#shattered puzzle extras

[iru-doodles]

AWWWW THANK YOU <3

the bois love the gifts :D

(btw sorry its hard to read but raph is giving misa cookies back <3 thank you again!)

[thevoidisscreamingbackatyou]

WAHOO ITS THEM!! finally finished this lil side project lol- might do more characters in the future, we'll see akdbaksn :D hope yall like!!

[iru-doodles]

:3 hope you have a good timezone!! good luck!!

Dee doesn't have uranium, but he has scrap! here you go!

@tmntseparatedaucompetition

[acid-ixx]

〔00〕 — 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐌 : perfect perception

DIRECTORY: concept, chapter 00, chapter 01

it was always just you, and your family.

just you, your mother, twin brother, and grandfather. the puzzle is complete, there is no need for an extra couple of pieces to add on to your already satiated life. there is no need to work hard, or to endure painful endeavors to attain what you want; not when your family would complete it all for you.

it wasn't like you could, or should, complain, no? you have everything granted to you from when you were born. scarred hands, jagged figure, weary eyes; those aren't necessary for a person like you, who will always be sheltered, in both cozy blankets and loving arms. oblivious to the cruel world and pesting hands that claw on innocent beings like you.

a steady house life, a mother who shielded your innocence from all the bloodshed within the family's ordeals, who read to you fairytales, who had you sleep in her bed when you feared, when you foresaw what you thought were monsters under your bed. instead of inhibiting hatred for an heir who'd flinch at raising hands and the sound of clanging swords, she encouraged your meak demeanor and even spoiled tantrums. she runs her hands across your silky tresses, and kisses your forehead a thousand times if you'd even mention it in a passing moment. she dresses you in jewels, in velvety, silky clothes, and bathes you in toys and gifts you never seem to ask for. your little body sleeps on her chest, and listen the steady beat of her heart, calm and beating, all for you.

you teach her softness, and the joys of being a mother. a concept foreign in her eyes, raised opposite to you. she sees herself in you, and projects what should've been her childhood to her youngest twin child.

you have a twin brother, who, despite being born only a few minutes before you, was significantly older than you, both mentally and spiritually. from the moment he was taken into the world, his duty to take all your pain away and to become your very light was established. and like the warrior he is, he takes that daunting task and transforms it into motivation. he is your knight in shining armor, the prince who catches you when you fall, the one who braves your nightmares, the swordman to your royalty. he trains, all day and night, from such a young age to protect you from unnecessary dangers he understood even his mother fears you'd be subjected to. he does not complain, he does not find reasons to gripe; he takes the scars, the bruises, the punishments and missions all in stride. if it meant seeing you happy and unaware from all the cruelty of living; then so be it. as long as, by the end of the day, he comes back to your shared room to find your tiny form drawing a childish imagery of the little family you love and cherish.

you teach him compassion, vulnerability, and share with him the admiration for arts.

then there is your grandfather. a hardened leader, a monster to all those who serve, but an idol in the eyes of oblivious you. he justifies violence in the wake of achieving his goals, he doesn't tolerate mankind's treatment of nature and its animals, and takes the lives of those who dares oppose. but you are treated differently, like glass that shatters at the softest of hits. his words are sugarcoated and stripped down to the most infantine of comprehension, his eyes are soft every time he kneels to your level to gently request that you return to your room. ra's does not kneel, he does not plead, he does not stoop to those younger than him. but to you, naive and dewy-eyed, akin to a fawn hiding behind a mother's legs, he does. every week, he takes in various experts in the field of teaching to become your mentors in whatever passion you have. he is the foundation of your growth, and he prides himself in that regard.

from him, you learn your love of animals. from you, he learns of weakness, and defeat to such platonic desires.

with your little family, you are happy. you never have to find reasons to complain about food, clothes, or any luxuries their family, akin to royalty, could obtain. you have a family smothering you in affection, attention, to the point where all you have to do is smile at the slightest thing and notice how they melt to your whims.

you were never alone when you didn't want to, you were always guarded, safe, and constantly served.

as you should, as it always should be.

and it was a routine you were used to. you never complained, you never pondered beyond primitive knowledge, you had never desired for more, or wanted less. life was normal despite the strange arrangements with servants always being by your beck and call, or how your brother would always seem to come seeking you after another day of "hard work" your mother doesn't permit you to try, with gashes that litter his tan skin and usually sharp eyes, still fixed with a glare though softened once your arms come to coddle him as a reward.

he finds comfort in your hold. it never once registered within you his ever-growing strength and how his hold on you would always seem to to tighten whenever a potential friend would pass by.

yet you are loved either way, you are cared for. what more is there to ask when you have and always been the singular pearl dripping with grace, poise, and a softness beyond the brutish weapons swung within the training grounds your brother finds himself in.

you are loved by everybody: by your mother, by your brother, by your grandfather, and you're the necessary voice that calls out mercy for whenever a servant would be punished for maintaining a less than satisfactory performance when it comes to serving you. you're the light of reason beyond instictive swings of the sword and the impulsive raise of a voice demanding for battle to settle a deal; biting your lips in disappointment every time your mother attempts to punish a small mistake a servant would do right in front of you.

although certain voices in the hallways find your presence... unsavory, out of place, or they simply pity you; whispers filtering through the kind words everyone else never withdraws from you— nonetheless, they'd have no choice but to obey your childish whims, to smile at you, to be kind and diligent to your emotions.

everything is perfect.

yes, yes it is. an undeniable fact within the factions of your heart. you ignore the subtle strain within your chest, the way the emptiness becomes blatant, and the misunderstood desire for something else... something greater, far beyond the honor of your current family; and replace it with temporary joy.

a joy that softly smiles at the piling gifts, a joy that teaches itself to be good, to be grateful, and to dismiss the ever-changing spotlight you have for your family.

to ignore their hushed whispers whenever your small, eight-year old form with wide eyes, holding a toy between your chest, inquire about what they're discussing with that requires such... strained air and ridged poses.

to ignore their careful words, their gentle hands that pats your hair, that beckons you to come to a different room, and the irritation and bubbling tantrums paired with the heat that wraps your boiling thoughts and clenching hands.

you ignore, and try to neglect that growing ache that insurmountably never passes.

even if you lay in bed every night, unable to sleep, gaining consciousness slowly but surely after another day passes.

you ignore, and dismiss, and it all becomes a cycle that you ought to never break, to never rupture with childish curiosity and the thirst for wisdom.

... because everything is perfect.

everything is perfect. like the candlelight beams of the moon dancing through victorian styled windows, fluttering past the curtains to kiss your resting body every night you lay sleeping on a king-sized mattress, surrounded by soft, cotton plushies and silky, cool blankets as your brother coddles you; your head laying on his chest like routine.

it is perfect like the gardens of flowers all planted with your favorites, an array of colors harmoniously dancing to the sway of traversing winds and bumbling pollinators.

it is perfect like the daily hustle and bustle of your servants, buzzing through wide spans of hallways with their voices mingling through busy air and the wafting scent of a new delicacy your mother ornately chose for you to try.

everything was perfect, until it wasn't.

until the illusion of completeness, of unity and satisfaction were shattered like the bones of your brother's opponents, powderized to mere dust.

until you take notice of the hollow piece in your heart, until your servant mentions a father (a word so foreign, so similar to mother... but different all the same) in mere passing when you two had conversed whilst they were tying your shoes.

at first, you didn't pay a mind, proposing to yourself that you'd ask your mother instead after you've finished your daily assignments.

but then, unlike every other time where you dismissed, ignored and forgot— you began to ponder.

the word, the meaning, its possible etymology and every historical relationship it might've contained; a lesson your brilliant mentor taught you, one that served as a paveway for curious, little you, to investigate.

a trait you're sure nobody really tackled within your family.

if that is so, then where does your stubbornness, your drive to seek answers, come from?

you try to solve the puzzle pieces, ones you thought were never present in your life, your mind wracking through stored memories of a young, prying individual like you; until you came to a conclusion.

does it possibly come from a... father?

father...?

father?

father.

... your brother, too, said the same word.

when he was tired and beat from his training, when all he wanted was a singular hug, whose hands were stained with dripping ichor and knees bruised from hitting upon rocky ground. his emerald eyes were seeking your presence, and you find how his delirious state, itching for calm after another stormy trial of missions, was abnormal; unlike you who flinched at the dizzying scent of blood.

too mature, now you've noticed. a presence that exudes superiority, that takes the lives of those who rebel, that punishes anything less than perfect; that only softens, whose shoulders only sag when he takes in your presence within the same room as him— traits too foreign in the midst of a brother the same age as you.

so when you denied him of oasis, when your young brain was too scared, too worried and all the more wishing for answers on why he always comes back bleeding and injured, rejecting his offer for you to come closer— he all but seethes, and instead sighs; watching your quivering lips and the igniting fight in your eyes, a shaded mixture of your mother's and his.

"you're exactly like what mother told me. stubborn like our father when inconsolable... but i love you too much, akhi/akhti, to care for your lesser."

he muttered under his breath, emerald eyes gleaming under moonlit glow as he looks at you, emotions too miscellaneous beyond the swirling pools of green that always keeps a watch on you.

sometimes, he feels less like a brother and more of a knight. sometimes, you wish to rebel and instead dig deep into what's been happening to your brother these past few years, shaped by experience you never once caught yourself transpiring through. sometimes, you wish he doesn't treat you like a glass ornament.

sometimes, you wish you had a normal family.

as much as his words were sweet, as much as you would've felt warmth at the mere affection and exception he holds you in regard to his heart, even if he takes your body in his arms prior to your previous rejection, all but melting and rocking your body to sleep; a common method he utilizes to make you feel drowsy, and to eventually forget the blood on his sheathed sword and sinful hands once your eyes drift to a close—

you still reflect upon his words even if weeks had already passed by after that incident, even if he must've thought your somnolence was enough to dismiss whatever was the 'grammatical' mistake he'd mumbled that night was a product of fatigue after a long day of work.

