#kinda. also can be read as platonic

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

Goretober Day 10: Horns

Content Warning: alcohol

WHAT DO YOU MEAN FLUFF DOESNT COUNT FOR GORETOBER.

[cozylittleartblog]

had a(nother) nightmare

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[a-tired-human-draws-junk]

It's so fucking funny being a labru shipper and randomly coming across people in the fandom that are like 'man.. I wasnt seeing it at first but you guys were right kabru is down HORRENDOUSLY for this man'

Like yeah.... yeah it's kinda embarrassing atp

[veinsfullofstars]

🎩 Putting on a show with style… and snow! 🎩

(ID: Kirby series fanart of Shadow Kirby interacting with Daroach, with guest cameos by Dark Meta Knight and Spinni. Top right - SK & DMK reflected in a steampunk-inspired mirror, each dressed in the Dreamy Gear attire of their counterparts but more tailored to them (purples instead of blues for SK, a tattered red cape and a spiked hat belt for DMK). SK stands on his tiptoes and holds his cheeks with a wide, starry-eyed smile, delighted with his new outfit, while DMK stands just behind him to our left, curled into his cape and looking disgruntled, a bit of blush peeking through his mask. Outside the mirror, Spinni stands proudly on our right, smiling and giving a thumbs-up with a hand on his hip and a few sewing pins in his teeth, while Daroach (dressed in his own Dreamy Gear clothes) stands on the opposite side, pointing at his friends' reflections with an affectionate smile. Middle left - SK & Daroach holding the Magic top hat together, the puffball looking up in awe as the thief taps it with his wand, causing a pair of white doves to fly out in a small burst of confetti. Bottom right - SK wearing the Ice hat and skating gracefully on one foot towards the viewer, arms held out and expression full of joy. Behind him, Daroach skates by in the opposite direction, holding up his wand to unleash gusts of glowing snowflakes all around them. END ID.)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 (you’re here!) | Part 7 | Compilation

Sketch started btw 12/23 - 06/24, render started 06/08/24, finished 06/13/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24.

[lmaster37]

was going to send a really snarky reply to somebody having a Bad Take on Izzy hands (obv i'm being somewhat facetious here) (like i do think their reasoning was bad but it's fine to just not like a character) (their reasoning was bad tho imo) and then decided not to do that and instead vaguepost about it here. peace and love on planet earth ❤️

[candy8448]

how is people making romantic shippy content ruining your experience by tiring you out lol ?? how is people making romantic shippy content preventing you from "letting you have" your platonic little guys. everyone in fandom does whatever they like. no one is gonna make the content you want for you

Im not trying to change how people see the characters as romantic or whatever they see them as and im sorry if it came off that way.

What i was trying to point out is that there is a severe lack of platonic content for dungeon meshi. I go on ao3 dunmeshi fandom tag and its mostly shipping and smut fics. (I mainly search for chillchuck fics and the majority chillshi or chillaios fics or shipping him with other characters, many/most containing smut and then i exclude those tags and there are barely any fics at all) and its just quite frustrating when it is all you can find

I was just trying to point out that there is a whole lot of shipping and i personally want to see more platonic stuff but im not trying to get anyone to change what they like/ship/make

[hauntingseashells]

Late Night Bar Talk

An Imp and Skizz Neon White AU Oneshot, 1.9k words.

It was a quiet hour at the Neon Bar, and Skizz was bored out of his mind. He had cleaned all his glasses three times already, there was no dusty spot left in the entire bar, and there was nobody to talk to yet. The Neons were all still out on their assignments — of course they were, it had only been two hours since the first Neons left for their assignments — and while, yes, Skizz knew assignments were important, he’d wish Neons could spend more time here.

Alright. Maybe he was just missing one Neon in specific. Can you blame him though? The Neon had been participating in almost every competition he could remember. How he hadn’t won yet, Skizz wasn’t sure. Was he losing on purpose? Was he very unlucky? Who knows, really. He didn’t talk much about himself. Not about the more serious, hidden stuff at least. 

