#me writing no curses aus

[chiarrara]

me too, girly. me too

[spooksier]

relistening to tma and losing my mind more with each episode. anyways. today we're talking about how there are three characters in the show who are meant to be/groomed to be "the chosen one" for some specific purpose (agnes for the lightless flame, gerry to carry on some esoteric bloodline, jon for the watcher's crown/the web's escape plan) and all three of them have that running theme of being completely powerless in every aspect of their lives despite being made to be something powerful. we never get agnes' own perspective on her own life, gerry dies and is kept in limbo for *years*, and jon is marked to be the antichrist from age 8, like all of them were used as tools rather than people and if you couple that with all three at some point expressing that their fantasy is to live a normal life and be a normal person but they were trapped by divinity......fucked up if true

[shrimpchipsss]

foremost scholar of yuri theory

[momotonescreaming]

Magic's been restricted in Hawkins for decades. Not by any law, or enforcement of the city guard, but by the fearful nature of man. Rumours of curses and spells, fear of the unknown - it has people scared.

And scared people lash out.

So people stopped doing magic in Hawkins. People stopped doing magic visibly, in Hawkins. They keep it behind closed doors, locked up tight.

Eddie dabbles in it. Small things. Good luck charms, cleaning spells, minor wards to keep the rain from leaking through the thatched roof of his and Wayne's hut. Nothing big, just some things he got passed down from his uncle, from his family way down south. He's thought about more, seeing how far his magic can extend - but he's not the witch, the demon that people think he is.

He doubts that the townsfolk have anything to base their suspicions on. They just don't like him or the Munson name. Him and Wayne are the ones who get the blame, but he knows there's powerful players in Hawkins. Powerful magic that's been at work a long, long time.

Eddie might not be the best mage, the best witch, but he's always been good at feeling magic.

And there's a small courtyard on the outskirts of town that reeks of magic. The strong shit too, been there for a very long time, put down by very powerful people.

Other people don't notice, it's a good courting spot - or so people say. Large trees, bushes covered in flowers, a nice cobbled path, with a large fountain in the middle. It's picturesque, romantic. And atop the fountain, is a statue.

A statue of a boy, or a young man, or however you want to put it. He's handsome, devastatingly so, with a square jaw and muscled arms. A wreath of laurels resting atop his perfectly swooped hair, and an elegant toga like robe draped across his body.

He's posed delicately, but in a way that does not hide his masculinity.

The garden always perfectly kept, always tidy, never any vermin, and no one is ever seen maintaining it. The statue never cracks, never fades, never dirties. He is always perfectly encapsulated in marble. Shining white.

Eddie is a little bit obsessed. There's not a lot to do in Hawkins, and the magic in the courtyard is alluring. It's tricky, encircled and entwined into itself - into the world around it. It's a puzzle, and Eddie wants to figure it out.

So he goes to the courtyard when he knows no one else will be there, and he makes sure to bring a notebook. Write down what he sees, what he feels.

He can feel the sun on his shoulders, the breeze gently ruffling his hair, the birds singing in the trees. Bees flitting from flower to flower, there's a stream trickling somewhere near.

The statue shines in the middle, drawing the eye.

It's perfect. Almost too perfect. Designed by man, and not by nature, perfect.

So Eddie pulls off his boots, rolls up his trousers, and wades into the fountain. Standing on the wishing coins people have tossed in. But he ignores them, of course, and heads to the statue. The more he concentrates, the closer he gets, the more he can tell that this, him, is the centre of all the magic.

The perfect statue.

Eddie can see the nailbeds in his fingers, the moles that dot his skin, the pores on his face, the lashes on his eyes. Perfect. He gets even closer, takes a deep breath, and focuses his magic. The more he looks, the more he listens, the more Eddie can feel the magic encircling the courtyard.

He swears he can hear a heart beating inside the statue's chest.

[lost-in-fandoms]

Thought i would be done but...yeah didn't happen. Part one here.

Living with Max is easy.

He doesn't whine when Daniel is taking care of his leg, he doesn't mind sleeping on some blankets on the floor, next to the fireplace, he offers to help around, and best of all he doesn't ask questions.

Well, not exactly. He asks so many questions. Once he gets over his initial bout of shyness and quiet, he asks questions about Daniel's vegetables, about his horse, about the woods, about the traps, about the animals. He offers his own opinions too, telling Daniel he's growing peas in too much shade and that he's cooking his meat for too long. And, much to Daniel's annoyance, he is often right too.

But he doesn't ask questions about Daniel. He doesn't know if it is because Max doesn't care or because he doesn't want to be asked questions back, but he appreciates being spared the trouble of telling him to mind his own business.

They also work surprisingly well together. Max is older than he initially seemed, dirt, hunger and exhaustion making him look younger, and he seems to know a little bit of everything. Even if he doesn't ask, Daniel is a little curious about what path in life brought him to have such a wide mix of knowledge. He seems to know how to move around the woods without scaring the prey, how to skin and cook animals, how to take care of the vegetables (better than Daniel), how to keep himself and the house clean.

It's nice to have a second pair of hands around, even if the pair of hands should sit down more often to let their leg heal. Not that Max ever listened to that.

And he's funny. Daniel hadn't realised how much he missed just sitting around the table after dinner, talking and laughing with someone else. How good it was to wake up and find the fire already stoked and the water pitch already filled. To have someone to say good morning to who would say it back.

Daniel hadn't been thinking of himself as lonely before, he was content with his choice of life, but he can admit that he likes this. He is glad Max decided to stay and he's glad Max seems to be having a good time too, at least from what Daniel could tell.

This is why, when about three weeks after Max's arrival he wakes up in the middle of the night to the sounds of him moving around the house, his first thought isn't Max is leaving, but something is wrong.

"Are you okay?" he asks, voice scratchy with sleep and way too loud in the quiet of the night.

He watches Max flinch, dropping something, before turning around to face Daniel.

"Go back to sleep," he whispers, too shaky to be a good order. There's something different in his voice, and it only takes Daniel's tired brain a few moments to realise that he had heard those notes before, in the woods about three weeks ago. Fear.

Daniel sits up, eyes finally adjusting to the silver darkness of the room, moonlight streaming through the open windows.