... because despite being the perfect family, despite the love and care they foster within your heart; washing off the beating emptiness in your chest was harder than any injuries you've obtained after momentary clumsiness.

at least you knew when those scars were incurred, at least you had people to comfort you through the tears that escaped through your eyes.

but this immaterial emptiness has long since festered within the confines of your caged soul.

it beckons you to choose rebellion, it traps your thumping heart and tightens its hold on it, snaring it in a pit you couldn't crawl yourself out of.

desire drives you further away from delusion, from the foundations of weaved lies and rose-tinted picturesque perfection.

and you began to crave satiation to at least mend the missing puzzle piece in your heart; piece by piece, stitch by stitch.

who is your father? what is a father? why did dami told me i'm like... our father?

as you sit alone in your bed, toys long forgotten, alone with only the cool breeze fluttering by your window to accompany you. the questions begin to grate at your mind, yet all you do is bring your knees closer to your chest, lips dry at the forgone isolation you put yourself through after a cycle of endless thinking.

"momma will be here soon," you mutter to yourself. your voice, meek and highly pitched, young and cradling childish curiosity; it breaks at the seams when your fingers bring itself to touch and wipe away at wet cheeks and tender, aching eyes.

dami was right; you are stubborn like your father.

because even if they try all necessary means to shroud your life in seclusion from reality— you don't easily back out of a losing fight.

even if the tears you shed from the lack of progress were insurmountable, even if you knew you were at a physical disadvantage shall push come to shove where you'd have to fight your dearest brother, even if it means struggling against the invisible shackle your beloved family locked you in.

because your perfect perception of your fucked up family has long since dissipated from the moment your servant and your brother mentioned a foreign word.

a simple word, a small mistake, yet acting as a newer path of life that long since diverged from the only way you knew how to live.

and you still wish to solve the mystery of your forlorn emptiness.

will you give up just so easily? would the tears you shed all become mere depression?

no, not even as you sit in your too-huge bed, with no clue on where or how to start a hopeless journey; too young to plan, too little to fight, too tenderhearted in the views of your family.

even then, your red, rubbed raw eyes seek to look back on your first hint from within the room

a dictionary was sprawled across the opposite end of the bed, thrown haphazardly, opened to a certain page that highlights words closest to 'father'.

you crawl, with sore arms and wobbly legs, to retrieve the heavy, hard-bound and gold-encased dictionary, lounging on your bed with a damaged spine.

your fingers return to traverse multiple pages yet again—

stubborn, impatient and impulsive.

earlier, it came to you in the form of realization that the dictionary your mentor assigned you to read had a missing word cut precisely with a blade and replaced with an unintelligible one.

earlier, you realized just how much your perfect family was only perfect because they've hidden the truth from you.

earlier should've been years ago, earlier should've never been swept off the rug so easily. but what could an eight year old like you do? you've none of damian's talents to quickly learn, you're raised differently. it is only now you wish you weren't so gullible.

and as your fingers strum against pages, near to ripping out expensive paper, tears unceasing, lips bitten 'til bleeding— you learn, and you grow beyond simple comprehension.

motivation, and the drive to uncover all things unsaid, even if the end would result in something negative.

through them, you'll soon learn of spite, of anguish, and bitter contempt.

but for now, you're merely left alone, with only a mantra of words all circling back to dami's words; so many questions left unanswered.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

a/n: honestly don't know half of what i wrote + i don't like this as much as i wanted it to come out. this went through multiple revisions with an added fact of me trying to discern why my writing style keeps fluctuating 😭 guys please comment about what you think of this. if this flops, i'm gonna quit writing LMAO. this is a bit more formal than my usual style (re: again & again) because i wanted to capture the regality of the al ghul's family partly told through the perspective of a child.

taglist: @th0rn118, @obsessedwithromance @rogueofbullshit @ch1cky-093, @kitty-from-daaaa-voidddd, @confused-they @biiibs01, @ghostdoodlen, @earlqurl, @chericia, @herebyaccident0, @ilovemyhusbandnanami, @mintynilla, @lilyalone, @anonymousdisco, @plsfckmedxddy, @maria-figueiredo, @143637-hrrm, @neerathebrightstar, @jsprien213, @realifezompire, @sammytheotakunerd, @sh4rk-k1d, @confused-they, @peptox, @lillian-morningstar.

[yourheart-inmyhands]

YOU HAVE A CAT?! ME TOO?!

She hates me tho :(

---------

Zhongli, Neuvillette and Dottore

With a fox!darling that is always with animals and isn't social at all due to heavy torture in her past and they discover it? 💀

Man I'm in need of some gore rn 💀💀

- Weird anon ✨

i'm so sorry but i just couldn't write neuvillette for this prompt, he's too precious DX

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including being held against will, delusional behaviors, torture, breaking of bones, and other potential topics. Please Read At Your Own Risk!

Yandere!Zhongli sympathizes with you, and since it’s clear that the animals bring you comfort, he allows you to keep a couple when he moves you in with him. He even goes the extra mile and builds a special enclosure so they’ll be just as content as you are, even if you aren’t receptive to his love yet. 

When he finds out about your past, which is inevitable with how overbearing he can be and how good he is at finding out things from the locals, it almost hurts his heart a little. But the more sickening side of him is thrilled because now he knows exactly how to get to you, exactly how to make you his perfect little spouse.

Whether it’s be reintroducing trauma through breaking bones, locking you in a cold, damp room with no lights for hours on end, or even things that border on torture, he’ll use it against you so long as it won’t entirely ruin you. While he wants you compliant to his whims and wishes, he doesn’t want you to be a shell, it would’ve been a waste of his time to break you to that point;

Zhongli would never stop as low as hurting your animal friends, but if need be he could certainly find ways to turn them against you. It’s almost amusing to him, the way you care so much for creatures who you’ll outlive. How you care so much for creatures who don’t even really know you, funny.

The sickening crunch of bone echoes through the room as Zhongli stands over you, the heel of his shoe digging into the freshly crushed bones in your leg. The makeshift gag, a towel from the kitchen, dug into the sides of your mouth as it muffled your screams and cries. The Geo Archon almost feels bad for using his strength in such a brutal manner, but it would all be worth it, at least that was how he justified it to himself. It wasn’t about the now, but rather what now would soon be bringing him. By breaking you down bit by bit, sending you spiraling back into some of the worst moments of your life, he could slowly rebuild your shattered pieces how he saw fit. What use was a puzzle if the pieces weren’t in the correct order, right?

Yandere!Dottore is sick, sick, twisted, and absolutely disgusting. If he wasn’t the cause of your original trauma, you could surely bet he’d be the driving force behind re-traumatizing you. 

Whether he chooses to reenact every step, or to simply do something far worse than what had previously done it all dependent on how he feels that day. Some days will be so similar to your past that you’ll truly feel like you were back there, all those years ago. Other days are so awful it almost makes what happened in your past seem insignificant as if that were a stone among boulders resting on the ocean floor. 

Dottore does think it’s funny though, using it as both amusement and research opportunities. It wasn’t often that animals such as yourself came across his table, so of course he’d taken the prime subject as soon as he’d laid eyes on you.

In his lab, you aren’t seen as anything but a thing that exists only for Dottore’s own gain. If you’re lucky one of his more sympathetic clones might take pity on you and actually give you a day to rest when he’s out of the Palace, but they’re expected to keep up the same treatment he inflicts in his absence.

It was almost sickening to the segments as the watched the fox-human endure soul shaking torture day in and day out. Everything from injections to straight up live surgery to see how much pain the body could take whilst awake had occurred on the cold, steel table. They were often left to clean up the mess, expected to stitch you up, administer antidotes to anything too harmful that had been administered today, and even sometimes bathe you due to the mess that had occurred. You’d been fed little since you arrived, given water only when necessary for your survival, and hadn’t seen sunlight in days- or months maybe? With the sickening way time seemed to pass, you couldn’t tell how long you’d been here. Your only reprieve would be when the doctor left for something more pressing, leaving you in the care of his segments that only sometimes took pity on you. Some seemed to hold a little more humanity than others.

[boredflautist]

quotes that keep me alive

"all the people are fake, they're made out of metal. But I like you, and that is not fake" -young royals

"I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world." -song of achilles

"No one ever says goodbye unless they want to see you again." -turtles all the way down

"I want to be with you. If we have to keep it a secret then... So be it, if thats the only way... But no more secrets between us. I love you" -young royals

"Why does the word 'love' from you hurt me so damn much?" -Only Friends

"I've always thought Ray was my 25th hour, my extra hour. But the truth is, everyone has the same 24 hours in a day. And within Ray's 24 hours, I'm not part of it. I'm not that special." -Only Friends

"If I'm gone, I won't be anyone's burden anymore, right?" -Only Friends

"You were wearing corduroy, acting like a poster boy" -poster boy by Lyn Lapid

"I would recognize you in total darkness, were you mute and I deaf. I would recognize you in another lifetime entirely, in different bodies, different times. And I would love you in all of this, until the very last star in the sky burnt out into oblivion" -song of achilles

"Tell me every terrible thing that you ever did, and let me love you anyway" -edgar allan poe

"The closer I get to you, the worse it gets. The thought of not being with you... I can't breathe. I'm haunted by the kiss that you should never have given me. My heart is beating, hoping that that kiss will not become a scar. You are in my very soul, tormenting me... What can I do? I will do anything that you ask." -anakin skywalker

"If changin' my clothes would make you like me more, if changing my hair would make you care, then I'd grab the kitchen scissors and cut myself to slivers" -jigsaw by conan gray

"'Sorry' doesn't make up for everything you did to me." -heartstopper

"You were my brother Anakin. I loved you." -revenge of the sith

"The truth is what I make it. I could set the world on fire, and call it rain." -red queen

" But isn't it also that on some fundamental level we find it difficult to understand that other people are human beings in the same way that we are? We idolize them as gods or dismiss them as animals." -paper towns

"And then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like 'I love you'" -somethin' stupid by frank sinatra

"Tell me it isn't true. Tell me I'm wrong. Tell me I'm blind. Tell me you love me. " -shatter me

"I do want to be your friend. I want to be the friend you fall hopelessly in love with. The one you take into your arms and into your bed and into the private world you keep trapped in your head. I want to be that kind of friend." -shatter me

"The truth is a painful reminder of why I prefer to live among the lies" -shatter me

"'Don't ask me questions you already know the answers to. Twice I've laid myself bare for you and all it's gotten me was a bullet wound and a broken heart. Don't torture me,' He says, meeting my eyes again. 'It's a cruel thing to do, even to someone like me.'" -shatter me

"Everything's a game, Avery Grambs. The only thing we get to decide in this life is if we play to win." -inheritance games