With all his experience, he would’ve been back already by now, right? Did Skizz overestimate him? Did something happen? Did he d-... Skizz needed a distraction, this wasn’t helping. Surely his Neon buddy would be fine. 

—

One demon, two demons, three demons, one by one the amount of demons he had left to kill decreased. He had done this hundreds, maybe even thousands of times before, he knew the drill.

Or so he thought. He’d gotten distracted, and now there was a sharp pain in his leg. Not a sharp pain from accidentally jumping into a ledge, like he had done many times back when he was still a new Neon. No, a sharp pain that felt like he was about to lose his entire leg. And that wasn’t far off.

As he’d gotten distracted, he accidentally jumped into a tripwire. Of course he did. Of course it was a tripwire of all things he hadn’t noticed. He was lucky to make it out alive from that at all, he had seen Neons get killed by those demons, which look so innocent, yet do so much harm. That, however, did not lessen the pain, nor did it make the Neon feel better.

He let out a sharp hiss as he sat down in a safe spot to inspect his leg better. At the very least, there was no physical wound, though he knew it’d leave a bruise. At the very least he didn’t have to explain to Skizz why his leg was half open, or why his pants were bloody, or any of that. He’d let that happen once, after a close encounter with a guardian. The Angel was so worried, the Neon thought he was going to pass out. After that, he swore to be more careful. And to not visit the Neon Bar if he failed to be more careful.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat in his safe spot, but once the pain had lessened a bit, he went back to getting rid of the last few remaining demons, which was proving to be quite hard. The pain had lessened, sure. While he was sitting down. Once he got up and at it again, the pain returned, a harsh reminder that he should really get distracted less. Right, as if that was ever going to happen.

—

Assignment done. By the time he returned to Central Heaven, most of the more experienced Neons had made it back already too. He was late, and he was going to get a massive scolding from Skizz. Probably. With a sigh he resigned himself to his fate and made his way over to the Neon Bar, mentally preparing himself for the Angel. On the other hand, after such a rough assignment, he could use the change of scenery — while Heaven wasn’t ugly or unpleasant by any means, the Neon Bar felt more comfortable. Was that because of the Angel running it? Maybe, maybe not.

—

As time went by, the Neon Bar started getting its first customers of the day, all were Neons Skizz had seen several times before. They’d make some small talk with him, maybe ask for advice on something, and then be on their merry way again to who knows where. But he hadn’t seen the Neon he was looking for yet, and if he wasn’t worried before, he definitely was now. He should be back by now. He always is. What if something really did happen? What if he really was eliminated? What if Skizz was never going to see him again and he never got to say goodbye and-.

Skizz’s train of thought was stopped at the sound of footsteps. Most footsteps sounded the same, yet these somehow felt more familiar.

“Dippledop! There you are!” he happily exclaimed, his past worries gone. He waved the Neon over, scanning him from head to toe as the Neon approached. He had to make sure he was okay, he hadn’t forgotten that one time so many competitions ago where half his leg was exposed. Skizz did not want to see Neon bones again.

Of course, the Neon noticed, and waved him off. “I’m fine, Skizz, I still have all my body parts.” he said, faking annoyance, which the Angel was more than used to. “Just wanna make sure my buddy’s okay!” the Angel smiled, before remembering that he ran the bar they were in. “What can I getcha? The usual?” With a simple nod from the Neon he went to work. Not like ‘the usual’ was any special, the most he could serve was water with lemon due to the restrictions in Heaven. Once he finished the drink he handed it to Impulse. “Here you go Dippledop.”

Impulse muttered a thanks before downing most of his drink in one go. While the drink was simple and nothing special really, it was refreshing. Especially after such a stressful assignment. Before he could say or do anything else, Skizz spoke up.

“Alright, I can tell something went wrong today, and while I won’t force you to say anything, you can tell me about it. If you want.”

