#i wanna write some drabbles

[kitweewoos]

Looking for BuckTommy prompts!

I want to write a bunch of little fics just to get some juices flowing for bigger works, so I'm looking for:

dialogue

situations

vibes

honestly, whatever you want

[leaf-line]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐬 𝐀 𝐃𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠

Yandere! Dr Ratio x Gn! Reader

❏ You and Dr Ratio bakes cake after your milestone! All harmless, absolutely nothing bad will happen!

cw: invasion of privacy, implied isolation, people pleaser reader, mentions of insecurities and mental illnesses, suicide.

w/c: 2,856

"I'm starting to see your improvements." Ratio hums, sounding pleased, which is rare for him to do, but it's not impossible.

Contrary to his calm demeanor, you were emotional.

"That's all you could say!? This is big! This is a big deal!!" You cried out, snatching the papers—the fruits of your labor, the results of your hard, hard work—from Veritas.

Your heart was thumping so loudly. It was as if all your red blood cells received glucose simultaneously.

"I can't believe... I got high scores on all tests... All in a row..." You weep out of joy seeing all of them be above the number of 95. You could let your knees fall to the ground and start having a breakdown to release all the stress kept up in your years of living. "My life... Is fulfilled... Suffering... Is no more... Augh—" You state dramatically, Ratio could only scoff at your s-tier performance.

"It is a feat for a person like you. However, this is not the ending point for you to cry out of joy; there's always more to strive for and be better at. The room isn't that small. There's still more for improvement. However... You did great, I'm proud of you for that." He lectures as if to say 95 isn't enough and you need full scores, but honestly, you can't even be mad at him.

After all, he was the one who pushed you to achieve something such as this. If it weren't for him, you'd be nothing but a plain potato who didn't achieve anything meaningful.

A genius prodigy such as him could easily turn a useless stone like you into a shining diamond. You felt grateful.

"Ahaha..." You laugh ironically. "But thanks, it's all thanks to you, you should be proud." You wipe your tears eyes with a finger, then smile brightly at him.

He said nothing, and you grinned. Maybe it was because your smile was so contagious he was stunned, but then again, you don't know what's going on behind that mask of his. You could only see him turn his head away from you.

You wanted to know truly if he's fond of you or not.

Your tutor... No, rather, your friend Ratio was someone you never expected to get along with. Rather, you were extremely opposed to the idea, and perhaps, even was he.

Recalling back to that time, both of you first met... Wasn't exactly the best first impression...

"Welcome, Sir Veritas Ratio. Meet my child... [Name], please take care of them from now on. They might be a little... Uneducated, but I hope that you can help them with that." Your mother pushes your back towards him, in which you internally scowl in return.

You eyed him. He looked rather young to be your tutor.

"Ah, and I couldn't help but notice that both of you are the same age. If that is the case, then I hope that the both of you will get along well!" Your mother cheerfully says so.

You doubted that heavily.

That's because you did your research before meeting him in person.

A lot of people said that the prodigy was cruel, relentless, and maybe even sadistic. And the list goes on. The most positive and recurring mentioned trait of his was being academically talented.

As soon as your mother left you with him, you felt vulnerable, as if you were out in the open and someone was ready to stab you with words like knife, take for example; the person in front of you.

You try to pace down your heartbeat to not overthink it... It works.

It's fine, it's fine, he's a prodigy, surely he knows about the fact of how the human heart is delicate and needs to be handled carefully. What's the worst he could say to you out loud?

No matter what it is, you won't let it reach you!

"Hey... You." He calls out, you prepare yourself.

There's no way he's gonna be 'that' cruel to you... Right? You both just met.

"Have you taken a shower? You stink."

...

A part of you cracked.

"Let's move on quickly, I don't have time to deal with idiots such as you."

And it cracks again.

Yeah... It wasn't the best, but at least he doesn't say that anymore. In fact, it helped you that he said that, since you don't neglect hygienic activities as much anymore. But as Professor Veritas Ratio once said, 'Don't dwell in the past for long,' let's focus on the future and present!

Since this is a milestone for you, you should gift Dr Ratio with a thank you.

"I'm in no need of your services. This feat was only achieved through your hard work. You should treat only yourself." He said out of nowhere.

"Wait— H-How did you even—"

"Your face said it all."

"Huh???"

Dr Ratio seems to have a knack for using his hidden mind-reading powers on you. You don't like that. You'll always feel vulnerable to him every time at this point.

"Ah... Too bad... I was gonna make myself some homemade cake and share it with you... Too bad you don't want it. I guess I'll just stick to being lonely and take it all for myself." You puff out, obviously picking on him.

"Then let me help you, for all I could know, the house might be burned down before you can even bake one successfully." He replies back with no remorse.

"How rude!"

You end up baking at his home.

You simply didn't want the place to be yours since your mom is gonna be there saying you're wasting your time doing all this, so it's gonna be annoying.