"The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive." -the last olympian "You think I didn't fight the same fight? I halfway convinced myself that as long as Avery was just a riddle or a puzzle, as long as I was just playing, I'd be fine. Well, joke's on me, because somewhere along the way, I stopped playing." -the Hawthorne legacy

"When you're ready, if you're ever ready, if it's going to be me - just flip that disk. Heads, I kiss you." His voice broke slightly. "Tails, you kiss me. And either way, it means something." -the Hawthorne legacy

"Hell is empty, and all the devils are here" -william shakespeare

"But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all" -10 things I hate about you

"It's just like the novels, side characters end up alone" -footnote by conan gray

"You made us past tense," I said, my voice cracking, "not me." -betting on you

"Because when they write the history of my life, I want it to include you" -red white and royal blue

"My life is the crown, and yours is just politics, and I will not trade one prison for another" -red white and royal blue

"Or maybe it was when I realized the bruises on your neck were fingerprints and wanted to kill them all over again just so I could do it slowly. Maybe it was the first time I recklessly kissed you or when I realized I'm fucked because I can't stop thinking about doing more than just kissing you. Does it even matter when, as long as it changed between us?" -fourth wing

"Oh darling all of the cities lights, never shined as bright as your eyes" -car's outside by james arthur

"I would rather lose this entire war than live without you, and if that means I have to prove myself over and over again, then I'll do it. You gave me your heart and I'm keeping it." -iron flame

"Because pain in the body quiets the pain in your head. It feels good - like a kill switch for your brain" -kill switch

"Then take your punishment like the pathetic creature that you are" -cruel prince

"Most of all, I hate you because I think of you. Often. It's disgusting, and I can't stop." -cruel prince

"If you're the sickness, I suppose you can't also be the cure." -the wicked king

"I hate you. I hate you so much that sometimes I can't think of anything else." -the wicked king

"Yes, my sweet villain, my darling god. I will be as sober as a stone carving, just as soon as I can." -the wicked king

"She is my wife," Cardan says, his voice carrying over the crowd. "The rightful High Queen of Elfhame. And most definitely not in exile." -the queen of nothing

"By you, I am forever undone." -the queen of nothing

"Come home and shout at me. Come home and fight with me. Come home and break my heart, if you just. Just come home." -the queen of nothing

"I wasted all those yesterdays and am completely out of tomorrows" -they both die at the end

"For what it's worth, I doubt I will ever like anyone else in the world as much as I like you." -book lovers

"I'd never thought about my favorite color before. It never seemed important. Not until I looked into a pair of ocean-blue eyes and realized that perhaps drowning was a beautiful thing" -powerless

<3

if you've made it to the end good god please get some sleep

[iru-doodles]

IN ALL HONESTY AUTHOR IS HAPPY STIMMING A LOT RN :3

Shattered Puzzle

By: @thevoidisscreamingbackatyou / @shatteredpuzzlerottmntau

Iteration: 2018

Where You Can Find It: Tumblr

Summary: Draxum and Splinter raised Mikey and eventually Raph. Leo lived on the Hidden City streets until he was 8, when Hueso hired him. And Donnie was raised by Big Mama!

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request the Delico daddies with a s/o who makes toys for the kids?

It was around lunch time when [Y/N] arrived for an unexpected, but not unwelcome, visit to the nursery. Dali was always happy to see them. No matter the circumstances.

He excused himself to go check on their meal, then after Dali came back into the nursery to check on his sons. Of course, [Y/N] was there, looking after them in his stead. Along with a new guest to their little enclave. “Who is this then?”

Raphael looked up from his new, crochet bear at his father. “[Y/N] said they made it for me.”

“They did, did they?”

He looked over to his partner who smiled bashfully. “Well, I had the extra yarn.”

“Of course.” Dali replied knowingly. Touched that they would make something, by hand, for his son. “He will need a name though. What shall we name him?”

“Hmmm…Bernard?”

“I think you mean Bear-nard.” And Dali laughed at his own joke.

“Look Papa look! My doll has a lace dress just like me!”

“Mine has a pretty hat. Papa, can you get a hat like this for me?”

“Eh..?? Didn’t you just get a present Elena?” Henrique reminded his daughter as the girls gushed over their new dolls.

One of the nice things about seeing one of the premier doll makers in the city, was that the girls got all the new doll designs before anyone else. Sometimes Henrique thought they got more out of his relationship than him. But when he looked over at [Y/N], in awe of their beauty and the way they beamed when the girls got so excited over their new creations, he knew that wasn’t true at all.

“I actually designed this hat from one my friend did for her new couture line. Shall I see if she can make you one?”

The girls, of course, squeal for joy. Loud enough to pierce Henrique’s ears. “You’re spoiling them….”

“I know,” [Y/N confessed, “but I can’t help it.”

“I know what you mean.” He agreed, seeing their excited faces. “You girls will have to be extra good until you get your hats though. No funny business from here on out.”

“Ok!” They chime together while fussing with their dolls. Like perfect little dolls themselves.

“I have a gift for Theodore.” Dino arched a brow at [Y/N]’s announcement over tea. “I would like to give it to him after dinner.”

Dino sighed. He cared for [Y/N] but their professional hobby in making children’s toys was just…odd to him. What need did children have for toys when there were perfectly good books around? “Theodore does not need toys. He needs things that will stimulate his mind.”

“I agree. That’s why I made him this.” A small box, seemingly out of nowhere, was then placed on the table. Different woods aligned in an intricate pattern. “It’s a puzzle box.”

‘A puzzle box? Interesting.’ Dino thought as he moved to inspect it.

“The goal is to get all the same shades on the same sides. It’s a manner of mathematics, memory, and dexterity to get it to align properly.” Dino scoffed at [Y/N]’s explanation. How hard could it be? “So, may I give it to him?”

His fingers play with the shape and moving pieces. Getting them to move with ease and slot into their new spaces. “Hmmm…I suppose.” This did seem challenging, and any Classico would thrive on a challenge.

By the time dinner came around Dino and the puzzle box could not be found. Both were locked in his office. His fingers gripping the toy so tight it might shatter. “How do you solve this damn thing?!”

The clock in Gerhard’s office struck 9 o’clock and he put down his evening scotch to get ready for bed.

He felt it was important to get a goodnight sleep. In order to keep a sharp mind and foster good health. A virtue he hoped to instill in his son.

As he walked down the hall, Gerhard heard noises coming from his son’s room. Nothing alarming, but louder than the usual quiet of the house. When he got to the door he opened it, just in time to have a small toy cannonball hit him in the chest. “What’s all this noise?!”

Angelico sunk back into himself, a fretful look on his face as he looked at his father. Not sure what to say. “Don’t blame us.” [Y/N] answered in his stead from their place on the floor. “You’re the one that walked directly into our enemy line of fire. Friendly fire is almost a given at that point.”

Gerhard grumbled at them and looked at the toy soldiers all over the floor. “What is all this?”

“[Y-Y/N] got them for me father.” Angelico answered.

“Yeah. And you’re scuffing up my paint job with those heels.”

He looked down to see he had accidentally stepped on one of the toy soldiers; too distracted by projectiles to notice his mistake. Luckily it wasn’t broken. “Well then, I’ll leave you to it.”

“You could stay you know.” [Y/N] offered. Starting to move the left flank up to their makeshift river. “We could use someone for the rear platoon.”

Gerhard looked at Angelico, who looked up at him so hopefully that his hands nearly trembled. And Gerhard gulped. “Well…just for a little while. Then you have to go to bed. And clean this up.”

His son grinned but nodded eagerly before moving his soldiers as well. Gerhard knelt down next to [Y/N] and moved a couple of pieces in an effort to play as well.

By the clock struck 11 o’clock, the three of them had constructed a navy battle as well out of paper boats, and no one near ready for bed.

[emmyrosee]

Dabi is better as a memory.

He told you from the beginning to never fall in love with him, it was dangerous and too risky for you to do. He’s loved very seldom times in his life, love was a sham and nothing he was willing to provide for anyone, lust being the quick and easy patch for affection he’d occasionally need.

You were broken when he’d found you. He liked it like that. You were quick and snappy and rude to him, but it drove him more and more wild each time you’d bite. He’s a creep, he liked the way you sent him glares and eye rolls at his flirts.

He liked the way you’d finally caved, the way you’d given him plenty of fight rather than submit to his deviously dominant ways, making him work at every little demand you had to keep you satisfied.

But then you fucking did it.

You fell in love with him.

It was a slow slide, he knew it from the subtle ways you’d act from the nonchalance of first meeting; your arms clinging to him a bit more when he tries to leave, setting up an extra plate in case he came in for dinner- he might’ve done it all of twice, but you accidentally let him know you did it all the time.

Then it became him wanting you, craving you, desperate for the way your fingers weave his hair and grip at the root when he’s got you in euphoria. Eager to curl behind you under warm sheets. Rub your sore back and dodging a swift smack when his hands may wander.

But the he moment you’d let him in, take him and his ugly love in every crevasse of your soul, he knew he was in too deep. Dabi knew that emotionally, there was barely room for himself in his rotten heart.

He’s not so criminal to take and corrupt yours.

You’re good. You’re too good. You’re so good it hurts him, so good he can’t stand coming over some nights, so good that you could have any person with a pulse who you wanted, yet you chose for the absolute ugliest the world had to offer.

He can’t do that to you. He feels the way you try to cling to him for warmth when he first comes in. He knows you hate saying no to your friends invitations to hang out when he’s over- they never liked him, but to be honest, he wouldn’t spit on any of them if they were on fire, either- but it always meant you were missing out. The way you patch up his wounds and scars at ungodly hours of the night, it’s not worth it.  He sees the way you look at him after a fight, eyes swelling with tears he had no right to conjure onto you, and the way you creep towards him in a desperate plea for forgiveness you never had to beg for- even if he made you.

For a man with nothing to lose, except for you.

You’ve had enough of his lonely love, even if you don’t know it yet.

Even if it’s the hardest thing Todoroki Touya is going to do, he needs to leave you as heartless and loveless as Dabi could.

He needs to leave you. Shatter your heart into tiny pieces where you hate the mere reminder of him, where someone new can take the patience you deserve to puzzle the shards back together.

It has to hurt you. Nothing less than the worst to make you hate him more than he hates himself. 

