#the first four panels are the older ones

[molagboop]

Started March 5, 2022. Finished April 29, 2024.

Raven Beak's mother was a, uh. Character. In her twilight years. Very proud of her son, very competitive. She never lived to see him lead their people, but she was confident he had it in him.

[thecoochiefairy]

bloodhound. toji.

𑄽𑄺 warnings 𑄽𑄺 15.9K word count. blackfem!reader, toji fushiguro, mafiagangmember!toji , violence, dominant!toji, sweet!toji, aggressive!toji, sensual sex, black woman, vaginal penetration, rough sex, lil bit of sweet talkin’, creaming, oral [f], choking, praising, LOTS of dirty talk, condom-less sex, kissing, spanking, minors aren’t welcome!

━━ 𝒄𝙤𝒐𝙘𝒉𝙞𝒆𝙛𝒂𝙞𝒓𝙮 𝙩𝒉𝙤𝒖𝙜𝒉𝙩𝒔 .ᐟ this idea came at a random, kinda just for fun. loved it at first, started hating it as i wrote it? was committed to finish. idk. ugh. however, it was inspired by ‘the yakuza wife’ anime. anyways, a lot happened in the real world, sorry y’all. i love you. just enjoy. visuals.

EYES. THEY WERE ALWAYS RECEIVED TO HER BY THE STARE OF OTHER PEOPLE. It was common at this point, so much that it didn’t even offend her—But it should’ve.

 Instead, she brought her focus upon the dimly lit lanterns that lead to the end of the market, needing to make it back to Tokyo before dark. Chocolate brown panels above to protect the stores from rain, cherry blossoms sprouting along the poles as she passed by, watching as the bars and restaurants began to pack like sardines within a can. 

Back to the staring, she counted about three people today. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just didn’t make sense to her—she’d been in Japan all her life, and she still felt like an outsider. She didn’t have fair skin, silky hair, or a petite frame. She was different, but he always reminded her there was beauty in being like no other. 

She’d make sure to grab a small carton of rouge strawberries, her favorite fruit at any time of day. Number four, the man at the counter gives her a strange look as she walks around the store, before suppressing his peculiar stare, replacing it with a respectful smile as she hands him 10,000 yen.

It was a silent two hour ride back home—she knew she was going to get chastised, especially being without protection. The familiar walkway of succulents swayed with the wind as she followed a pathway, now standing in front of the barrier that separated her from the machiya—or house— as he’d taught her to say. She glances up at the camera that tries to hide at the top of the gate, also looking down through the bars as she can see one of the guards pointing a gun directly at her. The groceries become heavier.

She sighs, “Are you gonna let me in, or shoot me?” 

When the guard recognizes the familiar voice, he lowers his gun at the same time he bows, constantly repeating, “Sumimasen,” as the top of the gate unlocks.

She gives a polite wave to the older women dressed in their housekeeping attire. She hears one of them call to help her with the groceries, to which she always waved off. Making her way inside, she quickly dropped the groceries in the kitchen, beginning to pull the items out of the bag as she could instantly feel someone behind her. She doesn’t have to look back, knowing it’s the man that’s assigned to follow her everywhere she goes. 

She exhales, “You don’t have to hide in the corner, Kenji. Is my grandfather awake?”

Kenji, a tall and muscular man, emerges from the shadows and makes his way into the kitchen. He stands by the fridge, hands behind his back. 

"No ma’am, he is still asleep," Kenji replies, his voice low and authoritative. He watches as she unpacks the groceries, his gaze unwavering. 

"You didn’t tell anyone you were leaving.”

“Would you have taken me down to Kyoto if I asked?” She raises an eyebrow, knowing the answer to that, “I needed fresh fruit. You would’ve gone out and got it yourself.” 

Kenji was an older, extremely serious man. Barely could get a laugh, smile, even the twitch of his pale face. He’d been the guardian of their family for years, but even he had his stresses when it came to her.

“That doesn’t mean you should leave the estate without me,” he replies stiffly, “You could’ve woken me up and I would’ve taken you.”  

“I made it back safely,” she counters, “No one recognized me, so it’s fine. You want a strawberry?” She takes one from the plastic, reaching it out to him.

Kenji eyes the strawberry for a moment, before reluctantly taking it. 

"It’s not about making it back safely," he replies, a hint of irritation in his tone, "It’s about the fact that you left without telling anyone. Anything could’ve happened to you." 

“Ahh, you took it from me! You’re not that mad, Mamoru,” she calls him the traditional term, “You can save all that intimidation shit for Jiji, not me.”

"Don’t call me that," he mutters, crossing his arms. "And don’t call your grandfather Jiji. Have some respect."

“What? Is Ojiichan better for you?” She questions as she reaches her hand out, “Here. Have another strawberry. You’re mean today.”

Kenji grumbles, but accepts another strawberry anyway. 

"Don’t try and butter me up," he mutters, taking a bite, "I’m not mean. I’m just doing my job." 

He leans against the counter, looking at her with a mix of annoyance and concern. He taps the piece within his ear, his eyes coming up as he says, “Your grandfathers awake.”

“I’m going,” she’s already beginning to make her way upstairs, “Don’t touch the groceries! I can put them up myself.”

She comes down the hallway, sliding the wooden frame of the door, pressing her hand against the translucent paper as her eyes follow to the sight of her grandfather. Smile lines creased his olive face, even when he wasn’t happy. 

She watched the housekeeper dab a cold towel against his face, walking forward as she tells her, “I’m here, you can go take a break,” she gives a light smile, offering to take the towel from her.

The housekeeper nods appreciatively and leaves the room, closing the door behind her. The only sound left is the soft breathing of her grandfather. 

He turns his head towards her, his eyes slowly opening. “You’re back,” he rasps, his voice weak.

She sits along the floor beside his bed as she softly replies, “I’m surprised you’re not raising your blood pressure to yell at me.”

Her grandfather manages a weak smile, wincing slightly as he shifts in the bed. 

"I'll save my anger for later," he mutters, his voice gruff. "What were you thinking, leaving without telling anyone?"

“I wasn’t gone that long,” she tells him, to which he says, “Bogo de hanashite kudasai.”

She replies, “You’re getting better at your English—can you not be difficult right now?”

"You still haven't explained why you went to the market by yourself."

“I went to your favorite market in Kyoto to find those dumplings you like, I wanted to make ramen,” she says, reaching out as she lightly dabs the towel against his face, “You’ still wanna yell now?”

Her grandfather's gruff exterior softens, and he looks at her with a hint of surprise. He can never stay mad at her. 

"No," he mutters, closing his eyes as he lets out a long sigh. "I suppose you did bring me my favorite dumplings."

“How are you feeling?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving off the question. "I'm fine," he says dismissively, "You don't need to worry about me."

He notices the look on her face, and sighs. "I'm tired," he admits, wincing slightly as he tries to sit up more in the bed.

“You’ll feel better once I cook,” she mentions, “Do you want to try to take an actual shower today?”

“I’m too weak to stand,” he mutters, a hint of stubbornness in his voice, But I don’t need help showering. I’m still capable of taking care of myself.”

“Yet you can’t stand?” She raises an eyebrow. 

She watches him lean back into the pillow, breathing as if he’d just done a marathon. The ball in her throat begins to form, and she hates that. She then says, “The man that would kill to protect his family, is now letting cancer take him in the dead of the night. You say I’m stubborn, and you wonder where that comes from?”

He grunts, turning away from her gaze. “Don’t start,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “I’m an old man. I’ve already lived my life. I don’t need your pity.”

“And I’m not giving it to you,” she swiftly replies, “We could’ve found the best treatment in Japan. And yet here you are, wanting your final months to be in the walls of this home. The leader of the Yakuza—who’s gonna scare the city when you’re gone?”

Her grandfather glares at her, his eyes narrow and sharp. "I've made my decision," he snaps, "This is where I want to be. I'm not some coward who's afraid to face death. And don't talk to me about the Yakuza. I've done everything I needed to do for them." 

He lets out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging as he leans back against the pillows, "I don't need you to remind me that I'm dying."

She brings her head down, staring along the towel she holds. She says softly, “Gomen’nasai,” her throat becoming tight again as she continues, “I just wish you weren’t trying to run away from me.”

"I'm not running away from you," he says, his tone gruff but gentle, "I'm just tired. I've spent my whole life fighting and I just want to rest now."

She knows that. It’s just hard to hear. The man that raised her, taught her everything she needed to know, maybe even more.

She hesitates, “Nani ka kiite mo īdesu ka?”

He nods, intertwining his fingers back together, laying himself properly back along the pillows beneath his body.

“Do you regret the life you lived?” 

The question is general, although she wants to be specific. She slowly continues, “I know you for who you are, but others don’t. They feared you, feared the people you brought in. You—killed people, did illegal things. Would you have changed that?”

Her grandfather lets out a long sigh, thinking about her question. He is silent for a moment, contemplating his life spent. 

"Yes," he finally says, his voice rough. "There are many things I regret about the life I lived. Things I did that I wish I could undo. But I did what I thought was necessary for our family—But I never regret meeting your grandmother, and I never regret having your father. Meaning— I never regret bringing you into this world."

She suppresses her smile as she says, “You’re getting soft on me, Jiji.”

"I'm not getting soft," he mutters, rolling his eyes, “I'm just being honest. However, I have one dying wish.” 

She nods her head, waiting for him to continue. He then says, “You will be twenty-six soon, and all I ask is that you’re married before I die.”

She frowns, “That’s not long, Jiji, what am I supposed to do? Go out and pick a husband off of the street?”

Her grandfather smiles at her reaction, amused by her stubbornness. "No, obviously not," he chuckles, coughing a little at the end. "I don’t expect you to pick the first man you see. But you need to start thinking about it. You need to find a good man, someone who will take care of you after I’m gone."

“I can take care of myself,” she always told him, “I’ll be the first in your generation to be lonely with cats.”

Her grandfather grunts, looking at her with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not going to live alone with cats."

“I suspect you have a line up of men to offer to me?” She raises an eyebrow, “I don’t think I’m fond of being with those Yakuza crazies you keep under your wing.”

He studies her again, his eyes narrowed, "They’re respectable men. You're not a little girl anymore. It's time to start thinking about your future."

“I do think about my future. I’m trying to finish school to become a registered nurse, but you seem to tune out as soon as I tell you that,” she reminded him. Her grandfather was unfortunately an extremely traditional man, only seeing women to be taken care of by men.

"You're wasting your time with that," he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to hers, “You don't need to work. You have enough money to live comfortably for the rest of your life. And you certainly don't need to be a nurse. You're a woman, not a doctor."

“So what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that I’ve found someone for you.”

Her frown deepens. She says, “Ojiichan, I hope you aren’t insinuating an arranged marriage.”

“An arranged marriage is not something you should reject right away," he says, "I know the perfect man for you. He's respectful, wealthy, and he comes from a good family in the Yakuza.” 

“What happened to not wanting me married off to a man like you or my father? The one who robbed, cheated, lied, killed? That’s what you want for me?” She sharply replies.

"Don’t you talk to me like that," he snaps, "I worked hard for this family. So did my son. I made sure we had power and a life most people dreamed of. This is a good man—strong, traditional. You will meet him tomorrow.”

Her eyes widen slightly, “What? ‘The hell do you mean tomorrow?”

Her grandfather looks at her sternly, his eyes piercing into hers, “You will meet him tomorrow. I'm not asking you, I’m telling you. You will get dressed and you will sit with him for tea." 

He raises a hand when she starts to speak, silencing her, “This is not a discussion. You will meet him, and you will be polite. Understood?"

When she goes to argue again, his hand raises further, her eyes catching the trail of ink littered along the back of his arm, knowing it followed all the way up his back, down his spine. It was a reminder of who he once was, and the authority in his tone also did that. 

He finalizes, “This is my dying wish, Sayuki. You will do this.” 

The call of her full name means it’s no room for argument. She wasn’t ready to meet anyone, let alone be married. But this was all he asked of her, and she wanted to respect his wishes in death. 

She nods her head, “Okay.”

Her grandfather’s expression softens slightly as he sees her nod. He lowers his hand, gesturing to the door, “Good. Now go make my gyoza, a dying man needs to eat.”

At this moment, she thought about poisoning his food. But she gave him something easier. A fake smile, a bow, and exiting the room. 

                                          𝓐ᥫ᭡

     CHAMOMILE TEA. That’s what she remembered from this interaction. When the next day came, it flew by just to spite her. It was now closer to the evening, the lanterns of the night beginning to light as she stood within the mirror of her bedroom. She turned her body as she looked at herself, the backless pale yellow dress flowing down to her thin golden heels, straps wrapped around the tattoos along her feet. The top of her dress tied into a bow around her neck, dark hair up within a matching claw clip.

 If there was a luxury her grandfather had given her, it was to dress however she chose. He’d shoot on sight for anyone that had an opinion on it. Tendrils flew around the caramel complexion of her face, honey brown freckles showing through her makeup despite her foundation, fox eyes slender beneath her lash extensions, pointing upwards along her face. 

She pressed the brown outline of her cupid's bow lips to mix with the mauve closest to her mouth, spraying herself of a sensuous vanilla and jasmine scent before she made her way out of the door, Kenji immediately following behind. 

She asked him softly, “Do I look okay?” Knowing the older man didn’t have much opinion, but she needed some type of reaction from someone.

Kenji looked at her, his expression stoic as usual, his eyes roaming over her figure, "You look beautiful," he said, his voice dry as usual. 

He paused for a moment, his eyes lingering on her face, "But you’re nervous," he added, “You’re squeezing your hands together."

“I know,” she sighs, “What if this is the husband of my dreams, Kenji? Like those dramatic movies I used to watch as a kid?”

He patted her shoulder reassuringly, "Just...try to act normal. And don’t punch him, at least not right away."

She huffs out a breath, “Thanks.”

She then slides the opening door to her grandfather's room, seeing as a housekeeper sat beside him, pressing a spoon to his mouth as she fed him soup. 

Sayuki greeted, “I hear a lot of noise from downstairs, Jiji, are your children already running amuck?”

“Don’t joke like that,” he said, his tone gruff, “But yes, half of the clan’s already gathering. They’ll be at a meeting while you’re on your date.”

“Did you have to do that the same day? I’d rather avoid the embarrassment,” she replies, “…You didn’t tell me my dress was pretty.”

“You look like a delicate flower, my child.” 

That makes her feel at ease. She then says, “Don’t let those idiots rummage the fridge, please? Those groceries are for you. I’ll be in the garden if you need me, okay?”

Her grandfather grunts, waving her off with a hand, "Don't show that attitude when you meet him. Don't be sharp-tongued or sarcastic. Act like a proper lady."

She keeps from rolling her eyes. Leaning down closer to the bed, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, before sliding the door closed and making her way downstairs. The men of the Yakuza filled the entire living room and kitchen, rowdy, loud, cigarette smoking, talking shit. Matching black suits, dark hair—an intimidation brought all along Tokyo. It was as if she hadn’t passed by, throaty laughs filling the house as they continued to play cards, arguing with one another.

She was back to following the path of plants, leading up to the gazebo that was surrounded by clear water, koi fish and flowers she’d planted herself, or even helped the housekeeper plant. Her eyes fell over the figure sitting on the inside of it, a table now in the middle of the seating area, small bowls, cups and mugs placed atop. She glanced back at Kenji who now stood by the door that led back into the house, far away enough from the garden, but close enough if anything happened. Her eyes gazed over the smoke that released from the cigarette in between his scarred lip, his frame unfamiliar to her eyes.

Her eyes slowly dragged over the man seated in her gazebo, taking him all in. His broad, muscular shoulders. His sharp jawline. His tall figure even when seated, long legs traveling for miles. Onyx hair and eyebrows furrowed, the dark suit he wore hugged against his large frame that could’ve exploded the seams of material. 

She couldn't help but find him attractive already—and maybe a little intimidating. She took a deep breath, gathering the last bit of her courage, and walked through the garden towards him.

She lifted her leg onto the step, taking him in even closer. When his eyes finally met hers, her heart thumped, as his face wasn’t the best at expressing his emotions. Her hands clasped together in front of her, and she gave him a respectful bow—although she didn’t want to—making her way to the opposite side of the table as she sat herself down. His hand was huge, two fingers molding around his cigarette, plump lips taking another inhale as he scanned her. A couple minutes of silence go past, before his deep, attractive voice is the first to speak. 

“Nihongo o hanasemasu ka?” 

She blinks, trying to hide the scrunch in her nose as she replies, “I prefer to use English. Why wouldn’t I speak Japanese?” 

He doesn’t give an answer, only using his eyes to frown at her. She does roll her eyes this time, briefly explaining, “My mother is black. I’m fluent in both English and Japanese, if that’s what you’re trying to confirm.”

He seemed completely uninterested, his expression still blank. He took another drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out, his eyes never leaving her. After a moment, he spoke in English.

“You’re not what I was expecting.”

“Am I supposed to apologize for that?” She raises an eyebrow.

He narrowed his eyes at her, his expression cold, but amused, “Nah. An apology is unnecessary.”

His eyes flicker over her figure again, the corner of his lip twitching slightly, “But an introduction wouldn’t hurt, yeah?”

She crossed her right leg over her left, clearing her throat in a way to retract her question as she replies, “Sayuki. And you?”

“Toji Fushiguro.”

His eyes traveled down to her legs as she shifted them, watching her move.

“It’s a pretty name,” he says suddenly, taking another drag, “Sayuki. ‘Longevity, long-lived’.”

“You knew that off the top of your head?” She questions, “I don’t know what your name means.”

He chuckled slightly, a rare sound, his deep voice making her heart thump again before he responded. 

“Lucky,” he says, blowing another stream of smoke out, “My name means ‘lucky’.”

“Are you lucky?” She tilts her head, “I would say the habit of smoking is relatively unlucky.”

“Are you worried about my health after ten minutes of knowing each other?”

The question throws her off a bit. She wasn’t trying to have the upper hand in this conversation, but she surely didn’t want to seem nervous. She felt her face go warm as she counters, “Smoking is a bad habit for anyone. My grandfather did it a lot, one of the reasons he’s on his deathbed sooner than I’d like him to be.”

He looked at her steadily, the light smoke from his cigarette curling into the air as he watched her through the haze.

“I’m not worried shit like life expectancy,” he says simply, “My job comes first. If smoking helps me get through stress, then fuck it.”

“You Yakuza men seem to never care about something as important as your health, or your life,” she points out, “You think if you got married your wife wouldn’t be worried about that?”

Toji chuckled again, a dry sound, but an amused one. “Who says I’m looking to get married?”

“Then why are we talking then?” She questions, “Isn’t that what we’re here for?”

Toji’s expression darkened slightly at her question, his eyes flickering with a flash of annoyance. But then he chuckled again, a mocking, arrogant sound. 

“My old man’s making me talk to you,” he says, taking another drag of his cigarette, “He’s your Ojiichan’s right hand. Wants me to start a family, continue the bloodline and all that bullshit. So here I am.”

Yup, there it was. Her patience was thinning. 

She then asks, “And you don’t want that?”

“Nah,” he said simply, “Not at all.”  

He then smirked again, his dark gaze piercing her’s, “Why, do you want to start a family, Sayuki?”

The way he said her name, emphasizing the pronunciation in their native tongue made her shift a bit. It was annoying. She answers honestly despite his tone, “I’m about to be twenty six, so a family would be nice. But I want my degree first, I’m studying to be a registered nurse. I wanna help people in ways my grandfather wouldn’t allow me to help him.”

"A career nurse," he repeats, “How noble and selfless of you."

She raises her posture up a bit, “What is that supposed to mean?”

His dark eyes dragged over her figure again, “You’re pretty as fuck—enough to marry an old millionaire, who’d pamper you ‘till the day you die.”

She now becomes visibly irritated, “I’m not tryna’ be a housewife and pop out a bunch of kids if that’s what you think by looking at me.”

“And why not? That’s what you were designed to do. A body like that and such a pretty ass face. You’d be worth the fuck.” 