"What's wrong?" he asks again, voice lower, matching Max's whisper.

He listens to the sounds coming from outside, thinking that maybe the men Max was running from have come back, but he can't hear anything unusual in the late summer night.

Max is grabbing what he dropped on the floor, stuffing it into a bag that he must have taken from Daniel's things, but the moment, Daniel doesn't even care about the fact that he's very obviously stealing from him.

"Max, what is happening?" He's getting frustrated now, hates not knowing what is going on, worry and irritation growing together.

He stands up, taking a couple of steps towards Max, wanting to see him better, but he stops when Max flinches back.

"I need to leave," he finally says, voice raspy. It's not an explanation, and Daniel suddenly regrets never asking any questions.

"Why? Where?"

He doesn't want Max to leave. The knowledge of that settles like armor on his chest, safe but heavy. Living with Max isn't just easy, it's good. He doesn't want to go back to an empty house, not after the past weeks have been so nice.

"I...I need..." Max shudders, as if in pain, and Daniel's legs ache with the need of walking closer.

"Did something happen?" Did I do something wrong?

Max shakes his head, jerky and sharp. When he exhales, Daniel can hear him bite back a whine.

He doesn't want to scare Max, but he is confused, and he is worried, and he is not going to let him go without an explanation.

He steps between Max and the door.

"You owe me an explanation," he says, hating the way it makes Max stiffen, unwilling to take it back anyway.

"I don't owe you..." Max snaps, before interrupting himself with half a growl. "You haven't told me anything either!"

"That's different. I'm not running away in the middle of the night."

Max takes a step forward, back tense, and Daniel instinctively braces himself, eyes flying towards the table, where his knife always is, but Max doesn't attack him.

He shivers again, hands clenching around the bag and then letting it fall on the ground with a thump, shoulders slumping as all the fight seems to leave him.

"Please, Daniel, I need to leave. It's...it's not safe."

Max looks up, finally meeting Daniel's eyes, and he's suddenly reminded of what the man had said, so many days ago.

He's dangerous. Cursed.

Max's eyes look weird, blue brighter than ever, almost glowing in the moonlight. His face is twisted in pain and there's the glimmer of sweat gathering at his hairline. None of that would worry Daniel, but there's something...different in him. Something other.

Cursed.

The room seems too bright now. The moon is almost full tonight.

Cursed.

Max had said he hadn't killed anyone, but if this is what Daniel is thinking of...

Max closes his eyes, whole body shivering again, his edges almost blurring with it. Or maybe it's not just a trick of the light. Daniel doesn't know what to think anymore.

He doesn't want Max to go. He doesn't want this to happen.

He steps away from the door.

For a moment, they both stand still, looking at each other.

For a moment, Daniel hopes he'll wake up and it will be morning, and Max will be coming in with the last tomatoes from the garden.

Then Max whines, something low and pained, something animal, and bolts.

Daniel doesn't stop him.

He watches as his shadow changes even before he's fully reached the trees.

Then he sits on the doorstep and waits for the sunrise.

[roseetube]

ART DUMP!!! i gave up on numbering them :/,, @pogostikk we are so back!!!,, @shadow-light19 cant stop thinking abt Twoie and his stupid professor glasses :3

[kusanagihaku]

the promises carved into our tears 

⭢ haku x mc, 3.6k

I will look for you in my next life, and the next, and the next. Now that I have tasted how sweet a happy ending with you can be, I will turn my back on fate over and over again, if only to meet you one last time.

or: a red string soulmate au where hotarubi works for yuelao, 如果可以-style. on ao3 here.

“Nightmares again?” 

Haku sinks into a chair, blinking blearily at Subaru as flames clear slowly from the edge of his vision. “Mm.” 

Subaru smiles sympathetically. He sets a warm teacup down on the table in front of Haku, and motions for him to take a sip. “Gyokuro blend, from Nakamura Tokichi. Zenji’s just stepped out to get this week’s list of clients from Yuelao.” 

Haku murmurs a thanks as he cradles the teacup in his hands. It is nearly too hot to hold, but the weight in his hands is grounding, and it doesn’t take more than a few sips before the fog behind his eyes clear. 

Good. He has a full day of work ahead of him. 

It started after The Incident back at Darkwick – after the smoke had cleared, all major and minor deities had descended on the island, eager to recruit a freshly dead ghoul into their ranks. 

Once most of them had gotten over the shock of also needing to work in the afterlife (Daikokuten had laughed, saying, “How else do you think the gods keep this world running, if not for the behind the scenes work of us supernatural beings?” before promptly offering Taiga a job) and the shock of there being another ghoul in their midst (Zenji’s non-apology was rather sheepish, and mostly directed at Jiro), Towa was the first to be recruited, enticed by Yuelao’s stories of soulmates tied together with red string and destined lovers with fates written in the stars. Haru had followed, of course – only for a while, until Towa gets settled, he said. I’ll worry about him. 

Naturally Zenji got pulled along too, claiming the red strings he’d tie would be brilliant source material for his next manuscript. After all, love sells, doesn’t it? 

Subaru didn’t have the heart to remind him there would be nobody around to publish his manuscript, now that none of them were corporeal, but had followed him anyway, despite an offer from Ame-no-Uzume to work as a kabuki talent scout. There was something repelling about going back to his old life, he said, and left it at that. 

Of course, they pulled the shell of their vice-captain along too. It was the least they could do, with what was left of Haku. 

Not that Haku minded – working for Yuelao isn’t particularly taxing. He sends them a list of soulmates meant to meet that week, each pair of serial numbers complete with the time and location; all they have to do is map out their routes each day, show up at the correct place and time with the red soulmate strings, then let the latent magic floating in the fabric of the universe do its work. 

It’s mostly paperwork anyway, with the biggest part of their job being signing off on each pair after the soulmate strings tie themselves. He can’t complain; it’s been easy work for the past twenty odd years, the days slipping by like water between his fingers. Not a bad way to spend eternity. 

And it’s fulfilling too  – like what Zenji says, there’s something special in seeing bonds form between two people that are two sides of the same coin. It reminds him of–

Haku sets his empty cup down. Shakes his head to clear it. 

Subaru looks up from the book he is reading, but does not say anything. He picks up the teapot, instead, and refills Haku’s cup. 