The light from your alarm clock is dark, but he can just barely make out the red lights of 03:24; a little later than he wanted, but you were so warm, so comfortable he didn’t want to wake you up.

You toss an arm over his torso, and he cringes because he knows it’s the last damn time. Your cheek nuzzles into the scarred skin of his chest, and even if he knows he shouldn’t, slender fingers gently stroke the warm skin of your shoulder. 

You’re so fucking perfect when you sleep, your mind and body restoring the heartbreaks of the day.

He sniffs the air for courage. He blinks up at the ceiling he’s already killed countless spiders off of, the dark remains dried on the plaster. Your blankets never felt heavier, weighing him down and drowning him like rocks tied to his ankles.

All the while, next to him, you grunt in your sleep, resting easy.

He looks at the clock, brows furrowing in frustration as he’s already spent three minutes doing nothing.

Fuck. It’s time.

Before he changes his mind like a fool.

His head pounds as he takes the agonizingly slow sit up, the darkness of your room just barely mapping out a path he can take to sneak out the fastest. His arm slips out from under your head, and he lets out a tight breath when you roll onto your stomach.

With a soft sigh of relief and a nuzzle of your hair, he pulls the blankets higher on your shoulder so you keep warm, his rough hands smoothing down your back to soothe you into an impossibly deeper sleep. You smell sweet, you always do. Dabi prays to whatever entity to at least allow him to keep the memory of your addictive aroma in his mind.

He balls his hands into fists and stands up with haste, grabbing his jacket and trying his hardest to tiptoe silently out of the bedroom.

A floorboard creaks. The gods clearly don’t want this to be an easy task.

“Touya?” You whimper, and he winces at the familiar name that passes your sleepy lips.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Whe’ ya goin’?” You ask, voice still drunk with sleep and warm against the cold air, and he furrows his brows and snarls internally at the knowledge that you know he’s leaving for somewhere.

He wanted this to be a simple band-aid rip, a quick flurry of anger and tears, before succumbing to your scorn for his mere soul.

“Goin’ to piss,” he lies, shuffling back over to the bed to plant a kiss to your temple. “Go back to sleep.” He hears you hum happily, and you curl deeper into the pillows. He grits his teeth, fingernails biting into his palms as he lets out the quietest and most genuine “I love you,” he can muster. It’s not something he says often, but he may as well say it before he leaves your life for good.

“I love you, too,” you murmur back. You don’t ask or tease him about the random confession, nor do you seem to question it, and he decides to use that to his advantage. He takes one more long, selfish inhale of your addicting scent before working up the courage to push up and off the bed, long fingers scooping his coat once again before tiptoeing down the hallway.

Trembling fingers find the small amount of stationary next to your fridge, and he scribes a small little note so you can have the smallest bit of closure. He hates doing this at all, but it’s for the best.

Keys in the mailbox. Didn’t want someone comin in to steal you.

Im sorry. But you’ll be happier.

TT.

He tries not to imagine the way you’ll crumple to the floor and cry. He tries not to imagine the way you’ll spend days pleading, asking yourself what you did wrong when he knows it’s all his fucking fault. He doesn’t want to think of how you’ll now put every guy who wants you against him; he knows you’ll always put him on the highest tier.

He’s done so much already.

His shoes lay long discarded by the door, and he gnaws at his lip when he toes them on. He heart aches for you, the life you could’ve had, and he can only pray to whatever will listen that you can go back on the path you were supposed to take before he crashed into your life.

Until then?

He hopes you can despise him for doing this to you half as much as he does, himself.

He toes on his shoes. Takes one more longing look up the stairs. He shrugs on his coat and takes the spare key to lock up. 

He walks down the driveway that you’ve run down to greet him so many times. He places the key in the mailbox he helped fix when little rat-ass kids hit it on their bikes. He takes another look up into the window the peers into your room where in a few hours, you’re going to sob and shake and plead and scream and ask the air why he’s gone and if he ever even cared, where you’re going to call him the most obscene names and taint every single memory you share with your heartbreak.

He soaks it in.

And then he walks down the street.

And he doesn’t look back to see the light in your room suddenly flick on.

-

@reverie-starlight IM NOT SAYING I RLLY WANT YOU TO READ THIS FOR ME BUT-

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

The Last Breath

Warnings : dead dove do not eat, descriptions of drowning, reader is suicidal, depression. No death, light at the end of the tunnel

Not proofread. Experimenting.

Pairing : Geto x reader, Nanami mentioned indirectly.

It felt like everyone was moving on except you. Like you were frozen in time, frozen, like a dragonfly in the amber of his eyes.

You hadn't said anything as he explained gently, always gently, because he was never an unkind man, that he had fallen out of love with you. How compassionately he spoke to you, like he had still cared, saying he would look out for you, that you would be a part of his life no matter what.

And all you could do is sit there, staring at him, looking at the face you loved so dearly, still loved, in fact, and feeling your whole being shatter and collapse when you realized he wasn't looking at you the same way. There was gentleness there, born from the familiarity of being together. But the spark was gone.

What else could you do but ask why. Beg him not to leave, because honestly, what would you do without him? All these years together, you learning how he takes his coffee in the morning, tying his tie before he left for work, leaning against him as you watched TV together in the evenings. He has no answer. He loves you but is not in love with you.

He says he'll move out, you're the one who found this place after all, so many years ago when you had been looking for a place to live together. And just like that he erased himself from your life. The bed was so cold and empty. Sometimes you'd desperately grab his pillow, smell deeply, remnants of his cologne, his shampoo vaguely lingering on the fabric. What were you supposed to do? Lost, like an extra puzzle piece that didn't fit anywhere.

As he moved on, you pretended, drawing a veil over yourself, fooling everyone. Then one day he announced he's getting married.

Married.

He had found happiness. And you… Were wasting away over him, suffocating, drowning, dying, like someone had opened you up and pulled out your organs one by one.

You're not sure how you ended up at the bridge. But looking down into the cold, chilly depths, you felt nothing. In this world, where you belonged to nobody, what else was left to do? You were the problem. Different, misfit, outcast, undesirable, unwanted, rejected.

There's relief when you jump and feel nothing under your feet. Your body hits the water, and you offer no struggle, no resistance. They said most people feel regret after they jump but you didn't. There was nothing left for you. You plunge, deeper and deeper, the freezing water entering your nostrils, filling your lungs and it was searing agony but at the same time you knew it would end soon.

All you remember is the blond of his hair, the richness of his laugh, and feel yourself losing consciousness. Not a bad way to go. Comfortably numb, you sink into oblivion, feeling more peaceful than you'd ever been these last few years. The chill was a part of you now, almost welcoming, the closest thing to a lover's embrace you'd experienced in a while.

“Holy shit. No. Cmon. No. Don't die.”

Was there someone under the water with you?

“I've got you. Oh fuck please no.”

Something was wrong. The atmosphere was getting warmer instead of colder. You were heading for darkness and somehow there was light now. Had it happened? Was this the light everyone spoke about?

You're laid out on something firm and wet. Hands press down rigorously on your chest. You feel frantic lips on yours, blowing air back into your waterlogged lungs.

“Breathe damn it. No you can't die.”

The male voice sounded vaguely familiar but you hadn't heard it in years and struggle to place it. More rapid thrusts on your chest followed by the lips again and this time, as though a magnetic force had awakened in you, your soul retracts back into the body, eyes flying open as you retch and cough, water making it's way from your body to the outside.

A sigh of relief, and you hear someone collapse into a heap on next to you, gripping your body and rolling you to the side to help you vomit.

Weakly, you suck in a breath, wondering how on earth you were alive then finally catch a glimpse at your rescuer’s face.

You couldn't believe what you were seeing at first. Was it an illusion? Maybe you really were dead. Otherwise how could this be the reality?

“Geto?” you manage to rasp.

He looks at you, the panic on his face lessening slightly.

“Yeah. What the fuck were you trying to do?”

[iru-doodles]

HOLY STARS WHAT NOW

oh my stars i am in SHOCK TYSM FKABFKWVFOBWLCBWKFBWKD

THANK YOU SO SO MUCH YOUR ART IS SO GOOD SO TO GET 3RD PLACE???? I AM DYING SCREAMING HAPPY STIMMING SM

THANK YOU

CONGRATS EVERYONE ELSE BTW!!!! i will now be spending the next hour scrolling through all this amazing art fjsbdksbd /gen

ALSO THE ROYAL AND STAR AWARD ARTS???? GORGEOUS IM IN LOVE

ALSO ALSO ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY ZEE!!!!!!!!!!! SENDING U MANY WISHES AND CAKE :D

@shatteredpuzzlerottmntau @rottmnt-brainrot-hours @zenomorph-racoom @mintghostko @sariphantom @bellaizumi13 @queko @galaxitix @nickelodeon (we want more RISE of the TMNT!) @netflix

WINNERS FOR THE #DRESSATELLO DTIY CONTEST! LET’S GO!

.

.

To our grand prize winner! Private message me what you would like for me to draw!

[iru-doodles]

so uh *cough* i actually did Not plan to do this but here it is!

i have never done a dtiys in my life please forgive me

@rise-april-art-challenge hope u like it <3 i love ur comic and art and tysm for doing everything u do to help rise!!!!!!

@nickelodeon Hello! Please consider making a Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles season 3; there's a huge fanbase and I've loved interacting with everyone in it :) We'd all love to see a third season! Thank you!

[fanfoolishness]

When You Wake

Written for the @summer-of-bad-batch prompts "Hold still" and "Don't avoid the question."

Hunter wonders what he will tell Omega after she wakes up from her injuries. Set during Plan 99. Angst, grief, overall sads. ~1895 words.

---

“Please, CT-9901. Hold still,” AZI said. Hunter knew the medical droid’s voice was meant to be soothing, but the words were like shattered transparisteel, tearing at his ears.

Hunter took a deep breath. Tried to listen to the droid. But his eyes kept darting to where Omega lay huddled limply on the bed, still unconscious. Wrecker sat at her bedside, trying to remain strong for her. But the brace around his neck, the slump of his shoulders, the raggedness of the rise and fall of his chest all showed he was barely doing better than she was. 

“Why won’t she wake up?” Hunter asked in a hoarse voice as the droid continued placing a sturdy wrap around his chest.

