#kawoshin fic

[venchies]

third child akechi

[bitterwinterdoodles]

A couple drawings based on a Kawoshin college AU fic You Will (Not) Release. I highly recommend giving it a read, it's so well written and engaging, I've been devouring every new update like a madman, ahaha!

[tomaturtles]

IT'S KAWOSHIN DAY!!! As well as the last day of Kawoshin Week :') It's been such a blast, gonna miss it when it's over

Kawoshin Week Day 7: Cuddling/domestic fluff! + Sleepover and Spinoffs (again)! Based on the Campus Apocalypse sleepover chapter ☺️

[yourteght]

» UMA ÚLTIMA PRIMAVERA — capa teste

⟅17.05.2024 — eu passei um pouco da manhã procurando material para fazer capa pq queria editar, sem saber plot estilo personagens NADA, tudo na base do vou editar sim e pronto. Achei uns materiais lindos e fui criando uma base que pudesse trabalhar de alguma forma, pensei no Kaworu e Shinji pq eu sempre acabo vendo vídeos deles no ttk e penso que eles se parecem muito com uns ocs que tenho <3 tudo foi finalizado com menos de 1h e meia de produção da capa, o que é uma vitória depois da minha última capa :3 é isso, inté!

[karizard-ao3]

Wanna see a little bit of what I've written so far of my Asushin college au (which I might not finish, we'll see)? No? Too bad!!

First meeting

As Shinji began trudging back to his bus stop, a mild headache embroidered itself across his brow. His eyelids felt tacky when he blinked, too. He yawned. With all the traveling he’d done that day, he'd only had two cups of coffee. He needed some caffeine.

He looked down at his map, then set off for the campus coffee shop, hoping it stayed open when the school was between semesters. He had walked past more closed eateries than not when he was checking out the student center.

To his relief, the cafe’s storefront windows glowed an inviting gold, and the sign on the front door was flipped to “Open”.

He went inside and looked around. He knew from his map that the coffee shop shared a building with the library. Now he saw that, instead of a back wall, the coffee shop opened out onto the main floor near the library’s circulation desk. That was cool. That would be nice when he had to study. But later on. At the moment, the library was closed and blocked off from the coffee shop by a row of stanchions.

A freckled brunette in an apron was using tongs to rearrange the bakery case items, removing the wrapped sandwiches that had reached their sell-by date and dropping them into a paper bag. She spotted Shinji and smiled. “One second!” she chirped, then leaned back and called into the back area. “Hey, Asuka! You’ve got a customer!!”

Shinji cocked his head. That name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place why. Had he met her before?

A moment later, a slender girl with long, vivid red hair and ocean blue eyes bounded to the cash register, grinning from ear to ear. Shinji had definitely not met her before. He would have remembered being introduced to a girl like her. A painful awareness of his own body overwhelmed him as he tried not to gawk at her.

Asuka's smile was all teeth as she said, “What can I get started for you?”

Shinji swallowed, darting a glance at the menu as if he didn't always get the same thing. “Can I have a large drip coffee, please?” he asked. “Or Americano if that's easier. Whichever.”

The girl's smile disappeared. “That's all?”

“Is that okay?” asked Shinji with a flutter of panic. Why was she glaring at him like that? He always got the most basic coffee possible so he wouldn't be a bother. Wasn't his simple order a good thing?

She scoffed. “We have all these blended drinks and all you want is a plain black coffee.” She threw up her hands. “Useless.”

“Asuka!” said her freckled co-worker.

“What?” said Asuka. “I need to practice making drinks! Anyone can pour a stupid black coffee.”

The freckled girl groaned.

“I can get something else,” Shinji hurried to say, taking another look at the menu. There were so many options. “Um.” He wrung his hands. “Um. What do you want to make?”

“It doesn't work like that! You have to pick!” said Asuka. “Just choose something you like!”

Shinji read the menu with desperate intensity. “Uh… Uh… I don’t know.”

“You don't know what you like?” Asuka exploded. “Everyone knows what they like!”