Haku nods in thanks. 

The comfortable silence stretches out again, drifting like dust motes in the late morning light. It is only interrupted when Zenji arrives back home, banging his way through the entrance of their shared home with a triumphant, “Guess who I met on the way home!”

Haku cracks a smile. There is always something infectious about Zenji’s enthusiasm, no matter how tired he is. “Who?” 

“Towa!” Zenji exclaims. He sets his messenger bag on the table. “Still as floaty as ever. He rejected my offer to let him listen to my latest plot idea, though. It seemed like he had somewhere to be.” 

Subaru laughs. “He must have been heading to a binding. He’s still on morning shift, after all.” 

Zenji hums as he unzips his messenger bag and pulls out their soulmate lists for the week. “I told him he and Haru were welcome over for dinner any time. Don’t think he heard me, though.” 

Subaru nudges a freshly-poured cup of tea away from Zenji’s stack of paper. “I’ll text Haru. It’s been a while since we last saw him.”

And it has been – the last time Haku remembers seeing the red-haired ghoul was sometime two or three months ago in April. All five of them were slated to work a freshman orientation at a university, easily one of the busiest times of the year for the entire Yuelao organisation. Instead of going to his allocated location and waiting, however, Towa had just tossed all the red strings he had in his box up in the air, waved a hand, and trusted that all the strings would go where they were meant to go. 

Haru had cried at the logistical nightmare, then promptly banned Towa from holding the box containing their soulmate strings ever again. Haku wonders idly if Haru ever recovered from the stress. 

Zenji shuffles the stack of paper into three smaller piles, then hands one pile each to Subaru and Haku. They descend into silence, the way they always do with a new list, quietly setting virtual push-pins on their Maps apps to plan out their individual routes for the week. 

Haku is at the end of his list before he sees it. Tucked under entry number 85, his last pair for the week, is a single serial number, slid in at 5.17pm at a park in Meguro. 

He blinks. That’s not supposed to happen. Don’t they usually come in a pair? 

He waits until Subaru looks up from his own list before carefully highlighting the problem. 

Subaru glances over the strange entry, brow furrowed. “Must have been an administrative error. Perhaps whoever was compiling the lists forgot to copy paste the second serial number in?” 

Haku looks doubtfully at the lone serial number sitting at the bottom of the page. Administration has never made a mistake before. “Perhaps.” 

Zenji leans over, peering over his glasses. “My last one for the week is there too,” he says. “At 5.09pm. We can go together to figure it out.” 

Subaru rests his chin on his hands. “My day ends at 4.28pm. Shall we head there together? I’m curious to see what happens.” 

A wave of gratefulness for their wiling companionship slides a smile onto Haku’s face. “Yeah. Yeah, why not?” 

-

The end of the week does not come soon enough. 

They meet at the corner near the Meguro River as the summer sun begins to dip lower in the sky. It is a short walk to the park they are meant to be at, and along the way Zenji regales them with how one of his bindings this morning looked like it was right out of a romance novel. 

“Was it better than the one last week?” Haku teases, and Zenji laughs, bright and loud. 

“The one at the cat cafe? No, nothing can beat that! I could tell right away those two were meant to be, I swear.” 

The park they stop in front of is small, more like a playground than anything else. There is a small child sitting on the swings, blue push-popsicle sweating in his little fist. His feet barely touch the floor as he swings gently back and forth, looking around the neighbourhood with wide, curious eyes. 

“That’ll be him, then,” Haku says. He leans over to check Zenji’s list, then flicks his wrist to check the time. “Any minute, now.” 

Subaru sighs, smiling. “I love it when they find their soulmates young. It’s the best kind of friendship, isn’t it?” 

“Exactly,” Zenji coos. He tugs open his messenger bag to retrieve his box of red strings. “It’s always adorable. Goodness, I want to pinch his little cheeks… he has no idea what’s in store for him.” 

Haku snorts fondly at the two of them. Thank goodness they weren’t visible to humans – three strange men standing in a playground staring at a child? Never mind they still looked like they were in their mid-twenties, they’d be reported for kidnapping straight away. 

Before he can say anything, though, a slightly older boy rounds the corner on his bicycle. It is evident he is new to cycling, shiny orange bicycle wobbling from side to side as he banks hard to the right, trying to make too sharp of a turn. 

Haku barely has time to blink before the boy’s bicycle screeches too far to the right, flinging the boy onto the soft, packed earth of the playground. 

There is a teary “ow,” as the boy sits up, cradling a scraped knee. His hands are bloody, too, roughness of the ground having rubbed abrasions onto the skin of his palm. 

The boy on the swing slips off his seat neatly. He barely comes up to Haku’s hip. “I saw that.”

The boy on the floor whips around at the sound, scowling through his tears. “No, you didn’t.” 

“I did,” he confirms. His tongue flashes blue as he speaks. “It’s okay, though. My brother says it’s normal to fall when you just start learning. Do you need help?”

The older boy hesitates. “Maybe.”

As he helps him up, Zenji slides his box open, and lifts a single red string out of it. He blows, gently, and they watch as the thin thread rolls off the tips of his fingers and drifts over to where the older boy has just regained his balance. It loops around their arms and knots around both their little fingers, giving off a gentle glow as both ends seal, before disappearing. 

The only evidence that anything ever happened is Zenji’s beam as he scribbles a quick signature beside their serial numbers. “Lovely!” 

He clicks his pen closed before tucking everything haphazardly back into his bag, and they watch as the boys pick up the bicycle and begin to walk away. Subaru turns to face Haku. “It’s going to be 5.17pm soon.”

Haku looks down at his watch. Two minutes. 

He has barely retrieved his own box of strings out from his bag when a voice sounds out behind them – “Excuse me. Coming through.”

Time stops. 

It is a voice he can recognise anywhere, a voice he hears in the moments between closing his eyes and falling asleep, one he hears echoing through the threads of his dreams and nightmares alike. It sinks into his skin, past the beat of his heart and the pulse of his nerves, and fills his veins with a feeling he does not quite dare to describe as hope. It sends tremors down the tips of his fingers; it calls open a rift in his memory he has never attempted to heal.  

He turns around, almost mechanically, and sees you. 