“She will,” AZI said. “You must give her time. She experienced a concussion and pulmonary contusions. She will recover, but even with my care recovery is not instantaneous. All of your injuries are serious, and will take time to mend.”

Hunter bit his lip as the droid finished wrapping his chest. Between the extra support and the medication the droid had already given him, the pain was finally receding. 

The physical pain, anyway.

Don’t think about him. Don’t think about the fall. Don’t --

“Am I good?” Hunter muttered.

“Yes, CT-9901. You will make a full recovery with appropriate rest. Would you like me to stay in here and continue monitoring Omega, or --”

“Go. Please.”

Hunter exhaled heavily. The droid had saved them; Hunter didn’t know what would have happened to Omega or Wrecker without AZI’s work, but Hunter couldn’t stand looking at him and his cheerful demeanor a moment longer. 

“I will be waiting in the bar, should anything in her condition change.” The droid hovered out of sight, his servos buzzing and grating. Everything felt too loud right now, too sharp, too much.

Hunter stiffly got to his feet, resting a hand briefly on Wrecker’s back for support. Together they looked down at Omega, neither of them able to speak.

Hunter shuddered, remembering the sight and smell of her little cap, soaked through with blood. Luckily AZI had been able to stitch the wound in her scalp and clean her hair, though Hunter could still pick up a faint whiff of dried blood in the thick, close air of the back room. 

How could she look so calm right now, like nothing had happened?

When everything had happened?

Wrecker painstakingly stood up, face twisting with effort. “Here. You -- you should sit with her. I’ll go.”

Hunter looked into his brother’s face, seeing puffy, reddened eyes. “But what do I say to her? When she wakes up?”

Wrecker shook his head, tears threatening again. “I don’t know. I can’t -- don’t -- don’t make me.” He grimaced, looking past Hunter as if seeing something far away. “She won’t wanna see me. I could’ve stopped him, Hunter -- I could’ve saved --”

Wrecker, get him up here!

Hunter reached out a trembling hand. Laid it on Wrecker’s shoulder. Shook his head. “No you couldn’t,” he said, voice dull and empty. “And neither could I.”

---

They’d talked about it once, days before their first mission.

Tech glowed. He scribbled his thoughts on the walls, plans a dozen times over, a manic burst of ideas. There were plans where Hunter infiltrated, where Wrecker smashed or exploded, where Tech used the Seppies’ own droids against them, where Crosshair set off a chain reaction with his mirrors. They strategized long into the night, nearly giddy with making up more plans: some of them insane, some of them just good clean fun blowing up clankers. 

Until Crosshair swiped Tech’s datapad five hours past lights out, scrolling down idly and then looking puzzled. “You haven’t gone over this one. What’s Plan 99? There’s no details, nothing else, just the number.” 

Tech grabbed it back. “Ah. It’s -- it’s nothing.”

“Tech, it’s always something with you,” said Hunter. 

“Yeah. Don’t avoid the question,” Wrecker said, yawning. “Unless Plan 99’s going to bed an’ getting some shut-eye. These plans are fun, Tech, but I’m never gonna remember ‘em all.”

Tech frowned. “Very well. You recall 99, our fellow defective clone.”

“Old 99,” Wrecker said, his eyes going soft. “He was a hero.”

“He showed those regs a thing or two,” Crosshair said, nodding respectfully. “But what’s he got to do with our plans? He’s been gone a long time.”

Hunter sighed. “I think I know what it means.” He gave Tech a long look. “Self-sacrifice, is it?”

Tech nodded. “We are soldiers and clones. Statistically speaking, it is highly unlikely that we will die of old age. I had thought that discussing it now might bring down the mood, so to speak, so I had not mentioned it before.” He looked around at them, the smiles from a few minutes ago all faded. “I see I was correct.”

“You all can be emotional about it if you want,” Crosshair scoffed. “But I wouldn’t miss any of you.”

“Bantha shit,” Wrecker said, punching Crosshair in the shoulder. Crosshair winced, rubbing his shoulder hard and scowling. “You’d miss me the most, and you know it!”

“That is irrelevant, if the mission requires it,” Tech said. “As it well may, in service of the greater good.”

“Look, Tech, don’t tell me the odds,” Hunter said. “Let’s just do our best to get through the war. This squad is something special. The regs might call it being defective, but I call it being better. That’s how we’re gonna get through this war -- being better together. So that means Plan 99 should only be the ultimate last resort. Understood?”

“Understood,” Wrecker and Crosshair said.

“Of course,” Tech agreed, blinking and adjusting his goggles. “I have no desire to implement Plan 99. It is only that it is a possibility that must be considered.”

---

A possibility.

An eventuality.

Hunter sat in the chair, his skin crawling, his mind blank hissing static.

Omega still lay unconscious, her heartbeat pulsing faintly, a soft rhythm he could sense beneath her gentle exhalations. The rhythm was slightly off from what he had attuned himself to on countless nights on the Marauder, its pattern disturbed by injury. But AZI had said she would be waking up, and soon.

What could Hunter possibly say to her?

He sat there, desperately hoping she would wake up and be all right, desperately hoping she would stay asleep. If she kept sleeping, he wouldn’t have to see her face when she woke up and realized Tech was gone.

She breathed in. Breathed out. He reached out, gently brushing a lock of hair back from her cheek. His hand froze, and he pulled it back.

He closed his eyes, but then there was Tech’s voice in his mind, resolute, determined, resigned. When have we ever followed orders? 

He couldn’t dwell on that. Couldn’t listen to it again. He reached out, opening his senses, desperately seeking distraction. Anything to keep the memory from playing back again and again. His leg twitched, jittering up and down as he opened his senses as fully as he could.

The room air pressed in on him, warm and stuffy and suffocating. A bead of sweat dripped down his cheek, having slipped past his bandanna. The whine of Cid’s neon lights in the next room buzzed and prickled in his ears. He took a deep breath of the warm air, pulling in the smell of stale alcohol, crumbs of Mantell mix ground into the floorboards, hints of blood and sweat and body odor of a dozen different species. 

The floor in the hallway creaked, the sound consistent with someone stopping at the door and looking inside the room. Hunter didn’t bother turning around to see who it was. He knew it was Cid, between the pattern of the footfalls, the pitch of the creaking, the metallic scents of Trandoshan pheromones. His nose twitched, picking up a difference in Cid’s scent. Something was off with her pheromones, but he didn’t know enough about her species to guess what it meant. Maybe it was worry for the kid. Maybe it was regret. Maybe she was just hungry. 

He didn’t know, didn’t care. The slow heavy footsteps started up again, kept going down the hall.

His hand slid to his gauntlet, unsheathing his blade. Twirling the blade had become a habit long ago, as unconscious and automatic as Crosshair chewing his toothpicks or Tech scrolling his datapad. He hesitated, the blade’s weight and heft wholly familiar in his hand, and yet something seemed off. 

He twirled it lazily. No, nothing was wrong with the knife. He picked up the rhythm, blade spinning dangerously between his fingers -- 

Kriff. The blade clattered to the floor, narrowly avoiding slicing through his glove. It rattled him, looking down at it laying between his feet. 

Nothing was wrong with the blade. It was wrong with him.

Hunter picked up the blade, shoving it roughly back into his gauntlet. What was he doing? Stupid distractions when he should be thinking about Omega. About what he could possibly say to her.

I’m sorry, kid. We couldn’t save him. Nobody could. (But what if Wrecker had been able to get him up in time? What if we’d been faster getting out? What if we’d waited for backup?)

I’m sorry, Omega. Tech knew it was the only way.  (Did he? He was a genius. He should have figured something else out! How could he have fucked up like this? How could he leave us like this?)

I’m sorry I failed him. And you. And Crosshair. (Crosshair should’ve come with us, should’ve left the Empire when he had the chance. Then we would’ve never gone to Eriadu. This is his damn fault, all of it!)

I’m sorry I wasn’t a better leader. I’m so sorry, kid. 

(It’s on me. All of it. All of it.)

The pain roared within him, but it wasn’t the pain of broken ribs and torn muscles. It went deeper than that, dug itself deep into the very heart of him, emptied him out of everything but guilt and loss and disbelief. It took his breath away. He wrapped his arms around his injured chest, fingers digging into his sides, squeezing hard enough that the physical pain broke through again. He threw himself into it, drowned himself in the way his body jangled and ached.

He panted, grimacing. This he could deal with. This he could live with. But the emptiness, the awful truth that Tech was gone -- how was he supposed to live with that? How was he supposed to help Omega through it?

Hunter slumped forward, releasing his grip, taking a deep, jagged breath. His head swam.

He didn’t know how to do it.

He was going to do it anyway.

Hunter swallowed, nodding, and sat up despite the way his body protested. He watched Omega resting, her young face forgetful for just a little while longer.

He’d be there for her, no matter what. His resolve hardened, and he thought of sunny days on Pabu, the sound of waves on the beach, a town of people who did not practice war. He thought of childhood, something none of them had ever known. 

He hadn’t been able to save Crosshair from himself or the Empire.

He hadn’t been able to save Tech.

He’d save Omega if it killed him.

“I’m gonna keep you safe, kid,” Hunter whispered. “I promise.”

[mayashesfly]

Never Again

Vox hadn't returned.

He has yet to have gotten a word from that noisy picture box ever he since....

There was a tense atmosphere in the Entertainment District despite how everything seemed fine. The broadcasts was still there but Vox wasn't.

Where's Vox?

Didn't he tell him that he could've escaped?

Where's Vox?

The other residents avoided the Radio Demon as he paced around the place, no amount of twirling his cane around removed this incessant need to do something. Anything.

But do what?

Vox is missing.

He's gone he's gone he's gone he's goNE HE'S GONE HE'S GONE HE'S GONE—

Vox is missing.

He hadn't returned.

Surely, he was fine.

He was capable and smart as much as Alastor loathes to admit it.

Surely he wouldn't have fallen by the hands of those– those— little cretins.

The electricity in the air was wavering as his magic sputters out completely. Vox was taking in too much electricity than his body could handle. Frying his body to the limit as he fends off their attackers.

He hates how powerless he is.

Feeling the wavering ambient static in the air, the unspoken distress between the two of them as Alastor could only stare, gripping the pathetic replacement of his actual cane in his hands.

"I–" Vox's screen blacks out for a moment before returning to normal. "I think that should be the last of them"

His screen was dangerously dim when Alastor practically drags him away to a safer spot despite the tingling sensation under his skin from the contact.