Yeah, that was it. She takes the steaming tea in front of her, chucking it directly in his face, letting the actual cup follow after. She stands as she spits, “A disrespectful ass mouth like that, I can see why you’d still be wife searching at your grown age. Go fuck yourself.” 

She’s already stomping away, fire in her eyes as she mutters, “Fuckin’ stupid ass nigga—Kenji! Let’s go!”

Toji’s eyes widen for a moment as the steaming tea is splashed into his face, his skin searing against the liquid as it hits him, cup following after. He looked to see the large bodyguard standing by the porch, and even he was shocked. All he could do as he watched her fly past him was give Toji a helpless stare before muttering, “Yes ma’am.”

In the past years of her grandfather being sick, the next five days was the first time she’d heard him curse in the longest. His anger trickled over to guards, staff within the house, even his men who worked for him. He was pissed after hearing what his granddaughter had done. She stayed in the room if she wasn’t checking on him, and the moment she saw him ready to go off, she would grow wings and fly. He’d be fine eventually. 

She was now within the living room, palms and feet pressed along a mat as she did her morning stretches, talking on the phone with her mom to tell her of the situation. 

“Chile, I don’t know why you’re calling me. Kenji already told me what happened—had your grandfather called, the man would’ve written his own eulogy. Doctor said his pressure is at an all time high,” her mom said, chuckling into the phone. 

Sayuki sighs, “I wasn’t trying to give the man a heart attack.“

“I’m sure you didn’t, honey. But you know that first impressions matter.”

She brings herself to her knees, halting her stretching as she deadpans, “Momma. I understand the cultures around here, okay? Respect is big and all that shit. Jiji taught me that. Ole’ boy was the disrespectful one. I just gave him a taste of his own medicine. Or tea, to be specific.”

“I know he was being rude, but you know how important this is for your grandfather.” 

There’s a pause between them, before her mother’s voice comes through the line again, a bit softer this time, “It won’t hurt to try and get along with him. At least for your Jiji’s sake, yeah?”

“That’s if I ever see the bastard again. You know Grandpa said? That he made some valid points in our conversation—he thinks all I’m supposed to make of myself is the perfect wife,” she shakes her head, raising her leg out to stretch the muscles behind.

Her mother is silent for a few long moments, before sighing again, “You know your grandfather is stuck in his traditional ways. You can’t expect for him to just change this late in life. Your father was the same way—just wanted me to pop out babies.”

She knew her mom wouldn’t have much commentary on this, considering she’d lived as a housewife for years before her husband's passing. She couldn’t handle the life Sayuki’s father lived, being within the Japanese Mafia—but her father in law refused to be without his granddaughter. So she let her stay in Tokyo, and went to the states to set out her own dreams.  

Sayuki sighs, “How’s the army treating you, Sergeant? Where do they have you based right now?”

Her Mom chuckles slightly into the phone, an amused sort of sound, “I swear they have me stationed in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. Texas, in the middle of this town called Waco. The people here are good ‘ol bible-thumping country folk. I’m terrified.”

Sayuki laughs, “You’ wanted to be head honcho so bad, now they’ got you in places you’ve never been before.”

Her mother is quiet for a moment, still chuckling, before she speaks again, “The job’s more stressful than I imagined,” she says, “But I’m getting the hang of it. I’m stationed at the base now, working with the new guys and whatnot,” She paused for another moment, before she sighs and continued, “I really need to get stationed back in Tokyo, though. I miss you and your Jiji a lot, you know.”

Sayuki hates that feeling of tightness in her throat. She told her mom to live out her dreams with her being an adult, and that she would be fine under the protection of her grandfather. But she also needed the only parent she had left. 

“I miss you too, momma.” 

She then hears the sliding door open to the hallway, Kenji appearing with a bow as he greets, “Ohayou gozaimasu. Your grandfather would like to speak to you.” 

Sayuki sits on the floor fully as she raises an eyebrow, “He’s awake already?”

Her mom’s still on the phone, a soft hum coming from the line before she questions, “He’s not a morning person. You’ really gave him a heart attack, huh?” 

Kenji replies, “He seems to be fine. He’s awake and very much alive,” He glances at Sayuki and bows again, before saying, “His orders were to bring you to his room.”

“Alright momma, I’ll try to call you before you turn in your phone again. I love you, always,” she doesn’t want to hang up, but her grandfather could be an impatient man, especially if he was upset.

Her mother’s voice filters through the line again, a familiar, comforting sound, “I love you, too, Sayuki-baby. Stay safe, okay?” 

Then, she’s gone, and Kenji turns his attention back to her. The big man just silently starts walking, obviously expecting her to follow.

Sayuki follows him down the hallway, making their way to her grandfather's bedroom. She sends off Kenji as she slowly opens the door, to be greeted by a housekeeper who’s nervously patting his face with a cold sponge.

She tells her, “You can go. Thank you.”

The housekeeper immediately scurries off, taking the towel and bucket with her. Sayuki’s left alone with her grandfather now, who’s sitting up in bed, a newspaper on his lap. His eyes flicker up to her for a few moments, still sharp as ever.

“Do you come in peace?” She questions, sitting herself beside the bed, “I see you have the newspaper. You must be in a good mood.”

“The doctor said my pressures have risen,” he starts, his voice still surprisingly even, “But I am still breathing. If you hadn’t annoyed me so greatly, I would probably have another decade in my life.”

“Oh? So it’s my fault now? How about you’ put your lil’ gang members in check?” She crossed her arms.

Her grandfather’s eyes widened slightly at her blunt words, obviously surprised. He looks at her for a few long moments. Then, he shakes his head, “I taught you to respect men. Why can’t you be a little more…well… gentle? Polite?”

“I was soft and feminine like you want me to be. He’s the one that said he didn’t want to be married, and that I wasn’t even his type. He doesn’t even like black women,” she rambles. 

As she sees her grandfather’s face, she rolls her eyes as she corrects herself, “Okay—he ain’t say all that. But he did say he was only there for his father’s sake.”

“It doesn’t matter what he said. I know that boy’s a bit arrogant. A little rude too. But family is important. He’s my right hand’s son.” 

His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at her, saying, “And you have no choice in whether you marry him. You’re getting older, Sayuki. Twenty-six is not young anymore. I’m not letting you leave this house unless you’re a wife.”

“Is this my death sentence? What did I do to deserve this treatment?” She flops herself on the end of the bed, “Have you’ no heart?”

Her grandfather simply rolls his eyes, his expression unchanging, “Don’t be so dramatic, Sayuki. You know how marriage works in this family. I had an arranged marriage, and so did your father. The men pick their wives.” 

He paused before leaning forward a bit in the bed, asking, “...Why are women so damn stubborn these days?”

“Cause this isn’t the fifties, that’s why!” She exclaims.

He takes a deep breath as he mutters, “Now if I become as dramatic as you and die right here on the spot, you’ll be very upset with me.” 

He lets a few minutes of silence pass before he says, “…With your father not here, I won’t have anyone to protect you when I’m gone, Sayuki.”.

She sits up a bit, hearing as he becomes serious. She comes closer to him on the bed as she lays her head on his shoulder, “I can take care of myself, Grandpa.”

Her grandfather takes her small hand into his large, calloused one, his fingers gently intertwining with hers. He sighs, “You may be a strong young woman, but you’re too reckless. It’s not safe in this world. No matter how prepared you are to defend yourself.” 

He squeezes her hand slightly, “When you asked me the regrets I have—it made me think, with the kind of family I have, who’s going to protect my Mago when I’m gone? The people that hate me, the people that won’t be able to hurt me because I’m gone, so they hurt you?”

Arranged marriage sounded silly to her, but with the family she had, she understood where her grandfather was coming from. He wasn’t doing this to force anything on her. He just wanted to make sure she was safe—even without him. 

She squeezes his hand, giving him a kiss on the cheek as she suggests, “Maybe I can talk to him. But he needs to apologize. If he doesn’t, I’m not agreeing to this, is that fair?”

Her grandfather grunts again, his expression unchanging as a soft sigh escapes him, “He’s not a man to grovel. And you’ve already left a bad first impression. He won’t apologize for anything. That’s how we raised them, “He pauses for a few moments before giving her hand a tight squeeze again. 

“....But I will speak to him.” He finalizes, his voice low.

“See! Don’t you feel better when you talk things out instead of being violent? A lot of your issues would’ve been solved better that way,” she gives him a smile.

Her grandfather grunts once more, his gaze fixed on the window away from her, “Violence is good when there’s nothing else to talk about. But I’m glad you feel better—because you’ll be going with him to fetch some groceries to cook dinner tonight.”

She immediately pulls her hand back, stepping off the bed as she says, “Huh? A meal? Who he’ think he is—Buddha?”

“Sayuki,” He warns. 

He takes a deep breath, before continuing to speak, “You’re going to go to the store. Then you’ll come back here and cook for him. And maybe by then, you’ll have managed to impress him with your lovely personality.”

“Why can’t Kenji just go with me? You want me and Toji to go, alone, as if I don’t want to put a fork up his ass? You said you don’t want me traveling to Kyoto without him anyways,” she crosses her arms.

“Gengo,” her grandfather snaps, “Just because I’m old doesn’t mean I won’t break your ass in two. Toji will go with you. I’m tired of arguing with you. I want to take a nap.”

“Well go take your old man ass nap, then!” She exclaims, “And now you’re not getting any of your favorite fruits!” 

She opens the slide door, shrieking as a tall frame stands on the side of the wall, instantly recognizing the cigarette that hangs between the dark pink lips she’d seen days before. 

She exasperates, “Great—this was a set up! I don’t like anybody in this house.”

Her grandfather chuckles gruffly, a low, amused sound, just as Toji takes a long drag of his cigarette. He glances her way, still leaning against the wall as he speaks, “Good to see you too. I can feel the love.”

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere recovering from third degree burns?” She continues walking, making her way back towards the living room, purposely walking fast in hopes that she’d lose him.

Toji pushes off the wall, easily catching up behind her as he questions, “Why are you so hellbent on avoiding me?”

“Hm, I don’t know—maybe cause you told me all I would be is a good fuck? You remember that?” She pushes the door open to the living room, stepping back onto her yoga mat.

“Yeah, I remember clearly.”

He glances over her, adding, “Although, you’re a lot more interesting than I thought you’d be when this all started.”

She sighs, “If you’re doing this for some brownie points from my grandfather, we can wrap this up quick as fuck, Fushiguro. I’m not sensitive, okay? But what you said hurt my feelings. I was being nice to you, even if I wasn’t keen on this arranged marriage thing in the first place. I need to finish stretching, so are we done?”

At her words, Toji takes a puff from his cigarette, before taking it out of his mouth and crushing it out. 

“I’m here to apologize.”

She crosses her arms over each other, raising an eyebrow at that,  “Are you saying that because someone asked you to?”

“Why were you so pissed about some words that came out of my mouth?” He questions, “You could’ve easily ignored them.“

“You don’t even know me. You assumed that I’m some airhead ass girl that’s looking to be sold to the highest bidder. Well I’m not. I have my own dreams and ambitions, none of them involving a man unless I decide that for myself.” 

Toji looks at her for a few moments in silence. He runs a hand through his dark hair, before speaking once more. 

“So I hurt your feelings.” he mutters. “And you’re not some airhead. Anything else I should know?”

His stare was intense at times, and it made her feel naked under the SKIMS army green romper she wears, headband and glasses pulling her hair out of her face. Facing him, she reaches down to grab for her ankles, stretching her legs out as she huffs, “That’s your form of an apology?”

He does take the time to watch her stretch, but doesn’t comment on it, just saying, “Goddamn, girl. I’m trying. I’ve never apologized to someone without a gun to my head.” 

He takes a step forward, his head lowered as he stares down, now practically upside down with her. 

“I have a habit of saying shit I don’t mean. So I’m sorry. You can throw some more scorching ass tea on me again if you want.”

She pulls her hair out of her face as she stands up, looking around the expression on his face. It’s the same—eyebrows low, waiting for a response. But it doesn’t lack sincerity.

 She sighs, leaning down as she begins rolling up her yoga mat, “I’m not gonna do that. My grandpa will throw me into a pit of fire if he hears I assaulted you again.”

He watches her roll up the yoga mat, “You’ still mad at me?”

She looks up at him, tilting her head as she questions, “Do you want me to be?“

“I don’t know.”

He glances down at her, eyes lingering for a moment on her exposed skin, before he returns his gaze to her face, “If you’re not mad, what are you?”

“Ready to take this long ass train ride to Kyoto,” she finalizes, making her way around him, “I need to go shower.”

“What, no invite?”

“And somehow you’ve managed to lose points again,” she dismisses, slamming the door shut to her bedroom. 

When comes out of her bedroom an hour later, she steps into the hallway to glance along the full body mirror—as she usually did. She pulled her dark hair behind her ear as it was in straightened layers, her usual makeup along her face that consisted of cat eyed extensions, her lip combo of brown and mauve, lower eyelid filled with the matching dark brown of her lips. Her leather jacket clung to her frame, showing off a bit of her midriff as her pants were a matching leather material, hips desperately wanting to bust out of the tight seems. 

She notices Toji along the wall, tilting her body to the side as she states to him, “I don’t know what shoes to wear.”

Toji’s eyes flicker her way, a brief, almost unnoticeable glance at her frame, then back to her face, then back to her frame. He’ll shamelessly admit that his jaw tightened, and maybe he felt his dick jump. 

“You’ asking for my opinion?”

“Jiji is the worst dressed man on the planet, and Kenji is hiding so—yes.” 

She eyes him in the mirror as he walks behind her, turning her head as she notices the look he gives her. She raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“You look good as fuck, you know that?”

“You’re not telling me what shoes I need to wear,” she almost pouts, “I wanna go before it hits noon!”

Toji doesn’t respond right away, just looking her up and down again, his gaze lingering for a few seconds on her hips, before he mutters, “You’re hard headed as hell. I said you looked good. I didn’t say what shoes you should wear. If it’s gonna make you hurry up, you should wear heels.”

“‘Kay’,” she turns around, making her way back into her room with a twist to her hips. She finds a pair of her Dior black pumps, knowing she’d be fine in those for most of the day as they were comfortable. She sprays herself of her vanilla scent, shaking her head from side to side, throwing her head back to fix her hair. 

“You don’t have to watch me, you know.”

He pushes off the wall again with his foot, moving toward her now. He’s a very imposing man, his form broad and tall. He’s at least a full foot and a half taller than her.

“My fault. I have a hard time looking away. You’ ready?”

She grabs her purse as she nods, “Mhm,” giving him a quick head to toe. He’s more simple in his clothes, a long black sleeve that hugs his muscular frame, belt, jeans and hefty boots along his feet, hair tossed around the sculpted sharpness of his face. Her eyes flick down to his wrist as she sees the ink hiding beneath the material, coming forward as she pulls it farther up to fully cover it, “The point of your Irezumi is that it’s supposed to be hidden.”

His wrist feels like hot iron under her fingertips. He can’t help but look down as she touches his wrist, her head slightly tipped to look up at him. Fuck, she’s gorgeous from this angle. 

He raises an eyebrow as he grunts, “I know that,” allowing her to fix his clothing.

“I can see it on the back of your neck too,” she points out, reaching up, wrapping her fingers lightly in between his neck and back, “You should put a jacket on.”

The tightness on his jaw returns, his gaze fixed on her as his voice drops to a low murmur, “Are you gonna let go any time soon?”

She hesitates, her fingers still sitting on his upper back as she questions, “Am I making you uncomfortable?” She then fully pulls herself back, “I’m sorry.”

“Did I say that?” 

“No.”

“Then why are you apologizing?”

Before she can reply, he’s already going around her, heading down the hallway to pull the Harley Davidson leather jacket over his body, her eyes also taking notice of the M9 gun he places in the back of his pants. He nods his head in the direction of the door, and she follows after, not before quickly diving into the room to give her grandfather a kiss goodbye. 

The train ride had been…interesting for her to say the least. With it being the weekend, it was one of its busier days, the train compact with people to a point where they had to stand. Sayuki leaned her back against the window of the train as Toji hovered over her, hand gripping the bar up top. When the train came to a stop, everyone began slanting forward, trying to catch their weight on themselves. Toji’s body connected to hers, pressing his chest lightly against her nose to keep her from moving. 

She inhaled quietly, the scent of his cologne trapping her nostrils, his jaw touching the top of her head making her heart speed up a bit.

He tried not to be too obvious as he watched her from this view—but damn, she was pretty like this too. Under him like this. It felt like she belonged there.

It didn’t become any better the moment they arrived in the bustling streets of Kyoto. The cherry blossoms hung along the top of the buildings, brightly lit colored signs coaxing in their next customer. There was a feeling coming to him he’d never experienced before, watching as she politely spoke to people who passed her, talked up the people who worked within the stores, complimented each woman's outfit she saw. Hell, she’d even crouched down, sneaking the sample of food offered to her to a homeless cat mewling close by an alleyway.

Toji was starting to realize just how opposite their personalities were, but God, she had a certain…charm to her. He’d been silent, watching her with a blank expression as she interacted with everyone they passed, never breaking that smile. Toji was gruff, blunt, intimidating—didn’t bother to look at anyone twice. Yet she was the opposite in every way.

How could they ever be compatible?

She makes her way into a smaller market, empty as she knew it was more expensive than the ones on the outside. But this was usually where she bought all of her fresh produce. She glances to the man at the counter, seeing as he flicks his eyes up to her, sitting himself up more straight—as if he had to keep his attention on her. 

She looks around, “Is there anything in particular you like to eat?” She questions, turning herself towards Toji who stays close to the front door, lighting a cigarette between his lips.

Toji takes a long puff from the cigarette resting between his lips, his dark eyes following her through the small shop.

He takes a moment before replying, “I like fish.”

His eyes glance over her form, her ass practically calling to him in those pants. She was sexy without even trying. 

“How about Sashimi? Are you okay with yellowtail?” 

She’s so concerned with his taste buds, Toji only seems to notice the grimace the man at the counter continues giving her.

He looks back at her, all while his eyes are still focused, his tone is a bit more softened as he replies, “Yeah, that’s fine,” taking another long breath from the cigarette between his lips.

“Okay,” she says softly, talking more to herself as she decides how she wants to cook the fish. When she has all of her ingredients, she comes up to the register as she sees the fruits are behind the counter.

She greets, “Ohayo gozaimasu, do you have fresh strawberries by chance?”

“No strawberries today,” he doesn’t return her greeting, cutting straight to her question as it’s nowhere near friendly. 

She frowns a bit, “Are you sure? I come here for them often— the lady that works usually gives me a good amount.”

“I said we don’t have any,” he replies again, his eyes lingering over her, “Are you done shopping?” 

He’s clearly not looking at her in a very favorable way, a look of irritation and disdain written on his face.

From Toji’s stance, he can see behind the counter, looking directly at a box of what looks to hold strawberries. And as he notices the man now glaring at him, he raises an eyebrow, pulling the cigarette down from his lips, blowing out a puff.

When Sayuki notices this as well, she turns back to Toji, putting together that he may have known Toji from being a part of the Yakuza. The owners of this store had to be from a clan that wasn’t too fond of them. 

She then says, “We’re not coming here to cause any trouble—I just wanted my strawberries. I can buy a bundle of them?” She offers, beginning to rummage her purse for the money.

“We don’t serve the likes of you people,” the cashier spits.

And from the way he looks at her in disgust, it feels personal. Her eyebrows lower against her face, hating the way that once again—her feelings are hurt. 

She sighs, “It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Toji’s jaw clenches, his entire body stiffening. Something about the way her expression broke had his blood boiling.

“Go? Yeah, nah. I’m good on’ that.” 