-

You swear to every deity there is that if the universe has a reason it’s making you late to your part-time job today, it better be a fucking good one. 

First the trains weren’t running as frequently as they were supposed to, then there was an issue with the gantries malfunctioning at the station exit, then you dropped your bottle and had to run after it for a bit to get it back and in the process missed the green light to cross the road… and now, finally on the home stretch to your employer’s place there are three fucking idiots standing in the middle of the sidewalk, blocking your way. 

You huff. Your employer better be flexing their omniscient powers to read your situation – what for work for a minor god if they make you relive every tiny inconvenience to explain why you’re fifteen minutes late to your job? 

(Never mind that they’re actually incredibly nice and don’t really care when you head in for work as long as you get their paperwork done.) 

“Excuse me,” you call out. “Coming through.” 

All three men whip around. On their faces are various states of astonishment, frozen almost comically in their surprise. 

You’re about to sigh and push forward, when you suddenly notice the colour of their eyes. 

Shit. 

They’re not human. 

Fuck. 

You send a quick prayer to your employer. Hopefully they’re listening – the last time you ran into another supernatural being he made you look for his glasses for two hours before receiving a call saying he left them at home. 

You don’t generally mind helping minor deities here and there, honestly, especially not since they bless you right after for your help. Most of them are really nice. In fact, you’d even say you’re used to doing little things for them, having grown up with the Sight and being able to see supernatural beings for most of your life. But these three don’t look like they need any help, and you’re going to be late to what you know is going to be a mountain of paperwork and— 

You think the tallest one might be crying. 

Ah.

Before you can ask if he’s okay and if they need any help, something bright and glowing rises from the box one of them is holding. 

It elongates, spinning itself slowly mid-air, one end gliding over to you like it has found its target. The other end floats up to the man with green hair. As you watch in bewilderment, it gently wraps around both your little fingers, then tightens with a flash of gold. 

It sends a searing pain through your arms, a shock that slams the air out of you and turns your vision an inky black. 

-

You are standing on a wooden porch, shade of dripping wisteria providing you a little shelter from the grey drizzle. The quiet patter of the rain is only interrupted when someone calls your name, a soft summoning that fills you with warmth. You turn your head to see the brown-haired man – Subaru whispers into your mind, like his name has been there all along – smiling at you. Tea is ready, he says. Come inside. 

You are looking down from the top of a long staircase, closely packed torii gates lining the path down. The stone steps beneath your feet are faded with age, but the red of the dates are vibrant, almost as if they were recently painted. The blue haired man in front of you turns, grinning brightly; his ruby eyes sparkle in the dim light as he extends his hand backwards. Zenji – the flash of his name brings along with it a swell of affection. Come, my dear, he says. They’re waiting for us. 

You are sitting on a cushion laid out on the porch of a traditional Japanese house, back resting against doors made of paper and wood. It overlooks a quiet garden that extends on all three sides; the peacefulness of the stone lanterns makes it feel like a secret you are bound to keep. Your legs are stretched out in front of you, covered by a black blazer with gold trim and pressed against the long legs of someone else. Your hands lay in your lap, fingers intertwined with his graceful ones. When you look up at the man with green hair, his eyes closed and dozing, something in you shifts like a sunbeam – Haku. His name is a cloud on your tongue, painting the inside of your lungs a new, different, golden sort of warmth. It tangles itself into the base of your throat, all tender and sweet; your heart aches with a fondness you’ve never thought possible. Haku. 

You are dangling your feet off the edge of a dock, watching diamonds of moonlight dance off the ripples in the water. Translucent fish float lazily around your feet, drifting in invisible eddies only they can see. An arm is curled behind you as you lean against someone’s shoulder; you don’t have to look up to know the giddy feeling running through your veins is because of the soft kisses Haku is dropping into your hair. He raises his hand to brush your cheek, to tilt your chin up to face him. You watch the monochrome of the moon wash his eyelashes a silvery grey as he dips towards you, before your eyes flutter closed at the gentle warmth of his lips on yours, languorous and insistent and exploring. How lucky you are, you remember, to be able to love him like this. How lucky you are, to have him love you. 

You are pressed up against the back of a door, your shirt half unbuttoned and blazer long discarded somewhere on the floor. Haku’s hands are everywhere, mouth hot on the hollow behind your ear as your fingers scrabble against the buttons of his vest. Princess, he groans, all teeth and tongue on your neck as he slips a leg between yours. Please. And you acquiesce, as you always do, melting into him under the deftness of his fingers and the heat of his breath. He hangs stars on the ladder of your spine and his name on the roof of your mouth; you dance in the fire he lights in the kiln of your hips. You think, as he pulls gasp after gasp from the scorch of your skin, that if it is for Haku you will burn yourself inside out, if only he asks. 

You are sitting - no, lying - in a pile of rubble. There are flames licking up the walls around you, ghastly bright and smokeless, unending despite the rain that seems to be pouring around everything else. You are dimly aware of how close the flames are to you, but the burning that flickers from under your skin is infinitely more unbearable.   

There are sobs above you from the figure who has pulled you into his lap, cradling you in his arms and shielding you from the rain; you barely need to open your eyes to hear the guilt leaking out each breath Haku takes.  

“Don’t cry,” you rasp. Some part of you recognises the irony, given the tears staining your own cheeks, but you raise a heavy hand anyway, thumb brushing the wetness away from his cheeks. It is hard to form words. You hope Haku understands. 

“I’m sorry,” he gasps. He are shaking uncontrollably, tsunamis rolling off the tense slope of his shoulders. “I should have tried harder—“

“No,” you say, again, this time a little more vehemently. The scratch of your throat worsens, but you no longer have the strength to cough out the petals that have lodged themselves in your lungs. 

You want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, it was never his fault, that he has done nothing but try as hard as he could to break your curse the moment you stepped into Darkwick. He has spent so much of himself making your final months lovely, and even now with the walls crumbling around him he still has not let you go. 

I’m sorry, you want to say. For meeting you on the train that day, already like this, already cursed. For not meeting you earlier in this life, from the beginning already too late. For being filled with flower and fire, even though all I want to be is filled with my love for you. 

But it is getting hard to breathe, and it is getting dark, and you are so, so tired. 

“Wait for me,” you say, instead. You tilt your face into the palm of his hand, and inhale the last of his scent as best as you can. 