“Just– Just make me your favorite drink!” said Shinji.

“No,” said Asuka. “You have to pick one on your own.”

“I tried to pick black coffee,” Shinji grumbled. He had to be a foot taller than her, yet he felt as small and helpless as a newborn kitten.

“Asuka, you can’t bully the customers,” said the other girl.

“I’m not bullying him. I’m encouraging him,” Asuka sniffed.

Shinji’s eyes lit on the drink of the day. “I’ll have that one,” he said, pointing to the countertop chalkboard with a brief, relieved exhale.

Asuka leaned over the counter to look at the sign. Her lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. A long moment passed, then she threw her hand up in the air, jabbing her index finger towards the ceiling. “Of course I can make this!” she announced. “One chocolate peanut butter pretzel frappucino coming up!”

She spun around and grabbed a stack of index cards held together by a metal ring looped through a hole in the corner of each recipe. She flipped through it, threw it down, then grabbed a beat up blue binder and bent over it, rustling the pages as she searched for the instructions.

“Ah ha!” she said, springing back upright. She spun on Shinji and pointed at him. “I'll make your drink for you! What size do you want?”

“Large,” said Shinji.

“I'll ring him up while you make the drink,” said the other girl.

“Thanks, Hikari!” said Asuka, throwing open the refrigerator door and grabbing a pitcher of cold brew. The deep brown liquid sloshed over the rim and splashed onto the floor. Shinji winced.

Hikari tapped the drink order into the register while Shinji watched Asuka. She looked at the recipe in the binder again, running her finger down the page, then poured a tiny splash of coffee into the blender.

“Wait, stop!” said Shinji. “That’s not enough coffee!”

Asuka turned around to glare at him. “Who’s the barista here, bud?”

Shinji took a step back. His caffeine withdrawal headache was tightening across his forehead.

“Well… You are…” he conceded, annoyed with himself for being a doormat and letting her walk all over him.

“Right,” said Asuka. “Don’t forget it.”

Shinji gritted his teeth, chafing at her smug smirk. Who did she think she was? Why was he such a pushover? “How about this? I’m the customer and I want more coffee in my drink than that!” he snapped.

Hikari turned to look over her shoulder at Asuka and said in a pointed voice, “We can add shots.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Asuka said, pouring more cold brew into the blender and slamming the pitcher down on the counter. Coffee splattered the sleeve of her white blouse. She shrieked, then spun on Shinji again. “Look what you did!”

“Me?” he screeched back. “How is it my fault you’re careless?”

“I think this drink is on us,” said Hikari, zeroing out Shinji’s total and offering him a weak smile. “If you want to wait outside, I’ll bring it out to you.”

“Yeah, okay,” huffed Shinji.

[cheeseproducts]

The new host Kaworu collab thing is already firmly rooted in my brain

[reikomakoto]

I need to kill netflix executives. I'll never forgive them for the "worthy of your grace" translation

[galaghiel]

been into ivantill lately. somebody fucking save me

[mifeeey]

I just found this one again!!

I normally don't read first person but the premise for this one got me!!!

thank you to @corpsesdonotspeak for helping me out!

You can (not) connect

by devilbabycryman

Relationship:

Ikari Shinji/Nagisa Kaworu

Summary:

By the author:

This was the closest thing to a happy life that I could imagine

From me:

Shinji is a depressed teen and stumbles across a forum for suicidal people.

Additional Tags:

Implied/Referenced Self-Harm

Self-Hatred

Alternate Universe - Modern Setting

no eva fighting basically

Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Suicide Attempt

Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse

Dissociation

Anxiety

Heavy Angst

[reverentwormpriest]

I consider myself more skilled at writing than at art but am constantly at war with myself because now that im multifandom I have several fic ideas and am unable to focus my complete attention on any of them so ive just never posted a fic of my other fandoms

[museaway]

Trick or treat! 🎃

hello friend & ty for stopping by! you receive this unpublished fic called distant shores that I wrote a few years ago and never had the heart to share.

for ask box trick-or-treat

--

distant shores

kawoshin (EVA), 1.4k, set after the final film but it's vague enough that I suppose it could be read as original reincarnation fiction

You see him for the first time across the train tracks, drawn in by a laugh you could swear you’ve heard before. His face is new. Young, about the same age as yours. You wait for him to laugh again in order to see if you were wrong, if the laugh actually belongs to someone else, but the train rolls between you. Through the windows, he’s smiling at a woman in the crowd. 