When he pushes himself off the wall, he’s already standing in front of the counter. In one swift motion, the shriek from this man fills the entire store as Toji has him by his shirt, tugging him halfway over the counter. He fights against the one hand holding him in a effortless yet painful grip, shouting as Toji casually sighs, “Shut up,” raising his cigarette, ashing the man on his forehead. He then takes it back to his lips as he talks, “Now see, we didn’t even have to do all this,” removing the gun from the back of his pants, tapping it against the side of the man’s cheek.

Sayuki steps back, eyes wide as she panics, “Toji! It’s fine!” 

It’s like he doesn’t even hear her, his eyes fixated on the trembling man in his hands.

“Strawberries, right?” 

When the man replies with a stutter, “Y-Yes, sir,” Toji’s expression doesn’t soften, “You got ‘em in back?”

He nods his head quickly, whimpering again, “Y-yes, sir.”

The sight of that man that just had so much mouth for Sayuki, now stuttering and terrified in Toji’s hold, Sayuki can’t help the slightly scared giggle that stumbles from her lips, shocked at what she’s witnessing.

That single sound of laughter reaches his ears, catching his attention as he slightly turns to glance her way, “Oh you like that shit, huh?”

 When he looks back at the cashier, his voice drops even deeper, “Apologize to the pretty lady.” 

The man replies instantly, “Yes, yes! I’m so sorry!” 

Sayuki is still giggling, watching as Toji shoves the man back so hard that he knocks into the wall of objects behind him, nearly falling onto the floor. He presses his gun back into his pants, adjusting his jacket as he mutters, “‘Made me get all out of character,” before he commands, “Go get the strawberries before I actually get mad.” 

The man scrambles on shaky legs, pulling out the box of fruit behind him as he says, “T—Take them! Take everything you need!”

Sayuki politely takes two cartons as she gives him a smile, “Thank you,” as Toji tugs the register closer to him, knocking his fist down to it, watching as it opens, pulling cash out of the object. 

She shakes her head, “Now you’re doing too much.” 

“They don’t call me a criminal for nothin’, baby,” he puffs out some smoke, “You’ hungry?” 

She sighs, keeping her complaints to herself as she puts all her groceries within her tote bag, “Starving, actually.”

“Good.”

He takes one last drag from the cigarette, before flicking it to the floor, watching as the man flinches, thinking he was gonna toss it towards him. 

“C’mon,” he gruffs, “It’s on me. Or him, in this case.”

They make it to a restaurant a couple of blocks down, Sayuki placing the strap of her tote against the chair behind her, giving a polite smile as the waiter places the food down against the table. She glances up at Toji, taking the mini slice of pizza as she questions, “Are you gonna smoke in every building we go to?”

“You gonna bother me every time I do?” he shoots back.

She scrunches her nose, “You’re supposed to be nice to me. Wanna bite of my pizza?” She offers, raising the slice towards him.

He raises a dark eyebrow, a huff of a laugh leaving him as he leans forward, his jaw parting slightly as she brings the pizza to his mouth, biting into it. When she pulls her hand back, he chews silently before replying, “I didn’t shoot that dumbass in the store, and I just took a bite of your food without arguing. I’m Peter Pan at this point.”

The laugh that falls from her mouth is bubbly, wrapping her full lips around her straw. Once again, she’s back to noticing him staring at her, she raises an eyebrow as she says, “Why are you always just looking?”

“Can’t help it. Got some pretty ass lips.”

“Quit flirting,” she moves her hair behind her shoulder, glancing down at her phone to distract herself from the warmth that comes along her face.

She then hears him remind, “You never told me how school was going.”

She peers her head up, “Why do you care now?”

He doesn’t even look phased by the question, “Can’t I ask? You’d rather I don’t show any interest in you?”

She sighs a bit, “I don’t think you’d know anything about it.” 

Toji’s eyebrows raise up at her response, “Why you’ said that shit like I’m uneducated?” 

He leans in closer, his knee now touching hers beneath the table, the feeling intimate, “Talk to me.” 

She tilts her head, trying to adjust her knee away from his, but it’d be too obvious to completely shift the way she sits. So she leaves it there. 

“I’m tryna’ get my Bachelors in Science. Meaning I have to take some stupid ass, hard ass class like Pathophysiology. They teach shit like that in the Mafia handbook since you know everything?” 

“You don’t need a degree to know how the human body works, baby,” he replies, “Seen a lot of dead bodies in my time.”

“Gross,” she dismisses, “Hearing that makes it all the more worse. This is harder than college advanced math for me. Maybe I’m just stupid or something,” she presses her lips together, leaning her head in the palm of her hand, placing her elbow against the table. He can see the change in her expression, the way her mood visibly drops. 

“Baby,” he sighs, her heart fluttering a bit at the repeated pet name, “You can’t really think I was callin’ you stupid.”

“I know you weren’t. It’s just— I’ve taken this class twice, and I’m someone who believes shit happens for a reason—maybe this isn’t my path, cause I’d be able to pass if it was meant for me, right?” She blinks, her lashes fluttering heavily.

“Or,” he interjects, “Maybe you need to learn how to ask for help instead of just assuming you’re incapable of passin’.” 

He can see her brain processing, a slow flicker of shock and confusion in her gaze. When she just stares at him, silent, he confirms, “You don’t gotta deal with all your problems alone.”

“This is where you just say I’m pretty and my brain is big,” she rolls her eyes, picking a pepperoni slice off her pizza, chewing against it to distract herself.

“Baby, I’ll call you pretty whenever you want. But I’d like it even more if you’d admit you’re smart without me havin’ to remind you.”

“My dad was really good at sciences, it must’ve skipped a generation,” she gives a weak smile, a tinge of sadness hidden beneath her expression. 

Toji’s jaw clenches at the sight of such a weak smile on her face. Something about how sad she looked bothered him, and maybe he wanted to get back that bubbly expression she’d just had moments ago. 

“You’re smart, Sayuki. It never skipped a generation.”

She tilts her head a bit as she replies, “I think you’re just saying that cause you have a lil’ crush on me.”

“Damn, guess I’ve been figured out.” 

That actually makes her giggle, and to see that return to her face does make him relax a bit. She then offers, “Want me to feed you again?”

He glances down at the offer, looking back up at her, his head tilting a bit as he grins, “You miss my mouth already? Greedy ass.”

The stark contrast of their first interaction up until now was nothing that Sayuki had ever expected. She wasn’t the one to believe in fairytales, or have these high hopes when it came to the possibility of a relationship. But this was something she hadn’t felt with anyone in a while—romance. 

Maybe she was starting to like him— maybe she was love bombing him. She wasn’t entirely sure. She noticed small things, like anytime his stride was longer than hers, he’d slow down to walk more behind her. They were now walking through the quiet night in between two buildings, planning to make their way back to the train. 

When she caught onto his purposeful walking tactic, she took hold of his hand, tugging him forward a bit as she became annoyed, “You can walk faster.”

“You keep tuggin’ on my arm like that, I’ll think you’re desperate for me to touch you or somethin’.”

She rolls her eyes, “Don’t be cute. I’m not.”

But as she feels his long strides slow down, she turns behind herself, now feeling as her back is being lightly pressed along the wall. Her head tilted up as his jaw reached her nose, his body having to hover for her comfortability.

He places sturdy hands on either side of the wall, pinning her in place. His eyes hold a dangerous gleam in them, the playful attitude continuing as he looks down to her. 

“You’re quiet. Tell me what you’re thinking.” 

He leans down, his face a lot closer than before, the distance miniscule. 

She takes a deep breath, kneeling her face closer to his, scanning the dark grey of his eyes. She then admits, “I um…I had a nice time with you today.”

“You did, huh?”

She smacks her lips at that, turning her face away. One of his hands leaves the wall, moving to grip her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tilting her face to look back at him. He hums, “What other shit you wanna admit while you’re at it?”

“That I like you,” she blinks up at him, “And…that I hope you saying you liked me too in the restaurant wasn’t just talk.”

His hand moves up further, his fingers moving along the skin of her cheek slowly, “How about you quit doubtin’ me?”

One thing he’s good at doing is making her easily irritated. Her eyebrows furrow as she looks at him, “Well why can’t you just say it again? You always gotta answer my responses with a question. You can just be so—“

Another thing she couldn’t stand about him—he was smooth. There should’ve been no way that he caught the rest of her words within his mouth, gripping her in a kiss to shut her up. His hand grasps the back of her neck, tugging her hair a bit to keep her head tilted up. A baby gasp pulled from her mouth, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to keep herself steady. His mouth was warm, tongue heavy, her eyes slowly fluttering shut at the taste of him.

And god, that gasp of hers was music to his ears, pushing his tongue further into her mouth in response as the hand once on the wall slid down to grip at her hip, using it to pull her against his body. It wasn’t rushed, instead slow, his tongue twisting slowly around hers, his teeth catching gently against her bottom lip in a way that couldn’t be an accident.

She’s so drowned within him, she has to reach up and clasp her fingers around his jaw, pushing his mouth back as she presses her forehead to his, breathlessly giggling, “We’re gonna miss the train…”

He leans forward again, and for a second, she thinks he’s going to push for another kiss, but his nose brushes against hers instead, his tone lower as he questions, “You’ that eager to go home?”

“I’m just—“

“Yo, Yakuza boy!”

They both halt, Sayuki pulling herself away as she looks to the end of the alleyway, seeing two men beginning to walk towards them. They weren’t familiar to her, but she had a feeling this was men from another clan. The way they walk towards them—it’s not inviting in the slightest. 

“We heard how you robbed the market a couple blocks down, thought we’d come politely ask for that money back.” 

She knew Toji wasn’t afraid. But in the sense of her being with him, she could see the way he lifted his head, glaring at the two. He lightly took her body within his arm and pushed her behind himself.

“We can do this shit later. I got a woman with me,” he warns, “Your cashier boy pissed me off, I was teaching him a lesson.”

The two men glance between each other, before going back to Toji, taking another couple of steps forward. One of them grins, his tone mocking as he responds, "And? We didn't ask for the life story."

Sayuki grips her fingers against the jacket he wears, trying to pull him back as she muffles, “Let’s go, Toji. We aren’t in Tokyo—“

“Leaving so soon?” 

She turns, seeing another man coming from the opposite end of the alleyway. They were now surrounded, and this one carried a crowbar within his palm.

Toji tenses visibly, his arm tightening around her as he glares at the three men surrounding them, his eyes flickering from each one.

“You’ got a fuckin’ death wish?”

“I think you do,” one of the guys counters, “You know this is our turf. Now shit has to get a little ugly in return. We’ll just strip you down, call it even, cool?”

Sayuki steps from behind him a bit, coming towards the man with the crowbar as she quickly says, “I don’t mind bringing the stuff I took from the market back. It’s no problem—“

But just in that millisecond, it’s as if someone cut the lights off in her brain. She doesn’t register the knuckles that crush against her face until she slams against the ground, her hair falling over her jaw that throbs the minute she feels pain register. She grunts, her ears ringing, palm dragging against the cement to try to bring herself to reality as she can now hear fighting above her.

Everything seems to go silent for Toji when he watches her fall to the ground, a heavy rush of red flooding his vision that he’s never felt before. When he sees her hands desperately gripping the ground beneath her trying to get up, a voice in his brain snaps, and he’s charging at the guy that hit her before any sort of rationality can make an appearance. All three men are surrounding him as he swings, forcing his weight down into every punch he throws.

Within seconds, one of the men is clutching his abdomen, another bent over on the ground, and the third—crowbar in hand—struggling to stay upright as he raises the bloody metal weapon in the air to swing down against Toji’s head.

Her vision is a bit blurry, hand trembling as she reaches for the wall close to her, eyes opening as she begs, “T—Toji…stop…” so quiet that she knew he couldn’t hear it. 

She could see as he picked up the man bent on the ground, beginning to plummet his fist into his face. He won’t stop.

She can hear the blood against his knuckles, the crack of bone shifting beneath his punch, the small grunt each time he swings forward. Her body feels cold, a sense of fear exhilarating her skin like no other. Seeing him mercilessly beat this man was a reminder of who he could be—who he was.

“Toji…” she pushes her voice out more, “…Please stop! You’re going to kill him…”

As she pleads, the punches continue. She watches as the man with the crowbar drops the weapon, pulling a pocket knife from his pants, rushing over as he lunges into Toji’s side. That makes Sayuki almost sober up, watching as he drops the man in his hands, hitting the ground with him.

Toji grunts out in pain, his hand moving to grip his side. He can feel the way more blood pours from the wound, soaking the side of his pant leg and jacket.

An anger she hadn’t expected seeps through her entire body. Even with a throbbing jaw, a weary vision, she scurries forward as she grabs the crowbar the man originally held, raising it as she swung harshly at him, watching as he slammed against the wall from impact. She reaches within the back of her jacket, pulling a bigger pocket knife as she jabs it within his side, using her strength to hold him against the wall, ignoring the curse he lets out. 

She grits her teeth, “Now you’ll both have matching scars,” twisting the knife within his body, ignoring his painful shout.

Toji pushes himself up with a low grunt at the sound of her voice, his hand still covering the spot where he was now bleeding, pissed at how own vision was becoming blurry, hearing the shouts of the man, seeing his shadow glide by as he took off from the alleyway, knife still within his side.

Sayuki throws the crowbar within her hand, rushing over to Toji as she drops to her knees in front of him, pressing her hand against his wound as her eyes chaotically scatter over his pained look, “Hey—hey—look at me…” Her own hand becomes painted red, “Shit!”

Toji’s eyes are screwed shut for a couple of seconds as her hand presses against his, body flinching at the pain. But when he registers her voice again, his eyes snap open. The feeling of her hands against his skin is enough to help clear the darkness that was starting to take over his mind. His hand moves from his side to grab hers.

“I’m fine,” he mutters.

“No you’re not,” she croaks, her vision returning to a blur, clearing as warm tears slide down her freckled cheeks, “You’re not. I’m calling for help, okay? P—Please stay awake,” she’s holding his wound, clutching the side of his neck, her heart beating outside of her chest.

Toji’s eyes look at her, seeing the worry across her face. He knew he had to stay awake, not only for her but for his own damn sake if he didn’t want to bleed out in some alleyway— her touch on his neck was making it near impossible for him to keep his head up.

 He huffs out a short breath, “Don’t…call anybody.”

“Don’t be fucking stupid right now!” She softly panics, fingers trembling as blood rushes over the screen of her phone, dialing someone, anyone at the moment. The phone slides farther away from them as she tries to pull him up, desperately taking his jacket off to press it against his stab. 

She’s rambling in panic, “They hurt you—I’m so sorry…”

Toji feels his balance stagger a bit as she pulls him up, the action forcing a hiss of pain from his mouth. He leans his weight against the wall, his eyes flickering to the phone on the ground. His jaw clenches, the thought of any of this being her fault pissing him off, “S—Stop apologizin’…not now…”

“I can’t,” she cried, terrified at the sight of him, her face entirely red, breathing unleveled as her chest heaved.

Toji’s heart twists at the sound of her crying. He wants to reach up to wipe her tears, but the pain in his side makes it nearly impossible. 

“Don’t cry,” he practically pleads with her, the thought of her crying any harder making his head spin.

In Toji fashion, he raises his free hand up to reach for her body, pulling her close to him. He wasn’t dramatic, but seeing his vision blur might’ve had him tense, and if he did pass out, he had to make sure she was still there. 

He grits out, “You…had a knife on you this whole time?” 

She blinks through her tears, sniffling as she registers the question. She nods her head, trying to keep herself calm. Even stabbed, he was able to form some type of amusement, a tired huff of a chuckle blowing against her face as he said, “You really are my fuckin’ wife.” 

She can’t help but laugh in return, the weakness of his voice making her cry harder. Toji couldn’t help it, holding her felt good, especially in his current condition. His hand moves to tangle within the ends of her hair, pulling her closer to his chest as he leans his head back.

He couldn’t tell how much time passed as the lights of Kenji’s Cadillac Escalade illuminated the dark alleyway. But it didn’t matter, he’d passed out—Her touch being the last thing he could feel.

                                     𝓐ᥫ᭡

SAYUKI LOOKED WITHIN THE MIRROR, head in her lap as the housekeeper continued to press ice along her bruised jaw, tuning in and out of her grandfather's chastising. Even in sickness, even on his deathbed, the man had a voice on him. 

She sighed, “You’re going to run your blood pressure up if you keep yelling like that, Jiji.” 

He makes a clicking noise with his tongue, the action clearly disapproving. His eyes glared at the bruise on his granddaughter’s face.

“Of course I’m going to raise my goddamn blood pressure. You were assaulted. I’m going to have those bastards heads sent back to their families!”

“Me and Toji stole from a market in Kyoto,” she reminds, “We didn’t know the store belonged to a different turf.”

“I don’t care where you were—“

He grits the words out between his teeth, his eyes narrowing. Kenji, standing in the doorway, gives the older man a look telling him to relax. The old man huffs, closing his eyes for a moment.

“How does your face feel?”

“Like I fell off my bike, Ojiichan,” she softly replies, “Is Toji alright?” Her patience is wearing thin, no one telling her any updates of him since they took him down to the basement, calling along their underground doctor.

The older man sighs, “The doctor stitched him up. It appears he didn’t lose that much blood…he was lucky,” he grumbles, his eyes flickering back to her face, “You two should’ve known better. We don’t need another incident like—“ 

He stops himself, not wanting to bring up the past. He then says, “He’ll be in one of the guest rooms tonight. You should go check on him. I would like to go to sleep.”

She knows he’s upset, but she doesn’t want to make it any worse. She leans down as she gives him a kiss on the cheek, bowing as she allows the housekeeper to get him ready for bed. She gave herself time to relax, showering off the blood on her hands and body, throwing an oversized tee on herself, slipping along her house slippers as she goes in search of the guest bedroom along the opposite side of the house. It’s dim within the hallway, quiet as she pads her feet against the floor. She doesn’t know why she feels nervous. She stands in front of the sliding door, halting herself there as she takes a quiet breath. She knocks along the wooden part, not wanting to intrude.

Toji is sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless as he looks over his stitched up wound. He had scars all over him, but the newest one was different.

The doctor was right—One wrong move and he could’ve died. That thought makes his jaw clench.

He huffs out a breath, replying, “Come in.”

She slides the door open, closing it behind herself as she looks over him, now seeing his Irezumi face to face. The colors strike upon his skin, body painted in ink from the top of his back to his tailbone, traveling all across his arms. It’s like he wears another shirt. Even through the ink, she can see the stitches along his side. She comes forward as she kneels herself in front of him, placing a gentle hand close to his injury as she asks, “How does it feel?”

Toji’s eyes watch her as she moves before him, taking in all of her features in that oversized shirt and her house slippers. Her face is bare, freckles prominent, dark hair curly and damp, stretching down her back as she’d just gotten out of the shower. He had never seen her look so small —maybe because she rarely looked so vulnerable.

He reaches out to place his hand on top of hers, his eyes flickering to the sight of his wound, his expression showing how bothered he was. 

“Hurts like a motherfucker.”

He immediately catches hold of the bruise against her jaw, grunting to her, “Tell me it hurts. Don’t lie to me.”

“It doesn’t,” she promises, “I’m fine.”

Toji makes a disapproving noise in the back of his throat. He brings his other hand to her chin, gently turning it to see her from a different angle in the light. 

“I know you’re pissed off, but I’d rather you just say that you’re glad I’m okay,” she tries to lightly joke, “My grandpa’s given me enough shit about my injury.”

His head cocks to the side as he gives her a look, “You seem to know me already.”

His grip on her chin is still tight, his thumb softly moving across the skin, “You have no idea how pissed I am that this shit happened….all because of me.”

She exhales, her mind flashing of memories she didn’t want to be reminded of. She rubs her thumb across his arm, flicking her eyes up as she admits, “The moment I saw you on the ground…it just—it made me remember how I felt…seeing my dad like that.” 

She hates that she feels her body go cold, finding it so hard to talk about this. 

“It happened all the same—walking from the market, being trapped by members from another clan. They stabbed him, killed him—enjoyed how I cried for them to stop.” 