And so you're there, stirring a bowl with a whisk, while there's Ratio holding out the instructions. You can't lie; he looks kinda cuter with that apron he's wearing if only his strange plaster sculpture weren't covering his appearance.

"You know... Veritas... You can remove that mask off. Since... Ya know? We're baking."

"Focus on the task at hand."

"Damn..."

You were silenced immediately, so you carefully put down the bowl, ——albeit with a trembling hand that made you feel pathetic——, to move over to the chopping board with the bowl of strawberries that you're gonna cut. You reach out for the knife

...If not for Dr Ratio intervening.

"Let me handle that." He says, practically shoving you away from the chopping board. He takes the knife and chops it with ease despite wearing that weird sculpture on his head. You wonder if he can see with that.

"Woah... Are you worried about me accidentally cutting myself?" Your eyes widen in surprise.

"I didn't know you actually cared for me, Professor Veritas... Hmmm, but I suppose you can't help it; after all, I'm the cutest and the best student ever had, aren't I?" You bat your eyelashes for the sake of sarcasm.

"Perhaps."

"...Eh?"

Too blunt, you feel your cheeks burning up.

You wonder if he's just playing along with your sarcasm because there is absolutely no way that's the case.

"I'm not playing around with your jokes. I'm simply laying out the possibility."

"There you go... Using your mind reading powers again..."

"It's not that hard to do if you have two eyes and a brain."

"I have a brain too... Not everyone can exactly know what a person is thinking just by looking at their face and expression."

"I doubt both of those statements."

"...Okay, rude."

"It's not about skills, actually; you're just an open book."

"Am I really??"

You hum, seeing him chop the strawberries more efficiently than you ever could. You know all well you'd cut it clumsily, then they'd end up looking like you've beaten them to mashes. You walk to the over to preheat it while he does his own thing. You gaze at the warm light.

"This cake is just for the two of us. I can't really share it with anyone else. If only I could, I would." You murmur your thoughts out loud, feeling close enough to him to tell him your issues occurring these days. You stand up to walk over next to him.

"...Why is that?"

"Everyone at the campus... Ignores me. I don't know why." You say, your expression showing one of disheartened, but you bothered to put up a smile. "I know, I know, I shouldn't be bothered with this minimalistic stuff." You chuckle.

"... Human life inevitably takes the form of a struggle against loneliness. We reach out to others in order to avoid sinking into complete isolation. However, although they might provide us with some degree of consolation and felt connection, our loneliness is something that can never be overcome. Therefore, you have the right to be bothered by it. Even if everyone on your campus notices you, you'll still end up feeling lonely."

"So... You're telling me my feelings don't matter even if I single myself out?"

"You have me, don't you?"

"Woah??"

"Don't go around putting random ideas in your head. It's just, if you ever feel like you're the only person existing in the universe, remember me." He placed down the knife to lightly pat your head.

"..." It was as if you remember something foul, you feel your smile fading for a bit. "You know, I wondered if people avoid because they think I'm annoying. Do you find me annoying too Dr Ratio?" You humor a question.

"I'd be lying if I said not entirely."

"And here I thought you were trying to comfort me." You laugh, taking the strawberries he chopped and mixed it with the other ingredients. You think carefully on what you're about to say next.

"There was this one guy named [____], he thinks I'm annoying but... We... 'Talked' everyday, but one day he just suddenly killed himself." You wonder if you were the reason, though it's too far fetched, you still felt guilty.

"...i see, but you shouldn't blame yourself. It's not your fault, he must've had his own problems." He says... For some reason, you felt like he sounded awfully guilty too.

"...You're right."

You glance back at your baking progress only to see that it's already prepared for the oven. "Oh... It seems like we were taking too much I didn't even realize."

"Focus. Place that in the oven for 40 minutes." He orders, you nod and follow obediently.

As that was done, you breathe out a sigh. "Where's your bathroom?" You ask.

"Go to that hallway, you'll find it eventually."

You didn't bother to ask more and marched straight into it.

Whilst walking, you find... His room, no, it might be an office knowing who he is.

Your curiosity lead to dumb decisions such as this one, so you open the door which was surprisingly open. The room felt fancy and professional, you felt like you were a dirt intruding inside a perfectly clean place.

The walls were decorated with a bunch of awards, eight doctoral degrees, outstanding achievements in the fields of biology, medicine, natural theology, philosophy, mathematics, physics, and engineering— ah, you felt dizzy.

"Uwah..." You felt jealous, though it must've been stressful and uneasy to achieve all this. You send a regard in your mind for him, hoping that he didn't stress all this too much.

You wonder why you were even next to him, how could you even stand next to someone such as him, it felt like something out of fantasy, only someone with the same level as him should he be talking to. You were a simpleton compared to him.

Being in character of a simpleton, a stupid, brainless simpleton, you dig more on his room, to that resulted of you seeing a notebook placed on a desk. "Looks important... Is this his diary or something?"

Despite saying that, you still flipped the notebook into a page, reading it...

