#then i looked at the title of this arc and felt ill

[cometrose]

do you think sojo and uruha were reading the same y/n x kunishige fanfics

[despairots]

- my blood is singing with your voice , #o. dazai!

description, osamu dazai’s a kid. he still is, but it’s fine; he’s been exploited at 14, yet he’s terrifying. you never met him one on one, only observed him from a distance. | ( r’s opinion and history with the port mafia! ) ( a continuation of my special oneshot of “a night to remember” )

— story contains, swearing, suicide jokes, self harm implied, r! being insane, mafia activities, murder? violence, mental health, obsessive love disorder ( reader! ) please tell me if i missed anything! gender neutral! reader. age 15 - 18 ( 15 arc and dark era )

this is a continuous series of “a night to remember!” r!’s ability is based off rofū miki’s book: the sick rose (their overall genuinely character is based of the author aswell) r!'s ability: the user possesses poisonous blood they can use against their opponent or when threatened. if someone were to touch via skin contact or inhale the smell of their blood, the person will become severely ill. they wear any port mafia would wear; white button up, black blazer, and pants but r! wears a gauze around their neck.

you hardly remembered what it felt like to admire someone from afar. when it involved someone like dazai, the first initial thought was to fear him. from his list of crimes, his intelligence that extended to the title he was given.

“the demon prodigy.” a title he earned at the age of 15. although, a name like that should fit him, it doesn’t for some odd reason. maybe because he was still a kid like you, a kid who was mislead their entire life.

osamu dazai doesn’t know you, you know him though— after all, his name and position gives him a lot of attention. you’re a simple mafioso who’s been taken because of your ability, there was nothing all that special about you.

it’s scary that someone around your age can cause such destructive and damage, but at the same time, it wasn’t scary. you’ve never seen a boy climb up the ranks so aggressively fast. dazai’s extremely talented, yet so young that you wondered; was he always this much of prodigy when he was younger?

spectating (more like stalking) afar says a lot about your character and the community you grew up in. the port mafia taught kids to commit crimes to grow the port mafia, dazai joining caused the criminal organization to sky rocket.

he’s laid missions with no casualties (if you minus the mobs getting killed), his missions going smoothly and he’s the right hand man of mori, not only that, the youngest port mafia executive.

although, he carries such a terrifying image and name, you’re someone who does not care about that. if he hurts somebody, or if someday hurts me, the same red blood will be shred. only you can see his blood seeping through the wounds he inflicts on himself.

you would choose him, even if it meant destruction of the world. it’s a selfish, atrocious choice. and yet, it looks more like love.

acting is like love; you can’t do it alone. if you know how to surrender, then you know what to do when you act. loving another is an act of total surrender. love only appears when you surrender your heart, ego, and whole self for someone else.

dazai has a tone that sinks into the abyss of the spirit, and deep, dark eyes that seem to hold the conviction that the sun will never rise again.

you admired him… and the world he created. a universe without him, you can’t even imagine it. he’s poison to you. everything he says, his whole being. he can circulate within you and you can feel him changing me from the inside.

he could be your downfall.

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 23

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Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title: The Wrath Of The Gods

Notes: /

Warnings: !Grief!. !Violence!. Torture. !Sexual Assault!. !Rape Threat!. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter:  23/ It’s a secret.

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Lancelot fell over on his side. Your body caved in at the sight of it happening, “No! Please, no!!!”

The Hidden’s enraged voices took over all sound.

You fought to get to him before it was too late to save him with your magic, the Brothers used their combined strength to keep you on the floor.

They forced you to watch him suffer, blood streamed out of his chest fast and began to pool under him.

The many times you had screamed out his name were countless, it was like being in a haze.

It took longer for Lancelot to die than the others, and by the time it was over you sat defeated and drained on the cold tile floor. Your vision was blurred completely by the tears.

This was the Reaper’s way of motivating.

Soran was saying something, you heard not a word of what it was.

Your eyes did not move away from the Ash Man, your friend, that had met a cruel end.

Only when the Reaper knelt down in front of you did you hear, “Bring him back.”

You spat in his face in response.

Soran held back his anger and rose to his feet. “Unhand her.”

The Brothers let go off you immediately at his command.

Soran coldly said, “Change his fate. Or will you leave him to rot?”

With the shock going through your body, you did not trust your legs. You crawled to Lancelot, your knees were in the blood when you got to his side. “Lancelot…”

The leaf pattern that had risen to the surface of his neck, no longer looked green, they looked withered like leaves who had abandoned their tree long ago. A sob cruelly forced it’s why out of you at the sight of it, you couldn’t stop them from flowing out of you anymore, the agony had taken hold on your body in the worst way.

Soran had left the knife where it was, a cruel act.

You could not heal a person when a weapon was still in their heart, the Reaper must have known this.

It forced you to remove the knife from Lancelot’s heart, and doing so was the most awful thing.

The knife fell from your hands, you didn’t want to touch it ever again.

“I am so sorry.” You sobbed and touched his cheek.

It was testing the Reaper’s patience it seemed. “Stop wasting time!”

You felt physically ill, it did not stop you from cupping Lancelot’s face and quietly begging the Hidden for help. “Please… hear my plea… give me your strength.” The green glow overtook your eyes, “And I will be your summoner.”

The Hidden’s power surged through your veins at the offer and it felt almost too strong to bear.

This magic felt wrong, like the Old Gods themselves gave it to you with great reluctance.

Still, you selfishly took it from them. If they decide to punish you for it, so be it.

Your head began to hurt, and as the pain increased blood came from your nose.

Your vision blurred until all you saw was green and all you heard were the Hidden.

The Old Gods had accepted you as their summoner and took control, proving how powerful they could be.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♧~~~♡~~~♡~~~

The cold that enveloped you in the cell had you jolt back into consciousness.

Inside the cell it was dark and it only added to your disorientation. You tried to get up and your legs gave up immediately.

Gods… you were tired.

It felt like you had been trampled over by a horse. You crawled to the bars and held on to one. What had happened after you had lost control to the Hidden? Had they made you do the impossible? One thing was for certain, it had drained you.

An attempt to call out Lancelot’s name failed miserably, your voice was both too weak and too strained, his name changed into air instead of a word because of it.

Your throat hurt and your trousers were covered in blood. His blood…

They had left a meal for you, the soup was still warm. The grief made it difficult to swallow a sip of soup to fix your sore throat.

You drank some, no longer caring if it contained poison, you needed to catch your strength and the warm soup helped your throat.

When you called out for Lancelot, louder this time, you waited for a reply.

The wait lasted and you had never felt so alone. You put the soup down and knocked it over on purpose.

It was as if your body had shut down, there was no hunger or thirst anymore. There was no point to drinking soup to fix your throat if there was no one there to hear your call, at least no one that you cared about.

The Ash Man’s death was numbing.

The only feeling truly registering was of the cold iron bars against the side of your face.

You had not even heard them enter the dungeon and only noticed them when the group of Brothers stood outside your cell.

“She’s finally awake. Soran will be pleased.” These bastards sounded happy to find you alive. Even though they had left you in a cold dark cell unconscious.

The cell door was opened, and you were still too weak to get up off the floor.

It took two of them to tie your wrists and drag you out of the dungeon whilst the others helped.

They weren’t taking you to the dinning hall, it took too long and the route was different.

They opened the door to a bedchamber, the carpet flooring was softer to sit on when they left you there and locked the door. They didn’t even bother to help you sit on the bed, you sat on the floor, looking at it.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when the Reaper walked into the room, your mind was elsewhere.

He spoke his usual madness. “We control the balance of life and death.”

Your thoughts slowly returned to you, “What?”

Soran kept a small distance. “The Weeping Monk is alive.”

Your eyes snapped to him, it didn’t feel real, was he even telling the truth?

Your question was sharp, “Where is he?”

He was deliberately vague. “We are keeping him somewhere else right now to see how well your magic has worked.”

You tried to get up from the floor and managed to do so by using one of the bed posts as support. “I want to see him!”

Soran had not expected the news to fuel you so. “I was right to believe in the legend of the Dawn Folk.”

You hated that he had been right. “This is wrong!”

He stepped closer, hand close to a knife on his belt, “Did you consider it wrong when you brought the Monk back from the dead? No. You are willing to defy the odds if it serves your purpose, just like I am.”

How dared he compare himself to you?!

You were tired of his blatant attempts to try and get you to join his cause. “I will not damn my people for you! The Hidden gave me the power to save a Fey. They make it no secret that they are the gods of the Fey and not of Manbloods. This sort of magic is against the rules of nature itself!”

Soran knew how weak you were after such use of your powers, he took the opportunity to get physically closer. “ In a few decades, a new Brotherhood will be born of the Dawn Folk. Half-bloods, but your legacy will spread and bring victory to the Church. My warrior blood, mixed with yours.”

It was the final insult to your clan, for them to become what had caused their erasure. He would turn them into murderous monsters, they would be able to heal and bring each other back from the dead, an enemy to be feared. Even one Dawn Folk child would be enough to heal the Brothers for years to come and ensure that the Brotherhood grows in power.

He continued to try and act like this was normal. To try and… charm you? Did he truly think you could ever fall in love with him??

He tried to caress your cheek and you quickly moved away, using the bed as support.

You tried to get that idea of of his head before it lead to trouble. “The Church will never accept Feys as allies!”

Soran was unwavering in his belief. “You saw how Father Carden used his Weeping Monk, his name is feared among the Fey. Not even the Holy Father will disapprove when the Dawn Folk rises to bring us glory. The Brotherhood will be undefeatable, Dawn Folk will heal their brethren.”

The danger he posed to you was evident.

You fed him doubt, “What if I can’t carry children? Have you ever thought of that in your ‘great’ plan?!”

He did not care for the torment it would put you through, his eyes were on the goal. “We will try. Your gods are no strangers to using their powers to assure the Fey are surviving. And I know the secret to children of the Dawn Folk. A full moon.”

It was a long kept secret among your people that all Dawn Folk children were conceived on a night with a full moon, that was the key. If the Reaper knew, it meant one of the Dawn Folk must have told him.

Soran had not a glimmer of real compassion in his eyes. “Think of my offer. You could become the most powerful woman in the lands at my side.”

He was truly delusional.

Finally you got back some strength in your legs and used the bedpost as support to try and take some steps away. “The only thing I would become is a monster!”

You noticed how he kept his hand close to the belt that held the knives across his chest.

He tried to reason, “In time you would be seen as a saint. Your children will save many.”

“Many bastards of your Brotherhood!” You snarled.

There was a change in his eyes.

Your instincts kicked in and with the little strength in your legs, you bolted to the door and actually reached it.

But the Reaper’s reflexes were fast, he pushed it shut before you could open it enough and trapped you between his body and the door.

Panicked, you hit him with your elbow and tried to turn around.

He shoved you with your front against the door, and even now he acted like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. “Shhh… do not fight.”

You wished he wouldn’t feel you tremble, but he was too close not to.

Soran seemingly believed you could be persuaded. “I intend to keep you alive, to offer you an existence outside of locked doors, something the Church will not offer you. All I ask is that you surrender yourself to me.”

It was obvious what he wanted, he had made that very clear these past few days.

And you weren’t willing to have this bastard anywhere near you, let alone carrying his children and letting him have your body to use.

You struggled against his hold. “Go to hell!”

He gave a sneer, “Only the Fey are headed there.”

You gave your own back, “I will do one thing for the Dawn Folk. I will survive you.”

Some of his anger slipped out, he took hold of the back of your head and slammed your temple against the door. Hard.

Right afterwards, while tears began to brim in the corners of your eyes, he acted like it was your fault.

“Stop making me take these measures.” He warned and began to move your vest up.

The panic truly settled in when he touched your lower back and the waistband of your trousers.

No. No. No…

You used the strength of your wrists bound together to try and push back to no avail. “Get off of me!”

He coldly dismissed the protest. “It will not take long, stop struggling.”

It only made you struggle more and than a knife was near your eye.

The bastard threatened, “Remember, I do not need all of you. You do not need your eyes to use your magic or have children.”

Oh, you dearly wished that the knife was in your hands instead, you wouldn’t be threatening…

By trying to hold back tears, you wanted him to know that he wouldn’t break you. Not when his hand groped your chest and not when he tried to take off your trousers.

The fury that flared up inside of you was the thing that kept you from shattering.

He did not care when you began to quietly ask your gods to give you their strength.

Maybe he should have cared.

The voices of the Hidden filled the air and Soran all of a sudden stumbled backwards and away from you.

