear (he is so complicated and fucked up god bless) and donnie changes his priorities after he meets mikey.

because essentially the core of the story is that donnie and mikey being the youngest of their families, with overprotective older brothers who are actually kind of more reliant on them than the other way around, want to connect and actually be a family (as well as stop the conflict going on) but raph and leo REALLY DO NOT WANT THEM TO.

and i mean REALLY. really really. raph distrusts donnie and hates leo and leo DESPISES both raph and mikey (disaster twins are really codependent and its gonna shine through), so there's really just opposition on every side of the equation. things turn out alright in the end, but it's.... a long, long process. there's a point in the story where they have to do the unlocking ninpo thing and it takes so much longer and it is so much worse and its such a fucking mess LMAO

wow i love my sep au (one man's junk but with more crying and blood in it)

if things go according to plan it'll start after i finish canary continuity, i already have it all outlined. its just beginning stories that is kind of a struggle for me so the first few chapters are gonna be hard. even though i KNOW what im doing bleckgh.