[Name] [Last Name]

Home Planet: Cosmos

Gender: [______]

Species: Human

Height: [______]

Weight: [______]

Address: [______]

Social Security Number: [______]

Birthdate: [______]

Collage Campus: [______]

Degree: [______]

Average Grade: 57% —> 96%

Biological Parents:

Mother: [______] - Occupation: The IPC Strategic Investment Department

Father: [______] - Deceased

Huh? Isn't this your... Private information... Why... Is it in his handwriting...? Your hand reluctantly flips to the next page.

[Name] [Last Name]'s history with their mother isn't difficult to understand, they're not fond of their mother for the sole reason of abandonment and high expectations, their mother does not have the time to raise a child for she is busy working for the IPC. However, she holds high expectations for [Name] despite not teaching them and leaving them to fend for their own without help, naturally, [Name], without tools, [Name] learned nothing and struggled to understand the materials exposed to them. With no choice left, their mother found a teacher that will help them raise up to her expectations.

I do not understand why she chose me out of everyone, perhaps because of the same age we have, but unlike them, my standards were advanced, choosing me will only cause [Name] to struggle more, I feel bad, so I set my teachings to them to be more tame and easy to understand, but difficult enough for them to improve even slightly, but to my utter surprise, they followed along with it. Not to say that they didn't struggle, in fact, they struggled greatly, but despite that, they pursued the materials. Despite their many flaws, they strive for the betterment of themselves.

Struggles and insecurities, they suffer from anxiety and depression, for one, they struggle to be hygienic and procrastinate, they prefer to relax and wallow on their own self pity rather than choose to study, they have a rather low view of themselves and low confidence, dead honest about thinking that they're a hopeless idiot, however they cover the fact that they think of that by joking around and putting up a false confidence to everyone. They care about the well-being of other people more than themselves. On the other hand, they feel the fear from failure, evident by how their hand trembles whenever they feel like—

Enough. You felt cold sweat dripping on you face. That's... Too much, he isn't supposed to know all this. It's you personal thing. How did he even...

You don't why, you really don't know why you still haven't left the notebook alone and left the room, you don't know why you still flipped to the next page.

Spreading rumors about them weren't difficult, as it seems like all those people are easily swayed by simple words, however, through that action, [Name] regretfully became a target of bad intent. Through pros and cons, I conclude that it was worth it, the sight of [Name] relying on me is ever so priceless.

[____], a wretch, a classmate of [Name], bullying [Name] over his own insecurities, rather than taking it out on something else, he takes out his pent up stress on other people, [Name] being the victim. [Name] seems to have noticed this, so rather than telling people of fighting back, they endured it, telling nobody about it (even me). I have a speculation that they simply endured it with a naive thought of helping that ignorant wretch.

He appears to have a delicate ego and heart, as it turns out he was taking it out on [Name] simply because he admired me and thinking that it should be him that I should be teaching rather than [Name]. As said, he had a delicate ego and a delicate heart, so it wasn't difficult to shatter it into pieces. I admit, though immoral, I found his dismay satisfying, ignorant people like him deserved to jump off that building—

You head snapped to the door and you felt a chilling sensation on your spine.

No longer wearing his mask, his head leaned onto the doorframe.

You drop the note book on the floor, seeing as pictures of you that were stuck on that note book to fly and scatter on the ground.

"Had fun reading? Were even in terms of privacy, did I ever tell you that you can meddle with my notes?" He questioned, his face showed no emotion.

"...Why— Why would y-you—?" You felt tears invade your vision, you heart being constricted.

"I take it were gonna have a long conversation later? No, actually..." He says, getting closer to you, you instinctively take the same steps back.

He gets closer and closer until your back is facing the wall, he placed a hand to obscure your vision. Perhaps the reason he covers his face around you, is because he's just as an open book as you when he's around you, he can't have you seeing his overly infatuated expression, even after he was trying so hard to hide it.

"Let's settle this short, right here, right now, I'll tell you everything. We have 25 minutes left, can't have the cake burning in the oven for too long can we?"

a/n: fun fact! just in case you missed it, at the first part of this short story, dr ratio subconsciously turned his head away from you because he was flustered by your gratefulness for him, sorry if it sounded like a vent at some parts, idk what occurred to me 💀, maybe it's because dr ratio is ironically my comfort character, i hate people like him irl but...

[wikiangela]

"I'm going to ask Tommy to marry me." Buck says out of the blue one random evening, sitting in Eddie's living room, spread out in the armchair, sipping a beer, eyes on the TV, where Eddie and Christopher are playing a video game. His tone is even and firm, not even a hint of hesitation, it's not a huge revelation, or even a decision he's made just now. He's been thinking about it for weeks, maybe months. He doesn't know why he says it now, it just slips out - maybe he just needed to talk to his best friend about it.

"Really?" he hears a hint of surprise in Eddie's voice, but when he looks at his best friend, he's still focused on trying to beat his son at the game. He's smiling, sparing a glance at Buck. "That's great, Buck."