Their aggressive intervention came with the whisper of your title.

~“Summoner.”~

“What are you doing?!” He regained his footing fast but it was clear that he was in pain.

Was that… panic you saw in his eyes?

You had no idea what was happening or what the Hidden had done.

“Brothers!” He called out, the panic audible in his tone.

Two of them entered the room at his call, quite baffled to see their leader half-buckled over in pain.

“Soran-” One tried to speak.

Fury burned in the Reaper. “Take her back to her cell! Now!”

You heard the Reaper curse as they dragged you out of that room again.

The Hidden had kept their promise to you as a summoner. The ancient power of Festa and Moreii was their gift to your acceptance. And what better use for it than making the Reaper regret all he had done to you.

~~~♡~~~♡~~~♤~~~♡~~~♡~~~

Hours passed in the cell again, and you were yet to see if it was true that Lancelot was alive. Where were they keeping him? Was there another part to the dungeon you had not seen yet? Or was it a lie the Reaper had told to pacify you?

You still felt his hands on your skin, and in the darkness of the cell you could let the tears flow.

Your shocked state, huddled up in the corner, did not alarm the Brothers who passed.

“They say our leader’s steel is damaged.” One whispered.

Steel?… Oh.

“Do you think… she did it?” The other wondered.

They looked in the direction of your cell with great suspicion.

Good. Let them fear.

The bastards were cruel enough to take the torch that provided little light and moved it to a holder on a wall further away.

Their footsteps rescinded and you heard them close the iron door that led to the stairs.

It was both frightening and comforting to be in the darkness alone. At least they left you alone there.

You leaned your head against the wall, hiding far at the end in a corner of the cell.

Another hour passed, then a Brother came over with a stale looking piece of bread.

“Got you something to eat, Fey.” He put it down on the floor, putting his arm between the bars to do so.

When you gave no response and didn’t even look, the Brother whistled.

His pathetic attempt at comforting could not hide the threat under it. “Come now. It will only get worse for you if you behave like this, Soran can do a lot worse than what he wants to do with you. Give him what he wants.”

You didn’t want to waste the little energy left in you on this bastard and continued to ignore his existence.

The Brother sighed. “Can’t say I didn’t warn ya. All you had to do was open your legs.”

It really made it hard to hold your tongue and not call him every horrible name you could think off.

Your eyes never left that strange dirty spot on the wall.

You heard him take a couple of steps away and past the cell, and then a loud thud, it made you jump a little

You looked and saw the Brother face down on the ground.

The steel of a blade had cut across his neck and send the Brother to the floor whilst he bled out rapidly.

The next thing you registered was a sword sinking down into his back and withdrawing from it.

You had not moved a muscle, like your body was frozen in place.

It was strange to know that you knew who stood in the shadows outside your cell just by the way he walked and moved.

The door of your cell was unlocked seconds later. Your mind was slow to process it all and slowly you rose to stand.

Lancelot stood in the doorway, like something had stopped him.

Even in the dark he could see enough of your face to know that you had been crying. Your eyes were haunting.

He spoke your name, gentle and with relief.

You couldn’t believe the miracle that stood before you.

This was the second time the Ash Man had opened the door to freedom for you, this time you were actually glad to see his face.

And only the heavens knew how it gave you a surge of energy strong enough to cross the small distance and breach the line that had once been.

You reached for his aketon and latched yourself onto him, feeling the warmth of his body and considering it a blessing after having it felt cold and lifeless.

Tears ran their path down your cheeks and unto his clothing. There were things you wished to say, but you couldn’t get a word out.

Never before had he felt arms hold him like this, another being willing to blend into him.

After the cold hold of death he had experienced, the warm hold of life was more than welcome.

The Ash Man’s response was delayed by only seconds, then his arms came around and brought you in closer.

No one had ever held you like this before, in an embrace that felt like it could protect you against the ocean’s strongest wave within a storm, with your head cradled in his hand while he vowed that you would have your freedom again.

You weren’t afraid to hold him tight, murmuring into his shoulder. “The Hidden brought you back to us.”

Lancelot couldn’t stop stroking the back of your head with his fingers. “You brought me back.”

It was your voice he remembered pleading for his life.

He explained how he freed himself, “That hairpin was useful indeed.”

With great reluctance you broke away and took the smallest step back, he took the moment to cut the ropes from your wrists.

You noticed the second sword at his side, “Found those?”

He handed it to you. “One for you. I ‘found’ keys as well.”

He found it all on the one that had been guarding the door to the cell they had kept him in. He could only try to pick the lock when the Brother guarding his cell was asleep. The man was snoring like a boar seconds before he died.

Next thing you knew, Lancelot was steering your chin to the side as his eyes focused on your face, “Did he do that?”

He could see the discoloring on your temple.

It took you a second to realize he must be seeing a bruise from when Soran had slammed your head against the door. “He…”

Your throat tightened like a cord had wrapped around it.

He feared the worst, hot white rage boiled in his veins, “What else did he do?”

“Nothing.” You didn’t know why you lied, maybe because it felt humiliating.

By steering your chin again, he made you look at him as he searched your eyes.

It was that that made you try to tell the truth. “He tried to… but the Hidden helped me.”

You didn’t need to say more, he understood what it had meant.

He cupped your neck, the burning fury carried his vow, “I am going to kill him.”

For now, all you wanted was to leave this place behind. “No. We need to get out of here.”

It was like his mind sprung into action seconds before he did. He took hold of your arm. “Stay close to me.”

You let him lead you out of the cell, it was easy to tell that he had some idea as to where he was going. “Where did they-”

He quickly hushed you before it would alert the enemy.

As you followed him, you had to step over the bodies of the Brothers that had crossed his path whilst he had made his way to your cell.

He plucked a torch from the wall and used it to set fire to the wooden pillars you passed.

“What are you doing?!” You whispered.

Lancelot continued to strategically set them alight. “Burning this fort will force them out and offer distraction.”

He steered you along, and away from the fire.

The keys he had taken from one of them were put to use on a door that lead into a narrow pathway, he locked it behind you. He wasn’t guiding you out of the dungeon the way the Brothers had been doing so.

The pathway ended with another door and opened to a dungeon where many rodents had their home.

It looked far worse than the one you had been kept in.

He shared a look, and while passing a cell he pointed to the dead Brother he had left inside of it.

They had kept him there…

You gave a look that told him you understood.

A vague sound came from the direction you had come from, then a loud bang was heard. They were trying to break through the doors that had been locked to keep the flames behind you.

“They know.” Lancelot said and urged you to follow.

He walked faster and led you to a narrow stairwell. You followed him up the steps, sensing he no longer knew where to head now.

He searched through the keys to find the one that would open the gate at the top of the steps and let the two of you out of the dungeon. He was visibly stressed.

You touched his arm, hoping it would calm him somewhat.

Lancelot took a deep breath and focused on the keys, finally finding the right one that unlocked the gate.

It was impossible to ignore how many times he had touched your arm now, as if he constantly feared that you would disappear from his side.

Oh, how things had changed. Once you had hated this, now if felt quite nice.

Past the gate it was a completely different world to be in. The fort was warmer than the dungeon below, but it was also swarming with members of the Brotherhood and you knew that any loud sound could cost you your freedom again or worse.

He wanted to turn to a hallway on the right but you stopped him, that one lead to the large stairs that they had dragged you up to bring you to that bedchamber.

You could see him take a deep breath through his nose.

If he could smell a breeze that would lead him the way to an exit…

Lancelot tilted his head, deciding to take the route ahead instead.

The urge to run out of there was strong, but it would make too much sound. The only thing you could do was walk faster than usual. A door was opened in the distance, Lancelot quickly opened one nearby and upon finding the room empty he moved you with him inside of it.

It was pitch dark inside, the only shimmer of light came from the torchlight passing under the door.

The both of you stood against it and listened.

A group didn’t walk by, they ran by. They must be on their way to the dungeons to find you and help their Brothers.

Lancelot waited a few seconds longer, than opened the door again.

The plan was to continue the path ahead, but there were so many voices coming from there that you pulled him into the direction you had come from.

He took the torches off the wall and set the large curtains in the hallway alight.

You pulled a curtain down and draped it on the floor across the width of the hallway, “Put the torch to it, it will give us time.”

Smart.

He set fire to the curtain on the floor, and then followed your lead.

You remembered a little from the path to that bedchamber, there had been two other stairwells, one that led up and one that led down.

The size of the stairs took up the width of the entire hallway. Such a big fort must have multiple exists, there had to be.

Once up the higher floor, you hurried to the stairwells that were right next to each other.

You were about to begin descending the ones leading down, when you heard voices coming from below.

Lancelot shared a look with you, you were already rushing over to the curtains and pulling one down while he took a torch again.

You let some of the curtain drape over the first few steps, than he put to torch to it.

The castle was already starting to smell of smoke, the old wooden floor would not survive for long.

Lancelot took you by the hand and pulled you up the stairwell that went a floor higher again. “I can smell the sea.”

That meant you were close to getting out of there…

At the top of the stairwell was a heavy wooden door and you could hear the sea at the other side of it.

None of the keys he had on hand worked and the two of you ended up having to use your swords to get the door to budge, then Lancelot put his shoulder against the door a couple of times and broke it down.

Heavy wind and rain almost pushed the door shut in your face again, luckily the Ash Man anticipated it and kept it open. He let you step outside first and you couldn’t care less that the rain was enough to soak through your clothes in minutes.

The rain mixed with the dried blood on Lancelot’s aketon and cloak. The moonlight was the only thing offering light, the sea around you would have appeared as a black abyss otherwise. You were at the top of the castle’s keep, fear had no place in you anymore when hearing the sound of the sea around you and the wind going through your clothes.

Fire was breaking through the windows in multiple places throughout the castle and it was spreading with aggression. For a moment you wondered if the flames were somehow connected to the one who had created them. If the Hidden made your healing magic stronger, who was to say that they did not make their summoner of the Ash Folk stronger as well?

Lancelot stood not far from you, his eyes fixed on the flames down below.

You faintly heard the Hidden, and deep down you knew that the flames were not just born from fire, but from fury as well.

While you were looking around to reach the alure of the castle walls, the heavy door Lancelot had shut behind him was kicked open.

The Reaper had managed to avoid the flames that had begun to fill the hallway where his bedchamber was located, by fleeing for his life he had chosen the same route you had taken.

The sword was already in Soran’s hand, still he seemed surprised to see you and Lancelot there.

Immediately, Lancelot stepped in front of you.

This bastard would have to crawl over his corpse before he would ever get to lay a hand on you again.

The Reaper watched the flames destroy his Brotherhood, then looked at the one responsible for it. “If Father Carden had seen this, he would have given the order for your execution himself.”

Lancelot fought back the response it caused in him and spoke to you over his shoulder, “Go. I’ll distract him.”

You weren’t going to leave his side again, especially not when he was facing the Reaper in battle. “No.”

There was a sword in your hand, you weren’t running from this.

Soran offered a chance to the Ash Man, “Hand her over and I will see past this.”

Lancelot scoffed, a wry smile formed. “I will not.”

The coldness in the Ash Man’s tone put ice to shame.

Soran took some steps closer. “I only offer, because I know how she will suffer once I kill you. Permanently, this time.”

Even now, he was trying to blackmail others into submission, while his fort was burning to the ground and none of his Brothers were there to aid him. The confidence the Reaper displayed worried you, he showed no fear.

Soran got closer, warning you of what it meant to fight him, “I have trained the strongest of men, the Trinity Guard’s skill is no match for the Brotherhood and neither is yours, Brother.”

“I am not your ‘Brother’!” Lancelot’s tone was sharp.

The Reaper spun the sword in his hand. “You’re right. You betrayed us and now you will suffer the consequences of it.”

Lancelot did not let Soran get closer and faced the inevitable battle head on.

You knew he was doing it to try and keep Soran at a distance from you. The Ash Man was walking to the blade to protect you from the monster that wielded it…

Lancelot was the first to lunge and saw Soran move skillfully to avoid the blade.

The Reaper was not the sort to fight fair, the knives he carried on him weren’t there for decoration, he drew one and tried to cut Lancelot’s arm with it.

It was anticipated by the Ash Man, he had seen him reach for it and punched Soran in the jaw after avoiding the knife.

He had to duck to avoid Soran’s sword cutting off his head, the bastard did manage to land a kick against his stomach that send him stumbling back.