When you gather the strength to speak again, your voice is an oath made, fierce and low, carved into the ache of your tears. You look up at Haku, your love, your light, radiant even in his grief, even as your vision is blurry and fading. “We’ll meet again, I promise.” 

I will look for you in my next life, and the next, and the next, until we meet again. I will look for you in every lifetime. Now that I have tasted how sweet a happy ending with you can be, I will turn my back on fate over and over again, if only to meet you one last time. 

-

You blink, and suddenly you are back, gasping for air as an ache cracks open in your chest, gaping and yearning. 

You are vaguely aware of the wetness on your cheeks, and that the tallest man – Zenji – is openly bawling now, but the moment your eyes meet his the rest of the world blurs. 

Haku. 

He has not moved, you think, all hesitance and incredulity, frozen with the helplessness of a man who has wanted so much for so long but has only dared to hope for so little. His gaze shines with unshed tears, disbelief wrapping itself taut around the clench of his fists, like he is trying not to reach out for you, trying to keep the spark of his skin from setting your world ablaze again. 

But, oh, in this life you’ve been raised fireproof, heart forged into a glass-clear that sings for the sunset of his hands. In this life, you are not on a train, you are not too late, and you are not filled the potency of a curse but the promise of a happy ending. 

We’ll meet again, I promise. 

You take a small step forward. The red string wound around your finger ripples, flashes gold in the evening light. 

“Haku?” 

[teddybeartoji]

i love the way you write gojo :( he's not that slut manwhore fuckboy everyone says he is . he is a sad pathetic loser who looks for all the love he hasn't ever got in YOU!!!! and he will accept crumbles back because feeling loved even for a second makes him so so happy that he's almost going to another planet . i swwar to god

YOU GET MEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! he's a lonely guy who mostly just stays at home,, i don't think he really even enjoys the attention he gets when he goes out with suguru and shoko. he's just there to spend time with his friends not to find hookups. of course, he thinks about it sometimes – yk what it'd be to wake up next to someone, but he just cannot bring himself to do it. it takes him and you time to cross that line as well btw you guys would be friends for months before it escalates in any way. and yes, i really do think he'd be more than fine with just some crumbs – he gets to feel what he's thought of for so long, he gets to see your pretty smile. for some time it'd be more than enough, but after some time he starts dreaming about eating breakfast with you, going grocery shopping with you, moving in with you. he does want more, he wants the love so badly but he doesn't have the words to express his needs. he simply doesn't know how, this is all so new to him. i think you'd have to be the one that makes the first step but it'd all take so much time. this is a proper slowburn....

[royalarchivist]

Pac: In a- in a far far away tower, there used to live a prince called Fit, waiting for someone to climb over the top and save him!

Fit: [Laughs]

Pac: Kinda like Shrek, you know? [Laughs]

Fit: That's right. I've been waiting!

[Context: They were talking about how Fit's "house" looked like a tower / water tower.]

[nicercymybeloved]

Very attached to the idea that if Percy had been a woman she would have been named Ariadne. Like, I know that Persephone is a popular fanon name for female Percy because it's a nice way to keep her nickname. I've also seen Andromeda used by some because she lives a long life with Perseus in the myths. But Sally would have at least considered it right? Because Ariadne's a popular female figure in mythology, linked to both Theseus and Dionysus, two other famous figures in mythology. She was a clever mortal princess who was dealt a bad hand because her father's arrogance allowed him to think that he could get away with defying a god, just like how Poseidon's arrogance allowed him to think that he could get away with breaking the pact he made with Zeus and Hades. And in the end, Ariadne survived both her family's legacy and Theseus's abandonment, becoming Dionysus's immortal wife in both the PJO universe and in many retellings of the myth of the Minotaur and Theseus in real life. Ariadne got to live out her happy ending just like how Perseus did in mythology, which is the main reason why Sally even gave Percy the name Perseus to begin with. Am I delusional to think that Sally would have given a female Percy the name Ariadne? Who the fuck knows. But I'm so attached to the idea that it literally just supersedes any other name I could have come up with

[gen4grl]

you would think after all the yapping i do about these losers i would have a plethora of art uploaded … no… so here is my first kantrio post lol

i did these over the last month while watching the olympic weightlifting and jamming to kpop (stan red velvet and kiss of life BTW!!!)

[nectardaddy]

falling - inumaki toge

cw: language, drinking, drinking in anxious situations, drunkenness, allusion to bickering/arguing, really cheesy flirting lol

notes: written with fem in mind (no pronouns used though), ex inumaki, non-curse au (we got him speaking lads!!), giving college au vibes, request by @inumakisser I changed a few things up though oof, I also just kinda gave up on editing at the end so if you see mistakes in the last couple of paragraphs no you didn't

"Is that who I think it is?"

Turning your attention towards the feminine voice, you raised a brow to the red head next to you. Rolling her eyes as she saw you look to her instead, she motioned towards the figure adjacent to the doorway. "Yuuji- you didn't," she warned.

"Ah fuck," the man began, groaning as he sat back in his chair further. "I always invite him," he began lowly, earning a sharp smack to his head from the woman next to you. Letting out a yelp, and holding his head, and tried to defend himself. "He's never shown up before! How was I supposed to know this time was different?" Another smack, "ouch! Jesus, Nobara! Okkotsu probably forced him out, not me!"

Tracking their gaze, your heart sank to your stomach to the figure that stood adjacent to the doorway. Platinum hair and stark violet eyes catching your attention, you suddenly felt incredibly small. "I need another drink," you suggested to the pair, desperately trying to shy away from your own emotions.

The red head let a chuckle pass her lips before rising from her seat, offering her hand out to you as she did. "Forget the drink, let's get you a shot!" Smiling at you through her words, "hell, get drunk and find a whole other guy - forget about him." Her words earned a cheer from Yuuji, but you contemplated leaving the party all together.

It was easy to say forget, but once put into motion was incredibly difficult. It had been three months since you had even seen the man, whisking himself away as if it were too easy. Leaving your heart in shambles, a rather nasty break, that Toge seemed all too comfortable with. He never texted, never called; while you yearned on late nights to do only that. It was as if you were a complete stranger again - a stranger that still, after all this time, had feelings for him.