Of course Skizz noticed. It was Skizz, he noticed everything, at least when it came to Impulse. Whether it was because Impulse had been in the competition for a long time, because Skizz was insanely good at reading people or because the two were pretty close, Impulse wasn’t sure, but it was both a blessing and a curse. He didn’t want to dump it on Skizz. Or, well, maybe he did need to talk about it. Not just the fact he hurt his leg today, no. He needed to unleash some of his frustration about the competition in general. 

But he wasn’t going to talk about any of that while other Neons were here. Nope, he wouldn’t hear the end of it if the wrong Neons heard any of it. Some Neons were cruel. So he just told Skizz everything was fine, for now. Maybe later he’d tell him.

Skizz, of course, didn’t believe Impulse when he said he was fine. The Neon was very strict on his schedule, always wanting to be back as soon as possible. But he wasn’t going to pressure Impulse into telling him anything, that wouldn’t do any good. So, he just went back to serving Neons their drinks, occasionally shooting a glance at Impulse to see if he was holding up alright.

—

Eventually, most of the Neons had left to get rest, or do whatever Neons did in Heaven outside of their assignments. Skizz was extremely aware of the fact Impulse was still in the Bar, however, and walked over to the Neon. Skizz wasn’t sure just how aware of his surroundings he still was, so he whispered a quiet “Impulse?” to get his attention without scaring him. He had to repeat that a few times, but eventually, Impulse looked up from his now fully empty glass, responding with a small “hm?”

“You okay bud?”

“..Just tired.”

Skizz gave him a look of doubt, before sitting down next to him. He didn’t want to invade the Neons personal space, he knew Impulse valued that a lot. But he still wanted to be close to the Neon, and standing around wasn’t very comfortable.

One of Skizz’s wings reached out to behind Impulse’s back, simply resting there. Skizz’s wings weren’t big by any means, but Impulse appreciated the gesture nonetheless. He instinctively rested his head on Skizz’s shoulder and they simply sat like that in silence for a few minutes, before Impulse let out a sigh, letting words leave his mouth without much thought.

“..it’s tiring, Skizz. This whole competition. I know you probably hear it a lot and you’re sick of Neons complaining about their one job here, but it’s tiring. I’ve seen so many Neons die, and I was almost one of them.”

Impulse paused for a bit, and Skizz remained silent. The Angel had assumed Impulse was talking about that one time his leg was almost severed from his body, but he was proven wrong when Impulse started talking again.

“I wasn’t paying attention during my mission today and a tripwire got me. It only got my leg, thankfully, but I’ve watched Neons die to these things before. I don’t want to die a meaningless death here, especially after being here so long! It’s frustrating! Every time I end up back here again, I can’t win but I’m not dying either! I don’t even get why I’m still here, I’m over my death! I’m not desperate for a second chance anymore and yet..!” the Neon ranted, his voice breaking near the end. He wasn’t crying exactly, though if he spoke any more he would be. 

“Oh Dippledop..” Skizz sighed, before pulling the Neon into a hug. After a few seconds he could feel the Neon tremble, and if it wasn’t for the mask Impulse was forced to wear, Skizz was sure his clothes would be wet. It was fine though, he knew the Neon had to let this out. He almost always kept to himself, so the fact he was vulnerable right now meant the world to Skizz. Impulse trusted him enough to be so vulnerable. He had waited for hours until the Bar was empty just so he could let his emotions out for once.

They simply sat there like that for a while, Skizz loosely hugging Impulse so as to not cross his boundaries, while Impulse clung onto Skizz for dear life. His trembling slowly but surely calmed down again, his grip slowly became less desperate and more relaxed, leaning against Skizz a bit more as to position himself more comfortably into the hug.