You attacked the Reaper, aiming to disarm him.

Soran blocked your sword with his, but you took him off-guard by striking him across the face with your fist.

He hooked his sword with yours, forcing you closer and then he moved his elbow in a quick motion, it struck your jaw and nose.

Only a few ‘things’ of you were necessary to him, others could be damaged… he had been truthful about that.

That blow to the face landed you on the ground, leaving you disoriented for a moment.

Liquid ran over your lips and you realized blood was running down from your nose.

The fight was still going on and you pushed yourself to your feet, feeling some vertigo hit as you did.

Soran was trying to get Lancelot closer to the edge of the keep, undoubtedly to make him fall. He attacked Lancelot, using the sword as a distraction to aim the knife for the heart of the Ash Man again.

Lancelot was strong enough to grab Soran’s arm to prevent it, but the Reaper took solace with sinking the knife into his shoulder instead.

He gave Soran a push, who left the knife lodged where it was.

You saw Lancelot pull the knife out of his shoulder. The knife was worse enough, but you saw where he was standing.

You ran up to the Reaper, sensing what he was about to do.

That rotten filth had lunged at Lancelot with the sword, Lancelot blocked it with ease, but he could not defend himself against the second kick he got from the Reaper.

He lost his footing and stumbled backwards. As a last effort to save himself from falling down to the rocks below, Lancelot held on to the edge of the keep with his hands.

Dangling from the wall, he had little chance to pull himself up again, Soran was quick to go and step on his hand so it would let go.

You charged at Soran and slammed your body into his side to knock him over, when he hit the ground you reached for Lancelot’s arm to help.

You had only took hold of his arm for a few seconds when you were ripped away from him by the Reaper who pulled you away from the edge.

He clearly didn’t want to risk you falling to your death. “Stay away from the edge, you are still needed.”

You elbowed him in the side and broke free, only to be grabbed by him again.

He held on while you struggled against him. “I will let you watch how the Weeping Monk shatters his skull on the rocks below!”

The Reaper was determined in not letting you escape from his sight and steered you with him to where Lancelot was hanging on for dear life.

And then Soran saw that the Ash Man was no longer hanging on to the edge.

Soran had made the mistake of turning his back on Lancelot, his priority should have been with him, not you.

You knew that there wasn’t enough time for you to pull Lancelot to safety, but what you could do was touch his arm and heal his injuries, making him strong enough again to save himself.

Then all that need to be done was distract the Reaper to buy him time. To move in Soran’s grasp so he would not be facing the edge.

Soran must have thought Lancelot had fallen, because it took him three counts before the truth of the matter set in and he realized he had been tricked.

Lancelot’s sword came down on Soran’s arm, and severed his lower arm from his elbow.

It fell to the ground at your feet and you instantly felt the hold on you disappear.

You broke free and created a distance.

The sight of the severed arm did shake your stomach a bit.

Without a sword, and horribly wounded, Soran was powerless when Lancelot stabbed him through the heart.

Lancelot twisted the blade and then withdrew it.

The blood mixed with the rain and it made for a gruesome sight.

Soran fell down next to his arm, and his dying breaths told you that he was choking on his own blood.

The silence that soon followed felt strange. You never thought you would be looking down at the Reaper’s corpse one day.

Lancelot stopped in front of you and wrapped a hand around your upper arm, then he moved closer, “Are you hurt?”

You could only shake your head, to lost for words by what had transpired.

Something on the ground reflected in the moonlight.

Soran’s ring…

“That ring… if we show it to the Fey…” You offered him the idea.

With the ring, they would be more inclined to believe him when he would tell them he had killed the Reaper.

Lancelot went over to retrieve the ring from the severed arm, while focusing his thoughts on something else and not on the fact that he was stealing from the dead.

He pocketed the ring and came back to you. “We need to go.”

You agreed with him on that and together you made your way over to the alure of the castle walls in search of a safe way down to ground. From the direction you were heading into, shouts were heard. You shared a look with Lancelot, knowing that the way back only led to fire.

He knew what had do be done to survive, “We have to jump.”

It was a long fall down into the sea and you weren’t keen on that plan at all, “Are you bloody mad?!”

Lancelot sheathed his sword, took you by the arm and steered you to the edge of the wall in between the battlements. “We jump or we die.”

Even his own faith in the plan seemed to falter for a blink when looking down at the sea that was only illuminated by the full moon.

The voices sounded closer, this had to be done.

“Dammit…” You cursed and sheathed your sword too. “You first?”

Lancelot managed to grin. “You lead, I follow.”

Oh, so now he had no problem with someone else taking charge.

“You’d better.” You warned and stepped to the edge.

It took a lot of your courage to make the jump into the depths below.

The fall went faster than you had anticipated and you hit the water, you swam to the surface right away.

Just as you reached the surface, the Ash Man hit the water on your right.

It were a couple of worrisome seconds until he came above the water as well.

Together you swam to shore and were grateful that the sea was calm compared to the rain and wind.

You crawled unto the sand, tired from the healing and the swim.

Even Lancelot struggled to get to his feet, when he did he looked back and saw the castle burning like the sun in the night sky.

You looked as well, seeing the flames claim all of the fort without mercy.

A deep sigh of relief left you, and for a moment all you focused on was the water moving around your body whilst laying in the sand.

A castle burning in the midst of night was sure to draw attention.

There was no time to rest. Some of the Brotherhood would escape the flames.

Lancelot held out a hand for you to take. “We have to leave this place. Others will see the flames from afar.”

You sighed and let him help you up, vertigo set in again and you had to lean into his side to keep yourself steady.

He did not complain, your magic had been what saved him, “Can you still walk?”

“Depends on how far we are talking about.” You admitted, “Did they take Goliath when they took you?”

He shook his head. “I send him away before they could try to take him too.”

In other words, you had no horse.

Lancelot didn’t let the newfound hope escape. “There have to be horses nearby. They brought us here on wagons…”

“Use your nose?” You made the suggestion.

He deadpanned. “Hard to smell anything besides the ashes in the air.”

Still, he tried to inhale deep and slow a couple of times.

After coughing the scent of smoke out of his lungs, he said, “I can smell a stable.”

“You can smell the wood and horses?” You frowned while letting him help you walk.

An actual chuckle fell from him, light as air, “I can smell the manure, and now with the rain the scent is strong.”

Gods, and you had even asked him to smell it…

The small laugh escaping you felt wonderful. “Lovely.”

His chuckling increased until he composed himself. He helped you walk over the rocks that had washed ashore over time. All of a sudden he stopped you and turned you to look at him, before you could question it, he made you tilt your head backwards to inspect the damage to your nose.

“I wish I could heal you.” He stated and let go, something akin of remorse was in his eyes.

You wouldn’t hear it, he had done more than enough. “I will live. Don’t you worry about me, Ash Man.”

It was one of the few things he could not do.

The sound of horses neighing reached your ears, they must have noticed the fire too. Lancelot helped you walk towards the sound until the vertigo you felt lessened. The sight of the burning fort against the dark sky and between the rain and wind was imposing.

You found the stables at the beginning of the stone pathway that had led to the fort. A wagon with horse stood outside of it and you left Lancelot’s side to go to the poor animal waiting for it’s rider alone.

Lancelot walked by and went into the stables. “Call out if you see or hear anything.”

You gave a nod, and saw how the horse was clearly glad to see someone.

He had left the door of the stables open, a few horses suddenly darted out and headed for the woods. You looked and saw that there were still other horses inside of the stables and that the Ash Man was cutting their reins loose. He was freeing them. Once he was done, Lancelot came out of the stables and joined you by the wagon.

This wagon equipped with a bonnet would be very useful, especially in this weather.

“We are taking the wagon?” You guessed his plan.

He gave a nod, “I’ll ride.” And steered you to the back of the wagon. “Up you go. Careful.”

You almost envied how energetic he was from the healing he had received from you twice, because you barely managed to get yourself up on the wagon, it took two attempts.

On the second attempt, he offered his shoulder for you to use and supported your elbow with one hand while using his other to make sure you didn’t fall.

And that was where it got him into trouble…

His hand was on your back until you were halfway up the wagon. And his attention had been on getting you safely onto the wagon, not on where his hand landed next.

When you felt it touch your rear, you were on that wagon in a blink.

The last thing he wanted was to make you think it was on purpose, that he would use the situation to…

He quickly began to apologize, “Forgive me, I did not mean to-”

You stopped him. “I know.”

The experience with the Reaper was still fresh on your mind, and you could not hide the look in your eyes from the Ash Man. Your mind had went back to the moment, and it took you a few seconds to feel Lancelot’s eyes on your face.

Not a word was shared when you looked at him, he knew…

With some reluctance, he stepped away from the back of the wagon and headed to the front.

You saw him climb up into the seat and take the reins, “Have you ever rode a wagon before?”

No…

“Do not worry.” He eased your mind while trying to sound confident.

He would do the worrying on his own.

Luckily, some of the wagon’s bonnet covered him from the rain as well.

And by the answer, you knew it would be an interesting ride.

Taglist:

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Please let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist of this story.

[sechsviciado]

when doves cry

reaperken/touka ; written circa nov/dec 2022

no warnings or ratings really?

-

so after my slight reaperken/touka rambling yesterday i figured that i really have nothing to lose from posting this small snippet of a fic (oneshot??) thats been sitting in my google drafts for nearly the past two years; if this is crappy i can always just delete it but ive wanted to contribute a bit more to keep tokyo ghoul tumblr alive so i figure why not?

i felt so smart when i came up with the title since ken was a dove during that entire reaper arc until the events of cochlea. i didnt really pay attention to prince's lyrics in the song but looking back at it now i guess some apply? not really any inspiration was gained from it though, i just grew up with music from the 60s-90s so the title kind of came to my mind and it happened to be a prince reference. not really any ratings or warnings yet?? its nowhere near finished and im not sure if ill even finish it because i feel my writing heavily lacks.

anyway, without further ado

how many months had it been?

it had been months — years — since he recalled feeling this exact way. of course, haise had felt this way too, but it would never compare to the feelings he had for her before that brief period of time where he had lost recognition of everything and everyone who once meant something to him. ironically, it's when he felt most at peace with the butterflies in his stomach, beating against his rib cage and the cage surrounding the longing which could never be released. he’s regained his memories now, but he knew something was different within him even when he laid his glassy eyes on her again on that first visit to :re as sasaki haise. why did he feel so entrapped and yet so wrongly distant even when he had no recollection of her prior on that first visit to the cafe?

it would never be the same.

it would never compare to the feeling of falling in love with her and the realization that came with it. the realization that left him in a state of both a mix of surprise and agitation for days and with a feeling that could only be described as his heart skipping a beat and yet crumbling at the same time. it would never happen, would it? he had chosen to face that reality when he was still his old self, naive and too ashamed of his actions to actually face her after all the pain he caused her as a result of the pain which engulfed his entire life, too. too ashamed to accept his new reality, hiding behind his eyepatch — too ashamed to admit he had fallen in love so easily. he wasn't any different now.

haise may have fallen in love with her through the lens of a reborn figure with a fresh start and no boundaries to stand behind (apart from his obvious shyness and the weird sense of familiarity), but it just occurred by fate. the same fate that had snatched him from her years prior had found a way to bring him back into her arms and make him belong to her once again. he can't help but believe that maybe there was some future destined between them; the embittered part of his heart and soul makes him realize even that destiny would probably be cursed or filled with further strife.

though he supposed that didn't matter now.

not when he was even more distant from her than when he was an amnesiac with no recollection of her apart from the same old feeling of confusing comfort and longing. it's humorous and yet painful to think about how low he'd fallen in this aspect, not even being able to face her once again. despite his older age, he was still just a boy when it came to this same ancient rush, wasn't he? it doesn't matter. she surely didn't want anything to do with him anyways, especially not after everything that he's done. he's betrayed her and everyone who was once a part of him once again, and he’s chosen to accept that painful reality ever since he vowed to stop dreaming and flung tsukiyama off that building. facades all break down eventually.

though he supposed that didn't matter now, either.