"Fuck it," you shrugged and cast your eyes upward to the woman. "Let's get drunk," you announced with a chuckle, finally deciding to take her hand.

As the night continued on, as did your growing intoxication. The effects of the shots and drinks Nobara, relentlessly, handed you, hit you in your now swimming mind. Your eyes were blurry and your skin felt scorched, the sticky, humid air around you clinging to you. It was, supposedly, a small party; the people that drunkenly lined the walls and danced amongst the living room proved otherwise. It made the room inconceivably warm, too many people in such a small area.

Nobara was no where to be found, gone off with Maki earlier and hadn't yet returned. Yuuji on the otherhand, sustained his presence with you, a cheerful smile the entire time. However, the poor soul hadn't found his tolerance for alcohol, finding himself draped across a couch at his own party, completely out cold. With a sigh, and another sip of the liquid what only further made you woozy, you leaned against the wall.

"I'm surprised you're here. You always hated parties," a lower voice next to you catching your attention. Turning, much to your dismay, you saw the only man you fervently did not wish to speak to. Slender fingers wrapping around a bottle, and violet eyes looking you over. You wished you had felt more anger in the moment; something, anything, other than the void of emotion. Too drunk to care, but too drunk not to say something.

"Says the guy who never went to them," you quipped. "A shut in can't critique a wallflower." You couldn't hide your obvious intoxication, booze hindering your speech to slow, methodical statements rather than sly, quick witted, remarks. Part of you wanted to step away right then and there, the other desperately craving any conversation the man would allow.

"Yikes," he grimaced, now placing himself next to you. A foot of distance between the two of you didn't feel like enough, truly you wanted him as far away as possible. "I'll give you that one," he spoke, tipping the bottle to his lips before sighing. "How have you been?"

"Did you really come over here to ask that, Inumaki?" You asked, taking a small breath and letting out through your mouth. The huff of air, and use of his last name, caused him to recoil subtlety, internally regretting his own decision to come speak to you. The conversation, or lack there of, gave you a sense of panic. Not knowing what he wanted, as it surely had to be something, you took a large sip of the contents in your cup.

He watched as you tipped the cup back, taking down the liquid as if it were your lifeline in the moment. He knew better than to speak to it; he couldn't tease or poke fun anymore, knowing it might very well lead to a slap in the face. So he sucked in a breath through his teeth, swallowed his pride, and faced his reality. Toge wanted nothing more than to talk to you again, craving it so deeply it itched. But he could never find the right words, how could he possibly when things ended so terribly? "I'm regretting it now," he mumbled.

You only managed to let a hum pass your lips, biting the side of your cheek as to not let anything further slip. You wanted to tear into him, rip him piece by piece with your words - just like old times. But now you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of merely pissing you off. Without a second thought you tipped your cup to your lips once more. Sipping the drink, the tangy taste of shitty fruit punch and liquor invaded your senses.

He noticed as you blinked hard from the taste, watching you teeter from foot to foot to keep yourself stable, and knew your words were sluggish and off. "Jeez- you're fucking trashed, aren't you?" He asked, genuinely not meaning for the words to leave so harshly. "You ok?"

"You're caring now?" You proded, your words biting a bit harder than you first imagined. "I didn't know you knew how to do that. Why's it matter anyway?" You shrugged, looking over to him with blurred vision.

"I've always cared," he retorted. "Don't be such a-"

There was a moment of pause between the two of you, a heavy silence hitting you both from the weight of the words, or lack thereof. He desperately wanted to back track the conversation, to take all of his sly remarks back - too late now. He knew it was too late as he heard a laugh pass your lips, a pained chuckle forcing its way out from his words. "Bitch?" You asked rhetorically, "go ahead and say it. Didn't stop you before."

"Alright, alright" he began before taking a small breath. "There's a lot of things I shouldn't have done," he admitted begrudgingly. "But that's a conversation to have when you're not piss drunk." Albeit, he didn't want to have the conversation at all. The feelings that prickled inside from having to admit his wrong doings made him wretch, add alcohol to the mix and he wanted to vomit right then and there.

"I can't believe I actually missed you," a drunken slip of the tongue, the statement so casually leaving your lips. Realizing immediately what you had uttered, you closed your eyes and groaned. You wanted to regret saying it, but the gentle nag at your heart said differently. Completely blitzed, you couldn't find a single care in the world left on what you said. "Seems stupid admitting it out loud," you chuckled, a silly, alcohol induced, smile on your lips.

He felt his shoulders slump at your statement, realizing you didn't feel much different than he. Two idiots still hopelessly attached to each other despite such a murky break; a classic situation of 'right person, incredibly wrong time.' While he wasn't inebrietated, the bottle in his hands warm as he held onto it throughout the night, he felt his mind scatter at the thought. "It's not stupid," speaking as he shook his head. "You always were a sap," he added, a smirk daring to grace his lips. He toed the line gently, testing waters to see if he dared tease you once more.

"What does that make you?" You asked, deciding against your better judgement to play along. But he made it so easy, so comfortable, an aura so warm and inviting he made it hard to stray away from - ex lover or not.

"A god damn moron for letting you go," he spoke with a small chuckle. But he was far from comedic with the sentiment. He missed you whether he liked it or not, an urge so deep down in his soul he simply couldn't ignore it. He often found himself wanting to call, to text, to simply do something; he second guessed himself often. He didn't want to be that guy, more often than not believing he would make matters worse if he were to speak to you.

"Oh-" you snorted, "that was smooth I'll give you that." Your musings made him chuckle in response, leaning against the wall next to you and feeling a bit less on edge. "I still miss you, y'know?" Liquid luck was the only reason you allowed yourself to say such things, sobriety would have you double down and wholeheartedly deny as such. "Dumbass," you added with a small, genuine smile.

"Yeah?" He asked rhetorically, a playful smile pulling at his lips. "This is a first. You compliment my pickup lines and you say you miss me?" His teasing tone returned, one of which he thought he could never have again with you. He would be lying if he said it didn't make his heart swell.

"I can take it back, Toge," you quipped, and to his words you tried to nudge him, but you drunkenly misjudged his distance from you. Although he wasn't far from you, the distance was enough that your body weight started to fall from the lack of contact with him. He quickly grabbed your arm to center you, but couldn't help himself as a loud laugh passed his lips.