"Yeah?" he breathes out, feeling even more settled now. He wasn't nervous, exactly, but still felt kind of like he did when he came out to Eddie. Like he just wanted his best friend to approve, to support him - and he had no doubt he would.

"Of course," Eddie answers easily. "You guys are perfect together, and you love each other, and if you're sure you want to spend the rest of your life with Tommy, yeah, go for it. I'm happy for you," he adds, finally looking at Buck, a soft, genuine smile on his face. Christopher uses this moment to win the game, and Eddie groans at his triumphant yell. "Aw, not fair, Buck distracted me." Both Buck and Chis laugh, while Eddie pouts for a moment, before a smile breaks through anyway.

"Well, I won." Chris shrugs with a grin. "And I think it'd be so cool if you and Tommy get married," he adds, moving his attention to Buck.

"Yeah?" Buck repeats, his smile even wider now. Having two of his favorite people not only really love his partner - Buck's pretty sure Tommy's the first one to spend so much time with all of them together, and it feeling so right - but also approve of Buck wanting to tie him into their family forever.

"Duh, Tommy's the coolest." Chris rolls his eyes. "Better lock him down while you can," he jokes, and Buck gasps in surprise. He's such a teenager.

"Wow, rude. He's not going anywhere." he shakes his head with a laugh. That much he's sure of, for the first time in his life he's not scared of getting left, of his partner getting bored or fed up. He knows Tommy's gonna be right at his side no matter what.

"Not if you put a ring on it." Eddie joins his son's teasing. Laughing, Buck reaches over to the table to pick up a chip from a bowl and throw it at Eddie, who dodges it as it lands somewhere on the couch. "Hey!"

"But seriously, you don't think it's too soon?" Buck asks after a moment, a little bit of nerves seeping into his tone. He's more than sure about wanting to marry Tommy. He's just a little scared that he's gonna freak him out. They have talked about this, about their future, what they want out of this relationship, out of life, but they never really discussed any timelines, and Buck might be a little in his head about this. Hence why he needed to talk to someone about it, probably.

"Buck, you've been together for over a year. Some people get married after less." Eddie raises an eyebrow. "When you know, you know." He shrugs, and Buck releases a breath. Because he does know. He has known for a long time now.

"So you think he'll say yes?" Buck asks, but he knows the answer before Eddie has a chance to roll his eyes with fond exasperation. Tommy loves him. He loves Tommy so much his heart wants to burst out of his chest and live in Tommy's. Tommy is his forever, he's sure of it, and he knows that when he asks, and it's going to be very soon, he'll get a positive answer.

"He'll say yes." Eddie says with a small shake of his head and a wide smile. "Now, two important questions from me: who's gonna be your best man, and do you need help planning and picking out a ring?"

[onismdaydream]

Way too close boy best friend denji 😋

You guys are just really good friends and you've known each other since forever and you guys are just affectionate like that ☹️

HIII ANON <333 i love this idea :(( and i have officially caught up with the manga so i can at least write some thoughts down hehe

there's a familiarity between the two of you that other people just don't get. they don't understand why you're so comfortable sitting on denji's lap when there's an open seat right next to him, or why you wipe food from the corner of his mouth and then lick your thumb clean, or why his hands are always on you especially when your boyfriend is right there! and no matter how many times you say "oh, it's just denji though! we're just beat friends!", people always look at you with such doubt.

and it's not like you haven't thought about denji in that way before, i mean... look at him! he's so cute and he's actually funny and maybe you get those little butterflies when his hands rest on your waist like they were made to fit there and maybe you catch yourself staring at his chest when you go swimming but that's just because you love him, totally and completely platonically!!

and yeah, maybe denji also thinks about you and how soft you are when he's alone in his room, how you actually like spending time with him when so many others seem to only like him for their own gain, how your body seems to mold against his perfectly when you cuddle during shitty movie marathons. but it's just because the two of you are such good friends!

[riza-jes]

Luffy’s Parental figure — ACE!

Who raised Luffy and co-parented him with Sabo.

He's the guy who actually did the teenage boom and baby Luffy. Who was really the only one to be an adult to his brother for seven years. Who raised this little bugger and was there for him through hard training and after hard illnesses as well.

Ace who's an explosive head in his own right, but still cool-headed in the most precise moments of danger.

Who knows how to make chicken soup and other kinds of soups from nutritious foods because Luffy couldn't chew and swallow like normal when he was sick.

Who in the field knows how to pick out what's edible, what's poison and what's medicine, because you learn that quickly in the jungle.

Who really with bare hands will be able to build a place for a night's lodging, to make food or water and to make a trap for safety or for fresh game.

He's a man who smiles at his little bro when he's in sight and who really shows a lot of affection and attitude through touch, because Luffy always needed physical affirmation of love and gosh that kid was very touchy-feely baby.

His life centered around his little brother, who needed to be raised, preserved, and made strong.