he’d be disposed of soon enough before any of this could matter at all — before hinami was to be the one to disappear from the purgatory that was life as a ghoul. there was no heaven and there was no hell; there was no afterlife. heaven was bliss and safety on earth while hell was anguish and pain.

it was selfish of him to hope touka would feel any sort of pain after all of the grief and rage he's put her through time and time again, but he hoped he'd at least be remembered by the person he felt he loved most in this lifetime — the one who hadn't thrown him aside but who had instead built a nest for him as if though her life depended on it. he can't help but wonder… he’s had everyone he's ever known and cared for snatched from his hands by the same twisted fate that led him to await his upcoming death, he doesn't know if the puddle of both coldness and warmth in his stomach is either fear or love.

he'd truly cherish any memory he had of her before he’d be killed.

he vaguely remembers telling her, years ago, that he'd be sad if she died; he just hopes she would be saddened at his death, too.

[istherewifiinhell]

while im here, lets get this out the door. this one... is weird

[ID: An artificial life form that its in the shape of a large golden women's head declares herself. "...I am Auntie!" END]

tfuk arc Raiders of the Last Arc! getit? huh?? issues 18-21 early summer 1985.

Script: Simon Furman Art: Mike Collins and Jeff Anderson Colours: Gina Hart Letters: Richard Starkings (18,20,21) John Aldrich (19) Editor: Sheila Cranna Original Series Edits by Shelia Cranna and Ian Rimmer, Editorial notes and assistance by James Roberts, Collection Edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon, Collection Design by Shawn Lee

my eyes may be skimming the preambles at this point but i caught glimpse of something like "weird they never reprinted this one" bud. ill tell u why. its not very good. its not, horrid. its pretty much just. oh yeah. this is a marvel tf comic...

which, if you trying to make the argument that all tfuk are unique and sophisticated and BETTER than the US ones, or just tryna make a dollar on the iconic stories.... you skip this one!!!

but in this house, we support preservation and revisiting of ANY art. including if it flops. and today that means you'll get a few black and white panels. huh? isnt that neat. you excited???

we'll get to it all. But first. Lets check out the funny pages.

[ID: The back part of a panel with crudely drawn Autobots and Decepticons floating about, being restrained. Its charmingly goofy. END]

[ID: Jazz firing off his flamethrower and saying "Let's see if Jazz can make things hot for you Soundwave!" Soundwave, a little singed but unbothered replying "Very impressive,but my armour's more than a match for your weapon…a pity the same cannot be said of yours..!" END]

are you two... flirting?

anyway, ill bite. who's autie...

As her troops fell, the computerised brain of the Ark swung into operation… Auntie, as she had been nicknamed, evaluated internal defences, calculated probabilities and finally arrived at the only logical course of action…

oh...

[ID: Optimus looking towards an Ark security camera thinking "It would be another matter if the ark's defences were active, but Auntie controlled those directly…" He opens the door to a dark room, declaring to himself "Auntie! Of course! Until now, we've merely used the basic computer functions of the ark, but Auntie was far more than that… She was the Ark! If I can get her to even a fraction of her operational capacity… END]

oh. the space ship is a woman. right

[ID: Caption box: And if Windcharger could have seen the tableau unfolding in the nerve centre of the Ark, he might have felt his fears justified. Auntie, who in scale is at least twice the height of Optimus or Megatron, using an unseen force to hold them captive. Optimus pleads reason: You must believe me Auntie, you brought us here from Cybertron and you were damaged in the battle with those murderous Decepticons... Megatron lying: No! That isn't what happened. As I've already told you, we were on a mercy mission. The traitorous Autobots sabotaged it - Forced you to crash. END]

correction. the spaceship is now a crazy women who might kill them all. awesome. lol. THANKS TF <3 what i always wanted >_>... (even if i do like the chance to see my guy's rhetoric strategies)

anyway pause all that we have a buddy cop adventure (no 20)

[ID: Splash page that includes the arc title and creative credits. Windcharger and Ravage walking the halls of the arc, arguing. Caption boxes: Alone, Ravage And Windcharger Are unaffected by Auntie's magnetic force… They eye each other suspiciously, each suspecting treachery, each distrusting the other they are sworn enemies these two… But today they are Allies! Ravage: This goes against my every instinct! I dislike working with others at the best of times... But to have to fight alongside a puny Autobot..! Windcharger: Silence, you aggravating creature! I'm as unhappy with the situation as you… but for now it's unavoidable. Just keep those sensors of yours alert for… END]

they really like ravage in these comics lmao.

[ID: Ravage gloating, with destroyed machinery flaming and smoking in his mouth, one paw raised to hold it. He looks over his shoulder to Windcharger saying "There, impressed?" Windcharger looks aggravated. END]

SMUG BEAST. are YOU flirting.

[ID: B&W panel. Both reacting to something unseen, Ravage in a ready stance, possible aggressive or alarmed. Windcharger, slightly behind him looking scared/startled. END]

he said NO PICKLES!

okay back to the hostage situation

ID: B&W panels. Optimus and Megatron still surround by a field of energy restraining them. Optimus his eyes glowing, says "You fool, Megatron! Do you think for a moment that she'll let one of us just walk away? She's playing with us. Unless we break free she'll slaughter us all!" Megatron has a brow raised: Oh… I see. Yes, you could be right. Well, in that case… I may be able to set us free! END]

ACTUALLY. hysterical. sorry i see any extremely funny megs moments and im like. how beast wars of him. i like other meg's too but. fgsdj. well...

btw he has a connection to a black hole? always has?? its from the toy box or smth idk

[ID: In colour again. Caption boxes: Optimus Prime and Megatron await the judgement of Auntie. But, while she considers her verdict, Megatron concentrates... A strange, unearthly energy flows around him, threatening to engulf him... But he is Megatron, and he will make the power serve him! In full body, Megatron is tensed in effort, teeth grit. A dark and sparkling energy wreaths around him.

ENTER: his dark magical girl era....

[ID: Caption box: Megatron lands well, Optimus Prime does not! Smaller drawings, Megatron lands daintily on the point of one foot, his arms raised above his head, somewhat like a dancer. Optimus plummets like a heap, landing on his side, thigh and forearm slamming into the ground. END]

LOOK AT THIS SHIT. lol

[ID: Tiny drawing. Megatron hands still raised, gracefully. One hand wreathed in glowing energy, being directed near Prime, still on the ground. END]

hes a beauty, hes a grace, he wants... to melt your face.

oh yeah anyway ravage gets auntie

[ID: Caption box: But Ravage is faster... Ravage leaping passed or perhaps INTO Auntie's open mouth as she screams "Nooooo" Ravage tearing into whatever golden mechanical workings make up her physical being. Caption box: And Auntie 'dies' for a second time. END]

cool. i love what we did here today. really valuable addition to the lore. and a win for feminism

and then windcharger launched megatron out of the arc thru the volcano and into space. no yeah. he can do that i guess.

its dumb, tho also funny. it hates women. its comics. GOODBYE.

[ID: Tiny drawing of Ravage pouncing. END]

[mundanemoongirl]

I’ve read 32 books this year. Some were mysteries, some were thrillers, some were realistic fiction, and most were fantasy. So here’s my top 5 out of every book I’ve read!

But first, my honorable mentions

This Woven Kingdom by Tahereh Mafi has some of the most beautiful descriptions and wordings that I have read. I also love the Persian culture in it. I'm always fascinated when reading about different cultures and this is one I don’t know much about. It felt unique and authentic. The reason this one isn’t in my top 5 is because I felt it relied too much on tropes and the plot was a bit cliche. The second book especially suffers from this.

Going Dark by Melissa De La Cruz is a mystery I thought was so good it helped to inspire my own. It touches on important topics like racism and mental illnesses. I love how social media is used to find clues and I was so invested in the story that I stayed up late every night to know more. The only thing keeping this book from being perfect to me is that about halfway through, the backstory is told to the reader. I would have rather the characters find it out for themselves.

When I tell you I loved Forest of a Thousand Lanterns by Julie C. Dao so much I wrote a three page paper on it and submitted it for my communications final (I got an A). I love character driven stories and Xifeng is one of my favorite characters of all time. Her arc progresses at a perfect pace and I love seeing her use the few skills she possesses to get what she wants. As a dark fantasy writer, I appreciate that the book doesn’t shy away from gruesome aspects. The reason this book isn’t in my top five is because I wanted to see Xifeng’s rule as empress. That’s it. I just wanted more Xifeng.

And now my top 5 under the cut

5. The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid

This is not the type of book I’d normally read, but it blew away all of my expectations and I absolutely adored it. At first, I didn’t really like Monique’s character. I wasn’t interested in her failed marriage and I was pretty annoyed every time she didn’t understand what was being said to her (which happens way too often), but as she learned from Evelyn I was really rooting for her.

It was Evelyn’s story that wouldn’t let me stop reading. It was similar to Xifeng in a way where she started as a girl who was pretty, but had nothing, and manipulated her way to becoming a superstar. I was especially gripped by Evelyn’s insistence that Monique will hate her. I just needed to keep going to find out why.

There were a lot of unique aspects that I liked, such as the chapter titles. They were so fun and I kept repeated them in my head. I also like how parts of the story are told through forums and news articles. Other than the fact this this is a unique aspect, I liked it because we got to hear a different perspective than the person telling the story.

Also, yay for a bisexual main character! It was done so well and respectful, and not the stereotypical cheater character. I have been waiting my whole life for this type of representation.

The last thing I want to say about this one is that Reid really makes an art of writing. There are so many quotable lines and you can tell so much thought was put into every word.

4. The Queen of the Tearling by Erika Johansen

It’s a pretty cliche story: a princess must reclaim her throne. But The Queen of the Tearling works so well because of its main character, Kelsea. She’s such a beautifully complex character. On one hand, she wants to prove herself as queen. But on the other, she wants to be free to be a teenage girl. She rules with compassion for her people. But she also has an underlying ruthlessness and short temper. She looks to the future by examining the past, and how can you not root for a character so strong that she demanded her throne with a knife in her shoulder?

I appreciate that this book didn’t go the trope route and have the ruler of the rival kingdom become Kelsea’s lover. It’s fine one time, but it’s way overdone, and Kelsee’s strengths shine through more without this trope.

I like how each chapter opens up with a quote. Like the articles in The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, this gives the reader insight into what other characters think.

I have to say that even though this book blew me away, the last book has the worst ending I have ever read in my life. It was lazy, dismissive of the themes throughout the series, and just exasperating because it erases the growth of the characters and kingdom. I have no idea why Johansen would write it into existence and it somewhat tarnished my view on the series.

3. The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes by Suzanne Collins

Is it really surprising that a Hunger Games book is in my top 5? I was hesitant at first to read it because I thought it would be a sympathy story or a cash grab, but I'm so glad that I gave it a try because it was so much more than I thought.

I feel like it's a theme on my list that I like to see stories where something small slowly evolves into something big. That's a big part of why I love this book. We get to see how the games went from something no one liked to the sporting event we know it as. It was a bonus to see that Snow's impact on the games as well.

I loved getting back into the Hunger Games universe, especially now that we get more of what the capitol is like. I have to admit that I haven't read the original trilogy in almost a decade so my memory is a little shaky, but I don't remember anything about the capitol being poor at one point. I liked this detail and getting to know capitol kids like Clemensia because it makes the capitol more complex. Before, I only knew it as a completely evil, selfish, privileged group of people, but now we can understand it better.

I love Lucy Gray's character. As a former musician, I appreciate that her power is through song and I enjoyed reading the meaning in her lyrics. I was kicking my feet reading about the Hanging Tree song and her teaching Snow about katniss roots because they live on to haunt him 60 years later. As always, Collins knows how to incorporate so much meaning into her writing.

The only thing I disliked is that it started to drag in Part III.

2. I'm Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

This one was heavy, but I'm thankful to McCurdy for being vulnerable and sharing this raw story. As someone who grew up on iCarly, she was an important part of my childhood. I listened to the audiobook version, which just made it all the more personal.

You can tell from the writing that McCurdy was meant to be a writer. She somehow manages to make such a sad story humorous, and I found myself getting lost in her the way she describes background information that I didn't even notice that she deviated from the main topic until she brought us back. Not to mention, the writing sounds like she is telling a story directly to you. It reminds me of experts like Bell Hooks, someone who I have described as having a style like talking to a close friend.

McCurdy also has a deep understanding of herself and her emotions, even during times in which she didn't understand nor want to understand the harm that was done to her and how she copes with it. It's obvious to the audience what's going on, but not to her, and she writes it in a way where we can understand the truth of her circumstances while also understanding her point of view from when she was experiencing trauma. I doubt many people can understand themselves this well.