"No more time for dilly dallying, picture box. We have to go"

His voice was clipped as interference screeched in the air. Vox's breath shuddering as he allows himself to be dragged away.

Both of their minds ran miles a minute as they try to puzzle out the best place to go in this dizzying bright place. Alastor's ability to meld into his shadows was one of the things he could still rely on despite his current limited capabilities, yet those stupid little weaklings were smart enough to ensure the entire place stayed completely illuminated.

The light wasn't even coming from electricity! No, they even went the extra mile to get light crystals from the other Rings instead.

If they were, Vox would've already shattered the damned things and Alastor would've fully reigned destruction on those little idiots thinking they can take down THE Radio Demon.

It still puzzled Alastor. How easily Vox could've escaped whenever he wanted. At least— at the start.

He was able to jump into the electronic locks preventing them from proceeding before he opened them up for Alastor so he could pass through. There were also countless of cameras, even if they weren't Voxtek, that Vox could've traveled through in insane distances.

Yet he stayed.

For him

Alastor swallowed the lump in his throat as the taste of iron floods his mouth.

Their pursuers had wisened up when they realized the Media Demon was helping out the Radio Demon. Self destructing the cameras they had used while completely cutting out the electricity in the area so Vox couldn't absorb even more.

It made it even more difficult for Vox to jump into those annoying electronic locks to open them up for them.

And now he....

The first time he left, he did it for himself.

The feelings and revelations that propped up because of Vox's confession had overwhelmed him.

And he couldn't bare processing them so he ran away.

The second, he left because he was injured. Vox had done a number on him even when he laid there broken and in pieces.

It had shocked him when that annoying little moth had joined in. Antenna being nicked by his tentacles as he tried to end this once and for all.

Before he felt the burn of the chain around his neck.

Again and again, it seemed like he left for himself or another reason whatsoever.

But never once has he left for Vox.

And this time he may never again.

[iru-doodles]

i hope this works idk how this works please

let the sep!boys fight!

not expecting much lol, i'm a very smol sep!au- but good luck to everyone who enters!!!!!!! :3

if we do make it in, there will be bribes every round btw. i love my children enough to do it <3

WELCOME TO THE TMNT SEPARATED AU COMPETITION

Or the TMNT Sep AU Comp

Let the separated boys fight. Any iteration is welcome and so are crossovers as long as one turtle is raised separately from the others. If the creator does not wish to be included, put in an ask you will be removed!

Submissions Open!

GO WILD!!!

inspired by all of the tmnt polls going on like @tmntaucompetition @rottmntpeepawpolls @tmnt-crossover-polls @whatinthefuckingninjaturtles and plenty more

[higanbana-writer]

Wavering Gaze

Pairing: Kyōjurō x Gn!Upper Moon!Reader Prompt: [Soulmate AU where one of your eyes is the same color as your soulmate’s.] Kyōjurō has finally met his soulmate. But what was he supposed to do when you're an Upper Moon and he, a Hashira? C/N: Just Shinjurō being an ass during his brief screentime. A/N: Hoo boy. I was originally going to just make this a two part series, but I got a bit carried away and the 'second' part ended up being waaaay too long. So, three parts it is! Part: 1, 2, 3 (coming soon)

“Follow your heart, Kyōjurō.”

Those had been his mother’s last words to him and Kyōjurō knew that she’d been referring to his soulmate. How could he not? Though he had been but a mere child then, he could still notice all the grief his mismatched eyes caused his parents – namely his father. He saw how often Shinjurō would cast subtle glances at the eyepatch that hid his soulmate’s eye from the world. A conflicted expression would always rest upon his face whenever he did so, although Kyōjurō could never tell what exactly lay behind it. And he noticed it, how often his father would remind him more than he did with Senjurō, that demons were the enemy who preyed on the innocent and deserved no mercy. But he didn’t mind the extra reminders, always wholeheartedly agreeing with him.  

So, why had his mother left him with those final words? He’d always clearly expressed that he had every intention of following in his father’s footsteps to become the next Flame Hashira, and in doing so, rejected the very notion of his soulmate. Every time he picked up his practice sword to train, with the sole goal of being able to protect the weak, he was following his heart. Not once had he wavered over what he should be doing. So…why? He had puzzled over her words for the longest times.

He never harbored any grievances towards the fact that his soulmate was an Upper Moon. Sure, hiding his eye all the time was a bit tiring and troublesome, but it wasn’t your fault. After all, it hadn’t been as if you’d specifically picked him to be your soulmate. And it weren’t as if you had caused him or his family any harm. He had absolutely no reason to hold any personal grudges against you.

As a matter of fact, even though he’d see your eye reflected back at him on the occasions that he’d take off his eyepatch and gaze into the mirror, he always felt a strange sort of detachment. To him, you were simply a demon whom had taken many lives and needed to be killed for the future safety of many others. Perhaps your eternal life would be ended by a demon slayer before the two of you would ever meet, or perhaps Kyōjurō himself would be the one to end you. Soulmate or not, it was his duty to protect all the precious human lives out there from the likes of your kind.

At least, that’s what he’d told himself throughout his entire life. And yet, as you stood there before him, hesitant but captivating smile on your lips, all of that shattered into tiny pieces.

Kyōjurō had wondered from time to time about what you would look like, but never did he expect you to be so enchanting. Everything about you was perfect. Were you truly a demon? It seemed more fitting to call you a celestial being.

He stared at you with a wide eye, the right words to say completely eluding him. Then, all of a sudden, an intense heat flashed through his left eye. Though it was an extremely strange sensation, it was far from unpleasant. Still, he brought his hand up to his eyepatch out of reflex and you, almost simultaneously, did the same while lowering your head.

When you looked back up at him a few seconds later, hand dropping away from your face, he inhaled sharply at what he saw. Your eyes, which had appeared as those of a human mere moments ago, had now reverted back to their original demonic look, unnaturally vibrant with kanji etched across them. It felt so odd, seeing the eye that had been his since birth returned back to its rightful owner. However, the thing that shocked him most was the rank displayed on your right eye.

Three?!

Out of all the Upper Moons, his soulmate had to be rank three. That meant that as of the current moment, he had the fourth strongest demon in the entire country standing right in front of him.

“Is…Is something wrong…?” You hesitantly asked, not seeming to realize what had happened, but certainly noticing the way he was looking at you.

“Your eyes are, uh…” Still reeling from the shock, Kyōjurō wasn’t quite sure what to say. He tapped a finger against his eyepatch, “I can see your rank.”

Panic flitted over your face at his words and you immediately turned your face away. The next time you look at him, your eyes were back to their human appearance. The two of you stared at each other in silence, each trying to guess the other’s thoughts and waiting for them to speak first. Well, this was turning out to be one very awkward first meeting between soulmates.

“I, err… I apologize that you had to see that?” You ended up being the one to speak first, though you sounded completely uncertain about your own words.

Were you really Upper Moon Three? Were you really a demon that had killed numerous people? Your entire demeanor seemed so… So human-like. Looking at you, all he saw was someone elated at finally meeting their soulmate, someone who wanted to create a good impression and yet was nervous about making a blunder, someone who feared that their soulmate would reject them. All of those were emotions Kyōjurō would attribute to a human, not a demon. He couldn’t even sense a hint of malice from you.

But the memory of the kanji engraved across your eyes flashed through his mind, proving to be a harsh reminder that he couldn’t afford to let his guard down around you. Though he intended to question you about your motives behind acting so docile, he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so when he saw your hopeful expression. Quietly clearing his throat, Kyōjurō gave you the brightest smile he could muster. “Come on now, you shouldn’t be apologizing during our first meeting! Besides, you have absolutely no reason to do so in the first place, especially since it was effect of our soulmate bond.”

Your face lit up at his positive response and in that moment, his heart melted. He watched as your gaze then drifted past him, trained on a large, noisy group of people passing by. Your eyes narrowed ever so slightly in annoyance and though he found that simple action to be strangely alluring, he couldn’t help but feel alarmed for their safety. You were a demon after all. Who knew what you were capable of? His hand tensed, ready to draw his katana if needed.

Much to his relief, however, you eventually looked back at him and suggested, “Shall we go to some place quieter, er…?” Trailing off, you tilted your head with a questioning gaze.

It was then that he realized he had yet to give you his name, and you yours. “Ah, I am Kyōjurō Rengoku, the Flame Hashira.” He gave a slight bow as he introduced himself, not missing the way your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Since he knew what rank you were as an Upper Moon, he thought it fair to let you be aware of his position in the Demon Slayer Corps. And if this piece of information changed the way you viewed him – such as being a threat that needed to be eradicated immediately, soulmate bond be damned – then it would be better to get it out in the open now, rather than later.

After a moment, you simply mirrored his bow and said, “It’s such a delight to finally meet you, Kyōjurō. You can call me [Name]. As you might have noticed earlier, I'm Upper Moon Three.”

No surname, he noted. Then again, none of the demons he had encountered before seemed to have one either.

“Well then, [Name]. Shall we?” Kyōjurō extended his hand towards you and upon seeing your puzzled expression, added, “Since it’s very crowded around here, we should try to avoid losing each other.” If neither of you intended to kill each other at that moment, then it would only be proper to behave as a gentleman towards his soulmate.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with that, then…”

As he began to withdraw his hand, you hurriedly grabbed it. “No no! It’s a good idea.” Your skin felt cool against his own and though you seemed slightly flustered by his sudden suggestion, you also appeared quite thrilled.

Thus, the two of you set off through the heart of the city, remaining hand-in-hand while scouring for a decent place to rest and talk at. Eventually coming upon a teashop with few costumers – which you had pointed out – it was settled between you both to go there.

So there he was, sitting across the table from you with a cup of tea in his hands. You had gotten one for yourself too – much to Kyōjurō’s surprise, as he thought demons were unable to consume human food or drinks. However, whenever you brought your cup up to your mouth, you simply wetted your lips instead of actually drinking the tea. Was this your way of trying to be considerate and make him feel more at ease? Well, he was probably getting ahead of himself, but it certainly made for an unexpected and rather heartwarming thought.

Neither of you spoke for a while, simply taking in each other’s appearance. And then, with your gaze lingering on his uniform, you asked, “Were you in the middle of working?”

Kyōjurō shook his head, taking a sip of tea before replying, “I had actually just finished a mission before we met.”