“..thanks Skizz.” the Neon muttered into the Angels shoulder, which got a simple “anytime, Impulse.” in return. The two remained like that the whole evening, occasionally shifting slightly. Not shifting away from each other though, if anything the two shifted more together, and by the time it was around midnight the two were full on cuddling. It wasn’t comfortable, cuddling on some bar seats, but they didn’t care. For they had each other and that’s all that mattered at that moment. And if any more experienced Neon were to walk in now they wouldn’t even be surprised to find the two like that, for it was known amongst longer-time Neons that Impulse and Skizz were almost inseparable. And if it wasn’t for one being an Angel and the other being a Neon that was here as ‘visitor’, they’d be basically one. Because they’re Impulse and Skizz and they’ve been together for longer than anyone can remember.

[teenytinytippy]

Some Kuujyu/Jyukuu headcanons I thought of to fuel your fanfics

The Kuujyu tag seems very empty lately, time to add some content and feed the people. As said in the title, you can use these headcanons for fanfic or fanart ideas. I just like this ship very much! You can also read some of these as platonic.

And if you simply don't like the ship, then just scroll!

Jyushi sometimes does nail art on Kuko. He complained a lot at first, but he started to be more quiet and patient while watching Jyushi do his nails. To him it feels like Kuko's doing some sort of meditation.

Kuko sometimes has these random moments of affection where he stays silent and simply caresses Jyushi's face or plays gently with his fingers. Jyushi can't help but get all flustered because of the unpredictability of these soft moments. Kuko tops it off by shrugging off these moments or not even acknowledging them when questioned.

Jyushi probs learned a thing or two about self defense from (unwillingly) rough housing with Kuko a lot (also Hitoya might've taught him some stuff). Kuko was surprised when he managed to pin him down one day.

They play footsies togheter ( the kind you play with a sibling or friend) on Hitoya's couch, much to the lawyers dismay. (Kuko roughs around too much though)

Kuko was the one who caught feelings first, surprisingly. He shrugged it off at first but, when Jyushi confessed, all those feelings surfaced once again.

While Jyushi secretly likes being carried by Kuko, (Makes his heart skip a beat.) he enjoys carrying him even more, much to Kuko's displeasure. He even spins him around from time to time.

Kuko was initially confused as to what things Jyushi liked on him when it came to clothing because he would always act surprised and flustered whenever he thought Kuko's clothing suited him very well ("Speak up, Jyushi!"). But once he gets the memo, he starts teasing poor Jyushi.

When spooning, Kuko almost always demands to be the big spoon. Jyushi even has to fight him for that spot. (It's the best feeling when he actually gets to be the big spoon for once though.)

[stray-dude]

idk how to intro this post i just need to ramble beyond recognition so. huge words under break bc i have free will

theres something so reassuring to me when i see people recognize the generational parallels between gojo and geto to fushiguro and itadori. massive bonus points for when they properly recognize that fushiguro takes after gojo and itadori takes after geto. because its the fact their apparent personalities may make you think its the other way around, but thats how the parallels turn into a "but this time will be different" thing.

everything suguru geto lacked, yuuji itadori had in spades. his willingness to form connections with those around him helped itadori to build the support he never knew he would need around him. the positive outlook on the ways the world around him worked helped him to keep going past what he should. the very ties which every single person higher in status as a jujutsu sorcerer frowned upon are the key that was needed. there is no "one size fits all" in living life, so why would itadori deny what he feels is right, what has helped him get as far as he already has? if such an option seemed possible to geto, it wouldnt have worked, because geto didnt view himself as deserving of such things. seeking it out in others can only get one so far before they lose their sense of self. the drive to keep going is dependent on too many internal factors, the same things that were contrasted between geto and itadori.

similar can be said of gojo and fushiguro. satoru gojo was the have, and megumi fushiguro was the have-not. but in having so much, gojo found he lacked what was really important. true bonds and connections with others were more important than status or power. he had such a comfortable life, one that hardly challenged him in the ways he needed. fushiguro faced nothing but challenges. but every challenge he faced, he grew and changed, widening his perspective on the world through those around him. he knew what loss and hardships meant, but in those around him, he found reasons to keep going. his objective "weakness" was his greatest strength, because it showed him it was possible to push past his limits time and time again, even if it was comparable to hell. gojo set one single lofty goal based only on what he "knew" was possible from his minimal experience, while fushiguro found his goal slowly over time and wrote it in blood, sweat, and tears. in the ways gojo was serenely idealistic, fushiguro was hideously realistic.

that is why, this time, things actually were different.