Each chapter had me hooked. I kept telling myself that her life couldn't get worse, but then it did. There were times when I nearly cried, and once when I was so shocked that I involuntarily covered my mouth with my hand and couldn't move it back for a minute. This book will make you feel everything.

I hate how some people are shaming the book just because of the title because this is such an important story, and if you just read it you would understand the title completely.

Blood Like Magic by Liselle Sambury

Fantasy, sci-fi, and mystery all in one? So much diversity that you can swim in it? Quite possibly the cutest romance to ever exist? I didn't know the perfect book existed and yet here it is.

I knew this book would be a favorite of mine from the moment I saw it. You have a beautiful, colorful cover on one side, and a description on the other saying a girl has to destroy her first love in order to get magic. I still can't believe that this is Sambury's debut book.

One thing I love about Blood Like Magic (and its sequel) is that despite all the fantastical elements, the books feel so real. Voya's family feels so real because they aren't rich, they aren't powerful in a social aspect, and they aren't perfect. The cast of characters feel real because POCs, gay, and trans people are going to exist no matter what. The romance feels real because they don't instantly fall in love. The plot feels real because sometimes everything will go wrong, no matter how hard you try to make it right. And of course there's the realest aspect of them all: all Black grandmas are going to have attitude.

Ok, I have to talk more about the romance because Luc and Voya are so stinking cute. I was actually squealing and kicking my feet while reading because it's so obvious that they adore each other and can't even tell. I didn't even like the enemies to lovers trope before I read this book, but Sambury does it perfectly. I also like that she makes a distinction between physical and romantic attraction because I think it gets muddled in a lot of popular books these days.

Voya's such a relatable character. We all struggle to make decisions sometimes. We never want to be left out or hurt the people we care about. Also, her name is so pretty and it doesn't even mean anything?!

Do I even have to mention that all the different types of magic are so fun and creative? Do I even have to mention that all the advanced technology seems like it could really happen? Everyone go read Blood Like Magic and Blood Like Fate right now.

[the-werdna]

Title: Robcina Week Day 2 - Sick Day

Description: Robin has a problem with overworking himself, even when doing so when it poses a danger to his own health. So what happens when this tendency causes him to become very ill?

Notes: Takes place during the Valm arc of Fire Emblem Awakening

Words: 2032

The first thing Robin became aware of was the burning haze that filled his head. His skin burned, face flushed, so hot that the rest of him felt deathly cold. He shivered uncontrollably, the involuntary movements bringing with him a slow, aching pain that crawled through his arms and legs. He could feel the heavy blankets draped over him, placed there in an attempt to keep the chills away.

He couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. His head was a fitful miasma of thoughts slipping in and out of focus, his fevered mind struggling to latch on to any single thing long enough to make sense of it. Another shiver-fit crashed over him. He could feel the sweat starting to drench him now, paradoxically feeling both boiling and freezing against his skin. He shivered again, lips parting in a soft moan of pain.

A cool rag was placed against his face, gently dabbing away the dripping sweat before being draped across his forehead. He felt his grimacing visage loosen, the cold of the soaking cloth pulling away some of the unbearable burning that suffused his head. He wondered at it, managing to string together enough thoughts long enough to realize another was caring for him. Yet this awareness lingered but mere moments before slipping away once more. His aching bone felt heavy, and with relief from the feverish heat that had awoken him so too did unconsciousness begin to claim him once more. He tried to open his eyes, managing only a blurry glimpse of the worried face of someone holding vigil over him. His mouth, cracked and dry, worked wordlessly. Then he slipped back into a fitful sleep.

. . . . .

For what seemed like an eternity he slipped in and out of partial consciousness, pulled out of sleep with the worsening of aches and fever only to drift back each time they subsided. Several times the wet cloth was replaced by another, and one or twice his head was propped up so that someone could bring a sip of water to his parched lips.

Only the dimming and later brightening of his surroundings marked the passage of time. So it was that a pale morning light stung at his eyes when the fever had lessened so that he could at last force his eyes open.

Even that felt like a great effort, his eyelids weighing as though they had been turned to lead. His head swam as he blinked through blurred vision and looked around. Such were the aches wracking his body that he yet couldn't muster the will to move much, merely staring straight up through unfocused vision. He was in a tent, morning light streaming through the seems to cast patterns on the roof.

How long was I out? Robin wondered. He grimaced, feeling the sluggishness of his thoughts. Come to think of it, he didn't remember returning to his tent. His last memories were of conducting his duties for the day in camp. He'd been feeling increasingly unwell that entire day, but It hadn't been anything too severe. What happened? Why-

"Robin. Good, I see you're finally awake," came a voice to his left.

With an effort, he turned his head, neck aching with the effort. Seated at his side was Lucina, a chair pulled up to his bed. Her hair hung in unkempt tangles, her eyes heavy-lidded with dark rings of shadow beneath. Her hands clasped over atop his left, which lay outside the covered. "I was so worried. After you collapsed, I feared the worst," she told him, relief plain in her voice.

"Collapsed?" Robin croaked. His throat hurt with each syllable. He tried to swallow, which only made things worse.

Hearing the hoarseness in his voice, Lucina reached over, pouring water from a pitcher into a cup that she brought to his lips. Only after she'd helped him take a sip did she respond. "Yes. It was in the middle of the last war meeting. You seemed unwell through the whole thing, but we were all alarmed when you passed out. I rushed you to the healers at once and discovered how ill you were. I have been looking after you ever since. With help, of course. Both Aunt Lissa as well as Libra have been in and out to administer proper healing."

Robin wracked his memories. Yes, he remembers the meeting now. He was giving a talk regarding the army's movements towards Valm's capital. The weather had been hampering their progress, as had the numerous bands of brigands preying on the chaos the war had unleashed. He'd suggested a route to avoid them, even if it would cost them another few days. Then his vision had blurred, forcing himself to steady himself against a table. Then…

…nothing. The memory ended.

"Sorry to worry you," Robin told her. "I'm fine though, really."

Lucina looked unconvinced by his words, a frown pulling at her lips. Then, after another long pregnant moment, she sighed, asking "Robin, why didn't you tell anyone you were not well?"

"I didn't want anyone to worry. Besides, it was nothing I couldn't deal with," he answered, knowing full well the lie in his words. Evidently, it hadn't been, given he'd collapsed mid duties.

Lucina sighed again, for now seemingly reluctantly to argue the point. "Just try to get some rest now, okay? You need to, if you are to fully recover your strength."

Robin nodded, accepting her instructions. "How long was I out for?" he asked, voicing the very question he'd wondered to himself after awakening

"Long enough to worry me," Lucina answers. She wrung her hands nervously, looking away. "How are you feeling?"

"Fever is less bad and the chills are gone. Still, everything aches and my throat is very sore. Hurts a bit to talk," Robin answered, wincing at even saying this much

Lucina dipped her head in affirmation. "If you are feeling up to it, I can make you some tea. Aunt Lissa suggested waiting awhile after you wake before eating anything, I'm afraid," Lucina told him.

"I- Yes, thank you," Robin said, having almost argued for the princess not to bother herself with it. But with the pain of his cracked throat, perhaps tea would do him some good.

Lucina got up from her seat, but instead of exiting the tent to head to the mess as expected, she moved to the far side just out of view. Robin tilted his head, managing to shift his position enough to get a clear view of where Lucina had gone. She was fiddling with a small wood-burning stove that had been brought into the tent. She must have set it up to help keep me warm, Robin realized. It had been particularly the past few days, a common occurrence this far north during the winter. Come to think of it, the cold certainly hadn't done him any favors in fighting off whatever illness he'd come down with.

At last, Lucina managed to ignite the fresh fuel and soon what had before just been embers was now a farm flame. With the stovetop heating and a kettle in place, Lucina turned back to him. "There, tea will only be a few moments," Lucina told him.

Robin nodded in thanks."I appreciate it… though… you still didn't tell me how long I was out," he noted.

There was a noticeable pause, Lucina's expression becoming one of hesitant worry as if fearing a response she knew would occur if she answered. "This… is the third day since your collapse."

A second ticked by. Then another, Robin's fever-addled brain proving sluggish to fully process her words.

Then at once he attempted to bolt upright, grabbing at his covers tangling him in his bed. He needed to get back to work at once. Three days, there was so much he needed––no, had––to do. His job was too important, too critical. "I need- what have I missed, have there been any attacks? What about those brigands lurking nearby? What about Valm's army, have they made any moves? I need to-" he spluttered frantically, mind racing as fresh vigor born of panic seemed momentarily smother the aches and pain of his illness.

Before he could so much as sit upright Lucina gripped his shoulders and, gently but firmly, pressed him back into the bed. "No, you do not. You are in no state to do anything right now," Lucina warned him.

"But I-" Robin tried to argue, only for Lucina to silence the protest with a stern look.

"Others can attend to your duties in your stead," Lucina assured him. She reached up, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead. "See, you still have a fever, and pushing yourself will only leave you in worse shape. That's what got you in this mess in the first place. You should have taken some rest when you first began to feel unwell."

"I…" Robin started. He still found it difficult to speak, his thoughts unfocused through the burning heat in his head, and forcing words from his cracked, dry throat was equally problematic. "I couldn't rest. Everyone's counting on me. As tactician, taking a day off isn't something I can do, no matter how unwell I felt."

"And if you collapse in the middle of a battle, or you get yourself bedridden for weeks by over-exerting yourself, what then? How would that be helping anyone?" Lucina countered. "You've scolded me in the past for putting my own well-being behind that of everyone else's. Especially when doing so has been at risk to my own health." She squeezed his hand tightly. "You need to heed your own advice, Robin, you cannot keep putting your own well-being at risk for the sake of others. There is a difference between being selfless and foolish. Knowing where your limits are and when ignoring them will do others more harm than good is how to avoid the latter."

Robin frowned. A part of him wanted to argue, but how could he when her words had cut so true? He hated to admit it, but she was right, and he was ashamed of that.

"And what about you? You've been caring for me all this time, running yourself ragged on little sleep," he asked at length. This wasn't an accusation or a counter to her words, but an honest question. For if he was to concern himself with his own well-being, he needed to know Lucina would do the same.

"This is different," Lucina protested. She shook her head, giving his hand another squeeze. "I am doing this not out of obligation or duty, but because I wanted to be there for you. Is that so unreasonable?"

Robin slipped his other hand from the covers, placing it on top of hers, ignoring the aches that accompanied the movement. "No, it's not. I appreciate your concern, Lucina, I truly do." He smiled gently. "I will relent and get some rest. Just, promise me you'll do the same. I'd hate for you to get sick as well." Then his smile turned into a grin, adding "After all, if I'm bedridden, who'll look after you?"

"Fair enough. I will concede to that much," Lucina answered, returning the smile.

She opened her mouth to say something more, only for a shrill, hissing whistle to sound behind her. The kettle shrieked, steam pouring from its spout as the lid began to shake.

"Oh, tea is done, let me fetch you a cup. I have lemon and honey here. That should help lessen the discomfort of your sore throat, I think."

Moved from the bedside, Lucina busied herself with pouring him the cup of tea, while Robin settled himself back into his cot. Outside the wind had begun to pick up, whistling through the nearby landscape to bring even colder weather. Perhaps then, this wasn't so bad, to rest a bit inside where it was warm. As much as he'd rather be working, Lucina was right, getting himself even sicker or worse would do no one any good.

He was truly blessed then, to have someone there looking out for him. Or else he would have continued to be a fool.

[quek-a-sketch]

Sun Champion Chip AU

Aka the lost champion

So! This au is exactly what the title is, Chip is the chosen one of the Sun Goddess! I made this au before watching the Fey Arc so I was so happy when the flame tattoos and powers became canon /lh

.

..

... except neither he nor do most of the world know it. Not until he steps Into the sun temple in Liquidus and bursts into flame.

At first he screams, he should have known he'd burst into flames, he's committed many sins as far back as he can remember there was no way he could confess them ALL.

Then he notices that it doesn't burn.

He can't feel it, despite being engulfed in flames, but instead of blistering hot unbearable pain that should come from it... He just feels warm, on the inside kind of a feeling of being home or a tight embrace.

He's still freaking out, which is pretty understandable considering he is on fire.