Teenage angst and mood swings had passed him by(so nothing unusual), because Ace was already an emotional wreck, but having Luffy around was actually a good catalyzer.

Also life amidst the trash and scum had taught him very well what to avoid, i.e. roughhousing, rapes, murders, overdose deaths, the horrors that slums can hold, especially the nooks and crannies where Ace and Sabo used to sneak around.

According to one particular scene that Luffy had somehow stumbled upon (and he had witnessed the brutality and the corpses privately, but he had never seen the bodies of dead children and girls before )

Luffy had hysteria so intense that he passed out.

After that accident Ace and Sabo decided only to walk in the more lighted and more open area if necessity would lead them to the slums.

In general, Ace isn't used to violence and direct threats, although in some cases Ace remains painfully innocent and naive, especially when it comes to himself. ( unless it involves Roger, the Pirate King )

Because of the fact that Thatch almost cut to pieces a lost in life and specifically in that bar amigo who ran into Portgas and began, in Thatch's opinion, to spread his hands.

And if Ace at first reacted friendly enough on approaching of the future corpse by thinking that maybe it was one of his brothers or inhabitants of the protected area, but when the man had crossed the line with a couple of words, he was carefully folded in unconsciousness by the bar wall.

Honestly, I just want more and more of Ace's side as the man who raised a hyperactive ball of joy. And specifically the aspect of home life, which most often of course manifested itself during meals.

For example, some dishes that for example made pirates complain due to scarcity or flavor (e.g. tomato soup/onion soup, any other specific fruit/vegetable) or the beverage (compote/juice/tea of unfamiliar pickings, etc.) of specific fruits or vegetables to be consumed based on shipboard life.

So imagine the surprise of the Marco when most of the pirates booed about the nastiness of the same grated drink with greens (or search for what foods should be consumed when living on the sea and when living in the jungle) and Ace was the most calm and even nostalgic.

Because he'd made a similar thing for his little brother himself.

Part 1

Part 2

[siltyriver]

𝐃𝐏𝐱𝐃𝐂 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 — 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧

Danny gets stabbed on his way home from campus, caught unaware and doesn’t have time for a reaction other than reflexively lashing out after he feels the pain and ends up knocking the thug out with one hit (barely remembering to pull his punch enough not to actually brain the guy). He’s not too worried about the wound and the knife is even still buried in his side (which, score, he’s building up quite a collection) so he’s ready to just pull it out and continue on his way home (laundry is going to be a bitch and he’s debating if he should just use this shirt as a rag now and buy a new one later) when fucking Red Hood drops down from the sky and nearly makes Danny involuntarily turn invisible (like he’s 14 again and doesn’t know how to use his powers, like come on dude pull yourself together).

Red Hood takes a look at this guy who he just saw get stabbed and punch the lights out of a thug at least three times his size and is thoroughly impressed and also strangely worried because the kid doesn’t even look phased (which like, it’s Gotham, he knows most residents are fairly desensitized to crime but being stabbed normally warrants a stronger reaction from even the native Gothamites). And then he catches sight of the wound and even in the dim light of the alley they’re in he can tell something is wrong and suddenly he’s seeing the same green the guy is bleeding tinged around the edges of his vision and fuck. He hasn’t had a Pit Episode in a while and he really really hasn’t missed the boiling, festering rage.

Meanwhile Danny is wondering wtf is going on and if Red Hood is going to say anything or let him go, when he gets the worst Ghost Sense he’s had since leaving Amity but it’s not normal; it’s too intense and makes his stomach whirl in nausea and everything in him is screaming WRONG WRONG WRONG —

— and then the pieces slot into place and he realizes that it’s stemming from the vigilante in front of him who has green seeping from behind the eyes of his helmet and Danny feels such an ache of sorrow and fierce protection that it makes his breath catch and he knows he has to help this guy who is so clearly like himself but not quite right.

He invites Red Hood back to his apartment after calming him down and making the vigilante furiously curious and thrown off by, well, everything about Danny (who casually pulls the knife out as they walk as if it’s an afterthought that he forgot about and not a gaping wound on his person).

And they go from there, getting to know each other and helping Jason clear out the last of the Pit and come to terms with the whole ghost concept, etc, etc…

Divider Credits:

green line divider from @/kitsunecafe

green slime divider from @/magicalboything

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

(please consider reblogging for a better poll size 🫂🫂🫂)

[stupidbeemeen]

I just think about the grabber’s drabble. I already have a plot.

What if y/n is his neighbor and always be brat towards him? They like to mimic and hit his nerve.

And he decides to punish them in a way they will not forget

[sttoru]

idk who needs to hear this but write what the fuck u want man 😭😭 drabbles & long fics about whatevaaaaa. jus do what YOU want, not because you feel obligated to

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

Im so glad I finished the quiz when I did because my dumbass went and got sick, again, so now I gotta wait until my muscles don't feel like their melting so I can write shit again

[seoulmatez]

i reached a pretty big ( to me :3 ) milestone recently and just wanted to say thank u for everyone’s kindness and support ! ! u guys truly make coming on here and sharing my writing + silly thoughts so much fun and i appreciate u all ᡣ𐭩

i’m not sure if i’ll do an event but if u guys are willing to wait ( both for me to think of something and fulfill possible pending requests ) i would be happy to try and put something together!