She can feel the tears in her eyes. She swipes her fingers under her cheeks, feeling her hands trembling as she shudders, “I just…I was so scared,” she tremors, “You can’t do shit like that, Fushiguro—“ she's hyperventilating at this point, “I can’t lose someone else like that…” she brings her hands to her face, sharply inhaling as she full on cries.

Toji feels his chest shift at the sound of her broken voice. Seeing her cry because of him, seeing her so terrified—it does something to him.

He pulls her from her kneeled position to place her in his lap, his arms wrapping around her body to hold her close. He didn’t say a word for a while, letting her cry into his bare chest as his voice lowered, “I’m sorry.”

She cries into his neck, clutching him tighter, feeling all of her emotions pouring through her body. Her cries are then encapsulated by his mouth as he grunts, “C’mere,” pulling her into a kiss, the mixture of her mouth trembling beneath his making him groan.

It’s messy. Her tears mixed within their kiss. Her body shaking between his, her sobs breaking against his lips as he continues to kiss her. Toji felt a pang in his chest at the action, his arms pulling her body closer to his, fingers tightening around the shirt she wore. His injured body ached, but having her so close to him like this was worth it.

Toji’s hand moves to the side of her face, pulling her in for a deeper kiss, tongue dragging her mouth around with his. She tasted like warmth, a home that he never knew.

His free palm comes under her shirt, gripping the skin of her ass to twist her back onto the bed, body now hovered above hers. She quickly hesitates against his mouth, “Your stitches, Fushiguro…” pressing her hand along his chest, not wanting to hurt him.

“Did I say you hurt me?” 

“No—“

“So give me your mouth, I want you bad as fuck right now,” his nose nuzzles against her neck, the ticklish pleasure making her eyes roll back slightly.

She pulls face down to meet him, bringing her lips close to his mouth as she says softly, “Go slow, please…” pressing their noses together, breathing hesitantly against his mouth.

Toji’s face darkens, his eyes looking intensely into her own as his pupils dilate. He wasn’t exactly a gentle man—but he wanted to try for her sake. 

He clutches her by her neck as he pulls their lips back together, head knocking back in a motion as he kisses her, the weight of his body overpowering even as he tries to be soft. His hand presses against the bare skin of her hip, dragging his thumb along the goosebumps forming. When Sayuki’s eyes flutter open, she flicks them up to the mirror above, engraving the ink along his back in her brain, locking her fingers into the back of his hair to have his mouth fall more into hers, dropping her lower lip to release a shaky breath.

Toji’s hair was soft between her fingers while his touch was firm along her hip. His tongue flicks out to catch her mouth just before it leaves his.

She reaches below herself as she arches her back off of the bed, face warm as she pulls the end of her shirt upward, peeling the material from her skin. To see his glare at the sight of her, she pulls his shoulder down to press her chest to his, hating how he stared.

“Don’t do that,” he grunts, raising himself back up, pulling one of her hands above her head as he slips his fingers through hers, eyes burning at the sight of her bare skin. Her brown nipples, caramel skin, she’s glowing beneath the dim light of the bedroom.

His mouth travels, sucking her nipples in between his full lips, her body arching towards him the more he lowers himself. His arm holding one of her hands keeps her in place, her body wanting to pull away, all while wanting to pull closer to him.

Toji’s tongue is rough and wet against her, tracing the skin of her neck line and collarbone. He wanted more of her—all of her. Her taste and her body makes his head spin. 

His body, firm and muscular keeps her pinned against the bed, her chest rising and falling heavily as he kisses down her stomach. Toji grumbles against her, biting the skin along her hip, “I can’t fuckin’ get enough of you.”

The sound of his voice makes her breathing become heavy, her thighs shuddering as he makes out with the skin of her leg, swirling his tongue up to her ankles, kissing along her feet—he was everywhere. It makes her grip the material of the sheet beneath her, his mouth gliding down to the back of her thigh, making her shakily release, “Toji…”

He loves the sound of his name on her lips, almost as much as he loves the taste of her skin. Her body shivers beneath his touch, her toes curling as he leaves a trail of kisses all the way back up her leg. 

He growls against her, “Say my name again.”

His large frame is able to keep the intertwine of their palms together as lowers himself down, locking his other palm against the back of her thigh, tugging her lower half even closer. Her heart beating in her ears nearly implodes the moment she feels his mouth drag up the folds of her pussy that keep her clit hidden, and she full on gasps, the sound shuddering as her head knocks back against the pillow, breathlessly whining out, “T—Toji!…”

She’s warm and wet—thighs shaking as he holds her by the ankles, locking her knees against the sheets of the bed, tugging her down to meet the lap of his tongue. It’s flat against the nub of her clit that swells at the connection, her arousal collecting against his jaw, Sayuki’s skin trembling involuntarily as he’s already slurping.

She couldn’t remember the last man in between her legs. But Toji knew exactly what he was doing. She wants to snap her legs together, warmth forming along her cheeks as she desperately reaches for his hair, taking the air out of the room with her pouty gasps. His hands grip her ankles tighter, the spread of her legs making his mouth become deeper, Toji grunting as his nose pressed into her slick folds, tip of his tongue circling the sensitive bud before sucking it gently between his lips, giving opened mouthed kisses. 

"’Pussy never tasted like this,” he groans against her heated flesh, his voice low and husky with desire, “I could eat this shit all fuckin night." 

He’s back to lapping at her, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick drags, almost lost within her taste.

She shudders, “W—wait— baby—“ the pet name falls from her lips naturally, although she’s shy to release it, another pant coming from her as he raises her legs right in front of her face, closing them in so she isn’t able to see him eating away at her. 

She whimpers as her knees press a bit to her chest, dragging her nails against the skin of her thigh, laying her head against the pillow as she forces herself to fully relax. Her eyes flutter shut as she whines again, “Go slow, baby…” she keeps reminding him, “Gonna cum if you keep doing that…”

A deep growl vibrates through his throat, “Sensitive as fuck,” the vibrations sending pleasant tingles through her wet heat as he continues his assault. He’s pushing his mouth deeper, swirling his tongue around languidly, slow in his speed, weight in his efforts. He suckles the sensitive nub greedily, his lips sealing around it as he applies just the right amount of pressure.

The way he listens, his mouth runs off against her as he grunts, grinding her hips to lead back onto his tongue, “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby—fuck,” sucking her pussy so sensually into his mouth, the sounds it creates—she does the worry of her pleas as her eyes come down, watching as she gushes unexpectedly into his mouth. Her upper body arches up as she trembles, gasping deeply within her throat as she cums.

A moan flies from her lips when she feels him spank her, leaning up to capture the broken sounds she makes, dragging his palms along the back of her knees, already locking her legs over his wide shoulders. Her mind is within a pleasured frenzy, and she has to tug her fingers back into gripping his hair, giving herself a sense of control as she pants again, “S—Slow, baby…please…”

Toji was anything but slow, his mind hazy and cloudy as he felt his body throb with need. She was soft—like everything he could’ve ever needed.   

His lips, wet and lush, move against her, a small grunt leaving his mouth, “I hear you,” he mumbles against her skin like a prayer,  his hands gripping her waist to pull her further against him. Her eyes knocked down to him removing his pants, hearing the slap of his tip kiss his abdomen briefly—it’s heavy, smacking politely against her clit, but the size made it impolite. 

He pulls his mouth back from hers, pressing their foreheads together to listen to her breathing, pleas within the music of her voice. It’s as if time halts itself, Toji taking her free hand and locking it back above her head with his, his other hand wrapping along her ankle, pressing it farther into the bed. His face frowns atop of hers, keeping a focused attention as his tip nudges in between her sensitive folds—Her lower body aches with a rush of pleasure as he sinks himself in, mixed with an erotic pain she hadn’t felt in so long. Her eyes fall shut as her head falls back into the pillow, her body shuddering as she whimpers, twisting his hair within her fingers as she knocks her forehead back to his. 

Their lips brush along each other as he rolls his hips forward, spreading her legs wider, it makes her stutter out a whimper again, “Baby—I can’t—Mmmph,” squeezing his palm as he holds her down, feeling as she tries to escape. 

“‘Not even in your shit for ‘real, baby,” he grunts against her lips, “Make this dick yours, you got more to take.” 

She moans brokenly at his voice, pulling his mouth down towards her throat, “M—move….”

Toji’s head drops into her neck, his teeth dragging against the spot where a violet bruise laid. Her cries were pretty, but her moans were prettier. 

He holds her in place as he pulls his head back to glance at her face, her skin flushed with heat. 

“It’s mine now, huh?” he asks, his voice low.

Her face is warm, pulling his mouth back to hide her face within his neck, sucking the skin there as she pitifully gasped in response to him grinding himself forward, feeling an arrogance pooling within his body.

Toji groans against her, his ego growing even more as he feels her mouth against his neck. She’s marking him just as much as he’s marking her, his head feeling fuzzy for more than one reason. He moves a hand to her jaw, his fingers gently holding her chin between his forefinger and thumb to force her face to his, “Let me see that pretty ass face.”

Her teary eyes blink up at him, bringing her tongue forward as she slides it along his mouth, essentially begging for a kiss.

Her tongue against his makes something in his brain short-circuit, his eyes closing as he opens his mouth and gives in to the plea, chuckling in between, “‘Needy as fuck for my mouth, even now.” 

It’s hot, wet and messy, both of them pressing their lips together to taste each other in a way that will never be enough. 

She whimpers to him, “Don’t laugh at me…” dragging her nails lightly along his back, trying not to form her mouth into a pout.

Toji’s eyes open in time to see the pout against her lips, he can’t help but release a low chuckle again at the sight of it. 

“I’d never,” he grunts, leaning in close enough that their noses brush together, a small grin on his face, “I need you too, baby. Talk to me.”

Her voice is small, her panting heavy within her chest as she keeps her nose brushed against his, admitting to him, “It f—feels good…”

Toji’s cheek presses further into hers, his face becoming stoic again, a sense of hunger returning. He’s gentle with his touch, his mind completely focused as he absorbs himself in her pleasured noises. 

“Yeah? Not hurtin’ you?” he asks, his voice gruff in her ear, his teeth nipping at the skin of her earlobe.

She shakes her head, pressing a soft kiss along his lips as she whimpers, “Just squeezing too hard on my wrist, baby…”

His grip instantly loosens from her wrists as her admission. He curses to himself, “Sorry,” he apologizes, rubbing his fingers along the skin to ease the pain from his large hands.

Feeling his attempts to be soft—it made her heart swell. A man that wasn’t emotional, wasn’t soft in the slightest, was trying just for her. It’s like crashing waves of pleasure rush her stomach as he rocks himself forward, making her deeply gasp, “R—right—t—there…”

The sound of the gasp mixed with the pleasure in her voice made Toji groan, his hips jerking against hers. He wanted her to be full of pleasure, wanted every inch of her to feel him—but the patience he had, it was leaving.

She blinked before she knew they were switching positions, trembling as she felt him smack her ass again, grunting to her, “On your stomach.”

This was…different. She’s now against her belly, chest to her back as his body hovered above. He clutches her neck from behind—his mouth is now against her ear, still using his free hand to hold her fingers against the sheets. He sinks his dick in, the heaviness of her ass clapping along his skin— her face contorts, her mouth lightly dropping as his hips become connected with the back of her thighs, tightening his palm against her throat.

His hand is firm against her throat, holding it in an intimate way that controls her. It’s possessive.

His mouth is hot against her ear, his voice a growl against her skin, “‘Just gonna have to take it,” he grunts, voice heavy and full of meaning as his hips drop down against hers, hand holding her in place, “‘Need you to feel me, baby. You feel it?” 

She knew he wouldn’t be able to be gentle for long. Here it was, that cocky, dominant side he’d been holding back. The sounds she makes—they’re loud, high-pitched. She’s mewling with each stroke as he swirls his hips down, Sayuki’s eyes rolled back, listening to the sounds their skin creates against the room, arching deeper into the bed as she embarrassingly moans, “Oooh, shit. Baby—I feel you…”

He grunts in response, his teeth biting her ear as she moans. She felt so tight around him. He’s not pulling halfway out like before—he’s now pulling back until his tip is halfway inside, sharply driving back in, watching arousal squelch more and more, filling to the brim to drip against his balls. He presses his body against hers, his chest flush against her back, moving his hand to the side of her face to hold her head in place as he growls in her ear, “‘Makin’ a fuckin’ mess, baby. Can’t even think straight anymore, huh?”

Her head is leaning back against his shoulder, tilting her eyes up to look up within the mirror on the ceiling as he clutches her jaw. She watches the muscles of his back flex, the color of his tattoos all along his skin, she shudders, gasping, “Yeahh, c—can’t think…”

He catches her gaze in the mirror, watching his body, the way his muscles were flexing. She’s staring at him, him—and the action makes his brain feel like it’s overheating. 

“You lookin’?” he groans, her voice wrecked as his grip on her jaw tightens.

She’s clawing at the sheets beneath her, inhaling deep, gasping dangerously as she whines, “Y—Yeah….don’t stop. Don’t stop…” she feels tears brimming within her eyes, a pleasure erupting within her body she’d never felt before.

She's sniffling, trembling, a small sob pulling from her lips, reaching behind to clutch for his hair again, pulling his mouth down to her throat. He’s cooing in her ear, “I know, baby.”

She drags her fingers into his scalp as she turns her head, “Kiss me,” she begs, rolling her hips back, “Please…”

Her back is arched against him, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat, watching the way her ass recoils against his skin—It drives him wild.  

His nose slides against her face to reach for her mouth, his tongue slipping past her lips, the kiss filthy and raw. He grunts to her, “Gonna fuckin’ marry you, gonna’ kiss you like this at our fuckin’ wedding.” 

He chuckles against her shuddering body, watching as she holds onto him for dear life. He won’t stop talking, “You never answered my question. This shit mine, huh?”

She’s full on crying, so wrapped up in the pleasure he gives her— her cheek is along the sheet of the bed, his body following down with hers, pressing his cheek against her jaw, dropping his hips down, earning a squeal in response. She groans, letting the sound drag into a loud moan, clutching her hand over her mouth as she softly cries, “I’m yours, fuck…don’t s—stop…”

His. She's his. The thought is almost his undoing, his heart beating heavily against his chest as he feels her crying, her body clinging to him like she’s lost if he leaves her. 

Her voice is broken as he speaks, a whine from the back of her throat as she tightens around him, “You hear me? I’m gonna marry your ass. Never gonna’ fuckin’ leave. Always gonna fuck you like this.”

He watches her tears stream down her face from the mirror above him, a dark desire stirring within him. It’s a gorgeous sight—her completely and utterly ruined from his touch. 

He grunts into her ear, “You gonna’ say yes?”

His palm locks around her parted mouth, sliding his fingers on her tongue, using the leverage to yank her back, skin applauding like gunshots within the room. The scent of his body is all around her, she’s moaning, turning her head back to look at him, “Yes ...yes…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You mean it?”

She can feel her hips falling into his, body becoming exhausted as she trembles, the scream that attempts to release from her lips inhales into a gasp, pulling her mouth down to muffle her sounds as she softly cries, “Mean it, Toji…”

Her words leave her in a whimper, the sound mixed into a sobbed moan, Toji can’t think—He feels like he’s on fire. The pleasure, emotions that course within their body come together in another kiss, her entire body spasming beneath him as she orgasms. Her sobs, her trembling, he can feel it, smell it, taste it. 

He whispers in her ear as he holds her, groaning as he releases with her, his voice completely wrecked, “Fuck—I got you, baby.”

There’s nothing left but their shaking bodies, their tangled limbs wrapped together, panting breaths, and the sound of the two against each other. He can’t get his arms to leave her. 

She grazes her nails along his arm, trying to take control of her breath as she whispers, “Gonna’ put me in a headlock if you told me any tighter…”

He loosens his grip, shifting to turn her body to face him without separating. He’s still inside her, and he won’t budge. He wipes his thumb along the tears on her face, “My bad, pretty.”

She frowns, “When’d you get soft on me? Didn’t know I’d have such a sweet bean of a husband,” she giggles, seeing him raise his eyebrow at that.

He hates that something in his heart melts at her words—but just like a man—he has to circle back to another point of her sentence. 

“Just when I was gonna’ be nice and ask what size ring you wear,” he smacks his lips, Sayuki gasping as he wraps his fingers along the back of her neck, pressing her face down into the sheets, “Now’ I gotta remind you who I am. Put that ass up, I’m not done with you yet.” 

[eowynstwin]

Blackbird, Fly - Three

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. - You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time. - content warning for marital rape after the second break. - ao3

previous

“Come,” says Hans, tugging on your arm, “let’s get you ready for the ceremony.”

Your husband-to-be leads you up the porch steps and into the house, long legs carrying him ahead so fast you must practically jog to keep up with him. You stumble when you enter the house—the interior is fantastically well-appointed, with papered walls and carved wood furniture, framed photos hanging beside paintings, pressed flowers, hunting trophies, rifles and knives and old farm equipment. The floor beneath your feet is polished and smooth, spread over in places with thick, fringed rugs. You don’t see much more of it after your initial impression; Hans pulls you along at a clip.

Even such a brief glimpse, though, proves your long-held assumptions about Hans and his livelihood; his family has done well for itself, over the years. The kitchen, dining room, and sitting room are all separate from each other, and the manor’s first floor alone is larger than the small farmhouse you grew up in. Your family always made an effort to present a comfortable, clean home, but it seems downright drab in memory now in comparison to this.

There’s a bit of a bustle going on as Hans tugs you along—you hear movement in the kitchen, punctuated by the clang of dishes moving to and fro. A rough voice grinds out something short, and a couple of cowboys emerge with covered dishes that they set on the dining table before they return back into the fray. In the sitting room, an older woman with short, sandy brown hair sits at a desk, spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She glances up at you, betrays no interest, and then ignores you.

“You’ll meet everyone at the ceremony,” Hans says. He directs you up the stairs. “Right now you need something nice to wear.”

“O-oh,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirt as you climb the steps. The fabric, purchased at a discount after you’d saved pennies and nickels for months, suddenly feels thin and insubstantial between your fingers.

Hans brings you into the main bedroom, equally well-designed with molded wood paneling and brass lanterns on the walls, where he goes to a chest at the foot of the massive bed four-poster bed. Everything you’ve seen so far in this house is much finer than what even the most well-to-do farmers back home could display; you used to imagine that wealth like this could only be within the reach of select few businessmen on the east coast. You never imagined you’d have the chance to marry into it.

“I think this should suit you,” says Hans, turning to you with a stack of clothing in one hand.

You take it from him when he proffers it—a skirt, blouse, and jacket, you find. The fabric is silky in your hands, glossy and cool to the touch and very fine. You shake out the skirt; yards of bustled fabric tumble open to reveal pleated gathers, elegant bows, and velvet trim. The paired jacket is much the same, with pearl buttons down the front, and the accompanying blouse is a weave of tight, delicate lace.

Your earlier fears are soundly confirmed; you are in no way dressed for a wedding to Hans König. Gaz had only been trying to be kind; being here, now, seeing the kind of splendor Hans lived with every day, no one could make the mistake that you could measure up on your own.

“Thank you, Hans,” you say, face warming with embarrassment.

“Think nothing of it,” says Hans, looking you up and down expectantly. “Go on.”

You blink. “Ex—excuse me?”

Hans raises his brows as if it should be obvious. “Why, let’s see you in it, dear girl.”

You blanch. Surely he isn’t suggesting…“But—well, Hans, we aren’t—we haven’t—”

“My dear, I’ve already promised to marry you. Why would I go to such expense on a wedding merely to fool you into showing me your underthings?”

You drop your gaze to the floor, cheeks burning. “It’s not proper.”

“Bah,” says Hans. He takes the clothes back from you, tosses them onto the bed, and brings his hands to the buttons down your front. “It’s not like I won’t see this again in a few hours.”

You are rooted to the spot. He unbuttons your dress with an alacrity that startles you; in a few short moments, he makes an opening wide enough to slip over your shoulders, and unceremoniously he pushes the collar open and lets the dress drop to the floor.