“Ah, I see…” You pursed your lips, not sure of how else to respond. It must have felt odd for you, hearing a demon slayer – and a Hashira, no less – talk about killing your brethren through a calm conversation over tea. Shifting uncomfortably, you then brought up your next question. “Do you intend to fight me?”

He raised an eyebrow, finding your choice of words interesting. Do you intend to fight me, instead of, do you intend to kill me. Were you implying that you believed yourself to be much stronger than him, therefore there was absolutely no chance that he would be able to kill you? Well, he may have been a mere human, but he was by no means weak.

Although his answer should have been an instant ‘Of course!’, he instead shook his head once more, gripping his cup tightly as he answered, “…Not for now, no.”

Guilt had begun to grip his heart before he’d even finished his sentence. Just saying those four words were like a betrayal to everyone he knew: his mother, father, brother, master, fellow Hashiras, the rest of the Demon Slayer Corps, as well as all of its fallen members. And more importantly, by not killing you the very instant he'd met you, he had turned his back on his position as a Hashira and condemned innocent people to die by your hands in the future. Kyōjurō knew all of this and yet, somehow, for some reason unknown to himself, he couldn’t quite bring himself to kill you.

Clenching his jaw, he didn’t realize just how much strength he’d been putting into holding his cup until it shattered, hot tea spilling over his hands. You gasped, immediately reaching over the table and using your sleeves to wipe the liquid off his skin.

“They’re red.” With a concerned tone and a knitted brow, you carefully took his hands into your own and examined them. “It looks like you didn’t cut yourself, so that’s good.”

When a server hurried over to see what the noise had been about, you requested for some cool water and a clean cloth so that he could soothe his hands. Kyōjurō had tried to protest, saying that it wasn’t a big deal and he felt fine, but you stubbornly insisted.

“Humans are such fragile creatures. You have to take care of yourself or you won’t know what will happen.” You huffed, almost sounding like a nagging spouse. As Kyōjurō let out a small chuckle, you wetted the cloth the server had brought and began gently dabbing it over his reddened skin.

“Please have some faith in me, [Name]. I’m sturdier than you think.”

With a light laugh, you playfully teased, “Right, tell me that after the next time we’re able to have tea without you burning yourself.”

Kyōjurō exchanged an amused smile with you, the mood now more relaxed and lighthearted than before. The two of you continued to chat and though touching on various topics, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the both of you to refrain from bringing up any subjects on the conflict between humans and demons. Time passed quickly and before either of you knew it, dawn was rapidly approaching.

Glancing out the shop’s window, the grin you wore from his joke mere seconds ago began to fade.  “…I should probably get going now.”

Kyōjurō looked out as well and when he saw the sky’s dark beginning to gradually lighten, doubts which he’d managed to distract himself from through his conversations with you started to flood back in. If he wanted to, he could easily try to keep you here until the sun’s first rays were able to reach you. That’s what he should be doing as the Flame Hashira. And yet, something in him held him back. Was it guilt? Sudden fear of losing the soulmate he’d just met? Perplexment at how different you were from how he’d imagined you? He couldn’t quite pinpoint the exact emotions that prevented him from drawing his blade and all he could do was sit there, watching as you procured a small bag from within your sleeve.

The clinking of coins sounded from within the bag as you plopped it onto the table. His eyes widened when he realized what your intentions and he immediately began reaching for his own money.

“No, please let me-“

You raised your hand to stop him. “I insist. Consider this as my thanks towards you for giving me your time tonight.” The corner of your lips tugged back up into a playful smile at his reluctant expression and you added, “But if it makes you feel better, then you can repay me by meeting up with me again some time. I know your schedule must be busy with the kind of work you do, so when you have the time, come find me at that abandoned shrine near the western outskirts of the city.”

Not waiting for his response, you rose from your seat and bowed in farewell. “Until we meet again, please stay safe, Kyōjurō.”

Though slightly taken aback by your sudden rushed demeanor and having not been able to properly agree to your suggested rendezvous, he quickly got to his feet and bowed in return. “I pray that our next meeting will be as harmonious as this one.”

“…Indeed.” Was all you simply responded with before you hurried out of the shop, now in a race against the rapidly approaching sunrise.

Kyōjurō sat back down as he watched you go and remained there long after you’d left, all the while mulling over the soulmate bond he shared with you and the consequences that would inevitably result from it.

———

“Useless!”

A sake cup smashed against the wall next to Kyōjurō’s head, splattering its contents onto him. He didn’t even so much as flinch, however, simply letting out a soft sigh as he gazed on at his raging father in a steadfast manner.

Shinjurō gritted his teeth, his foul mood further spurred by the irritation he felt towards his eldest son’s calmness. He jabbed a finger towards Kyōjurō’s left eye, which no longer remained hidden away behind an eyepatch. “You come home, flaunting the fact that you’ve met your soulmate, and you’re telling me that you didn’t even kill them? You had an Upper Moon in front of you and you let them go.” Banging his fist on the table in front of him, he raised his voice into a shout. “You let an Upper Moon go! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Then, he suddenly quieted down as quickly as he had began yelling. Letting out a resentful scoff, he sneered at his son. “You’re always sprouting crap about doing your duties as a Hashira and protecting the innocent, but look at you now, going soft over a demon. Well? What rank are they? I bet they’ve killed more people than all of the demons you’ve killed combined.”

Kyōjurō pressed his lips together, knowing that his father was right. Even now, as he sat in front of his father to be berated, he still felt conflicted over his choice of letting you go.

Taking no notice of his silence, Shinjurō took a large swig from his sake bottle before continuing on his rant. “You know, when you were born, I worried that other slayers might call you a traitor. Looks like I worried for nothing, since you really are one now. But who cares, right? Go ahead, continue being a Hashira! Whether you bed a demon or not won’t matter, since every other person in the Corps are fakes, just like you. All their breathing techniques are just cheap imitations.” He grumbled the last part, downing more sake at his rising anger. “And while you’re out there, parading around with your hypocrisy, why don’t you go dragging the Rengoku name through dirt? Help yourself in trampling on the family’s honor too! Go against everything that Ruka-“  

Shinjurō abruptly stopped at the thought of his late wife, a shadow of grief crossing over his face.

“Father-“ Kyōjurō began, only to be interrupted.

“Get out!” The older male snapped as he turned his back to him, emptying his sake bottle in an attempt to numb the old wound left on his heart by his wife’s passing.

Knowing that there was no use trying to carry on their conversation, Kyōjurō rose to his feet.

“Please take care of yourself and try not to overdrink.”

Leaving his father with those words, he exited the room. As he slide the door closed behind himself, a loud shattering noise could be heard coming from within. No doubt it was Shinjurō smashing the sake bottle out of anger towards Kyōjurō’s parting words.

Kyōjurō heaved a deep sigh as he briefly leaned against the wall near the door, tiredly closing his eyes. He’d expected this reaction when he decided to tell his father about his soulmate, but there had been the smallest spark of hope in him that Shinjurō would be more accepting of the news. He couldn’t help but wonder how his mother would have reacted, had she still been with them. Would she be as disapproving as her husband? Or would she have been more accepting and understanding?

“Brother?”

Senjurō’s timid voice suddenly broke his chain of thoughts. Opening his eyes, Kyōjurō pushed himself off against the wall as he smiled brightly at his younger brother. “Senjurō! What brings you here? If you’re looking for Father, I believe he’s just left to buy some more sake. I might have put him in a foul mood, though.”

He let out an awkward laugh and Senjurō shook his head. “I, um… I heard what Father said to you…”

Kyōjurō’s smile faltered for a moment. Well, their father had been loud. It’d be hard not to hear him, even from all the way down the hall. “Ah, pay him no mind. You know how he can get when he drinks.”

“I…I know. But…” The youngest Rengoku fidgeted, wanting to say something but seeming uncertain about it. However, at his brother’s encouraging gaze, he worked up his courage and came out with it. “I-I trust you, Brother! No matter what Father says, if you think what you’re doing is right, then you should keep going with it! Even if Father disapproves, I’m always here to support you!”

Caught off guard by the unexpected consolation, Kyōjurō blinked. His gaze then softened and he reached out, ruffling his brother’s hair. “Thank you, Senjurō. It makes me happy to know that I can rely on you.”

Senjurō’s cheeks reddened and a small, but happy smile appeared on his face. They stayed like that for a minute, enjoying the brief bonding time between brothers. That was, until Senjurō abruptly leaned in and sniffed him. His nose crinkled slightly as he drew back, “You smell very strongly of sake, Brother.”

“Do I?” Brows furrowed, Kyōjurō sniffed the parts of his hair and clothes where sake had gotten splashed onto earlier. “It doesn’t seem very obvious to me.”

With a small laugh, Senjurō shook his head and took hold of his hand, beginning to drag him off to the washroom. “Come on, I’ll help you wash your hair. And while I do that, you can tell me all about your soulmate!”

Kyōjurō obediently followed his younger brother, his lips stretched out into a grin. He gave his hand a gentle squeeze, feeling at ease now knowing that no matter what choice he made towards his future with you, Senjurō would always be there for him.  

———

The following week, he met up with you at the abandoned shrine as planned and you had greeted him so happily, as if you hadn’t actually expected him to show up. Though Kyōjurō had arrived feeling uncharacteristically tense, not quite knowing what to anticipate from the rendezvous, the endearing grin you gave him put him a little more at ease.

That night ended up being rather similar to your previous meeting, with the two of you just chatting and getting to know each other further while enjoying a beautiful view of the stars twinkling above. It would have made for a rather romantic date, had Kyōjurō not remained on guard the entire time. He kept his wariness well hidden behind an easy-going smile, ready to defend himself the instant you decided to launch a surprise attack on him. It was true that at that moment, you lacked any animosity towards him. However, demons were fickle creatures who would kill at the simplest flick of a switch and he didn’t know when or if your attitude towards him would change.

But lo and behold, not once did there come a time where Kyōjurō needed to draw his blade and the two of you ended up parting with the promise of another meeting. And thus began the frequent trysts between you and he. With each night he got to spend with you, his guard began to gradually lower and his relaxed façade soon became genuine.