The room is boiling hot and Jay nor Gil can see Chip, at least not properly, he's hazy like when you try to look at something far away on a blistering hot day but the very heat beating down makes it appear fuzzy and like a mirage.

Gil, being robbed of any moisture in the air or his skin for that matter, collapses. Jay holds him up, putting his arm over her shoulders as she slowly, carefully... achingly makes her way over to the still panicking Chip

That's when she sees he's not.. he's not just on fire. No it's like- his hair the edges of it are flame and his eyes... His eyes are glowing this intense yellow-white and his scars glow golden and those cracks of gold seem to expand around his body. His tattoos aswell, she couldn't see the blue of the water anymore, instead flames curled where water once flowed, for a moment she couldn't tell if they were real flames or just the tattoo changing.

Steam came off his skin, his tears of panic evaporated immediately off his skin that was almost... Glowing with divine heat. Jay still reached out a hand and grabbed chips shoulder, wincing at the burn she already felt forming, she shook him back out of his panic.

His eyes cleared of the yellow- white crackling light right as Jay collapsed from the heat of the room.

Safe to say there's a lot to be explained, and a few elders come to the temple that day to meet Chip, and tell him about his lost prophecy.

Ill make a whole post on it later but! Chips prophecy was an extension to Gillion's original one. A retelling of the story where instead of a chosen one who is strong and can slay evil and who will chose between the two sisters creations-

Chips prophecy is about forgiveness, in a way. He is the olive branch from the Sun Goddess to both apologise and settle their dispute, his whole point is to be flawed and to meet the original chosen ones and befriend them.

To show that both the land and sea are necessary to the world and both creations are precious, he is meant to represent the sisters reuniting... Now obviously that goes against the wants of a Lot of people, mainly those higher up or stuck in the old way. I mean the champion (gillion) was born already why replace one prophecy with another? Why give up an excuse to ostracize and distance each other even more.

So, when chip was born on a small island with some elders or higher ups of the sun temple present and his parents, who knew their child would be the chosen one, the island was raided by a mix of both sun and moon goddess devotees who believed this newer prophecy to be false, or more accurately a threat to their livelihoods.

No one was spared in the slaughter, but he wouldn't be the chosen one without some divine intervention now would he?

A trades boat that usually comes to the island once a week comes the day after the slaughter, horrified he orders his crew to look for any survivor or to find out who or why the island was attacked. He heads toward the crumbling temple, it's in complete ruins. As soon as he enters he hears a baby crying, and finds Chip lying in a closed drawer wrapped in blankets, god he was barely a month old-

Trying to soothe the screaming baby the tradesman tried thinking up a name to call him. Spotting the remnants of, what he didn't know was a mural of Chips prophecy, he saw letters sewn about the floor in the ruins.

C-H-I-P

Well fuck it it'll be a good a name as any!

He takes Chip aboard and drops him off at an orphanage before being on his way.

The few who knew about the new champion had died on that island, or believed the newborn to have died on the island along with everyone else. No one expected the skinny, frail looking street kid who would later beg to be let onto a ship with the Black Rose Pirates, was the missing chosen one. The one who was born on land and loves the sea-

The one who pulls the moon Goddess' champion out of the ocean with a grin.

Chip

(CHAMPION)

--------

Sorry if this au seems really dumb! I still really love it though so feel free to drop me an ask about it!

[todayisafridaynight]

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR TRUSTING ME BRO I COULD CRYYYYYYYYYYYYY 😭😭😭😭😭I hope it does not disappoint... REAL THOUGH about the drama you mentioned in your tags, that's exactly how I felt reading If My Wife Becomes An Elementary School Student's title, for example, but I'm told it's wholesome☠️☠️I would love to hear about the one you were thinking of though!

I WILL BEAR IT IN MIND TO PREPARE FOR ARACHTAGON WHENEVER THE TIME COMES... totally understandable to get frustrated with RNG on top of that, RPGs can be so evil 😭😭😭still, again, I'm glad you're back to it! Also totally understandable to want to play on the original consoles... NOTHING beats the experience... the availability of playthroughs nowadays is nice for sure to be able to experience the series without investing that much!

I would LOVE to see more Normal interactions between Ichiban and Jo for real😭they have so much potential for silly moments... ever-thankful for your content and I Can't Say Enough always looking forward to whatever you might have in store :] whether it's that or something else :]

I EXPECT YOU'RE DONE WITH EPISODE EIGHT NOW AT MINIMUM SO I WILL JUST SAY the Ohashi arc and Episode Ø [<- why the hell is ep eight called this] are peak to me I am soooo glad you enjoyed the arc... LOVE the OST too, Yugo Kanno is a legend. HOWEVER all the songs on it are titled words that start with S and P so you get titles like Scarlet Pussy 😭

OH BUT SPEAKING OF SP'S WACKASS STRUCTURE pleeeeeaaaase consider watching SP: The Motion Picture and SP: The Motion Picture: The Final Episode after you finish the show... there is A Cliffhanger and those are the true conclusions to the story... and SP Final In Specific is what blew my nuts clean off...

STOPPP NO THAT'S EXACTLY THE DRAMA I WAS TALKING ABOUT BUT I DIDNT WANNA SNITCH ON MYSELF 😭😭 it really is a cute show..... im ngl it has some of my fave tsutsumi scenes/performances like it TRULY blew my expectations out of the water. i just feel SOOO awkward about it cause.. with a title like That and a premise Like That i wouldnt blame a single person for giving me a weird ass look so i generally try not to talk about it ☠️ its my guilty treat so to speak and i cant even tell if im making it sound worse than it actually is (╯x╰ )

in any case... i finished Security Police SO !!! onto After The Rain for me when it comes to Media Thats Awkward To Talk About But Please Believe Me When I Say Its Not What You're Thinking :]

LMAO PLEASE like... so long as you have the right equipment you don't even really have to do much extra grinding by the time you get to him... it truly is just hoping RNG doesnt dick you over ☠️ i've been cruising through the game since tho ! i dont expect myself to get into anymore awkward blockades anytime soon and then i can finally say i finished this game (●ˇ∀ˇ●)

THANK YA THANK YA it aint much but its honest work..... i have been real dead this week tho and i always get scared if ill draw again durin periods like this- i HOPE to come up with something soon cause there really is an untapped well of Good Stuff to be explored :]]

THE SOUND DESIGN OF SP WAS REALLY GOOD IN GENERAL THOUGH LIKE not just music wise was it good but i really loved hos inoue's migraines gave me migraines... immersion... but also just knowing when to keep things dead silent (like finding nishijima's corpse) did SOOO well to put emphasis.. the weird as hell names are just bonus points by now like. Gotta Let Bro Have SOMETHING As A Thank You For The Sound Design (╯▽╰ ;;) OH BUT IM GLAD THERE'S MOVIE TIE-INS CAUSE THE LAST SCENE HAD ME CONCERNICUS LIKE 👁️👁️? i was only able to find the first 2010 movie on the site i usually go to but its somethin...

[livecharliereaction]

manga ep2 big post last one

shes soooooooooooooo

ONE OF THE SCENES EVER LETS COMMENCE though its clear to me now that this probably just straight up didnt happen its only miss servants in the room oh idk about gohda

girl

its so awesome

kumasawa n nanjo corpses disappearing ohhh ur so obvious again some key fuckery though

iconic and i dont use that word often

i love it when they title drop

the pacing is fast as hell sure but like not really in a bad way im taking it as a recap for me anyway + i do rly like the artstyle i mean it

like cmoon. omg

i used to be happy that shes having so much fun but im not sure i want to say that anymore it feels pained. Hm. But i like that shes playing around with it. Actually yeah i think she genuinely is kind of having fun w the game at this stage... Whatever it is its fun to watch its her theater its her stage shes great at it. just look at all the shit she does No locked room mystery where she needs to do all that and at the same time i believe she needs to be doing all that all the time. OK

its about the mirror SHANNONS ASS DOES NOT LOOK RELIEVED LMFAOOOO

i honestly dont remember what else happens now i mean i remember post-game but i feel like someone else will die but i dont remember who. maybe only battler maria rosa remained i dont rmb

shannon i like u so much shannon

oh beatrice people go to war for people like you beatrice

SHANNON SAID SHE WANTS TO HEAR GEORGE SAY HE LOVES HER ONE MORE TIME OH BEATRICE UR SO FUNNY

they match each others nasty

rosas banquet time. another peak scene of the series for sures

font made me giggle

hi girl. ohhh another reason to read higurashi first i remember exactly how seeing this in vn felt

in retrospect theyre so fucking funny in question arcs. they kind of have nothing to do with this game theyre just here to idk. scissor

after erika shows up its all downhill for them too all culminates to that ep8 scene i do love it theyre so much fun its true its true

someones said this before me but something can be said about the language they use to describe their love as witches VS the language they used as satorika something something breaking free from the confines of heteronormative human expectations and its not a matter of "oh we have to be in the closet khyaa #secret #girllove" nuh uh it sort of claws its way into their very feelings and perceptions of themselves and each other and i dont know etc etc etc everyone knows this lambdabern been crazy ok anyway

fun manga im not gonna have a crazy pace but ik theres some differences in ???? ep8 ??? or answer arcs anyway so i def want to read there. specifically interested in 4 and 678 but ill prolly read them all this one at least wasnt very long yup yup ok gn

[uterialmotive-blog]

Book Review: Take A Chance On Me

TITLE: Take A Chance On Me

AUTHOR: Emily Houghton

SUMMARY:

She likes to be in control. Olivia Jackson’s life is one big to-do list. But after her sister tragically dies and leaves her a ticket to go travelling, Olivia has to leave her perfectly ordered world – albeit with a meticulously organised itinerary.

He throws caution to the wind. Jacob Green couldn’t be more different. He’s been travelling the world for five years and lets destiny decide where he goes next with a roll of some dice.

Do opposites really attract? When the two first meet, Olivia finds Jacob’s laid-back attitude infuriating. Not to mention her unanswered question as to why he’s been travelling for so long without going back home. But as they part ways, she can’t help but wish her carefully laid plans involved him.

Will fate bring them together again? And if it does, what secret is Jacob hiding?

REVIEW:

I was unsure about this book to begin with. Olivia and Jacob were SO different. Yes, the summary said that she was a planner and he was carefree but I feel like it didn't fully explain their vastly different personalities. Olivia had a spreadsheet for everything whereas Jacob just ignored anything of consequence.

I was very touched by the parts about Olivia's sister, Leah, and found thes were very sad but, haing read Emily Houghton before, I felt prepared for the fact that this wasn't going to make me cry.

Olivia's job was meant to sound super important and everything but it just sounded so boring that I lost interest in anything she was worrying about in regards to work. It was just so dull.

India was so well written. I sometimes let my autistic brain decide that certain places will be too hot/too crowded/too much to visit but reading about it in this story really made me want to visit! I googled a lot to see what places were mentioned so that I could see the beauty for myself and it made me wish I was there.

I really did like the connection between Jacob and Olivia. OK, it was awkward at first but I enjoyed seeing them grow closer and I always enjoy a book that includes a bit of epistolary, even via email.

The supporting characters were quirky, kind and interesting, which also made this bok enjoyable.

Although it was obvious that there was going to be a twist, it was still a lot more unexpected and much sadder than I was expecting and I was sobbing by the end.

I felt that the ending and epilogue were very short and sudden but it was a change to read something that didn't end with a HEA but with hope.

I would absolutely recommend this book to anyone who is looking for a touching and poignant read.

TRIGGER WARNING: Terminal illness

TROPES:

Mild annoyances to lovers (if that's not a trope, I'm making it one)

Poignant

Self-discovery

Brit abroad

I received an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review

[everlastingdreams]

The Weeping Monk x Reader : Born In The Dawn Chapter 6

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Story Summary: Locked inside a dark room in a dungeon, kept alive only for your power, you believed you’d never see the daylight again. That is until the Weeping Monk finds his way down and steals you from your captors. It is the beginning of a journey that leads you through hardship and newfound hope, but nothing is assured in a world that is changing for the Fey. The magic that runs in your veins is drawing out the worst the world has to offer, does it include the man who pulled you from the dark?

Chapter Title:  Sinners And Saints

Notes: /

Warnings: Violence. Torture. !!!Sexual Assault. Rape Threat!!. Gore. Enemies To Lovers. Pining. Trauma. Flagellation. Manipulation. Strong Language. Blood. Gore?. Misogyny. PTSD. Spicy and smut parts. Slight redemption arc.

Other warnings: Jealousy. Forbidden Love. Romance. Slow-burn…

Word count of this fic: +190K

Chapter:  6/ It’s a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

A week went by, and every day the Monk would leave something in your room for you to eat, just enough to keep you healthy to ‘serve your purpose’.

A whole damn week of paladins with their bigoted remarks, and their filthy paws that often tried to touch you. But it seemed that after you had broken the nose of one off them, the others got more apprehensive. When healing them in the infirmary, the Monk was almost always present. Was it out of precaution that you would flee again, or was he seriously trying to keep his red brothers in line?

Still, you knew there was no one to be trusted among these men.

Tonight the sound of the door unlocking was something you had gotten used to, you kept your eyes on the ceiling of the room while laying flat down on the bed, hands behind your head to relax.