You blink several times. You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time; do they feel suddenly like they’ve been skinned? Does the air suddenly feel much closer, more real than it had before? You remember shearing season on a neighbor’s farm, the angular planes of shortened fleece cropped close to twitching flesh. The sheep had looked unfinished after the deed was done—like wooden figurines only partly whittled.

When you look to Hans’ face, you find him gazing at the tight space where your chemise tucks into the line of your corset. Then, as if in a dream, he reaches out with one huge hand and cups the mound of one breast.

The air vacates your lungs. It’s the first time a man has ever touched you this way.

When young ladies of a certain age gather to socialize, matters of discussion inevitably tend toward the prurient. Your peers delighted in sharing the wealth of erotic experience they’d accrued; trysts in larders, late graveyard meetings, dizzying accounts of hands and mouths in places that sent shame pumping hot and curious through your veins. You lived vicariously through their adventures; opportunities for your own, with three older brothers and a protective father, were nonexistent.

The embarrassing fact is that in matters of your marital duties, you received no practical education.

The one time your mother, a modest woman, saw fit to tutor you, she’d taken you out to the small enclosure in which the family goats were kept. The animals were useful for milk and occasionally meat, so there was always a breeding pair at hand. This occasion, they served the additional use of instruction; the male was rutting.

Your mother had made you watch as the billy mounted the nanny, and shoved its little goat prick into her hindquarters. The billy seemed mindless with want, ferocious, gyrating its hips uncomfortably, which the nanny took with what seemed like resigned patience, if it was paying attention at all. Once the billy finished, it dismounted, chewed its cud a little bit, and walked off. The nanny seemed unperturbed, rather detached from the whole thing, and similarly continued with whatever it had been doing before.

“It’s about like that,” said your mother, unable to look you in the eye.

So you have little knowledge of the matter.

And you have no idea what to do now, as your husband-to-be fondles you and stares down at you with what seems like only idle interest. Hans’ thumb brushes over the space where your nipple would be, hot even through layers of cotton and whalebone. The fine hairs on your arms raise, standing straight up.

What are you supposed to do now? Touch him back? Your stomach turns over at the thought. Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how. Hans is touching you so casually, as if you’ve been his wife for years, but you are as poor in wifely instinct as you are in everything else.

“Lovely,” he says, eyes locked on the place where your chest is rapidly rising and falling.

You inhale shakily. This is fine. He wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t—of course it’s all right, you’re to be married within the hour. It’s only your breast, and only his hand, and it’s over your clothes. It’s fine.

“May—” your voice comes out dry. You clear your throat. “May I dress now, Hans?”

He smiles. You note that he has a thin-lipped smile, and his eyes do not crinkle at the corners. “Of course.”

-

When the guests have all arrived, when the world around you is bathed in the orange-gold light of the setting sun, and when the mandolin plays the bridal chorus, you join Hans König under an archway of lupine and Indian paintbrush. Evening gives way to night as the last day of your old life comes to a close, ending as you say the words that until now you’ve only whispered in the night at your bedside.

For better—for worse—as long as you both shall live. Over and over again, until your tongue recognized the shape of them like the Lord’s Prayer. As if practicing them enough would speed the hour to you all the sooner in which their vow became real.

Hans kisses you for the second time, and then together, arm in arm, you turn to face the congregation’s applause.

Stars begin peeking white faces through the dimming sky as the band strikes up a tune, and as the reception commences, you must shake hands with the whole county. The priest John MacTavish insists upon introducing himself first—a younger man, with vivid blue eyes and an unusual haircut, gives his congratulations in a husky Scottish brogue entirely inappropriate for a man of the cloth. He’s followed by the sheriff, Simon Riley, who practically chases him off—another tall man, near to your husband’s height, and twice as broad. Curiously, he wears a bandanna across the lower half of his face. His greeting to you is gruff, short—polite in a way that seems unnatural for him.

Next is a slightly older woman, splendidly dressed in lace-trimmed taffeta. She comes over to kiss your cheeks in the French style. Hans ducks his head as she smiles at you; you can’t help but feel similar trepidation. She is terribly striking, with delicate creases on either side of her mouth and a mysterious twinkle in her eye.

“The hotel in town is my establishment,” she tells you. “The bath house, as well.”

“Oh,” you say, “how lovely.”

Her smile quirks at the corners; she looks at Hans, then back to you, and softly chucks your chin. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Madame, thank you,” your husband says quickly as your face sets to blazing. “I believe others would like to speak to us, as well, if you don’t mind.”

She gives you another enigmatic smile, tightens the light chiffon wrap around her shoulders, and leaves you to the banker and his wife, who both eagerly step up to talk your ear off.

Farmers, other ranchers, ramblers and gamblers and trappers; it seems everyone in the state has come to pay you their respects, and they all want to meet you at the exact same time. The rough voice you heard in the kitchen manifests itself in the form of a burly man with mutton chops, who introduces himself as John Price the saloon owner. A young woman with an unsmiling face named Ms. Boucher tells you your first purchase at her dry goods store will be discounted by five percent, as a welcome gift from her to you. She punctuates the statement with a narrow-eyed look at your husband, but you have no time to wonder at it before the next guests capture your attention.

A whole line of Hans’ cowboys, headed by the woman you saw working at the writing desk when you arrived, form up to tell you their names and pledge you their loyalty, still dressed in their wrangling leathers but bathed and combed and polished for the occasion nonetheless. The woman introduces herself as Kate Laswell, the foreman.

“I took care of the accounting after Anna passed,” Laswell says to you. “Tomorrow I’ll go through the books with you. It’ll be your job from now on.”

“Now, Kate, you shouldn’t discuss business at my wedding,” says Hans, politely, but somewhat terse. “And besides, that would be far too much for my new bride.”

“Hans, I told you,” you say earnestly, referencing a summer letter, “I want to be a part of things.”

He smiles genially at you—but the expression seems tight. “Of course, dear.”

“Tomorrow,” Kate says to you. Curiously, she looks you up and down. Then, “You’ll need to see the tailor, as well, I think.”

Her words are not said unkindly, but they shame you anyway, reminding you just how poorly matched as yet you are to this life. When you’d put the dress on earlier, it had been immediately clear to you that it was not made to your measurements, but you hadn’t thought it would be so obvious to anyone else. Only Hans’ cowboys proceeding to introduce themselves saves you from having to respond.

One is conspicuously absent.

Unexpectedly, it hurts. Even though it shouldn’t. Gaz had only driven you here, after all. You’ve known him less than a day. It shouldn’t disappoint you, as you keep your eyes on the moving line, that he does not come forward, but it does.

In between meeting the county folk, you manage to get a few bites of the wedding feast—prime rib, lamb chowder, baked fish, seasoned potatoes, collard greens, fried tomatoes, sourdough biscuits, and three different fruit cobblers still somehow steaming from the oven. You and Hans cut the bride’s cake, an impressive sheet of angel food and ivory buttercream that he must have procured at outrageous cost; you are not embarrassed to wolf it down in front of Hans’ guests. It’s the sweetest, softest thing you’ve ever eaten, more delicate than you ever could have imagined any food could be.

As the sky darkens overhead, the faint cloud of the milky way coalesces in the light of the waxing moon, and the band takes up a lively jig as the wedding party sallies forth to the clearing to dance arm in arm. Your husband whirls you along with them, arm around your waist, and then you’re dancing, too, and the familiar two-step lifts your flagging spirits as the cool night air runs quick, soft fingers across your burning cheeks.

So what if some cowboy hadn’t made it to your wedding? You’re dancing with your husband, after months of longing for him; everything and everyone else is inconsequential laid up against this triumph.

Faces blur in the lamplight the night falls indigo around you, and as the music changes Hans twirls you into a new set of arms in a jaunt that has everyone exchanging partners. They hold you only briefly before the music changes again, and off you bounce to another, the world spinning around you faster and faster, jubilant and surreal, and then another—

Suddenly you are in Kyle Garrick’s arms.

He catches you like lassoing a runaway horse, taking your momentum into the pillar of his body as he winds you in close. One of his hands spreads warm across your back, fingers spanning what feels like the entire breadth of your waist. His other cradles your own in his palm, long fingers folded around it like an envelope. You fit against him easily, perfectly, like a couple illustrated in a storybook.

“Mr. Garrick,” you gasp.

“Mrs. König,” he says.

Suddenly you realize you’re out of breath. You take deep gulps of air, and Gaz’s scent permeates your lungs. Lavender soap and bay rum, polished leather, sweet hay. The soft, dense curls of his hair are combed and parted a little, and the short stubble he’d greeted you with on the train platform is tonsured down flush to his jaw.

He leans in closer to you, hovers his lips near to one ear. “You changed your dress.”

He doesn’t keep pace with the other dancers, or swing you around in time with the music; he lets the world slow around you both, the music falling away as he brings the pace of your heart down with soft line of his mouth and the steady, still look in his dark eyes. His hand on your back radiates so much warmth that it cuts through the evening chill just beginning to set in, as if his palm is directly against your naked skin.

You smile meekly. “It wasn’t appropriate for a wedding.”

His dark brows pull together; his hands tighten their purchase on you. You watch him avert his eyes from you, take a great breath in through flared nostrils.

“Mr. Garrick,” you say, feeling too honest, “do you disapprove of me?”

He snaps his gaze back to you. “Why would you think that?”

You swallow. “You don’t seem very pleased, whenever we talk, is all.”

Suddenly Gaz smiles—lets out a short, sharp laugh that bares his even teeth, shows the points of his canines. “That’s not your fault. I promise you.”

“Then what is it?”

He gazes at you. Lamplight casts the angles of his face in shadow, deepens the darkness of his eyes. His shoulder is solid beneath where your hand rests, shaped hard by a life on the range; you could lay the entirety of your weight against him, you think, and he wouldn’t even sway with holding you up. There’s something very present about Kyle Garrick. Something real. It draws you in like the earth draws the moon into its orbit.

“Do you really want this?” he asks you.

You blink. “Of course I do.”

“You hardly know him.”

“I’ve known him for half a year, Mr. Garrick,” you say, somewhat unsure how much explanation you owe this cowboy. After all, you’d vowed to earn his trust, as his employer’s new wife. “I know you might have some reservations about me. I understand, really.”

“No,” says Gaz immediately, dark brows low and serious over his eyes. “Not about you.”

“Mrs. König!” an accented voice calls.

Immediately the world speeds up around you again, music crashing back into your ears, wedding guests spinning and leaping around you, and you turn to see your husband standing at the edge of the clearing.

The dancing comes to a halt at the sound of his voice; Hans outstretches one hand toward you.

“I believe it is time for us to retire,” he says.

Gaz’s hands tighten on you again. You feel the eyes of the other dancers on the two of you, tight lines of attention between you and them.

You have felt it all evening, really—the undercurrent lining every conversation, the askance looks tossed at you and your husband when no one thought you’d notice. The pervading sense of some drama playing out just outside of your comprehension.

You turn to look back at Gaz. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. The wells of his eyes are ink-dark, opaque, eclipsed by something of a shape beyond your knowing. He says nothing as he holds your gaze, only watches you with an expectation so stoic, so resigned, that you feel almost guilty for releasing him.

He lets you go as if his grasp wasn’t even tight in the first place. You turn away from him, from the stone-hard expression on his face, and go to slide your fingers into your husband’s waiting hand.

Wolf-whistles populate the night air as he smiles approvingly, nods, and leads you away. Short bursts of knowing applause behind you draw your shoulders tight together.

“Ignore them,” says Hans, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm. “They’re just fools.”

You look back over your shoulder. Gaz still stands amid the dancers, a wide berth around him. His eyes have not left you; they pierce you in the night, sharp even as the distance between you grows.

You have only one other point of reference, aside from your mother’s tutelage, for how the end of this evening might go. A topaz glimmering in the folds of your memory.

Years ago, before the shine had worn off as it usually does with older siblings, you’d worshiped your oldest brother like he was Jesus Christ returned. You’d trailed after him like a newborn pup, dogging his every step, hoping your devotion would earn you even the smallest scraps of his affection. You’d watched his comings and goings like you could divine the mysteries of God from the merest angle of his movements.

One night, far past the time when everyone should be asleep, he’d slipped out of the small three-room house your family shared. You knew, because you slept closest to the door, and by then could recognize him by the rhythm of his footsteps. Like any nosy little sibling, you’d followed him out once you were sure he couldn’t hear you behind him.

He’d made his creeping way toward the barn, his path and yours lit only by a waxing moon. You remember, sneaking along after him, noticing a dim glow emanating from the cracks in the hayloft door, and guessed that your brother had realized he’d forgotten to snuff a lantern before going to bed—and now he was going to put it out, rather than leave a hay fire to chance.

He went inside. You were about to follow (no sibling, however divine, was exempt from a good ribbing, and nearly burning down the barn was excellent blackmail fodder)—when you heard another voice.

A female voice. Soft, and sweet, and welcoming.

Very little preamble separated that revelation from the next, and what you heard in the following moments rooted you there in place; movement. Rustling. For the span of a few heartbeats, nothing except for the crickets in the fields—and then, like the moon rising on a cloudless night—a growing chorus, voices high and low, moaning together in staccato.

You’d stood there, frozen absolutely solid, as it went on. The high voice lifted higher, and higher, carried on frantic, rapid breaths, until it cut off with a shriek that muffled so fast you knew your brother had covered the girl’s mouth.

Then—quiet, shared laughter.

So you know a little more than what the goats taught you.

Hans leads you back inside the house, where the lanterns have been turned to low, orange specks of light. You fix your eyes on the nape of his neck ahead of you as the two of you climb the stairs, making your way back to the master bedroom. The cacophony of the wedding celebration is far away; he opens the door, draws you inside, and shuts it behind him.

You stand in the middle of the room, looking at him. This whole evening has felt like a dream, but as you gaze at your husband, you suddenly feel like you’re waking up. You have not been alone with Hans since you met him, not really, and you realize he hasn’t felt quite real to you because of it. You almost feel as if you can see him, for the first time, see the words that have made him up in your memory coalesce into the flesh-and-blood man standing before you.

This is him. This is Hans. This is the man you love.

Softly, you approach him. Reach up with two hands to take his face in them; press your lips, shyly, unpracticed, to his.

“Hans,” you say, more softly than you have ever said anyone’s name in your life, looking into the pale blue of his eyes.

He gazes down at you. “Let’s get undressed,” he says.

It’s the moment you expected, but it daunts you nonetheless. You nod, step away from your husband, and he sets to the task—he shucks his coat, dropping it on the floor, and unhooks his suspenders. Swiftly you turn away from him when he begins unbuttoning his shirt, face blazing—of course, you’ve seen men undress before, you have three brothers, but this—this—

The reality of what you are about to do douses you all at once, soaking you to the bone. When you bring your hands up to the buttons of your bodice, they are trembling; you can barely get the tiny pearls between your fingers to undo them. You hear more clothes land on the floor behind you as you struggle, and then nothing. Stillness.

His eyes are heavy on your back. He is silent as you finally get the jacket off, and the blouse along with it; he is silent as you push the skirt down over your hips, the garment piling on the floor.

Your whole body is shaking by the time you’re down only to your chemise, shivering like a foal on new legs as you bare your shoulders. You close your eyes. There’s no need to be afraid as you shuffle the garment down your back. It’s only your husband behind you, looking at you as you bare your buttocks, as you step out of the split shorts, as the cool night air caresses your naked belly.

“That’s enough,” Hans says behind you when your hands go to the ties on your stockings.

You go still.

“Get on the bed, now.”

-

You focus on your breathing. Long breaths, in and out, as you crawl belly-first onto the mattress, which sinks luxuriously under your weight, softer than any bed you’ve lain on in your life. Suddenly, before you have time to adjust, the mattress sinks even more under you, and an envelope of heat and weight looms over you, pressing hard onto you, bare skin and the smell of sweat and the sound of another person’s breathing over you invading your senses.

Then there’s something blunt nudging at the entrance of your sex. A hand on your hip, gripping tight. The blunt thing circles briefly, parting your folds, and then is pressing into you. Pressing in somewhere tight, somewhere that doesn’t want to open to let it in. You hold your breath. It presses harder, fighting the resistance, and then finally gets past it, just a half inch or so—and suddenly it hurts.

“Hans,” you whisper.

He hasn’t seem to have heard you. He pushes harder, just a bit further. There’s another wall of resistance, this one needling and far more solid. You gasp sharply at the dryness of it, the way his member seems to want to push your own folds up into you as it tries to get in, shoving, bludgeoning, and then, mercifully, Hans pulls away.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to suggest that maybe the two of you try this later. Clearly there is something about you that’s not ready for it—but then his hand is between your legs, smearing something slippery around, and just briefly he touches something that pulses with interest. You jolt as little sparks of pleasure dance through you but quickly burn out, and then, the blunt head of his cock is back, pushing in, much faster, much smoother, huge and hard—

Suddenly it is sharp inside you, razor sharp, paralyzing. You shriek in pain, tears welling acidic in your eyes, shocked, betrayed, and he keeps coming, an endless length of him forcing inside, making room where there is none, going somewhere it clearly must not belong—and then he groans, loud and guttural, and begins to pull out.

You don’t have enough time to mistake this for the end of it. He pulls out halfway and then rams back in, slamming against your body, punching what must be the very limit of the space he can make for himself in your body. Pain roars to life around his cock, radiating outward, a ripping and shredding that grows as he forces himself into you again, and then again, and then it’s happening for real, he’s begins thrusting so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs, slapping his hips against your backside as he grunts and groans behind you like a dumb animal. He batters some nexus of agony that sends you screaming, shrieking with every jerk of his hips, tears streaming down your face as you grip the blanket in clawed fingers.

“Please, Hans, stop, please!”you wail. “Stop, stop, stop—”

His hand grips back of your head, turning your face downward—pressing it against the bed, muffling your mouth and nose and eyes into the blanket—

He jerks against you as agony writes itself into your bone marrow. Your hands circle in on themselves so tightly you feel your fingernails bite into your palms. Any memory of laughter you ever had abandons you.

Then, suddenly, mercifully, he’s forcing himself into you as deeply as he can, groaning loud, and something warm blooms in you, squelches out warm and sticky as he pulls in and out a few more times. He stills then from his furious rutting, hanging over you, panting.

Then he pulls out. Your husband lets you go and rolls over, breathing hard on the bed. You lay absolutely dead still, shaking violently, every muscle in your body tensed up painfully tight.

“Hans,” you whimper, “Hans.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums.

“Hans.” Every nerve is vibrating with pain. “Hans, that hurt.”

There is a long silence after. So long, you start to believe that he won’t say anything; that perhaps, even, he’s fallen asleep, and your words have dropped like flies from the air between you before they reached him.

But he hasn’t fallen asleep. Your husband shuffles off the bed, lifts the linen, and shuffles back into it. The lantern light is dim in the bedroom, but light enough that you can see the nonplussed expression on his face.

“Anna got used to it,” he says finally, eyes closing. “You will too.”

And he turns on his side and says no more to you.

You lay there aching. When you drag your fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, streaks of red intermingle with the clear and the white.

Suddenly you want this day to be over. You want to close your eyes and dream that it never happened—or maybe, if you go to sleep, you’ll awaken to find that it was all a dream after all, and you’re still home, your mother cooking just outside the bedroom door. Slowly, you inch off the bed, finding the floor with your stockinged feet, and go to douse the lanterns.

The room is cold and silvery without their light. Darkness gathers in the corners, around the weak glow of moonlight failing to fully penetrate the curtains over the window. You gingerly swipe the cloth from a nearby washbasin between your legs, cleaning up the remnants of your husband’s pleasure, and then, with nowhere else to go, you return to the empty side of the bed and crawl stiffly under the covers.

He does not stir as you settle in beside him. You lay your head on the pillow next to his and fold your hands over your stomach.

Outside and far away, you think you can hear the band still merrily playing. The darkness deepens, and deepens, until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin.