[quirkle2]

who wants zombie au writing. don't answer that ur getting it anyway (1.6k words)

His shoes knock against the old flooring of the house, wood creaking under rubber soles that slide over the woodgrain. He drags them a bit, lifts his limbs up no more than he strictly has to, and they lead him to the nearest sittable surface.

The couch is old and dusty and has likely gone untouched for months, much like everything else nowadays, so he watches the thin cloud of dust billow off the cushions largely with disinterest. He collapses into the fabric heavily, feels the whole thing scoot back an inch and hit the wall behind him. The sound echoes, carried by lifeless rooms, while he unceremoniously drops his backpack to the floor by his feet.

The breath he lets out is slow and methodical and born of pent up muscles, aimed at the ceiling where he rests his neck against the back of the couch and relaxes every limb one by one. It’s a process he forces himself through, if only to rid the constant ache beneath his skin.

Slow, sweeping footsteps meander around the room in front of him, and Ritsu angles his gaze down from his craned back position to look at his brother. He wanders, like he so often does—seemingly aimless, but there’s something procedural about it that he’s convinced he just hasn’t figured out yet.

Shigeo’s empty eyes crawl along the hearth of the fireplace, explosions of ash sprayed out across the red brick. His head tilts up to trace his attention around the angular lines of the television, hung on the wall and screen grey with dust. He flits back and forth between the roundness of the bricked mantle and the sharp edges of the screen, like he’s taking notes.

Shigeo paws the television. Four lines of muck are cleared. The zombie blinks, paws at it again with dusty, curious fingers. Ritsu watches him make a mess of the television screen in silence, blinking tiredly.

He almost closes his eyes, but he fights against the urge and moves his fingers down his lap to reach for his bag. His middle hooks around the loop at the top and he lugs it up and into his lap, where he unzips it and peers into the shadowy contents.

Ritsu fishes out the water bottles. He finds the one with the messy R scribbled along the cap in sharpie and takes a big swig of it. It’s warm going down, constantly insulated in a bag of old, sweaty clothes. He feels like he can taste the odor in it, but it clears the grain in his throat from stomping all over dirt roads today, so he’s still grateful.

He holds out the one labeled S to Shigeo. “Thirsty?”

Shigeo looks at him from where he’s crouched down to the floor now, inspecting the soot along the hearth. Unfortunately, he sees handprints in the black already, and when his brother reaches a hand out to take it, his palm is covered in soot.

He lets him have his fun and settles his own bottle back in the mess of tangled clothes and rolls of bandages. Ritsu rakes his fingers through their stock with no real purpose—he knows exactly what’s in here, and none of it is useful.

They’d been searching all day; Ritsu doesn’t really know how far they’d walked, but it had to be a lot of miles. In and out of stores, up and down empty houses, weaving between warehouses—they didn’t really stop for a break. Not when Ritsu can hear Shigeo’s stomach from here and he himself has shaking hands. They can’t afford a break.

Nothing, though. Not a single goddamn thing worth taking. A settlement must have come through here long ago and swept the highway. They’re in the countryside, where houses are spaced out acres from each other and there’s entire cow pastures between properties. And yet every house they’d seen and entered provided nothing.

Ritsu stares into the negative space in his bag where there should be supplies. His stomach cramps and if he smells another whiff of that godawful sweaty, bloody sweatshirt he still carries, he’s going to throw up bile.

He leans away from the open pouch, eyes wandering to his brother who draws… something into the soot of the hearth. His water bottle sits on the floor, abandoned and still unscrewed. Ritsu leans forward with great effort and a grunt, leaning over his bag to grab at the top of it.

It takes him two tries to get Shigeo’s attention, and one more for an answer on where the cap is. It’s then placed in his palm, covered in soot and also saliva. Ritsu swallows down the nausea that rolls up his throat and wipes it off with his frankly already disgusting sleeve, and screws it back on.

He leans back again, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes rest, and he listens to the very subtle swipe of his brother’s hands across brick. There’s birds outside, chirping, and even though it’s still very much a common occurrence, Ritsu cannot help but feel nostalgic about it.

If he ignores the awful hum of silence, and the distinct lack of an electric thrum throughout the walls, and the fact that this is a stranger’s couch and not his, he can almost imagine normalcy. He can almost say this feels like those quiet moments after school, when he settles on the couch and scrolls through his phone in a house that only holds him and his brother because their parents simply aren’t home yet.

He can almost hear the creak of wood from Shigeo walking around his room upstairs. He can almost tap his fingers on the couch cushions to the pattern of his brother making his way down the steps. He can almost hear the fridge opening, and the sound of milk being poured into glass.