[mxtx-purist]

I take all of mxtx's works like gospel, and think that they represent soul mates and are a manifestation of what true unadulterated love looks like, especially when you look at all her works and not just one of them as a sole incident.

So, it stands to reason that I absolutely despise every and any ship involving one of the main characters with anyone else other than their intended(which is also what MXTX asked of us- to never ship her characters with anyone else) because to me that's like denying their very meaning.

But Liushen is a little bit of an exception for me. Like, I don't ship it, but I also do understand where ppl come from in a tragic unfortunate sort of way, so it doesn't bother me like others do. Does that make sense?

[strawberrisoulmate]

it’s weird, but also kind of nice to imagine characters other than my f/o who might have a crush on me. characters that i don’t have any romantic interest in myself, but i think would blush and get butterflies when they look at me. characters i might’ve unintentionally put into the friendzone because i see them as a good friend or like family, but they wish we could be more. characters who see me and my f/o happily dating and in love and feel just a hint of jealousy that it isn’t them instead.

there’s just so much potential there, ya know? angst, comedy, wholesome platonic fluff, one-sided yearning?? idk, i’m kinda just rambling, but i think y'all should think about if there’s any characters like that for you too. let’s talk about the other characters getting crushes on you / your self insert.

[6mayhem]

anyway i need to hang out with my brother again he is the one person who i am pretty sure knows literally everything about me so he's the only person i trust that i can absolutely not disappoint. nothing i can do could be worse than the sum of everything i've been doing to that poor man (and him to me) the past 19 years

[seagull-scribbles]

Lie Awake

A TMNT 2012 Casey and Raph ficlet [AO3]

word count: 1,191

just a small drabble focusing on Casey and his view of their relationship. I didn't write this as a ship fic, but I do ship them so you can interpret it as platonic or romantic

Casey hates people seeing him as weak. He wears every cut, bruise and mark like a medal, a badge of honour for a hockey game well played or a fight well fought. He hates when neighbours or the school populace look at him with pity in their eyes and sympathy coating their words like sponge covering a toddlers playroom or bubble wrap suffocating a porcelain doll.

So what if he doesn't have a mom anymore? Who cares about his deadbeat dad? Casey is keeping his promise and at almost 17 is protecting and looking after his sister, the best player on a hockey team within the region and a vigilante the purple dragons will write legends about. He is strong and brave. He bounces back from anything with a witty comment and a toothy grin. Missing incisors be damned.

So why is this different? Strong, calloused, leathery hands gently graze over fragile skin. Instead of the usual burn of anger such caution would ignite, Casey Jones feels a sense of calm and his breath almost gets caught in his throat. Almost. Arms he has seen tear robots to shreds, dislocate joints from vigilantes, break monstrous jaws are now delicately tracing over his pale soft surface, well- it should be pale but the current complection is primarily a mixture of injuries, marks and dirt. Purple, blue, green, yellow, pinks, reds- any colour besides a natural skin tone coats his body like a vandalised back alley wall.

The hand stops moving and instead a comforting weight is placed across Casey's chest and torso. The weight he has seen choke and crush wrong-dooers, crack brick walls and dent spaceship walls now comfortably rests along his side like a weighted blanket, the arm across his middle.

Awareness of his current location comes back. Why's the ceiling looking blurry suddenly? Casey realises his eyes are starting to water. These can't be tears of frustration though? Maybe these are not new tears but the remnants of the storm that leaked from those eyes earlier this evening, in the privacy of these four walls as his own inner walls crumbled in Front of his current companion. No mask or face paint or armour, no facade of cokyness and happiness. His emotions are raw and his mind is still screaming at him, maybe that's why he hadn't noticed the burning eyes. These tears can't be new. Definitely not! He's happy and safe now, why would they be? He is brought from his thoughts as a hard smooth surface buts the bottom of his jaw, sending a short vibration of pain through his skull.