-

next

[fansids]

Shadow of the King Au Art Dump

Since I very rarely get past the sketching phase any presentable art is rare, but I managed to find some for ya'll

Warning for some old ass art:

1. The Stalwart Generals

I spent an ungodly amount of time figuring out the designs, dynamics, and personalities of all of these monkies so I'll be damned if I don't show them first.

The Generals take care of anything SWK is unable to. They are in charge of FFM when he's not present.

Marshal Ma - While technically all the generals are the same rank, Marshal Ma is considered SWK's unofficial second in command. She's calm in every crisis with a very low bs tolerance and is 75% of the reason why the island doesn't fall to chaos every time SWK leaves. She's highly respected by all the inhabitants and can and will break your spine Bane style if the situation calls for it.

Marshal Liu - Mean bisexual. Marshal Ma's sister and the bane of her existence. On duty she takes her role very seriously. Off duty she likes to keep Ma on her toes with her dumbassery. She's easy going, hates clothes, and loves to fight. She has a slightly concerning amount of knives on her person at all times. She is big gay for General Beng.

General Beng - Meaner lesbian. A siamang and the largest and tallest of the generals. She enjoys dressing up, tea (both kinds), and a good party. She has a very short fuse. While her size and strength alone would generally deter anyone from testing her temper, there are always idiots. She can fight, but she knows her Liu would enjoy it more.

General Ba - The youngest of the generals. While she's not shy, she is very quiet. She does not waste her words. But, when she speaks, the others will stop whatever they're doing to listen. She likes to spend her free time in the libraries. Get her in the right mood and she'll argue with you for hours about the most random subjects.

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2. Macaque face evolution

Was trying to get a feel for Macaque's face and how it changes throughout the au. Top right is the youngest, bottom right is the oldest. Bro gets all sorts of messed up from the whole died and resurrection thing and very much looks wrong afterwards.

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3. New fit

Macaque and SWK have the whole cape thing going on, I figured SWK gave Mac one of his own when he was still training under him. I like to think it holds a lot of sentimental value to him since he still wears it in present day but he would rather get his head smashed in again than admit it.

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4. I'm sure this won't come back to bite anyone later

Eeesh. Imagine spending your whole life training to receive and keep the Sun Wukong's attention only for him to casually give it to some random human boy thousands of years later. I mean, Macaque did betray him and everything, but it's the principle.

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5. The Tongbi Gibbon Concepts

One of the four world-wrecking/celestial monkies. My brain was very focused on the whole pulling celestial bodies out of the sky part of her abilities that I made her based around that line.

Don't know if this fit is still canon as she and the Horse Monkey had a large role to play in Shadow of the King, and I'm considering if I should take them out

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Bonus:

I consider the Tongbi gibbon and the Horse Monkey to be older than both Sun Wukong and Macaque in Shadow of the King. The Horse Monkey is the eldest, but the Tongbi's age is nothing to sniff at.

That being said, that does not mean she can't be bought.

Takes place after all the traumatizing shit in SotK

Panel 1

Tongbi: Child, I am an ancient being. I hold the power of gods within me. I was witness to the birth of the Great Sage himself. I have seen nations and empires rise and fall. I have gathered and spent innumerable wealth. Yet you think you can bribe me with 20 yuan?

Panel 2

The host: ...how 'bout 30?

Panel 3

Off-panel (Horse Monkey): TONGBI!!

MK: I thought the nimbus made you airsick

Red Son: Not helping, Noodle Boy

Tongbi: BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A comic done in purple and orange featuring Cecil Palmer from Welcome To Night Vale and Reigen Arataka from Mob Psycho 100. Cecil is colored in purple while Reigen is colored in orange. Cecil is a mid-sized older white man with a mullet, body hair, a mustache, large tentacles, and long nails. He is wearing earrings that spell "hot" in dangly letters, a short sleeved peasant top, a plain tight-fitted skirt, calf-height platform heels, cat ears, and a seatbelt as a belt. Reigen is a Japanese man with short hair wearing a suit.

The first panel shows Cecil posing smugly with his arms crossed while swinging Reigen into the ground with one of his four tentacles wrapped around his leg, causing the ground to break beneath Reigen. Reigen is shielding the back of his head from the impact with his hands. In the upper left corner reads "2023" in parentheses. Above Cecil reads "56%" and above Reigen reads "44%".

The next panel shows just Cecil in more detail, holding up his nails as though he'd been looking at them. They sparkle. He no longer has his cat ears. He's facing to the side, smiling, but his eyes look towards Reigen and the viewer. He says "hmph".