Carry the voice with you to work. Replay it like fragments of a song on endless loop. No other face comes to mind, no time. But it has to be from long ago. Who, though? You never knew the laughter of a parent. Mark it down to faulty memory and focus on the towering documents on the desk.

--

He’s at the station again the next morning. This time when you look at him through the window, he’s looking back.

--

It becomes habit, this looking. Without thinking, you take the same position each morning. He never seems surprised when he lifts his head to find you watching. The look on his face is relieved, as though he’s been waiting for you as well.

--

The morning he isn’t there, devastation sinks in your chest, anchoring your feet to the concrete. All day it haunts you. All day you wonder where he was, if he isn’t from here and has returned to another place, if yesterday’s looking was the last. He hasn’t laughed again since that first day, but you still can’t forget the sound. 

After work, celebrate the end of the week with colleagues at the cheap bar near the office. Even the ruckus can’t drown the memory of his laughter. You search every face for him although it’s naive to think that in a city this size, you’d both be here. Coworkers split a taxi home. You take the train, but the platform is empty.

--

Come Monday, you’re afraid to look and turn a to-go coffee in your hands. You bought it as a distraction and haven’t taken a sip. The cup is hot-to-burning even with the paper sleeve around the center. 

Pretend to lift it to your lips. Lift your head. He’s across from you, already looking. Everything around you goes hazy—the station announcements, the other passengers waiting to board. When the train rolls between you, don’t blink. Don’t board. People shove past on both sides but you don’t cross the line. The train departs. You’ve never skipped work before, but he’s smiling and nods toward the exit.

On the sidewalk outside, you touch him for the first time. A handshake. Firm. He holds it longer than most people would, but it’s not strange. His hands are larger, fingers long and evenly thick, with well-trimmed nails. He’s dressed for work—a white buttoned shirt, dark pants—but not as formal as you. Up close, his eyes are gray.

“You missed the train,” he says in a voice you’ve dreamed. 

Tongue tied, you nod.

“I’d ask you to get coffee, but…” He motions to the cup in your hand.

“I don’t really drink coffee,” you say. His smile says he knew you would.

“What do you drink?”

“Juice. Usually.”

The hand on yours lifts away and with it, he points down the street. “There’s a cafe two blocks up.”

“Don’t you have work?”

“I can take the morning. You?”

Call in sick. He watches while you do. The sun on his cheeks makes his skin seem to glow.

“I’ve never done this before,” you confess when you hang up with HR. 

“Lied to your employer?”

It’s embarrassing. Standing beside him, you feel ten years younger and just as awkward. But he offers an arm, and despite not knowing anything about him, not even a name, you take it.

--

The cafe is small, just three booths and a handful of tables tucked into a space no wider than a school bus. The seats are held together with strips of silver tape. Sit carefully so it won’t stick to your suit pants and shake open a menu. It has more choices than you would have thought for the size of the place. He orders pancakes. You ask for eggs over easy with toast and a large orange juice. Why are you here with him? Why can’t you get a stranger out of your head? Why is he watching you like it isn’t the first time, but the first time in so long it casts grief across his eyes?

Say, “Do I know you?”

His smile is warm and sad at once. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem familiar.”

He rests his face against a hand. “Is that why you watch me across the tracks?”

Flush but don’t deny it. 

Feel relief when the food comes out and provides a reason not to speak for a few minutes. Or so you’d hoped.

“What do you do?” he says as he floods his plate with syrup.

“I work in advertising. And you?”