"The jokes write themselves!" He spoke between laughs, "looks like you're falling for me again," he noted between giggles. He watched as you shot him a mischievous glare, resulting in him only laughing more. "Oh come on, I never stopped falling for you," he admitted with a smile. "Was only a matter of time before you did it too."

might make a part 2?? idk but I really enjoyed writing this!!

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 22

Geralt rides into a town only to see a small family fumbling around in the street in a panic. Apparently they're a family business of fishermen who are worried that something much bigger than a fish has swam into a trap of theirs. Geralt gets a promise of money for getting rid of it and goes off to kill whatever water monster it is. But he gets to where they describe the beast and he finds... A mermaid? It's trapped and tied around in a net, facing away from Geralt, and clearly in pain, though he doesn't know why, yet. The webbed ear of the mer flicks and it turns to face him, hissing. Geralt holds his hands out in a placating gesture and sloowly walks closer, only for the mer to slam the full weight of it's tail into Geralt's legs and sweep him off his feet. Gods damn it. It can never be easy. Geralt draws his sword, and begins cutting the trap off the mer, even as it hisses, flails, and tries it's absolute damnedest to claw his face off. He ends up straddling it like it's a fucking gator, and when he frees it of it's restraints, it's only then that he can finally make out the giant wound on the mer's side. Too big and nasty a wound to just release it into the water. Oh great. It's gonna LOVE this. But it's not like he has to DO anything about it. He's a cold, emotionless witcher. He doesn't care of the mer lives or dies. If the wound is infected or kills the mer, he couldn't give less of a damn. So Geralt is currently walking up to his room at the inn, with a very angry hissing mer thrown over his shoulder, clawing the shit out of his armor. When he asks for the bath to be filled, blessedly nobody asks any further questions. The mer stops struggling as soon as it's in the bath, but it sure is still hissing at him. Geralt puts his sword away and takes off his armor and the hissing lessens. Now it's just whenever he gets too close. Big problem. He needs to get close in order to patch up it's wounds. The mer has the biggest, brightest, inhumanly blue eyes, with slitted pupils. It has sharp teeth, and twinkling iridescent blue scales dusting across the edge of it's face and it's cheeks. It stops hissing at him to listen to the bard perform downstairs. It stops attacking him, even as he pokes and prods at their wound. This is great! Except for when the bard stops and the mermaid goes back to thrashing and screaming- So Geralt is forced to hum songs under his breath to calm it. It's pupils expand and it stares at him in awe, with a slightly parted mouth. Geralt's just happy it stopped flopping around like a- w- Well... Like a fish. He fixes it all up, and shares his food, and softly hums to it the whole night, before it curls up a bit more and starts nodding off. He stops humming and steps to the inn's bed, only to be surprised when hearing a voice behind him murmur "Thank you." Oh shit-

[alwaysyouuuuuu]

So i was thinking about your Wolfstar Marvel AU again (it should pay rent with how much it's spinning around my head) and like,,,, Sirius not having any kind of closure about Remus,,, he doesn't know what happened to him, they never found a body or any traces of him and then he was pronounced dead and Sirius just. Doesn't know. He doesn't even know why they took Remus in the first place. And he probably feels guilty about it too (bc ofc he would!!!). Just, the lack of closure of it all, the big question mark haunting him, up until 70+ years later when he's face-to-face with Remus again (I'm loving it)

Hi hi hi!!!! 💕💕💕 Thank you so much for the ask! I am so happy we both find it consuming haha and I agree. AU needs to start paying me hourly wages for just how much it keeps me up and wondering at night. I would be in tears and at the end of my wit, if I had to do just part of this research in school (I was not into history or any literature for school, and that's putting it mildly.) and now I do this willingly lol.

You know one of those, "I'm so glad you asked"- *7 hour long vm* memes? I fear this will end up like that. Bear with me.

Before we get into that, I'll clear up some background? So Remus was first taken along with a lot of their troop (ambush?), and they were partially injected (plot reasons plot reasons!! I feel like you can guess why!!) and the Sirius and co rescued them etc etc. And then Remus was targeted specifically.

So before the permafrost, I feel the situation was very bad for Sirius. For one, he would have agreed to the Serum in the first place because Remus was in captivity (also for the war effort, of course, but to Sirius, at that point there really was no room for question which may have been there otherwise), and then he got Remus back. Just to lose him again.

And then, to the Military and almost everyone else, Hope and Lyall Lupin lost a son, but Sirius Black lost a fellow soldier. He lost a comrade. Sure, they were friends, so him being vengeful is believable, to an extent. And no one really gets the blank look in his eyes, after.

I believe there was a quote that went like, "Should you lose a spouse/partner, there is a shared understanding of the relationship, but when you lose a friend, there's no tangible evidence, no widely acknowledged way to mourn."

Except, for Sirius, he did lose his partner, love of his life and dearest friend of so many years. And no one understands. Maybe James and Lily know, but it is the 40s. Realistically, they are quiet about it at best. For him it is both, and all the more painful. And he doesn't get exactly why Remus was targeted either. Remus was at an integral position in the OSS, unusual for his age, recruited at the very beginning, one of the sharpest minds, so it could have been that. And god, he was cold blooded when he got to fighting. But of course, he cannot shake the feeling that it was because of him.

So, in that time, the days he spent looking for Remus with James and Lily, (which really wasn't much, they would not have been allowed to!) he is partially cynical. Not to the point of self-blaming but enough to self-destruct. James tries to get him out of it, but Lily grits her teeth. She doesn't say much, because she understands, I believe, how much at that point he just wants it to end.

*BAM* permafrost.

After he gains consciousness, he would have blanked out for a while, because what even is this? But he doesn't, because after the first few excruciating minutes, when the blood is pounding in his chest, looking at every flash of light, every building and car that look unnatural, really, the first thing he processes is Moody telling him that the War is over. Good, at least something went well, he thinks.

They tell him many soldiers were rescued, because that's the first thing he asks. After it sinks in, he wants to hope, and maybe he does. Because this is real, he can see it. As outlandish as it is, he is in the future. If this can be real, how foolish would it be to hope that maybe Remus made it too? He would be old, and he would have lived his life. Maybe with someone else, and that's okay. If he gets to see him one more time, Jesus, it's okay.