At some point, he stopped wearing his eyepatch whenever he met up with you. While he still wore it around others, like his fellow Hashiras to prevent them from asking questions, he figured there wouldn’t be any harm in going without it around you. It was much more comfortable, plus he could see better, and you seemed to enjoy seeing him without his eyepatch. There were times when he’d find you just randomly gazing into them and when he asked you about it, you told him how you loved his eyes and how comforting they seemed – like warm, gentle flames in which one could easily lose themselves in. He’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t been flattered by your words.

Being only a city away, the shrine was located at a convenient spot to get together. It was far away enough from the Rengoku estate that someone would have a difficult time following him and finding out about you, and it was close enough to get to – well, it'd be hard for an average person, but Kyōjurō was far from average. Not to mention, it had long been abandoned so people almost never came by. That being said, the two of you began going on dates in the city and the neighboring areas. Night festivals quickly became a favorite date spot for you guys and you'd often go whenever there was one. At some point, it became a mini competition between you to see whom could win the most prizes.

As an avid sumo fan, Kyōjurō would often invite you to watch matches with him. He took no offense when you declined, as everybody had their own preferences. But he’d always be delighted when you went to watch with him. After all, who doesn’t love sharing the things they enjoy with those close to them?

When he told you that he enjoyed eating sweet potatoes and salt grilled bream, he underestimated the effects it would end up having. Not too long after he'd shared that small bit of information with you, you had presented him with a bento you cooked yourself. Kyōjurō eagerly accepted it, touched that you had gone out of your way to make it for him. However, he neglected the fact that you were a demon whom had lived for centuries and hadn’t eaten a single morsel of human food during that time. So when he took a big and unsuspecting bite of your glazed sweet potatoes, he almost died.

Kyōjurō appreciated the fact that you had cooked for him, he really did. But your cooking was, to put it bluntly, absolutely horrible. Glazed potatoes were supposed to be both savory and sweet, not overwhelmingly bitter. Was that also a hint of sourness he tasted?? And the texture. Oh god, the texture. It was a mixture of mushy, hard, and even just pure goop at some parts. He had always thought he’d be able to love every sweet potato dish he came across, no matter how bad they may have tasted. This however… Could it even be classified as edible?

Well, no matter! You had been so proud when you presented it to him and he refused to let anything you gave him go to waste. Once he’d gotten over his initial shock, he finished his bite, gave you a big smile, and shouted his usual ‘Umai!’. Then, he turned his attention onto the included salt grilled bream. It looked good, just like the sweet potatoes had. Question was, would it taste as bad? Though hesitant, he took another bite, albeit much smaller than the previous one. Thank goodness he did, because it was somehow worse than the potatoes. Had you mixed up the salt with sugar? Because eating that one bite of fish was like eating a bowlful of sugar. The flesh was also crunchy and he was certain it wasn’t because of the bones. He was also quite sure you had forgotten to descale the skin before cooking. But just like with the sweet potatoes, he forced himself to gulp it down and attempted to finish the entire bento. It went relatively well, until it didn’t.

“Oh my god, Kyōjurō! You’re turning green!”

With a horrified gasp, you snatched the box away from him. Though he’d tried to take it back, insisting on finishing it, you refused to let go of it. Instead, you had declared that you would keep trying until you were able to create a dish that he would find delicious. And while Kyōjurō was moved that you were determined to put in so much effort for his sake, at the same time, he couldn’t help but dread the impending assault on his tastebuds.

For the next three months, every time he was able to meet up with you, you had a fresh batch of potatoes and fish waiting for him. Sometimes you’d change things up and cook other dishes, but they were always as bad. Kyōjurō still ate them all though. As much as you’d allow him to eat, that was. You didn’t allow yourself to be fooled by his shouts of ‘Umai!’ and would always stare intently at him as he ate. If his eyebrow so much as twitched, he would find his meal gone from his hands in an instant. And finally, the day came when the contents of his bento actually tasted like real food. It was, at best, just enough to be considered as decent, but to Kyōjurō, it was the best thing he’d eaten. He may or may not have shed a happy tear or two, which may not have been a very good idea, as upon seeing that, you were once more filled with determination and had declared that you'd make it your goal to master cooking all of his favorite foods.

———

One night, out of curiosity, Kyōjurō had asked you what your Blood Demon Art was. He hadn’t actually expected you to tell him though. After all, even if the two of you had grown close, you probably wouldn’t want to reveal what your fighting techniques to someone who was technically your enemy. But to his surprise, you’d happily answered and even went as far as to actually show him, withdrawing a pair of mai-ougi* from inside your sleeves. You explained that while the fans themselves were weapons – with the edges being as sharp as a blade – its true power lay in what was painted on them. Each fan had a different painting on them and whenever someone looked at them, they would be hit with different effects depending on which they looked at. To demonstrate, you opened up one and allowed him to take a look.

At first, all Kyōjurō saw was a painting of a woman dancing with a mai-ougi in hand, the background a sky of gold with faint cloud patterns. It was a beautiful painting, but nothing special particularly stood out to him. That’s when it happened; the moment he locked eyes with the woman, his surroundings instantly changed and he found himself on a stage with a golden backdrop, four women with appearances identical to that of the woman in the painting lunging at him from every side. The edge of their fans glinted dangerously and just as he drew his weapon to fend them off, he suddenly found himself back in reality with you, the previously open mai-ougi now closed. You grinned at him as he tried to calm his pounding heart, clearly proud of your Blood Demon Art.

“They’re clearly much better than those metal slabs that Dōma lugs around.” You had proudly proclaimed, although it was more to yourself than to Kyōjurō.

He had no idea who you were talking about but decided not to probe into it when he noticed the extremely fierce look in your eyes. Instead, he asked about the effects of the other fan. Happy to show him your powers once more, you spread open the second fan and revealed a painting of a daimyō* sat atop a pitch-black horse against a blood red background, tessen* in one hand. When Kyōjurō’s gaze met with the one in the painting, rather than finding himself in a different environment, he was suddenly filled with an overwhelming sense of fear so great that it immobilized him. Now, Kyōjurō was not a man who would typically freeze from fear. And yet, it took a great deal of willpower to even just move his eyes enough to tear them off the painting and free himself of its effects.

If there was one thing he had to say about your Blood Demon Art, it was that it was as every bit dangerous and powerful as he’d imagined, if not more. Though the painting had influenced him for no more than a few seconds, to him it’d felt like much, much longer. Had he been in a real battle with you, he most likely would have died the moment he froze up. Or who knows? Maybe his survival instincts would have kicked in and override the mai-ougi’s powers. Well, battle or not, it was good to know what exactly you were capable of.

Once Kyōjurō had regained his composure, you suggested that the two of you have a sparring match –with you fighting with your fans closed, of course. He immediately accepted, not wanting to waste the opportunity of being able to fight against an Upper Moon without it being a life-or-death situation. In the end, he lost the spar as expected. However, he found his loss to be an extremely fruitful one, as he’d been able to notice the weak points in his own fighting style much quicker than he normally would have by sparring with his fellow Hashiras.

Needless to say, it quickly became a common thing for the two of you to have random sparring sessions. Sometimes you’d be on the offensive with him on the defensive, and vice versa. Either way, Kyōjurō would always be able to learn a thing or two from each spar and you would also give him advice from time to time. Although you hardly gained anything from doing this – maybe except for familiarizing yourself with the Flame Breathing style – you were always more than happy to spar with him, glad that you could help him get even stronger.

———

Kyōjurō truly enjoyed spending time with you, cherishing every moment he could. Yet, no matter how many happy nights he shared with you, he couldn’t ignore the guilt that had rooted itself so deeply into his heart. Guilt that he felt towards neglecting part of his duties and at the thoughts of how many people fell prey to you the longer he left you alive. It became someone of a frequent occurrence for him to remain awake for hours during the times he was supposed to sleep, plagued with all sorts of gut-wrenching emotions. But no matter how much the guilt continued to pile up, he couldn’t bring himself to kill you. He finally understood now, what it truly meant to have a soulmate.

A soulmate wasn’t someone whom the universe had randomly picked out for him and whom he was obligated to love. A soulmate was someone who complemented him better than anyone else out there, who understood him and accepted him for everything he was, who stood by and supported him, and so much more. His better half, if you will. The universe was only there to help make identifying his soulmate easier; it was up to him whether he chose to love you or not. And Kyōjurō did. He loved you.

He didn’t know exactly when he had begun to fall in love, but by the time he realized it, he was in too deep to turn back.

He could still remember how clear the sky had been, each star twinkling like jewels and the full moon’s light bathing everything in a soft silvery glow. The two of you were on the shrine’s engawa to admire the view, his head resting in your lap and your fingers running through his hair. A comfortable silence filled the air between both of you with the occasional chirping of crickets being heard from off in the distance.

Basking in the peacefulness of everything, he closed his eyes in bliss. You continued to run your fingers through his hair for a short while, stopping when you quietly spoke, “…Kyōjurō?”

He hummed softly in response.

“I love you.”

Kyojruo’s eyes snapped open and when he looked up at you, he found you gazing down at him with a tender expression. Well, that was certainly one very sudden confession. Though the two of you had been intimate with each other for a while now – such as being physically affectionate, going on dates, and even buying gifts for each other that only couples would normally exchange – neither of you had ever vocalized your feelings towards each other. Even then, while he’d acknowledged to himself that he liked you, he never quite dwelled on the thought of whether he loved you. After all, it would unacceptable if he, a slayer of demons, were to fall in love with a demon, wouldn’t it?

And yet, after hearing your words, he knew without needing to think about it or question himself.

Sitting up, he brought a hand up to your cheek and gently caressed it, leaning in until your lips were almost touching. He paused, wanting to give you time to push him away in case you didn’t want this. All you did, however, was lean in into his touch as your eyes fluttered closed with anticipation. That’s when Kyōjurō closed the remaining space between the two of you, softly pressing his lips against yours. Your lips were cold against his, just like the rest of your body. But as you kissed him back, all he felt was a gentle, yet passionate warmth. In that moment, he let all his doubts and concerns melt away, instead allowing himself to be overtaken by his feelings for you and conveying those emotions through the kiss.

Eventually pulling away, he rested his forehead against yours and gazed into your eyes with adoration as he softly murmured, “And I love you, [Name].”

———

*Mai-ougi are folding fans used in traditional Japanese dances *Daimyō were feudal lords who used to serve under the shogun *Tessen are also known as Japanese war fans and have varying looks and purposes