“I’m a music teacher at an elementary school. How’s your juice?”

“Really good.”

“I thought you might like it here. Why did you buy coffee if you don’t drink it?”

“Isn’t that what people do?”

“People who like coffee.”

Bite into the toast to give yourself time to think. It’s strange he seems so at ease, but like when he offered his arm, you lack the instinct to run from him. 

“I thought you wouldn’t be there,” you say.

He settles back in the seat, floating an arm to rest along the top of the booth. “I have Fridays off. If you give me your number, I can let you know next time.”

Blink rapidly as your face floods with heat. “Why?”

He smiles, eyes closing and opening slowly, as though in slow motion. “So you won’t worry.” His eyelashes are colorless like his hair, almost white in the streaks of sunlight through the window that tinge his eyes momentarily red. Yours, for no reason, grow wet. Take out your phone and extend it over your plates. He does the same, and when his name appears on the screen, it’s the name you would have guessed. He holds out a napkin and dries your eyes as though he’s not a stranger.

“Spend the day with me,” he says. 

Take the napkin from him. Fold it beside your plate. “Can I finish breakfast first?”

His laughter, jubilant, achingly familiar, fills the diner like music.

--

He’s content to walk quietly, hands in his pockets instead of free at his sides like yours. You keep your arms straight to prevent your suit jacket from creasing. You ought to take it off, but it’s everything you can do not to look up at him every few steps, to wonder if those eyes could have met your long ago, if you could have forgotten him. He wears a silver chain around his neck. It lays flat against his skin, obscured by his collar, but when he moves its flashes catch you, turn your stomach. Fight down the irrational desire to rip it off of him, smash it under your heel. It’s just a necklace but you taste dread.

He takes you to a park like the one where you take lunch. A mother pushes a toddler on a swing that creaks with each pass. You find a bench and sit together, close enough that your fingers would brush if you flexed your hands. He rounds out his back and sighs, a smile in it. The swing creaks, creaks. Sunlight flints off of his necklace. Quickly, as the dizziness rises, you cover your mouth.

Without a word, he puts a hand on your back, firm against your spine. A breeze scatters dried leaves caught around the bench’s legs. 

“Are you alright?” he says.

Nod. Say, “Yes. I must’ve eaten too much.”

He moves his hand in a slow circle the way you imagine a parent might. “Should I take you home?” he asks. You shake your head, drawing both hands down from your face. The breeze on your lips chases some of the nausea, enough to look at him from your peripheral vision. You could swear that you’ve sat together like this before, but the memory—if it is a memory—lacks place and time. An ache throbs deep in your chest where you didn’t know it was possible to hurt.

When you’re able to walk, he takes you to a nearby shopping district. You end up in a music store. “I like to own the albums,” he says before you ask. “It takes up a lot of space I don’t have, but it isn’t the same if you can’t touch them. Do you like music?”

“I love it.”

“Show me your favorite.”

You do.

“I have these,” he says. Somehow you knew that like you knew his voice, the pain in his eyes, the warmth of his hand. “Maybe we can listen to them sometime.”

[stimtfil]

kawoshin in 2024...... insane (entering my old fandoms era....)

wrote a fic as insane as my 14yo' fixation..... feel more free after this😭 but still sad enough to think about them just more.....

[tomaturtles]

Kissing it better

[angelsarecomputers]

THANK YOU SO MUCH HKDJVGKVHJZHHSSKAKV

glad to know that you went as feral over that scene as I did

Reading the latest chapter of The Will Of God

“IMAAAAAA WATASHI NOOOOOOO—“

[cosmorom]

... i need kawoshin fics. good ones

[cheeseproducts]

KawoShin Week Day 1!

Prompt: Eldritch Horror/Non-Human appearance

Kaworu takes more after his dear departed dad this time, but he's the same thoughtful, lonely person on the inside. Hopefully Shinji will be able to see that once he gets used to how he looks!

There's an accompanying fic on my aO3 :)

Looking forward to all the awesome pieces/fics coming in the next week 💜💙