"'Ya sure this is alright?" A gruff voice nervously whispers.

"Yeah, 's fine" he mumbles back before finally looking down at the friend pressed against him. His own voice sounds raspy and sore. Perfect.

Raph has put his head back down on the pillow, his beak fitting like a jigsaw puzzle in the gap above Casey's shoulder. The bolt he'd felt had been from Ralph bucking his head to hit his jaw with the top curve of his beak. It hurt a little but he isn't fragile. Raph knows that. All he can feel now is that comforting weight on his side. He's focusing on it. Raph certainly wasn't scared to touch him. Why else would he hit him to gain his attention?

Soft cold breath gently brushes against Casey's neck in delicate puffs.

"I can sleep on the floor y'know?" tiredly drifts out of the terrapin creatures mouth "This bed ain't exactly made for two"

"Nah it's your room, I'm the intruder"

"Hmm" Raph lazily hums and slightly squeezes his ribs, getting comfortable in his squashed position on the edge of the bed "a warm one".

Casey sits there in silence for a bit, his friend drifting off to sleep. The overwhelming smell of sweat and blood and the sewers clogging his nose. Raphael is the only person Casey talks to about his home life, the only one he talks about his troubles too. He knows Raph instils that same comfort and confidence in him as he tells the lanky teen his own insecurities and secrets.

Tender moments like these however? They usually proceed fights. Fights they start coated in darkness or just heated spars between friends who are shouting and blowing off steam. They'd collapse with exhaustion on some random rooftop and through jagged breaths become vulnerable, no eye contact, maybe a squeeze of the hand or a punch in the side to let the other one know they're there. Kind, soft and comforting pain. Like the kind you get from laughing too hard or playing a game. It is strange to think they are now squashed and laid across each other, even if the reptile insists the body warmth was an exciting upgrade to his sleeping arrangement.

Casey was kicked out tonight after a particularly bad fight at home, he limped his way to his usual meeting spot and a few texts later Raph was on his way. He's going to be staying here with his friend, just tonight... he'll go home tomorrow. No one else in the sewer family needs to know why, Raph will come up with a lame excuse to torment him with. The thought makes him smile a little. Raph is the epitome of masculinity. Testosterone coats his existence like a second shell. He's violent and abrasive and yet here he is, not throwing punches, but still being gentle. His body weight is not entirely on top of the teen, but it is there along his right side nonetheless. He wasn't repulsed by Casey and he hadn't tried sugar coating anything all night. When he 'picked him up' he'd joked at Casey's expense and made the boy laugh. Casey wasn't too sure how Raph managed to create such a strong positive moment up on that rooftop in those circumstances. But none of the Hamato clan followed logic by nature so maybe that is not so surprising.

Casey isn't sure why this isn't affecting him the way it usually does. He feels calm and safe, even stripped down to his boxers and pressed into an old smelly matrice and cold metal wall.

Maybe it's because he keeps reminding himself that Raph doesn't see the squishy, thin human as delicate. He knows the turtle enough to know he considers Casey a great enough fighter to stand amongst his brothers, without any formal training or skill.

Maybe that's why this tender moment is nice? Raph isn't scared Casey will break, he wouldn't touch him if he thought he'd be hurt. Raph wouldn't joke with him and invite him here like this. The ninja had seen the boy break earlier, as he broke down and sobbed on the bed when they first arrived at the decorated subway car. The weight against him now is heavy, not crushing. It's grounding him.

Why is being treated tenderly so nice right now? Maybe that's the kind of privilege having a best friend creates? He doesn't remember his childhood friend creating such a welcoming environment before though.

Casey hates people seeing him as weak. Raph doesn't, even now.

[lovelyrotter]

yall how do u even know if ur aro/aro-spec i feel like an imposter

[mint-is-here]

lego characters have made me question my sexuality more times than i wish it was possible