The final panel shows Reigen, now with Mob, a middle-school aged Japanese boy with a bowl cut and wearing a school uniform. Reigen is dying on the floor with his soul leaving out of his mouth and Mob kneels beside him, saying "you did you best, Shishou". end ID]

~~~~

how we feelin gamers. cuz i'm feelin GREAT (yes i based that first panel on the one scene from mp100, no i have never Actually watched the show)

(also lemme know if i need to change anything in the description!)

(EDIT: adjusted ID to account for my cat ear failure)

[tmnttracks]

"From Leader to Lost: Navigating the Abyss of Abandonment"

So the long awaited Leonardo focused issue is out for the TMNT (2024 -) run and once again, the writers really know how to make you feel for the older brother. I have never been a fan of Leonardo in any of the different versions that he has been in, except for Rise but it is hard to not like any of the brothers in that series lol.

I never could relate to him and even though I could empathize about the heavy burden he bears being a leader, he was just always boring to me. However, despite him being my least favorite I was just as moved in this issue as I was in the other two, almost more so which just goes to show how amazing the writing has been. If a writer can get me to care deeply about a character I am not a fan of, well they deserve high praise.

**Spoilers Ahead**

First, let's do a brief recap of our boys in green and where they stand as of now.

TMNT (2024 - Issue #5)

In issue #1 we focused on Raphael and how he has been in prison for the past few months, working undercover in exchange to have whatever crimes he committed written off. (Crimes which we still have no idea what they were.) Eventually it ends with the new and improved Foot Clan framing Raphael for murder and despite Raphael wanting to forget his brothers, he escaped arrest to start his journey on finding his brothers to warn them of the threat.

TMNT (2024 - Issue #5)

In issue #2 we are introduced to Michealangelo and discover that he moved to Tokyo, Japan and became a famous TV star staring in his own TV show. Despite his outgoing personality out in the public's eye, we noticed that once he is in the privacy of his own penthouse, he is actually depressed and feels like he has become "old and boring". We still don't know what event happened to cause such a huge rift between the four brothers, but it took a huge toll on Michealangelo. He is angry at his brothers as we see towards the end of the issue in the final panel when he attacks Raphael unprovoked after Raphael found him to warn him of the Foot Clan.

TMNT (2024 - Issue #5)

Now we have Leonardo who once was a confident leader but has become a turtle ready to die after losing his purpose and sense of self after the family fallout.

~~Trigger Warning, brief mention of suicidal ideation~~

The issue starts off with Leonardo walking through a village nestled along the Ganges River after hearing rumors of a species of turtles that eat corpses to where they leave nothing but bones behind. His plan is to find this turtle colony so that he could "feed them something that has died". That inner thought right there took me by surprise. We went from a strong and stoic leader of a ninja clan to a broken individual who feels like he has lost everything that the only way he can move on is to committ suicide in the most unconventional way possible: having fellow turtles eat him alive.

However the turtles ignore him and in his mind taught him his first lesson: "The turtles may eat the dead, but they don't kill them". This revelation causes him to bury his swords in the sand and then mediate non-stop for months waiting for the next revelation that would give him a sense of purpose again.

After months of meditating, kneeling and waiting to be accepted by this turtle colony one turtle finally acknowledges him, however it wasn't in the way he was expecting. It is here we find out that the reason he is having an identity crisis is because his own brothers abandoned him, no longer wanting him around.

Leonardo had spent his entire life doing everything he could to be the perfect older brother and strong leader to train and protect his family. It was his sole purpose in life and with it being ripped away from him, he no longer knows what his role is anymore. A theme that has played out in every variation in the expansive TMNT metaverse, only this time he doesn't come out of it refreshed and renewed.

After his fight with the poachers, the mud turtles finally accept him and for a short while Leonardo believe he has found his purpose again. To live as a turtle amongst the turtle colony as their protector and leader. He believes this was the enlightenment he was searching for and so the mud turtles become surrogate brothers to him. Brothers who need him and want him around.

Of course, nothing is ever that easy for the Hamato clan and just like with Mikey and Raphael, the Foot Clan find him and try to take his life. However, even after a long period of giving up the way of the ninja, his past meets up with the present and in under five minutes after retrieving his katanas, the enemy had been defeated and his colony saved.

It was after this battle that he had to come to terms with the harsh truth about his path to seek enlightenment and ones self-worth. "The only way forward is to go back the way you came. To unsuture an old wound and let it bleed all over again."

Similar to Rapahel, Leonardo realizes that he has to take up the mantle again as clan leader and find his brothers to warn them of the threat. Knowing full well that it will not be easy and have to finally come to terms with their new family dynamic. He will have to convince those who once respected but now despise him to come together as a unit one last time to save their family.

After stealing a helicopter and leaving a Foot Soilder to drown in the river, he finds out that the next destination was Tokyo, Japan and just as he forsaw, when he arrived he saw Mikey and Raphael in a full on brawl while fighting foot ninjas at the same time.

(Side note: I actually laughed at this scene above because of the confused look on the foot ninjas faces as they watched the two brothers engage in a serious fight and argue over something stupid, which also made me chuckle.)

It didn't even take two seconds for Leonardo to fall right back into his role as leader once he arrived to get his brothers to stop fighting so they would listen to him. However, the reunion was far from happy despite the fact the two brothers did finally stop fighting each other when Leonardo appeared before them.

In the past there would be tight hugs and excitement of finally seeing each other again after so long, however any type of affection they used to have has been replaced by resentment, abandonment and betrayal. This is made very clear due to the amazing job from the artist who was able to show just how fed up they are with each other. I also love how the artist has aged this turtles as well, with numerous scars and a more rough around the edges look compared to the flawless skin and smooth lines from Volume 1.

The fans will finally get to see the turtles as full fleged adults and tread new waters that has yet to be done in the Turtleverse. A broken family forced to come together to save the city of New York once more and how they try to overcome their past to become a family once more and I am here for it.

At the end of this month we get Issue #4 which is centered on Donatello and a continuation from where we left off with him at the end of Alpha #1. I will be reviewing both of those in my Issue #4 review at the same time. I have to say I am also really excited for this issue because even though I try to stay away from spoilers, we finally get to find out where Volume 2 falls regarding continuity from Volume 1. November 27th can't get here fast enough!

Be sure to check out my previous reviews and as always, I welcome any and all feedback and comments to help me become a better review writer.

[spaceistheplaceart]

Body Swap - How Do I Talk Like That? Part Four

masterpost

previous

Summarized ID: Mob talks to Reigen about his fear of not being able to socialize properly, that he isn't making connections or can't make the first move. He wonders what it would be like to make the first move, and pictures Tsubomi. Reigen puts a hand on his shoulder and listens.

FULL ID UNDER CUT:

(This is a body swap, so I'll be referring to the characters as who they actually are but keep in mind that Reigen is in Mob's body and vice versa.)

Mob looks down, a dull yet sad expression on his face. He says, "It's not that. I've just been thinking. Even though I'm better at it now, I think, I still have trouble talking to others. I feel like everyone else knows what to say, or at the least can make themselves understood."

A grayscale panel shows a flashback to when Mob gave his speech to become student council president, he is on stage, silent, frozen. Mob continues speaking, "but even when I have a script, I freeze up."

Reigen is looking at Mob with furrowed brows and his lips set into a thin line. Mob continues, "Master, I know you said I don't need to be like other people, but..."

A shot of Mob and Reigen sitting on the curb. Dimple floats next to Mob. "I'm afraid if I can't 'get it' now," Mob looks downwards again with a worried expression. "That I won't be able to socialize properly when I'm older."

Dimple grins. "Come on, you don't need to worry about that stuff yet! You've got plenty of friends don't you?" He flexes his arms, drawn behind him are radial rays of light. "What about Tome? And the Body Improvement Club!"

Mob smiles slightly. "It's true. I do have a lot of friend, and I'm very grateful that I'm surrounded by such good people." His smile drops. "But sometimes, I feel like..."

Shown are a series of grayscale flashbacks all in one long panel. The first scene is of Tome, talking excitedly while holding Mob's hands in hers. He looks slightly taken aback, but is listening. They're sitting at a desk. The next is Mob sitting next to Emi on a grassy hill, holding her writing. The final one is Mob, flexing, while one of his Body Improvement Club friends feels his muscle excitedly. Mob is smiling shakily, blushing slightly, and sweating. He says, "I'm not connecting with them properly. Whenever we talk, I always let them take the lead, I became complacent. It felt easier that way."

Another grayscale flashback, showing Mob at his desk in school, looking over and watching two of his classmates talk happily. One of them is a girl with big curly hair, sitting at her desk, and another is a boy with short spiky hair who's leaning on her desk and talking to her. Mob says, "And everyone that I know now, I only know them because they spoke to me first. I've never gone up to someone and became their friend because of my own efforts."

This page shows a glittery thought bubble, picturing Tsubomi. Tsubomi is smiling widely with cute, big, shiny eyes. She's turning around to face the viewer, her hair and skirt. flowing out from the motion. She has her arms tucked behind her back. She's blushing, and is shaded with soft pencil scratches. The background is gray and pink with sparkles and big glowing circles. She's illuminated in white. She has a cowlick shaped into a heart. Mob looks up at his thought bubble, slightly blushing, and says, "If I were to try and make the first move, I wonder..."

Reigen claps a hand on Mob's shoulder. "Mob. Listen," He says.

END ID.

[artemistorm]

Master Sword Pt 2: What half the Chain thinks of the Sword

As I explained in my previous Master Sword post, what Sky thinks of the Master Sword is summed up in this one panel from New Times New Place. But what do the rest of the members of the Chain think of the Master Sword? (FYI, I'm splitting it up and doing Twilight, Legend, and Wild in a separate posts because there's a lot to it.)

Time

In the comic Swords, The Chain is talking about everyone's thoughts on the Master Sword (I'll refer to that comic a lot in this post) and Hyrule, who did not wield it on his adventures, mentions that he is curious about it and Time tells him this:

In Time's case on his adventure he was judged too young too small and the sword changed him to be bigger and older and better able to wield it. Clearly he wasn't a fan of that because in New Time New Place, he says this:

Time recognizes the power and necessity of the Master Sword, but he doesn't agree with it's ways and doesn't want to have anything to do with it anymore because of the trouble its cause him.

Warriors

Maybe I'm missing something, but I've only found one single panel (back in the Swords comic) about Warriors' opinion of the Master Sword when he says this:

Indeed, in his game Hyrule Warriors, that's part of his story arc and the game's plot so I won't say more for game spoiler reasons. But generally, Warriors feels empowered by the sword and there's no indication that he has any negative opinions about it.

Four

In this these panels from Swords...

And these panels from Too Small for the Sword...

We can see that Four has not wielded the Master Sword and does not want to because he knows it is a magical sword and the last magical sword he touched divided him into four pieces in his game, Four Swords Adventures. He doesn't know how the Master Sword would affect him and he doesn't want to know.

Hyrule

Hyrule is another Hero who never wielded the Master Sword because his games predate the Master Sword's invention in A Link to the Past. In Swords, Sky lets him handle the Master Sword and Hyrule is impressed, but he has his own super awesome fire blade and doesn't need the Master Sword.

Wind

There isn't very much about Wind and the Master Sword in LU. He does say this in Swords:

Because in his adventure, when he first drew the Master Sword, it wasn't at full strength and Wind had to find a way to repower it before he could use to fight Ganondorf. Other than that, in Divine Dark Reflections Pt 4, Wind remarks that his primary sword, the Phantom Sword is nothing like the Master Sword, but is useful in it's own way (but he doesn't say whether it's better or worse).

And there you have it folks, half the Chain's opinions in one post. The rest will be coming soon!

[positivelyghastly]

Tiny Terzo Reliquary!

It’s finally finished! I decided to keep the embellishments to a minimum instead of doing a lot of tiny paper cutting when my hands have been really stiff with the cold weather, but I absolutely love how it turned out!!!

He now lives with my other little figures on my music shelf and I’m already planning to make one for my Copia figure when I get it next year >:)

Compiled progress shots and thoughts on the project below the cut! (Heads up, I ramble a lot)

If I was to make it again I would definitely have planned the roof section better and made the base in full panels instead of sections to minimise seams. I also would make sure I painted the inside before construction and put the plastic for the windows in last instead of having to mask them off for painting.

It’s made of a combination of 1mm and 2mm mount board (also called chip board I believe?), clear plastic from some packaging, stretch velvet and bamboo toothpicks. Ideally, I would have made it from acrylic because that’s much stronger but that would require a laser cutter or a jigsaw, two things I don’t have lol but the mount board takes paint much better without needing too much priming and sanding and cuts much easier with a scalpel.

I crocheted the lace using single strands of embroidery thread and a .6mm crochet hook. It was the first time I ever did any crochet on that scale and it was actually really fun and I’m planning a few more crochet lace projects in the future. Although I don’t recommend doing micro crochet if you’re very tense and have long nails because I was putting SO MUCH pressure on my thumbnail on the hand I was holding my work with that I actually had to take a break overnight because my nail bed was starting to hurt and didn’t stop hurting for like four days. Learn from my mistakes. If anyone’s interested, I put the stitches I used on one of the older update posts but it’s a very basic row of double crochet scallop stitches on a base of a single row of slip stitches to keep it small

The tufting on the back plate was done by marking out a lattice grid on a rectangle of mount board that was slightly smaller than the space it would sit in on the removable plate and punching the holes with my awl. I then chopped up some foam from an old bra that I’d already harvested the hooks and eyes from and glued that to the piece of mount board before covering with some stretch velvet. I tried doing the tufting in a few different ways. Originally I wanted to do it just with little French knots to look like buttons but I ended up not liking it so I took them all out and tried a couple of different methods for doing a lattice before landing on what you see in the photos. I went over in one long stitch along all the left to right diagonals and then did the same with the right to left diagonals and put in tiny couching stitches at all the intersections through the holes in the mount board to pull them in and give it that tufted look

I’ve really missed doing things like this. I went to college to study model making because my dream was to work in theatre either as a prop builder or set designer but with my disabilities I realised that kind of career that required a lot of work with heavy machinery and a lot of time on my feet isn’t a viable choice for me, so it’s nice to get back into something I’m really passionate about while also making something relating to my special interests

[the0maski]

Late for the Update people Update!: Moving Forward part 1

Love how gentle Wars treats Twilight regarding the topic of him being Wolfie, and why he hide it from them so long. The captain even waits for Twilight to be actually well again, and when everyone is around. We get to see how patient and gentle Wars treats this matter, he is so emotional intelligent.

He is so proud! Seeing how close Four and Twilight are is so special to me, that Four jumped into this conversation so happy and proud. He has Twilight’s back.

Love how Sky takes this so calm as well, but it shouldn’t be surprising. He also had thrown at him that his childhood best friend/girlfriend was the goddess Hylia reborn.

So Twilight watched them as a wolf probably, meaning wherever they first met, it hadn’t been in a village or castle town. Also Twi says them meaning he had taken time so observe, before he accidentally met with Wild.

Twilight has reason to really trust his brothers after the accident.

They all were worried sick!

Legend and Wind even went out of their ways to find a Great Fairy.

Four put his feelings with dark magic aside, and took care of Twilight stuff.

Hyrule heeling him with his strongest spell that consumes so much magic, probably slept one to two hours that night.

Time taking care of both, was ready to play the Song of Healing so Twi would found peace in his passing.

Warriors and Sky protecting him when he had passed out, and keeping an eye on him till he passed out.

Wild not giving up and encouraging him to keep fighting.

Yes, Twi really can trust them with his life.

There are so older brother coded! Also a nice little reference to previous chapter in this panel! Where Wars was mad that Twilight hadn’t been there when attacked.

(Pt 3 of 3 it’s the comic called)

We get to hear more about Midna! It’s really sad how Twi really has to hide his wolf’s identity, in the game as well. But after all this years he still follows Midna‘s advice of not making a scene, because obvious, a lone wolf is not something someone wants to meet when alone.

However, the fact that Wild panic when Twilight revealed himself as an hylian must have been so surreal to him!

What you mean you more surprised of the hylian than the wolf? You good bro? - Twilight probably

More at part 2

[rmorde]

Trigun Manga Reaction

Starting off with Volume 1 - Chapter 1

I will always love Meryl's design. She is one of the most memorable female characters from my childhood. My most distinct image from Trigun 98 is Meryl showing off all her derringers from her coat. I love her and Milly a lot.

So, these two images make me giggle.

Ok. I have to do a double take here.

Is the Note: Staunch Pacifist here a "break the fourth wall" type of situation or an actual info people in the story know? Hmmm... from the animes, it doesn't seem to be common knowledge that Vash doesn't like to fight. People kinda shoot first and never ask later with him. I guess the many zeroes in his bounty just wipes off the "staunch pacifist" info from their minds or they think it's just a twisted joke to ignore.

AAAWWWW BABY!!!!

BABY NOOOO!!!!! He was just happily eating steaks!!! This is far more cruel than a ruined drink or hanging upside down!

Sigh... Really... Vash... Just really?! I guess Badlands!Vash isn't too OOC when he pulled this stunt then he's still weirdly horndoggy there ngl.

That's a nice nightmare face. Did Nightow ever make a serious horror?

Maybe I am just being weird here but this panel is really interesting because of the lack of details on this big guy threatening Vash. From his chest and below, with the exception of his hand holding the gun, there is nothing. He encompasses about three-quarters of this half page panel like a really big wall.

I guess the composition is supposed to show how he is trying to dwarf Vash. It doesn't work obviously since Vash looks so still and detailed in contrast to him. Idk. It's just how it comes across to me.

Pouty Baby.

Classic Vash.

Aah... The faces of people wondering how they shouldn't be alive anymore, but they still do because the scary Humanoid Typhoon decided to use a toy gun to shoot them in their faces twice.

Baby Girl. You should be in Sailor Moon.

Baby Gremlin Girl.

Clever Gremlin Baby Girl Vash The Stampede

Wait... FOUR?! FOUR PIZZAS?!!

Oh poor TriStamp Vash. He got hit by inflation hard. He can only get 2 pizzas with his one bullet!

Ok. So the Plants design from '98 are closer to the manga. TriStamp is new.

Oh my my my...

THE BADASS LADIES ARE HERE IN ALL THEIR GLORY!!!

Peak designs I swear. I mean. TriStamp Meryl's design is cute, but it is nothing compare to this beauty!

Remember this exchange from the '98 anime. Didn't really understand it until I got older and realized on hindsight what these assholes really meant. Ewww.

I wonder if, with how sensitive certain groups of people nowadays, these dirty lines will still get past the radar when localized or be changed altogether.

Oh... This is slightly different. Milly did understand what they meant and reacted to it unlike in '98 where she is just innocently confused.

This will always be iconic for me alongside Meryl's Derringers reveal. When I think of Trigun, these are two of the four images that come to my mind.

Oh... Oh... So, this stuff happens to Vash during the first chapter. I guess the animes are a bit more merciful that they have this happen after a few episodes at least.

Sigh... Whenever I have a bad day, I'll just think Vash has it worse. At least I get to fix my mistakes in peace and with help unlike him... Poor baby girl.

[ritornello]

since i can't answer myself so well, what would you say are asada nemui's distinctive storytelling traits and on a personal matter if you'd like what makes you like her stories? not so much tropes but running themes, art and such. i hope it's not too heavy of a question and thanks ^_^

Hi, this is a great question. For anyone with the patience to read all this I think it might help explain what makes Asada Nemui such an intriguing manga artist. (especially without the "it's because X reminded me of Y! - type analysis that occurs very frequently in english fandom communities)

There's a lot of images in this post, but it's not too spoiler-ish.

Comments about art

The first aspect of Asada's art I would want to praise endlessly are the page layouts. Dear, My God was one of the first stories I read by her and the flow of the panels is what really stuck out to me. I like using this sequence of pages as an example - can you guess what's going on?

I removed all of the dialogue and SFX, and it's so well laid out that the sight-to-panel direction, background design and expressions of the characters are enough to understand what's happening. It almost feels like you're looking at a scene from a movie or storyboard.

Text version:

While reading The Sound of the Waves, a page describing the plot of a writer's story more or less summarizes Asada's layout style. It generally begins with an establishing shot before laying out the rest of the scene, which with a longer story may take a few more pages to conclude.

The divisions of pages seems to average around four to seven panels, and pages with three or fewer panels show up very sparingly - likely saved for more impactful scenes.

(I'll just take a second here to add how much I love that she generally sticks to one shade of screentone. Limiting the palette to just three values is a great way to create shadows and dramatic lighting effects!)

Asada's direction is very focused on telling a story - there is always some type of visual cue that the scene is actively present and happening in front of us, the readers. I like this continuity compared to a series that might have excessive headshots or pages of flashbacks during a scene with a lot of action.

One of my favorite scenes in Sleeping Dead is in the second volume, when Mamiya is out in his van and attempting to construct a conversation. It fills an entire page, but his entire monologue could have been condensed into one "thinking" panel.

It doesn't necessarily look bad like if it were like this, but Asada intentionally uses the entire page to emphasize Mamiya's expressions, his awkwardness as he slowly loses confidence in himself. (Plus he's actively driving and looking at the road.) I like that this is a very private scene that reveals the inner character he tries to hide during the majority of the first volume.

I also like that she understands the importance of a readable layout enough to redraw areas that might be confusing to look at, like this one from the magazine version of Sleeping Dead (left side) :

In the last panel it's difficult to tell who's talking, because there are four detached bubbles and you can't see Sada or Mamiya. I wasn't sure if Sada was talking in the first bubble since it's directly below him, but the second seemed like Mamiya since it's drawn so awkwardly. For the paperback release she added a line to connect the two bubbles - obviously it's Mamiya saying both and becoming nervous as he brings up the possibility of having more sexual activities with Sada.

If you noticed the changes in the other panels of that page it also goes into her tendency to do redraws. Some of them look quite different after they've been changed - from the series I've read I noticed major redrawing for Dear, My God, the older short stories republished in Ai, Sei, and even Takatora and the Omegas (though Asada credited changes in that one to the fact that she's now working 100% digitally).

My opinion for these is kind of mixed, sometimes they do look better and sometimes I prefer her original style. This one from Dean My Love that appears in Ai, Sei is a crime lol.

There was a two-volume manga called Mangaka Gohan Nishi (Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner and Comic Artists) published in 2015, and it has one page comics by mangaka discussing food they eat. Asada appears in the second volume and her page mentions watching movies.

(basically it's about being bad at / injured by stovetop cooking so she prefers the safety of the microwave. But in the unidentified movie the characters make an explosive device with a microwave…)

I would undoubtedly say films are a large influence to her, and I've caught some parallels/references in her work, but it's kind of a disservice to only point out similarities in characters or genre tropes rather than her skill as an artist and storyteller.

During the last couple years Asada's also been fairly active on Twitter where she shares concept art and extra comics that add more to what she was limited to write in the published works.

For Takatora she's even been live-streamed the planning and inking of its (as of now) upcoming chapter on Pixiv Sketch. The series already has over two dozen pages of extra content judging by a numbered page she shared on Twitter.

Overall I appreciate that on top of having a high output she seems to care a lot about the quality of content her readers are getting. Not every artist makes redraws for their series on top of doing multiple serializations and lots of fanart/doujin content.

(And she has made a lot of fanart and doujinshi. For 10+ years.)

Comments about storytelling

I'm probably going to sound more rambly here, because I'm not a writer or a critic. Regardless of which series I enjoyed or disliked, I think most of them have an element of pushing boundaries in BL manga.

As one Japanese reviewer said when commenting about Sleeping Dead - Asada's manga are the type you want to recommend anyone to read...except you can't.

I think it goes without saying that the focus of sex in her manga can be a barrier, but there is enough range in her work that a reader (with some help) would be able to find a story with an amount of sexual content they'd be comfortable with. I could definitely see Asada working on more non-BL titles like The Swerve, Yoi and A Friend's Funeral, but to be blunt...she seems to really enjoy drawing men having sex.

Boundary-pushing can be apparent in most of her manga, especially when it starts as early as the first chapter. In the least extreme variation, her titles like Sleeping Dead and Call feature somewhat jarring love interests - middle-aged, sexually awkward men that are unconventionally designed compared to other BL love interests.

When the second volume of Sleeping Dead was nominated a Chil-Chil award for its story, Asada shared this illustration of Mamiya in a boxing ring. I love to imagine it as him squaring off with the much more handsome and less follicly-challenged ukes of the other nominated series.

If you check out her earlier series there are a few subjects considered taboo to look at. Sexual violence occurs pretty frequently. Surprisingly (or not, if you've been around long enough), it's not even rape that's considered risky subject matter in BL magazines.

According to a recent interview with Chil-Chil, Asada originally planned to publish Takatora and the Omegas with a different publisher (my guess is Shodensha, since they serialized My Little Inferno in OnBlue), but its inclusion of sexual health topics was considered too extreme:

[Interview translation credit goes to Ikari of Bottom of the Sea Scans, which currently scanlates Takatora and the Omegas.]

Thanks to Canna being willing to publish her more explicit story ideas, we might be able to see how far she planned to go with Takatora. The published chapters have already broached subjects including hysterectomies, abortion and sexual autonomy. I think this situation with Takatora has parallels to the struggles female shoujo mangaka faced in the early decades of manga publishing for girls.

The magazine Canna tends to serialize BL stories that include elements of science fiction and fantasy, which I think has made it a place where artists like Asada can have less restriction in their storytelling.

But...I don't want to praise Asada just for tackling difficult topics. Going back to the comments about page design, there's a huge focus on dialogue. Characters are frequently conversing and making eye contact with each other. She's amazing at writing characters with unlikable traits that are still enjoyable to read about, or are paired with a partner that helps balance out, or even tolerates their faults.

I think it can be easy to drop a series if it has unlikable characters, but she tends to put them in situations that question their ideologies, and we get to see how they change over the course of the story. Even Asada commented that she's not a huge fan of how the protagonist of Takatora and the Omegas acts:

Takatora could wind up being one of the most extreme examples of an unlikable protagonist, but we'll get to see if his bigoted views are changed as he's challenged by his peers, and as he offers his own support to solve their troubles.

At this point I totally got lost in the Takatora sauce, but other little aspects I love about her manga are the humorous moments, the sometimes getting too over-her-head writing, and endings that can be unexpectedly gut-punching yet written in a way that's the most grounded in reality. And in Sleeping Dead's case, immediately followed by a whiplash of silly extras.

I hope that with Takatora and Yoi - which seemed to have planned out for a while - Asada can continue to do her own thing, because I think it's a much better creative output to make whatever the hell you want instead of conforming to the preferences of the publishers.

In conclusion:

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved on our archive

New research has found that 33.6% of surveyed healthcare workers in England report symptoms consistent with post-COVID syndrome.

New research from the Institute of Psychiatry, Psychology & Neuroscience (IoPPN) at King's College London, and University College London has found that 33.6% of surveyed healthcare workers in England report symptoms consistent with post-COVID syndrome (PCS), more commonly known as Long COVID. Yet only 7.4% of respondents reported that they have received a formal diagnosis.

The research is part of the wider long-term NHS CHECK study that is tracking the mental and physical health of NHS staff throughout and beyond the COVID-19 pandemic. Other research by NHS CHECK has included healthcare workers’ experiences of support services, prevalence of mental health problems, moral injury, and suicidal thoughts.

The study used the NICE definition of Long COVID, which includes symptoms like fatigue, cognitive difficulties, and anxiety for 12 weeks or more after they've had COVID.

After four and a half years since it was first described, there is still a lot to learn about Long COVID. This study has sought to explore how common Long COVID is among healthcare workers and if certain people are more likely to develop it than others.