Almost. But Ritsu listens to sharp silence instead, and he tries not to think too hard.

He drifts for a while, feels himself truly sink into the couch and let the cushions claim him, and he thinks about nothings because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose it. He carefully sifts through the nothingness of his mind, through the passing thoughts that have no bearing, and he focuses on that, on the lack of substance. His head is too full of things that have too much substance.

He misses boredom. He tells himself he misses boredom—the complete insubstantiality of it—because if he lets himself think of what he really misses, it’ll drive him insane.

The cushions move, and Ritsu peels his eyes open and lets himself get pulled from liminal mindspace. The cotton in his head recedes, and he blinks, and then he’s swiveling his head to look at his brother who sits in the cushion right next to him.

His hands and the cuffs of his hoodie are smothered in black. Shigeo sits hunched, gaze still wandering even when there’s not much decoration in this house to look at. He studies the off-white walls, the chips in the paint, the holes drilled in where there maybe used to be photos hung.

Ritsu gazes at him quietly, chest instinctively rising and falling to match his brother’s rhythm. He watches the expansion there, under his hoodie, in the subtlety of the folds and the way they warp over the movement. It’s slightly quicker than what he’s used to, but Ritsu knows his brother’s heart rate is much slower. He’s felt it before. He’s listened to it before, with his ear against a chest.

Ritsu’s attention moves to his eyes, and the heavy bags underneath them, and the paleness of his pupils and the ghostlight of him underneath that. He stares into them, looks for stray, familiar thoughts that might enter his head. Looks for old memories that might shine through in the form of recognition when he sees furniture layouts, and candy wrappers, and ads for soda.

Ritsu looks for it all the time, that glint of familiarity. And he finds it, sometimes. And really, he thinks that’s keeping him going more than food ever will.

Shigeo turns his head, and looks at him. Sometimes, when his brother looks at him, there’s not much there. No substance, no anything. And Ritsu finds it a bit evil that he craves silence in his own head, and yet noise in Shigeo’s, and often times it is the other way around.

His brother looks at him now, though, with that comforting recognition. That growth of the pupils, that softening of the hard edges of his face where unknown stressors have gotten to him. Ritsu wonders what zombies get stressed out. He figures it’s the same deal with humans, considering they’re largely alike.

Ritsu wonders if Shigeo knows he’s sick. He wishes he could ask him. He wishes for a lot of things. Silence in his own head is one of them.

Ritsu swivels his head away and stares at the ceiling, if only to force the thoughts to pause. He studies the popcorn ridges above them, traces the peaks with his gaze. It calms him, gives him something to focus on. He looks for patterns in the shadows they make.

Shigeo shifts next to him. And then he shimmies down, settles into the cushions, and plops his head right down on Ritsu’s shoulder.

Static roars in his mind and his heart stammers. Ritsu swallows the lump in his throat but that just makes it bigger, so he clamps his mouth shut and breathes carefully through his nose.

The tears cut through the grime on his face. He plops his own head down against his brother’s, and lives in the noise.

[iwaasfairy]

so we all wanna see more uncle gojo huh

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

OK PEOPLE IT’S HAPPENING ‼️‼️‼️‼️ suguru’s phanpara banner drops sometime . tmrw . i have my final uni exam in the morning and then i’m heading straight home to check 🫡🫡 PLS wish me luck (gacha luck not the uni thing idc abt that rn) i’m gonna need it!!!

[good-beanswrites]

I can't stop thinking of Kyanako's Order of Attack au... there's something so moving to me about how things getting so much worse could be what finally causes Amane to get better -- seeing Fuuta dying may be the final straw of getting her to rethink her rejection of medicine. Been a while since I've attempted something whump-y, this was fun to work with.

Tw for mentions/contemplation of death. I don't go into detail about the cult but the doctrines are implied through it all.

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying.

When he imagined his own death, he always pictured it as something dramatic and fast. Action heroes going out in a show of explosions and gunfire. Fantasy characters meeting the shining end of a blade. Even when he accepted his place in Milgram, it filled his mind with images of gallows and electric chairs. 

Whatever this slow, lengthy fever was, it was pissing him off. 

He’d lost all sense of time. He could no longer tell which hour the prison bells were marking -- morning and night blended together. Dreaming and waking blended together. His head injury and broken leg and broken bones blended together. It was all just pain at the end of the day. He had nonstop visitors that kept him awake and asked him too many questions and prodded his injuries and made his head spin. Somehow, he was simultaneously alone every time he rolled over to talk to someone. Painfully, suffocatingly alone. 

If Kotoko was going to kill him with those ridiculous emo boots of hers, she should have just done it. He was losing his mind here: devoid of all energy, suffering through broken bones and a cracked head, and boiling in an increasingly fiery fever. Maybe that was the reason he stopped commenting when he watched Amane pocket the medicine Shidou had left him. Maybe that was why he’d stopped following Shidou’s instructions himself. Even after losing an eye and taking a beating herself, Amane always looked at peace. He was tired of dealing with all of this. He wanted a bit of that peace.