Usually you ignored the Monk when he walked in to place something to eat inside the room, tonight was the same.

It was the faint whispers in your ears that, almost politely, urged you to look at him.

There was a tremble in his hand when he placed down a bowl of soup near the door and he looked quite pale, like a fever had taken hold on him.

“You look horrible.” You hid your nosiness under the insult.

Exactly how he physically felt now that the wound you had inflicted on his arm days ago was infected.

It was the lack of response that brought you to your feet. “What happened to you? Met your match in battle? I hope they were Fey.”

A scoff fell. “They were.”

“Good.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

His hand rested on the doorknob. “I could stop bringing you meals.”

The threat was empty to you. “You could. And then your red brothers will die of their illnesses and injuries because I won’t have the strength to heal them.”

He did not expect the threat to be matched with one of your own. The Monk mumbled something you couldn’t hear and left the room.

You went and picked up the soup, it was cold, great.

After drinking it to the very last drop, you tried to sleep and found your mind filled with thoughts of the past. The cold nights in the dungeon, the warm ones at home when things were still alright.

The shouting between your parents the night you had ultimately decided to leave, the plea of your cousin for you to stay.

And then there was Squirrel, the boy who had reminded you so much of your young cousin that it had broken your heart again to be seperated from him.

The moon cast a small streak of light on the wall and you raised your hand to form shadows, it entertained you long enough to tire your eyes out and fall asleep.

It wasn’t even dawn when paladins came to collect you from the room. Three of them dragged you to the infirmary where one of their brothers was waiting. Blood was gushing out of his stomach, your own twisted at the sight of it.

They were anything but polite in their demand that you heal him. You wanted to get it over and done with, before you lost your stomach’s content at the sight.

Luckily, it did not drain you from your energy completely. The only thing you had was nausea. They bound your wrists again, not taking any chances.

Two of the others took hold of your arms again and dragged you out of the infirmary, another followed.

They did not go in the direction of the room, were they ordered to bring you to Father Carden or the Monk?

Another door was opened and you prepared yourself mentally to heal another.

But the room was empty…

The second the door was shut behind you, fear wrapped itself around your heart.

While the other two held you under control, the other was eager to try and take advantage of the situation.

The paladin got close, too close.

You felt his hand go right under your bodice and shirt.

There was no time to let shock take hold, you resisted strongly against their plans.

They had to use all their strength to keep you still.

“Let go off me!” You shouted with fury.

The bastard was quick to cover your mouth. “Be quiet, Fey whore!”

To prevent you from making another sound, he pulled a piece of cloth from the satchel hanging at his side and gagged you with it.

You did not stop fighting against the hold they had on you.

Those red drapes got you down to the floor, they pinned your arms down above your head.

The moment that rotten bastard was within reach, you kicked as hard as you could and hit him in the lower abdomen.

Then you bit the hand of one who held you down, who withdrew his hand when it drew blood.

The other one was not strong enough to hold you down on his own. It was a matter of seconds before you had hit him and sprung to your feet, bolting out the door.

The despair crashed into you when you could not even make it out the door without getting caught by the Monk., the cloth in your mouth muffled any sound you made.

He was quick to piece it all together.

None of these men had been wounded, they had taken you out of the room without notifying him, and now you ran out of this room distraught.

The cloth was removed from your mouth instantly by him.

It was no use fighting against him as he pulled you back into the room alongside him and he put you in a corner of it.

His red brothers took a step back, cowering before him.

“How dare you?” His tone was deadly when speaking to them, “In our place of worship!”

Not a single one said a word.

You could feel the tension rise between them and realized you had never seen the Monk so furious before.

“Speak!” His voice struck the room like lightning.

A series of stutters and stammers fell from them, empty apologies and excuses.

The knuckles of his hand turned white, fingers clenched around the pommel of his sword. “A long fasting will show your remorse. And a cleansing of the scourge for a week. Get out!”

The cowards hurried out of the room, none of them dared to look at his face now.

It wasn’t until the last one was out of sight that he let his weakened state show. The whole ordeal had almost made you forget that he was running a fever.

The Monk had gone paler than before and had to put a hand on the wall for support.

It would be easier to steal a weapon now and bolt, but he had just helped you…

You reached out and took hold off his arm.

Quick as a whip, he had you pinned against the wall, clearly he was not weak enough to not defend himself if you were to try to steal his weapons again.

Even though he had a hand wrapped around your throat, you didn’t let go off his arm and stubbornly healed him like your intention had been.

His eyes dropped to where you held his arm, a frown creased his forehead.

He felt the wound on his arm stop burning and the fever retreat.

Confusion mixed with curiosity in his eyes.

That look lasted until you felt the echo of his illness in your own body and momentarily lost your footing.

The Monk sensed it coming and caught you when you fell into his chest.

You felt miserable, like the infection was in your own veins now.

He was baffled. “You healed me…”

To distract from the fact that this Monk was the only thing between you and hitting the floor, you announced your disappointment over the soup, “The next time you get me soup, it better not be cold.”

His palm hovered over your back. “The cook prepared more today.”

Oh?

Was…was that an offer?

You mumbled the question tiredly, “What else did he prepare?”

He cracked a smirk, something you did not see, “Hungry?”

It wasn’t something you liked to admit, so you kept quiet and tried to regain your balance as best as you could.

The Monk let you push yourself away to stand alone without his help.

When he noticed that some of the hem of your shirt was stuck under your bodice, he slowly gestured to it and saw you flinch.

It was a pure recoil, mere moments ago that paladin had put his hand there and you could still feel it.

He fell silent and kept his hands to himself.

Had he done this truly because those paladins were committing a sin within a monastery? It could not be that the Weeping Monk had compassion for a Fey…

Was this all part of a plan to have you be more pliable?

Still, perhaps he had some morals.

“You’re not so despicable… for a traitor.” You did not want him to think that you would trust him after this.

His eyes narrowed at you, then he nearly rolled them. “Come. I believe a meal will better your mood.”

“I am not having a mood.” You said, feeling your empty stomach fight you on this.

He ignored it. “Some soup. Warm this time.”

You knew he was ignoring the look of suspicion aimed at him.

But your stomach growling embarrassingly loud made it impossible to deny your hunger. “When Father Carden leaves for the mission again, will I be brought along?”

“Planning your next escape?” He asked.

Dammit…

“No. I just want to know.” You lied.

It was clear he didn’t believe it, there was not a fleck of trust.

He was feeling well enough to trust in his ability to keep you from bolting off and lead you to the room by the ropes around your wrists.

You were steered into the room first, he followed and shut the door behind him.

To be alone with him after that, felt uncomfortable.

It was like he could sense it and he remained at the door while you stepped further into the room.

He folded his hands behind his back. “You will travel with us, wherever we go. We need you present near Father at all times.”

It slipped off your tongue without a thought, “Afraid the old man’s going to kick the bucket?”

It was the tensing in his jaw that gave away how much he was trying to ignore the comment.

You bit your lip, trying not to grin.

After a short silence, he inquired, “What was life like for you, before I found you in that dungeon?”

Your brow arched. “Are you hoping I will tell you that I lived in a camp filled with Dawn Folk?”

Clever.

“I didn’t.” You swiped that off the table. “I was trying to survive like the rest. One day while I was trying to catch a fish with my sword, the Brothers captured me.”

His questions continued to come, “How long were you in that dungeon?”

The memory of the darkness you must have spend weeks in was a bitter one. “Long enough to not want to be reminded of it.”

He got closer, slowly circling you. “How did they know of your power? There are no Fey marks on you, none that I can see.”

You froze completely when feeling his hand touch the side of your neck.

When his other touched the other side, he explained what he was doing, “I am searching you for markings. Wings that have been cut, scars behind your ears…”

While he named some, he made you tilt your head to the side to feel and look behind your ears.

“I have no markings that can just be seen. Unlike you.” You fixed your gaze to the ceiling, having heard of the routine inspection the Monk had to search for Fey signs on people.

He made a motion of his hand, you understood and turned around.

You noted how he was careful to just use the pads of his fingers and not all of his hand to inspect your back.

Through the leather of your bodice, you doubted he could feel a thing, which became obvious when he cleared his throat.

“What?” You knew what he would say, but you would also make him spit it out before you’d ever make it easy for him.

“The leather…” The Monk struggled to say it, especially after what had happened with his red brothers.

“What about it?” You rolled your eyes.

He took the rope off your wrists, then held out his hand and gestured to the bodice. “It will only take a moment.”

Ugh.

Was this what so many Fey and people spoke off?

With an annoyed groan, you began to undo the laces that kept it closed. “That’s the only way you’ll ever get to see a woman undress.”

You showed your anger by throwing the leather at his chest, he caught it and still had some of it smack into him.

He ignored the snide remark and held on to the bodice while using his free hand to inspect your back.

The shirt was thin enough for him to do so more easily and it lasted for tree counts, then he stepped away and handed you back the leather.

You snatched it from his hands and put it on again. “Anything else you want to grope, or?”

The Monk was trying and failing to ignore what was being said. “I would not need to inspect you, if you told me more about the Dawn Folk.”

Your tone grew cold, “Why would I tell you anything? Besides, I don’t see you running around telling everyone here what your clan is.”

With persistence he hoped to drag the truth out. “Do you have family?”

A deathly glare was aimed at him. “No.”

His head tilted ever so slightly. “You are lying.”

Shit.

It was the self-satisfied smirk on his face that told he had gotten the information that he wanted.

He walked to the door and before leaving he said, “I will bring the soup tonight.”

Seeing him smirk bothered you to no end. “Go to hell.”

Why did it appear to entertain him to see you so vigilant?!?

He was so quick to brush it off as if it was nothing and he left.

You would need to be more careful if you did not want to spend the rest of your days fleeing from the Weeping Monk.

Taglist:

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[smokefalls]

Title: A Kind of Madness Author: Uche Okonkwo Publication Year: 2024 Publisher: Tin House Genre: fiction, short stories

This debut collection was a vibrant one that took place in modern-day Nigeria. I really appreciated that Okonkwo gave the reader a close look into contemporary Nigerian culture through various characters and their respective relationships. While this may sound like other contemporary works by Nigerian authors, I felt that Okonkwo had her own spin to these stories through a slow unveiling of the layers of madness in each story. And madness is not so much clinical as it is these characters spiraling into emotional turmoil, often due to cultural implications. In other words, these characters are “losing it,” but they do so slowly yet steadily, ranging from missteps that snowball to quiet acts of desperation that lead them to their breaking point.

Like most (if not all) short story collections, I thought some stories were more impactful than others, but overall, I felt that this was a strong debut with immersive stories. I look forward to what Okonkwo will write in the future.

Note: Many thanks to the publisher for sending me an ARC.

Content Warning: colorism; saneism; classism; violence; abandonment; death (including animal death); grief; chronic illness; references to homophobia and miscarriage

[mermaidsirennikita]

ARC Review: Bad Things Feel Best by Ivy Smoak

3/5. Releases 8/8/2023.

For when you're vibing with... a chaste romantic thriller, a readalike for Colleen Hoover's Verity, and "my boss is maybe a murderer but like.... he's single...".

When Hazel Fox takes an assistant job on a private island, she looks forward to working with famous author Athena Quinn. But it turns out she's actually working for Athena's mysterious right hand--Mr. Remington. Mr. Remington doesn't want to be known by anyone, let alone Hazel; and the more she attempts to understand him, the more he resists her.

This book wasn't a match for me--and I think that's partly because of how it was marketed. But I think it possibly a good option for those who seek an entryway to romantic suspense... without quite as much murder and sex.

Quick Takes:

--Here's the thing. I've said it before and I'll say it again: I'm not a big fan of reading something you know you won't be into and then giving it a low rating. I like romantic suspense, though it's been a while since I've read it. I'd never read Ivy Smoak before, and I assumed based the descriptions of and reviews for her other books that this would have some heat to it. I may not have done my research well enough there. I also assumed based on the marketing for this book that it would be a) both mystery-forward and romance-forward b) kind of mysterious and sexy.

I would not personally call this romance-forward. There is a romance plot, it is prominent. I do not think it was prominent enough for this to be categorized as genre romance. It's a side quest, in a sense, for Hazel. It's not super woven into the mystery itself, the way it might be in a romantic suspense novel. One of the reasons why I suggested it as a readalike for Verity (a book I didn't enjoy, but I know others have) is that the romance feels about as central to that novel as it does to this one.