“PCS can have a dramatic impact on a person’s day to day life. If we are to ensure that the healthcare workers, and wider population, affected by it receive the best possible care and support, we need to address both the physiological and psychosocial mechanisms behind it.”

-Dr Sharon Stevelink, Reader in Epidemiology and one of the study’s authors from King's IoPPN

The research was led by Dr Danielle Lamb, Senior Research Fellow at University College London’s Institute of Epidemiology & Health Care, who said “COVID-19 has not gone away. We know that more infections mean more people are at risk of developing Long COVID. This research shows that we should be particularly concerned about the impacts of this on the health and social care sector, especially in older and female workers, and staff with pre-existing physical and mental health conditions. We now need to better understand the complex interplay between biomedical, psychological, and social factors that affect people's experiences of Long COVID, and how healthcare workers with this condition can best be supported.”

The study team collaborated with a Patient and Public Involvement and Engagement (PPIE) panel of 16 healthcare workers with Long COVID. The panel helped design the research by developing the study questions, shaping the analysis, and interpreting the results.

The study’s Co-Lead, Dr Brendan Dempsey, Research Fellow at University College London, said “Collaborating with the healthcare workers who formed our PPIE group has been really important in making sure that we are conducting research that is relevant to them. They also helped interpret our results, sharing their own experiences of living with Long COVID and working in the NHS.”

To gather the survey findings, data was gathered from over 5,000 healthcare workers across three surveys spanning 32 months. The research found that potential risk factors for Long COVID included: being female, being between 51 and 60 years of age, directly working with COVID-19 patients, having pre-existing respiratory conditions, and having existing mental health issues.

The lack of formal diagnosis, despite the widespread prevalence of symptoms, raises concerns that healthcare professionals with Long COVID symptoms are not seeking care or are not being diagnosed. The research team calls for urgent improvements in diagnostic practices and access to support for those living with Long COVID in the healthcare sector.

The research was funded by The Colt Foundation and supported by the National Institute for Health Research (NIHR) Applied Research Collaboration North Thames. It was a collaboration between University College London, King’s College London, and 18 participating NHS Trusts.

Study Link: oem.bmj.com/content/early/2024/10/01/oemed-2024-109621.info

[austenpoppy]

Underrated friendship moment between Gar and Dick

In Beast Boy (2000), the mini-series written by Raab and Johns, Madame Rouge's daughter (Madame Rouge being the woman who killed the Doom Patrol and that Gar killed in NTT) impersonated Gar and murdered people Gar's former co-workers to frame him, and he got arrested.

Gar being a former famous child actor means the arrest was very public, and Dick quickly heard about it through Babs. As soon as he did, Dick gave up everything he was doing and flew to L.A. to see what was going on. Babs told him things didn't look good for Gar, but Dick maintained that Gar was innocent until proven guilty.

As a side note, this was set after the Titans reformed and after Gar refused to join, which itself was after Vic nearly destroyed the planet, and that was after the Quake. Given that Babs is seen having easy access to the news, this should be before the start of "No man's land", or after its end. And considering Gar says it's his first night back in Hollywood, this shouldn't have been long after the Titans decided to reform - so before the start of "No Man's Land". At the time, Dick was dealing with : solo heroing in Blüdhaven, regularly helping out in Gotham, reforming the Titans, and having his day job at Hogan's Alley.

Beast Boy #2

(Hilariously those panels come directly after one of Gar praying that no Titan would hear about it)

Once there, Dick quickly tracked down the address of who he supposed would be the next victim, and was immediately faced with the impersonator threatening Don Dickerson, Gar's old producer.

At first, he was obviously angry that Gar could do such a thing, but he tried to convince the impersonator to stop going any further, and was reluctant to fight who he thought was Gar. The impersonator kept attacking Dick, and we thus have a panel of Dick throwing an enormous grizzly through a window with an outrageous pun.

Beast Boy #3

Five minutes later, Dick figured out it was an impersonator because said impersonator hadn't called him by his real name yet - understanding everything that'd been going on (though not before saying how much it hurt him to have to do that to Gar).

Beast Boy #3

Then Flamebird showed up to "save" Dick, explained the situation to him, but of course the impersonator used that moment to attack them again and escape. Dick then used the Haly's circus paycheck to bail Gar and his cousin Matt out (the bail was already set at $25,000 for Gar).

Beast Boy #3

The charges were obviously not dropped and the press was waiting ravenously outside to get information from Gar when Matt and he got out of their cells. Dick was waiting in a car driven by Bette to get them, and when they got in Dick told Gar he was in serious trouble. Gar said he knew but that he could handle it, Dick retorted he wasn't so sure about that. Gar snapped that Dick couldn't tell him what he could or couldn't do and that he could make his own decisions.

Obviously, from Dick's point of view, Gar didn't have and shouldn't have had to deal with that kind of situation alone - there's easier than having several murder charges to your name, having an enemy set on getting revenge against you that can shapeshift into you, all while being in the public eye. Plus Dick's about three to four years older than Gar, and for most of NTT Gar was the little brother of the group, the immature and irresponsible funny troublemaker. In universe, it hadn't been that long since Dick and Gar'd left the Titans - two years at most.

Beast Boy #3

(Seriously Dick why do you have such a flare for the dramatics why are you dressed like a CEO lmao ?)

Meanwhile Gar, at the time, was in a period of difficult transition. He didn't feel like he'd been taken seriously as a hero and even by a person by others and especially his friends (this was reinforced by the fact that when the Titans reformed he wasn't the first person they asked; Dick asked him as if it was a given at the first reunion but Gar then refused to join). So he was looking for positive attention by going back to something that'd put him in the spotlight but that'd stopped once he'd started being a Titan, that is acting. He also wanted to prove to himself that he could do something of his life, with a need for independence typical of early adulthood. In fact, in Titans : Secret files and origins, Gar explicitely referred to the Titans as family, saying everyone needed to leave their families sometimes, implying he was the bird leaving the nest.

On top of that, he wanted to make his dead adoptive mother (Rita Starr) proud, and she too had a connection to acting and movies.

The rest of the car ride was tense, and they had a conversation once they were at Matt's flat (Matt lives in a dump, by the way). Gar explained to Dick he'd already had to grow up on his own after Dick and he'd left the Titans, that he needed time "to stand on his own two feet" and that Dick of all people should be able to understand that given that he'd done the same with Bruce.

Dick tacitly accepted Gar's speech by giving him evidence he stole at the preccinct (unless he convinced the policeman to give it to him with level 450 charisma lol). Gar and Dick parted on good terms.

Beast Boy #3

(Please tell me those are special sunglasses, otherwise I'm going to have a flashback to Black Mirror with Dick telling Tim "They're wearing sunglasses at night, Red Robin, which means they're really, really cool" and break into a fit of giggles)

It's at times like this that the Titans really feel like a family. It's obvious in the way Gar referred to the Titans as a family he needed to leave to build his own life and identity outside of them and in the way he drew a parallel between Dick and Bruce on the one hand, and he, Dick, the Titans and Dayton on the other.

Even funnier, it's in the way Gar got in trouble, prayed that his family/friends wouldn't find out before Dick immediately found out. It's in the way Dick dropped everything to help him, bailed Gar's arse out of jail and was waiting for him in the car like a tired dad. It's in the way he wasn't sure Gar was ready to handle such big life troubles, but Gar fought to argue that he was ready and proclaimed his independence before Dick decided to trust him.

Interestingly, it puts Dick somewhere between the role of an older brother/father figure. He's not that much older than Gar, but always seemed so, despite moments of brotherly camaraderie.

Plus the dynamic between them is much more hierarchical than, say, Dick and Tim's brotherhood. That's partly because Dick was the leader of the team Gar was a part of. Due to that fact, Gar's always seen Dick handle a lot of responsibilities and that right at the time Dick was coming into adulthood and wasn't certain of who he wanted to be (so he had entire periods he was much more serious than he would otherwise be).

Add to that the differences between Gar's careless, happy-go-lucky exterior and Dick's overresponsible personality and it's perhaps not surprising that Gar put Dick there in the place of Bruce in the parallel he drew between he and Dick - the trusted adult who hasn't seen that his kid's grown and needs to let go so that his kid can stand on his own.

And I love that Gar specifically said that he'd grown without Dick, that he singled out Dick in the list of people he needed to grow independent from. It really reinforces the idea that Dick was a mentor to Gar.

As an aside 2, Dick was later framed for murder too by corrupt cops, and it makes me shake my head that here, the point was about whether Gar could handle this on his own though Dick was ready to back him up anyway (and that after investigating to understand what'd been going on and bailed Gar out); while in Nightwing : Target, Bruce left Dick to fend off for himself after stripping him of his Nightwing identity, berated him about joining the police force, and was like "you better be grateful I came to your flat while you were busy being badgered by corrupt officers to remove all evidence of your secret identity you careless child".

As an aside 3, I believe Dick was a bit less friendly than he otherwise would be because of Bette's presence. He doesn't like her much, and her fawning over him makes him uncomfortable.

Still, it's crazy I have never seen anyone talk about this time Dick paid more than $25,000 to bail Gar out of prison and potentially stole evidence to help him while he was being framed for murder.

[rainbowfoxes]

Yet Another IDW TMNT Theory: The Mystery of Donnie's Kids

Since the existence of Donnie's kids were first hinted at in #139, I have been foaming at the mouth about them. I adore turtle tots with my whole entire soul, so to say I was happy to have them confirmed in #146 is an understatement.

However, as we get closer and closer to #150 without seeing hide nor hair (or rather, shell nor mask) of these turtles, I become more and more insane about them and concerned that we will never see them at all, given the impending relaunch. I've got some Thoughts about these kids and since none of my friends read IDW TMNT, I'm going to inflict them upon you, the general public.

What are you even talking about, anyways?

For those of you who don't know, IDW! Donnie was recently confirmed to have kids in issue #146

[Image ID: Two panels from IDW TMNT #146. A young/current Donatello speaks with an elderly Leonardo. Their conversation is as follows: Leo: You created your children, and you left. Donnie: What? My Children?! Leo: Ah... I've said too much already. It's still hard for me to talk about. Donnie: I'm sorry, but... Is my future self still alive in this time period? Leo: Yes. He Lives in a Tower west of here, near Venus and Bludgeon's Aura Clan training grounds. :End Image ID]

These children were first hinted at in issue #139, during a vision Donnie had

[Image ID: A full page from IDW TMNT #139. Donatello holds a meditative hand sign with deep concentration as he sees four visions. The first is a vision of his past life as a human boy. The second is a vision of how he and Venus are connected through her having parts of his shell. The third is a vision of him looking into a tank containing four small turtles. The fourth is him in a cloak, holding a staff in one hand and small stick emitting some sort of energy in the other. In the air and on the ground around him are drawings of mutant turtles. behind him are three mutant turtles we've never seen before. There is a short monologue in text boxes scatter across the page. The text boxes read: "The lives you touch all have their own pasts and futures, and these are part of you, as well. And, in turn, your past and future are part of them. It is an eternal cycle. This is what the tenth cut represents. It is the whole." :End Image ID]

Now we don't know ANYTHING about these kids besides the fact that they exist. But there's enough hints available to us that I've come up with some Theories...

(Theories below the cut, to save you the long scroll)

Theory One: Donnie's Kids were Created Via Magi-Science

This one I'm pretty confident in. In #139 we see Donnie holding that weird looking stick. But this isn't the first time we've ever seen it! It actually first appeared in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Armageddon Game — Alliance #4. Donnie, having been messing around with time manipulation, ends up in the future.

[Image ID: Two panels from IDW Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Armageddon Game — Alliance #4. On the far left is a fully body image of a much older Donatello. He is wearing a ragged cloak and various mystical-looking accessories. In his right hand he carries a staff with some sort of skull strapped to the top. In his left hand he carries a small stick with a glowing crystal attached to the end. He is saying "... Before my memory is wiped of all of it." Behind him is a larger panel, set inside his workshop / wizard tower. It features a close up of old Donatello contemplating his stick, which now appears to resemble a pencil. Hiding in the background, young Donatello looks on, whispering "It's me." :End Image ID]

But more importantly, we see the stone on that stick even earlier! It's part of Donnie's Gofu, an amulet he made back in #132 with crystals from the thin place to help him channel mystic energy.

[Image ID: Two panels from IDW TMNT #132. In the top panel, Donatello contemplates a glowing green crystal. To the right, a textbox reads "Rin, the first cut, is 'strength' and 'confrontation.'" In the bottom panel, there is a multifaceted glowing green crystals wrapped neatly in what appears to be some sort of vine or twine. To the right, a textbox reads "It is courage and steeling oneself for what will be confronted." :End Image ID]

And in IDW TMNT #135 — which takes places before Alliance #4 — we see Donnie experimenting with some of the crystals. Most notably, we see it attach to a pencil on his desk.

[Image ID: A page from IDW TMNT #135. It depicts Donatello in his workshop, tinkering with his gauntlet and adding pieces of his mystic crystal into it. A small chunk attaches itself to the eraser of his pencil. Swirls of energy curl off the various chunks to twist around his outstretched hand. As he is working, he is speaking into a tape recorder. His monologue is as follows: Donatello: After cutting the thin place crystal into sections, the gauntlet installation is much smoother. The energy of the crystal fragments — I hesitate to say magic, maybe arcane energy is better? — is successfully powering Dr. Lilja's gauntlet, but it's inefficient. Until I can determine where the crystal's power actually comes from, I won't know what limits this energy has, both physical and temporal. In any case, it's a very promising start, and I hope whatever I can create with these materials... will be enough to protect my family, friends, and community. Seri, off page: Donatello? :End Image ID}

So you might be asking: What's so important about these dang crystals?

I'm glad you asked!

Way back during Mirage Vol. 1, the very first Micro-series came out. Donatello's book was a story called "Kirby and the Warp Crystal." In it, Don meets April's downstairs neighbor, an artist named Kirby (in honor of the late great Jack Kirby). Kirby has a magic crystal that, when strapped to his pencil, makes whatever he draws become real, but only for a short time before they disappear.

That in-of-itself gives credence to the theory that Donnie drew up his children, but wait, there's more!

Mirage Vol. 4 #22 it's revealed that April is a living drawing herself. After being unable to conceive a second child, her father found the crystal and discovered it's magical properties. First attaching it to a pencil, he drew up a bouncing baby girl, who disappeared after a short period of time. He tried several more times before giving up. But he had one last idea — he strapped the crystal to a pen and drew the baby one more time. And she remained real, growing into the April we know today.

So, not only is it possible to create life with the crystal, it's possible to create permanent life with it. And it's not just the Mirage crystal, either! in Alliance #4, we see old Donatello draw up his family so he can say goodbye to them.

[Image ID: Two panels from IDW Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Armageddon Game — Alliance #4. In the top panel, old Donatello draws ghostly green images of his family onto a blank white background using a pencil with a glowing green crystal attached. In the bottom panel, he addresses the drawings of his family morosely, "Hey, guys." :End Image ID]

So knowing what we do, we can conclude that magic was definitely involved in the creation of the Donnie-Spawn. However, I do not believe it's the only factor. For one, these drawings of his family are generally lifeless and disappear quickly. For two, We did see him looking at those baby turtles, and there were all those drawings in that vision, too...

I posit that Donnie did his preliminary designs on paper, then used magic to mutate his children from ordinary turtles. It has a nice circularity to it, I think, considering Donnie's own origin as an animal test subject.

Also of note is that Sophie Campbell once said that she wanted to make a turtle character that was a drawing come to life but for the life of me I cannot find the source on that.

Theory Two: One of Donnie's Kids is Artemisia

This one is really just me going

[Image ID: The "I've connected the two dots." "You didn't connect shit." "I've connected them!" Meme from Buzzfeed: Unsolved. :End Image ID]

But I like it and you can't prove me wrong (yet).

In IDW TMNT #117, we get a shot of what the future Splinter Clan will look like.

[Image ID: A page from IDW TMNT #117. Along the bottom, the six core members of the Splinter Clan observe a portal haloed in sparking blue energy that shows them a glimpse of the future. The image shown to them is a camp set up in a desert. There is a small waterfall and what appears to be a Japanese maple tree in the background, as well as the ruins of skyscrapers to the right. The clan and their various allies are there, along with new members we haven't met yet. Despite the rough conditions, everyone looks happy. :End Image ID]

At the top left, sitting on a balcony, there is a mutant turtle. She has a bow and pink face paint. Her name is Artemisia — her name is not mentioned in the comic, of course, but we know this thanks to Sophie Campbell's presence here on Tumblr and the website formerly known as Twitter.

Notable about Artemisia is that she's the ONLY turtle in that glimpse into the future we haven't met yet.

I'd also like to draw attention back to the panel from #139:

[Image ID: A panel from IDW TMNT #139. It is framed in wispy purple smoke, indicating it's part of a vision. in the center foreground, Donatello stands wearing a dark cloak. In his right hand he carries a staff with a bird's head on it, in his left a short stick with a crystal emitting a magic aura attached to it. Behind him stands 3 mutant turtles. In the air above them and on the ground below them are drawings of mutant turtles. :End Image ID]

That turtle in the middle reads female to me. They have a more feminine shape language — wide hips and a slim waist, softer facial features, and the impression of wearing a skirt and crop top.

Plus the naming scheme fits. Artemisia is named for Renaissance artist Artemisia Gentileschi — it would not be out of line for Donnie to name his kids in a similar manner to how he and his brothers were named.

And that's about it for this one, really. The only "extra" turtle we have is a girl, one of the Donnie-Spawn reads feminine, ergo Artemisia = Donnie-Spawn.

I will not be upset in the slightest if this is not the case; the more turtles the merrier if you ask me!

Other Interesting Information

There was once a TMNT TTRPG called Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles & Other Strangeness. One of it's expansions, Road Hogs, included a small comic set in a post apocalyptic future that featured old man! Raph with three students he all calls Mike (I am SO NORMAL about that fact, I promise). This is likely the inspiration between the old man! Raph we've been seeing in the current arc, as well as potential inspiration for the Donnie-Spawn. Sophie Campbell is a fan of the TTRPG turtles, and even drew them herself. It would not be impossible for her to have drawn inspiration from there.

Sophie Campbell also created another turtle for the group shot in #117. His name is Kirby, but he didn't make the final cut. His name is clearly a reference to Jack Kirby (tin-foil hat time: which could be a link to the Mirage Donatello Micro-Series story). There's another scrapped turtle named Kirby (again, for Jack Kirby), who was going to be in the would-be fourth TMNT movie who could also be a source of inspiration. He was dimensional traveler. Make of that what you will.

Fero Pe's designs for the Donnie-Spawn remind me of the new turtles from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: The Last Ronin — The Lost Years. Particularly, the one on the far left is rather large like Odyn, and the one on the right is tall and slim, a bit like Uno. Considering IDW TMNT #139 came out in April of 2023, and the first issue of The Lost Years came out in January of 2023, it's possible that this is a result of synergy at the office — artists taking inspiration from each other.

Donnie being spiritual/magical isn't entirely out of left field. In Rick McCollum's "Donatello: The Ring" and "Twilight of the Ring" stories, Donnie proves to be very spiritual. I believe it also makes sense specifically in this context, because the crystal has always been heavily associated with him, even after the reveal of April's true origins. It'd be Odd to give the Kirby Crystal to anyone else, and having him use it to create his children is a nice homage to the original. Which also — it didn't come up in the main post, but old Donatello leaves a note for himself that reads "Life at best is bittersweet." This itself is a callback to "Kirby and the Warp Crystal" as Kirby leaves Donnie a note reading the same thing just before his death.

Donnie's design as an old man could possibly be a reference to the character Tsou-T'an-Jin from the TMNT/ Wild West C.O.W.-Boys of Moo Mesa crossovers, being an elderly, mystically inclined turtle. That would be a bit of a stretch, I think, but it's not off the table.

Unanswered Questions

How many kids does Donnie have? We see four turtles in the tank, but only three mutants. For there to be a "true" next-gen, there should be four (potentially five, if you include Jennika, or even six if we consider Venus) turtles. If Lita is included in the count, there could be three Donnie-Spawn, which would be in line with one of their potential sources of inspiration the TTRPG turtles. But there were four turtles in the tank Donnie looks at, and why wouldn't he make a "full set," so to speak? Were there four at one point, and something happened to the fourth?

Where are they? We only see Artemisia in the group shot from #117, and Leo is not specific about what happened to the kids after Donnie left, and that conversation takes place after that group shot. Where are the others? What happened to them?

Why did Donnie make them? We don't know why, exactly, Donnie made them. We just know they exist. Does he make them because he was told by future!Leo that they exist? Because he wants children? Because he's lonely? For some larger purpose?

PLEASE talk at me about IDW turtles. Do it in the reblogs, send me an ask, messenger pigeon, smoke signals — l do not care so long as it's about IDW turtles. Tell me your theories, argue with me about MY theories, I do not care. I am chewing on my own arms for lack of people to talk IDW TMNT with.

[cosmicjoke]

I'm really excited about this extra story we're getting about Levi, so of course, even though we only have the first four pages of rough draft sketches, I want to talk about them, haha.

The first page shows us a shot of Levi watching his mother, Kuchel, and even from this rough draft, and the translated dialog, assuming it's accurate, we can see Levi viewed his mother in an almost ethereal light, his dialog talking about how the filth and rottenness of the Underground seemed all the more extreme in contrast to his mother's grace. Levi is looking at his mother from behind, and Kuchel seems to be drinking tea and looking out the window. It's almost a whimsical impression. The two panels frame her, from Levi's perspective, as almost angelic it seems. I think we can assume from this that Kuchel stood out among the general inhabitants of the Underground in terms of her comportment and demeanor. We know Kuchel came from the surface, only fleeing to the Underground out of desperation to escape the king's persecution. I'm guessing Kuchel came from a fairly well to do family and life, given the Ackerman's position in relation to the crown before they were perceived to be a threat and hunted down. We kind of get that too from Kenny's interaction with his grandfather, and how he reminded Kenny of how he used to dote on him.

By contrast, then, it throws Levi's childhood, having been born in the Underground, into extreme poverty and deprivation, into literal darkness, into stark relief. It would make sense that Levi would latch on to any crumb of beauty and light and hold that image dear and close to his heart, given the darkness and despair he's otherwise surrounded by, which otherwise defines his existence.

And that image of his mother, this idealized image, becomes only more understandable when we cut to the next panels and pages, and see the harsh reality of Levi's life.

He's getting beat up, and brutally at that. We see a full grown man punching him in the face, before he's kicked back several feet to crash into a wall or furniture or something of the like. This whole image really stands out to me and has affected me deeply, because it's such a stark contrast itself to the image of Levi we've come to know. Of course, when we first meet Levi, even in "No Regrets", he's a full grown man and more than physically capable of taking care of himself. He's, in fact, physically superior to other full grown men, and any physical altercation between him and others is, inevitably, going to end with the other party getting their ass handed to them.

But here, for literally the first time ever, we see the opposite. Levi's getting manhandled and beaten down, he's getting beaten up. We have to remember here, Levi is just a little boy. He can't have been even ten years old when Kenny found him, and given what the men here say about him and his appearance, I doubt he's much, if any older, at this point. The men talk about him being just "bones", which tells me, even with Kenny looking after him, Levi still isn't getting much to eat. I think we can extrapolate from that, that Levi was still largely on his own at this point and having to fend for himself. Kenny wasn't coddling him by any means, which isn't any kind of surprise. Also just the fact that Levi is there, surrounded by these men, on his own, seems to lend itself to that assumption. I don't think Kenny was around too much.

We also learn that Levi went to get back something that his mother was forced to sell to feed them, which again highlights how much she meant to him, how desperate he was at that point to hold on to the memory of her. He says earlier that her grace is the only thing he really remembers clearly from that time. I'm assuming he means the time spent with his mother. The few, short years he had with her. I think this is incredibly heartbreaking, that his memory of his mother, it seems, is hazy at best. That the one, good thing he had in his life is a fleeting memory. He's really just left with an impression of her. The fact we see her from Levi's perspective, from behind, not seeing her face, but framed in this ethereal pose, also seems to suggest as much. It would make sense then that a physical object which belonged to her would mean so much to him, why he would risk his life to try and get it back. I think that also highlights just the desperate circumstances of Levi's life, that something so small would mean so much to him. This need to hold on to the memory of his mother, even if he can only find it through this object. It demonstrates the deprivation of his life.

The other aspect of these four pages that's really devastating of course is what these men say about Levi and how they regard and treat him. I've talked a lot about how Levi grew up in an environment in which life was seen and treated as worthless, and how that makes his own attitude toward life, the way he values and cherishes life, so remarkable. And we really see that disregard for life played out and demonstrated here with how these men treat and talk about Levi.

They talk about him like he isn't even there, like he's an object. Their immediate reaction to his presence and attempt to take back what belonged to his mother is to kill him. They talk about cutting him up into pieces and feeding him to the pigs, and they brutally beat him. We can see on the third page that Levi is curled up in agony, face twisted in pain, his arms wrapped around his midsection from the kick he just took to the gut. Again, we have to remember this is happening to a little boy, to a young child, all for the crime of wanting to retain a piece of his mother whom he had to watch die right in front of him from starvation and illness.

The men then start discussing other uses for Levi, and most horrific of all, they suggest making him do the work his mother did, suggesting he's inherited her "talent", which of course means performing sex work. Again, this is truly beyond the pale, more so when you once more consider Levi's age. This immediately reminded me of what Mikasa went through too, being abducted to be sold into a sex trafficking ring. We have to assume that the men that kidnapped Mikasa meant to take her to the Underground. But Levi is already there. This is the world he was born into. These are the kinds of men that populate that world. People who are willing, without qualms, to brutally beat a young child, kill a young child, sell a young child into the sex trade. I really don't think people give enough thought to the nightmare that was Levi's life, to the hellscape that was his world.

Some people have the nerve to criticize Levi for his violence later in life, but when you're faced with the terrible reality of his childhood here, Levi's violence becomes more than understandable. When you grow up in a world like this, when you grow up surrounded by men like this, men who are willing to do to a child what these men are doing to Levi, and what they're threatening to do to Levi, violence becomes the only option. These are the type of men Levi compared Eren too during the raid on Liberio, when he told Eren he never thought he would turn out like the scum he grew up with in the Underground. Men who would hurt anyone and do anything for self-gain. This is who Levi was referring to.

The last page shows what seems to be the men standing around Levi, discussing what to do with him. In the last panel, we see one of the men leaning in close to Levi, seemingly holding him by his hair and smiling at him in what's obviously a devious and cruel expression, even in these rough sketches. Again, this is the kind of world Levi grew up in, these are the kinds of people he was forced to survive among.

I talk a lot about how Levi is really a miracle of a man, because he held onto his humanity, onto his kindness and goodness, onto his value for life, despite everything in his life growing up, and even into his early adulthood, doing its utmost to rob him of those things. And I think, from the few pages we get here, seeing just a taste of what Levi endured as a child, it drives that point home all the more. Levi really is a miracle of a man, because of how he defied the odds. Because of how he rejected what his life tried to force him to become. He could have so easily turned out like the men who are torturing him here. Men who have no value for any life, not even the life of a child. But Levi instead turned out to be exactly the opposite. To be someone who gave his whole life for the lives of others. That's incredible.

Anyway, that got a lot longer than I intended, as usual, lol. But I just wanted to talk about these few pages a little bit more, and how moving and heartbreaking and devastating they are, but how they also prove all the more why Levi is a man who deserves so truly to be admired. He's a good man, and he became a good man despite growing up surrounded by, and even reared by, bad men. Truly astounding.