Regardless of why, it was working. His fever had quickly gone from the biggest pain in his ass to the very thing that dulled his racing thoughts. 

He awoke suddenly, or maybe he’d already been awake. He couldn’t feel anything in his limbs. There was only a breathless heat around him. He raised himself into a sitting position, looking for a drink. Moving his head felt like one of those glitching computer windows that leaves a trail of copies behind it. The room swam around him. His eyes moved absently around him.

Fuuta picked up the glass that someone had left him. His fingers were clumsy, and it immediately went crashing to the ground. He hardly heard the noise as it broke apart on the concrete below. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He’d just go get a drink himself. Shidou told him not to get up without help. But what did he know? Thinking of the man ordering him around only drove Fuuta to step out of bed even quicker. He cried out, pain shooting through his leg. That was right, it was broken… 

Fuuta looked down, finding himself on the ground. It was so hot. Maybe this is what she felt, he thought numbly. Was it this slow for her too? Probably not. She had no regrets to fill the time like he did. The heroes got quick, beautiful deaths, and it was the villains who had to suffer the long ones. 

He lifted his right palm from where it had caught his fall. The shattered glass on the floor had cut into it. Shattered glass? What had broken? He stared blankly at the blood dripping down. 

He didn’t have the strength to raise himself up. He was burning. Why was he on the ground? Was he bleeding? He could barely breathe. What was he doing here, anyway? He just wanted to curl up and sleep. He was so weak... just to lie down... he wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. Was that such a bad thing...?

A voice caught his attention. His eyes struggled to focus on the figure who’d come running into the cell. He couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying, but he was happy when she pressed her cool little hands against his forehead. 

He allowed her to prop him up next to the bed. She held onto his hand, squeezing it tight. Why was she holding it like that? That hand was bleeding. When did that happen?

Her arms wrapped tightly around him. He wanted to shove her away -- it was too hot -- but couldn’t. In his ear, he could make out her words. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Please, Fuuta. Don’t leave me alone. I’m so sorry...”

As she pulled back, he recognized Amane. Her uninjured eye was filled with tears. Was she upset? He thought he’d been making her happy. He wanted to keep making her happy. He’d never made anyone happy before. 

He opened his mouth to say something, but no words would come out. They all scrambled up in his mouth. He felt the cell swirling around him.

Amane raised her voice. She looked desperately upwards. “This can’t be --! This isn’t right!” 

Fuuta looked up at the ceiling. There was nothing there. 

“I can’t do this anymore.”

She continued talking. Fuuta was too busy studying the ceiling. She was shouting. Or maybe crying. Fuuta didn’t like that she was so upset. Huh, had there been someone there? He surveyed the empty cell. What was he doing on the ground?

He looked down at his hand. The sheet from his bed had been pulled down and wrapped hastily around it. Why? His eyes felt sticky as he blinked. Everything hurt. It was so hot. What was going on? He was so angry. He was so scared. He wanted to cry. Why was he here? Why couldn’t he just hurry up and die already?

The next time she entered, Fuuta recognized Amane instantly. Her one hand pointed to him, the other held onto someone else. The second figure hurried over to him. 

Fuuta was not a big fan of dying. Shidou reassured him he wouldn’t.

—

“You’re wearing the eyepatch,” Fuuta observed. 

He was playing a dangerous game, drawing attention to it like that. He was too exhausted, and his curiosity won out over his better judgment. If Amane was going to explode with one of her typical speeches, he’d just let her.

She didn’t. 

Amane’s hand drifted up to her eye. It had been hastily covered before, but now it was cleaned and wrapped in professional-grade materials. She simply said,  “Kajiyama Fuuta. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“But--”

“-- But I’m better, yeah.”

Amane nodded, her shoulders releasing. 

“Oi, I haven’t seen you in a while. Not since…” He wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence. Shidou had told him what happened, but it was difficult to believe. He couldn’t quite trust his own memory of the night. No matter how much clearer his mind felt since receiving proper treatment, those days of fever still muddled together. He heard that Amane had up and switched her beliefs overnight -- she was now complacent about all of Shidou's treatments -- but Fuuta knew people didn't just change like that. He wanted to hear it for himself.

She lowered her gaze in shame. “I… I thought you hated me.” Her voice was steady. “As you should. I almost killed you. I accept any ill will you may feel.”

“I -- what? You’re wrong. You… it wasn’t…” He grabbed his head, grunting in frustration.

After standing awkwardly in the entryway the whole time, Amane took a few steps inside. She made it to his bedside when he finally collected his thoughts. 

“It was your fucked up family or whatever that caused everything. They did this. And I went along and made things worse.” He looked away. His next words felt stupid to say to a little kid. He felt like the most pathetic, weak, loser. But it was too important not to say.

“They almost killed me. You saved me.”