They tell him what happened with HYDRA and his family. They tell him about James Potter and how he revolutionized weapons, they tell him about Lily Potter, who later went on to join the NSA. God, he gets fucking giddy hearing all of that, because it worked out. For someone, it did. For James and Lily, it did. He wants to meet Harry.

And he starts to have a nagging thought, because with how they speak of and to him, maybe they would have mentioned his known childhood friend. And Remus was known to his own credit.

So he asks, slowly about one Remus Lupin?

And lo and behold. They know of him of course, of course, he was Captain America's best friend. But nothing was known of him post war.

He tries to hold his face and nods, but Moody gives him a strange look. Tells him that he'll look into it for him. He tamps it down, though, there is no point in a wishful fantasy. He would have begged Moody if required, but there really is no point. And he doesn't think he can open his mouth without saying something incriminating.

Moody offers him the initiative, of course, but they tell him to take a breath, see the world, find himself first. And he does, he takes a few days. But then he gets time to think about it, to mull things over, to reevaluate his last choices. When he is trying to ease into the new world, he is busy, things are overwhelming. But once he gets home, he spirals. He remembers how panicky he had been during the first rescue mission. He had been desperate. And what if that clued them in? There were others in the OSS. So why just Remus?

It had to be him.

So he throws himself into missions, trains hard, exhausts himself so doesn't have to think. He does what he's always been doing, he helps SHIELD and doesn't question much, because he is still processing. Some things stick out but one can only handle so much, yeah? Besides, James and Lily were the co-founders.

He finds out. Well. Many things about his past and it's just so much (I'll stop or this itself will spiral to 3k.)

I feel he's quite mercurial at times in these days. Unsettled, but he keeps going. He drinks sometimes, gets shit faced. Those days are increasing, really.

Then he meets Elena.

And there is something striking about her. Such a young girl, and he can see it in her eyes that she has seen a lot. Too much. He sees himself in her. And he is protective. He is maybe a little taken aback. Because she seems so much... like an old soul.

And Elena is drawn to him too. She opens up, slowly, slowly, which she doesn't normally. But he is fiery. Like her. And they mostly have the same stances. She doesn't speak of her childhood, and so he doesn't ask. She does mention she had a dad, and though seemingly not for long, she remembers her name from him.

She seeks out his company and it soothes something in him. I feel he's a little more settled? With time? I mean it's hard to pity yourself when there is someone dragging you out to bowl and join soccer clubs, when that someone is a loner too. Even though thinking of Remus' hurts a little more each day, because he feels that Elena and Remus would get along so well. Man she even fights like him.

So when he sees Remus again, it is whiplash of the worst kind. Remus is just there. Because it is Remus and it is not, and he is standing there just staring because this Remus even fights the same. And he sees Elena standing frozen there, and it suddenly hits him that she looks... like Remus.

Except for her eyes and it is like he is watching everything from afar. All he can do try to hold Remus back. Until Neville flies them away.

Because what has his life come to?

Elena is not responding. She is not even looking at him. And Sirius is thinking a thousand miles an hour. I think he'd find out everything he can about whoever this Winter Soldier is.

Before they finally bring R in for questioning I feel S would be overcome with guilty and longing and a lot of painful confusion, really.

And mostly, Sirius is guilt ridden. Remus was in there, with them doing who knows what to him, for 70 years? He never deserved that. Sirius was outwardly rebellious. It was his family helping fund HYDRA. And then there's Elena. Is Elena Remus'? Because how in the world did Remus manage to have a kid while he was trapped in a facility?

There is something really cool about her name. if you look closely.

Outside of his blackouts, Remus solely spoke Russian to everyone around him for 70 years right? So it seems logical that's what he'd speak to elena in that environment, mind controlled half the time etc, before they were separated (she was like. 7) and he'd find it a little difficult to slip into English again, or that's what Elena thinks. So when he demands to meet her first, she storms in, defensive stance (Sirius is standing right outside by the way) but Remus just blinks. Because they said it was Elena Chernova. But it's not. It's Helena Black.

And Sirius just. Dies a little.

Basically. He is spiralling.

So is this, so I'll stop here.

Based on this post. + snippet.

[crimeronan]

I'm rereading Chapter 2 of why did love put a gun in my hand and the bit where Hunter says "It's just his temper, he doesn't mean to do it" is making me so sad. I'm used to thinking of Hunter as the character with the most accurate read on Belos in this AU but even HERE he doesn't seem to realize how calculated the abuse is. 😟😟😟

i went back to remember what the full context for that bit is and ough. god. yeah. it's a gut punch:

hunter is Certainly the character with the most accurate read on how violent and dangerous belos can be. but even so, he can't conceptualize the level to which he's been manipulated....

when belos hurts HIM, that's just fulfilling a mutual contract between them. sometimes belos needs to hurt somebody and he can't help it and he and hunter both know it's best if hunter takes that on, right?? no need for anybody else to be involved. keep it in the family

hunter saying "i know how to talk to him" because talking to belos on luz's behalf has always worked Before, because belos wants it to, because that's the best way to keep hunter loyal...

"he's still the same person he's always been, he doesn't want to hurt you at all" with the implication of "he DOES want to hurt me and always has, but that's all right." boy.......

if hunter had a truly, TRULY accurate understanding of belos, then he would have either run away with luz or smuggled her out of the castle ages ago. because he would understand that he really.... has no control. over the amount of danger that luz is in.

instead he needs the belos situation to be one that's self-contained, as long as hunter keeps playing his role. if he controls the situation then he can keep luz safe. and consequently it's also his fault if luz gets hurt. because hunter is supposed to do Anything to keep her from getting hurt.

that is his Job.

[l0stfoster]

If you told Paul that choosing to mention that he’d turned 21 in passing recently would result in him being yelled at before he could’ve finished his morning coffee, he wouldn’t have believed you.

Not because he was confident that he wouldn’t be able to get himself into hot water that early into the day (parents not included), but because he thought this was a nonissue.

Two-Bit Mathews, apparently, felt otherwise.

Be gentle, this is my first drabble of Outsiders writing /silly Cursed Tulsa AU.