--I love the island atmosphere in the novel, and the general sense of isolation is what built the eeriness up the most (though that's perhaps broken by the presence of Hazel's friend Kehlani; while I didn't dislike her character, she very much felt like the obligatory best friend versus a character Smoak put a lot of thought into, and she didn't really need to be there).

I just feel that the style of Hazel's narration, her POV, her personality... Kind of fucked with this book's ability to be a proper thriller. Before I began reading primarily romance, I went through a period wherein I read primarily thrillers. This book didn't commit to being a thriller any more than it committed to being a romance, to be honest. If you are newer to both genres, you may be satisfied with the light touch. I don't like a light touch. With anything.

--Hazel wasn't super believable to me as a protagonist. Yes, it's typical for thriller girls to be kind of nosy, to get into shit they should really leave alone. But there was something about the way she went about it that suggested a lack of connection to reality--and not in an intentional, "unreliable narrator/mentally ill protagonist" kind of way. It felt like she didn't get how this job was a move forward in her career, and didn't value it? Which seems like a petty thing to critique about a thriller-ish romance-ish novel, but like I said, this book has something of an identity crisis, so it felt more prominent to me.

--The reality is that as interesting as Mr. Remington could be in theory... He never actually becomes a truly fleshed out character. And if only one character feels actually prominent (and she never even seems to 100% like this man) you cannot connect to the romance plot. Or at least, I can't.

The Sex Stuff:

This book is closed door, and to be honest, that seems oddly soft for a book that's meant to be dark? Definitely doesn't gel with the title or the way it's being marketed.

I feel like this was hard for me to come to an opinion on--because I'm really not the reader for this subgenre. It's not quite a thriller, not quite a romance. It's difficult for me to critique it, because I don't really know what standards I'm judging it by...? But again, I imagine that Colleen Hoover readers (or at least Verity readers) may like it.

Thanks to Netgalley and Montlake for providing me with a copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own.

[fearsmagazine]

LEGIONS - Review

DISTRIBUTOR: XYZ Films

SYNOPSIS:  Antonio Poyju is a shaman with a powerful blood lineage. While being held in an asylum, against his will, Antonio receives an omen of a great imminent danger. His daughter Helena, heir to his bloodline, is being stalked by an evil entity that plans to sacrifice her during the rise of a blood moon. Helena lost her faith and no longer believes in her father's teachings. Antonio must use his powers to escape. He must reignite his daughter's faith in the old ways, restore their bond and rescue his daughter from this ancient demon.

REVIEW: As a title, I don’t feel LEGIONS adequately represents Argentinian filmmaker Fabian Forte’s latest film. It’s a complex tale of family relationships, assimilation, faith, indigenous peoples, and a bit of satire. It was a bit reminiscent of “One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest,” “The Exorcist,” and “Evil Dead.”

Forte’s  screenplay sets Antonio as the narrator, presenting flashbacks to his time as a shaman in the jungle/rainforest. He is not simply curing the locals’ physical ills, he combats their spiritual ailments, the different spiritual elements that live among the trees. He recounts the story of how he met the love of his life Amanda, the birth of his daughter Helena, and his early battles with the spirit Kuaraya. He recounts the accounts to a trio of residents of the asylum who are cast in a theatrical production they are putting on based on his stories. Antonio’s story is a grounded tale and the elements of the asylum and its residents add comic relief. Likewise, there are some moments in the adult Helena’s life where her co-workers offer similar comic relief. Antonio and Helena’s differences are not simply contemporary, urban, belief and tech based issues, but there are supernatural factors blended in. There are lengths Antonio must go to win over the trust of his daughter, as when he says, “How can I convince her if she fears me?” He is willing to venture out of his comfort zone, but also draws on his shamanic powers to reach her. The character arcs, dialogue and the supporting cast of characters are woven into an entertaining and enchanting fable.

I love this ensemble cast. To a small degree, Germán de Silva’s performance as the older Antonio felt like a nod to the character of Don Quixote. He presents this curmudgeon who once more valiantly enters into the fray to save a life, here a loved one, his daughter. Juxtaposed to that is Lorena Vega’s portrayal of a modern woman with an okay job and in a relationship. She does an excellent job presenting this character who has these “spiritual” elements enter her life that cause deja vu moments. There are some excellent scenes where the two butt heads and you get a sense of their relationship. The rest of the cast creates this farce around the main drama. There are some belly laughs and memorable horrific moments that add to the overall enjoyment of the film.

I relished the production’s values. There are some interesting locations. There are many in camera effects. As the climax nears, they pull out some clever special and visual effects to ramp up the horror. The cinematography, framing and editing have an independent feel. Pablo Fuu’s score added some nice emotional accents to the visuals and narrative. The costumes were fine, but there were a few moments in the flashbacks where the wardrobe on some of the characters looked fresh off the rack in the closeups. A tad of distractions but not too bad.

Clearly, Fabian Forte is a fan of the horror genre. Unlike most American genre films that strive to pay homage to a filmmaker’s favorite film, LEGIONS is its own tale with elements that illustrate Forte’s influences without overshadowing his narrative. At its heart, the film is skillfully written as an allegory that deals with the generational and cultural divide of a father and daughter’s relationship. It's refreshing how the film surrounds the serious heart of the tale with interesting characters that provide comedic relief in a Shakespearean fashion, and also has a “play-with-in-a-play” facet. An enjoyable and engaging view that left me with a keen interest in seeing what these filmmakers do next. An excellent view.

CAST: Germán de Silva, Ezequiel Rodriguez, Lorena Vega, Mariana Anghileri, María Laura Cali, Demián Salomón, & Marta Haller. CREW: Director/Screenplay - Fabian Forte; Producer - Javier Diaz; Cinematography - Mariano Suarez; Score - Pablo Fuu; Editor - Mariana Quiroga Berone; Production Designer - Magdalena Schavelzon; Costume Designer - La Polilla; Special Effects - Marcos Berta Studios; Visual Effects - Andres Borghi OFFICIAL: N.A. FACEBOOK: N.A. TWITTER: N.A. TRAILER: https://youtu.be/gCJvUEHAnbk RELEASE DATE: VOD January 20th, 2023

**Until we can all head back into the theaters our “COVID Reel Value” will be similar to how you rate a film on digital platforms - 👍 (Like), 👌 (It’s just okay),  or 👎 (Dislike)

Reviewed by Joseph B Mauceri

[heich0e]

first of all. I love the way you write makki. that piece was ughh, a stab to the chest. beautifully written :( I got another prompt for him if you don’t mind. the …

“you were always there when i needed you. let me repay the favor.“

lets pretend that this ask is not from three weeks ago <3

highs and lows - part II of pieces hanamaki takahiro/reader (haikyuu!) word count: 3k tags: angst, hurt/comfort, pining, mentions of mental illness, alternatively titled pining hiro's redemption arc

For as long as Takahiro can remember, his life has been marked by highs and lows.

His last year of middle school was a low, without question.

His best friend moved to another prefecture before the start of the year; his mom gave him a terrible haircut the day before classes resumed that haunted him for months; he didn't understand anything about polynomials, which made his math mark tank so badly he was worried he was going to be held back; and to top it all off, he found out that he was the only one of his friends who would be moving on to Aoba Johsai the next school year, so he'd have to build up his entire friend group from scratch.

Dragging himself out of bed every morning was a chore; he would put off his homework and assignments until the last minute until they could no longer be avoided; he ate scarcely; slept terribly; and sank well over 1000 hours into his favourite video game.

But his first year of high school, much to his own surprise, was a high.

He made the volleyball team; he built up his friend group again, arguably better than it had ever been; he grew into that haircut his mom gave him (and continued to give him); and he figured out how the hell to divide a polynomial.

He rode this high all the way into second year, and then eventually to third.

He had his friends, his kouhai, you; life as an upperclassman was great.

Until it wasn’t.

The volleyball team lost their shot at nationals in a devastating blow.

He didn't get into any of the universities to which he'd applied (not that he'd been expecting to, because he was pretty sure he’d tanked every entrance exam he sat.)

He watched Iwa prepare to go to Tokyo where he'd be studying kinesiology, already talking about the possibility of studying abroad in a few years' time; envied Mattsun as he geared up to start college in Sendai, leaving on the weekends to look at apartments in the city with his parents; and saw Oikawa finalize his plans to start fresh in Argentina, living a reality that Hiro couldn't even dream of for himself.

He felt like he was falling behind.

Being left behind.

When these swings inevitably come around, Hiro copes as best he's able—though his idea of dealing with his problems has generally always been to ignore them until hopefully they just go away. He puts on a brave face and ignores the inky blackness lingering in the periphery of his vision, curling towards him ominously and threatening to drag him down into that low low low place he doesn't like to go.

But sometimes he can't fight it.

Mattsun had once told Makki that he knows when something is up with him because he "goes dark.”

Impossible to get ahold of where usually his texts are answered in seconds (minutes at most); unable to nail down plans with on the off-chance someone does manage to get ahold of him; even his spotify activity bar goes empty--which is by far the most unusual, because Makki perpetually has one headphone in with something playing through it.

He avoids everyone and everything when he gets like this.

Except for you—you've always been the exception to the rule.

Life after high school kept moving forward; highs and lows coming and going like the years that slipped past him. He got out of the funk that had clouded over his graduation, started working part-time at a local company and saving up to hopefully move to Tokyo eventually, spent his weekends with you—who was still devastated over Oikawa’s departure to Argentina and sought your comfort in him.

It gave him something else to focus on.

Someone else to worry about.

He put your problems before his, and before he knew it his own spirits seemed to be lifting through the process of trying to improve yours.

But he’s not immune to those clouds that occasionally creep in, blocking out the light no matter how brightly it tries to shine.

Makki hasn’t eaten in two days.

He knows it’s been two days because the last thing he ate was a bento that was about to go off that he picked up half price at the konbini down the road from his place, and it’s still sitting half-eaten in his fridge with a best-by date two days past. He’s drank a bit of water, and some tea (whose mugs still sit half-full around his studio apartment), but he hasn’t been able to stomach anything beyond a handful of crackers and a half-packet of microwave rice in the time since then.

He’s miserable.

He’s exhausted.

He’s spent more hours in the past three days asleep than he has conscious. His phone’s been dead for at least the past 24 hours—but that’s just when he’d noticed, it might have been off for even longer.

He could plug it in. He should plug it in. His charger is right next to his bed where he’s laying, dangling from an outlet by his bedside table. But the simple task of reaching over and slotting the cord into the charging port of his powered-down device requires too much energy to accomplish, so instead he stares up at the ceiling and tries to find patterns in the flat, dingy beige paint where there are none.

He doesn’t know exactly when he falls into another fitful sleep, only that the sound of a fist landing violently against his front door startles him awake an unknowable amount of time later.

He stumbles out of bed, only half-conscious and ignoring the way the room spins around him as he makes his way to the front door—where the aggressive knocking has only gotten louder.

When he pulls open the door, he sees you standing in his doorway.

Your expression is concerned and irritated, and you don’t even bother to greet him properly once he’s pulled open the door to reveal his tired face from the other side.

“You haven’t answered my calls for five days.”

Has it really been that long?

“Ah,“ Hiro’s voice is hoarse when he speaks, and he realizes it’s the first time his vocal chords have seen any use in nearly a week. He dips his head. “Sorry, sorry. Must have lost track of time.”

“Hiro—” the way you say his name is too gentle, too starkly different to the tone you’d first greeted him with. It makes him feel nauseated.

“I’m fine,” Hiro tries to make it sound like he means it. “Really, I am.”

A moment of silence passes as you stand in the doorway, Takahiro’s front door still only half opened. He can hear the distant sound of children playing in the park across the street, and the television in his elderly neighbour’s apartment that’s always just a little bit too loud.

“You look terrible.”

“Ouch,” the boy in front of you hisses, smiling a little though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He ruffles his messy hair, suddenly exceedingly glad that he’d dragged his ass to the shower that morning for the first time in longer than he cares to admit.

There’s another moment of quiet that teeters just beyond the boundary of being comfortable.

“So…” you trail off, peeking up at Hiro with a little furrow in your brow. “Can I come in?”

Hiro’s empty stomach twists in on itself.

“I dunno, I was j-just about to—“ he panics, floundering in his haste to decline, knowing the state of his apartment. The state of his life.

“Hiro,” you say his name quietly, supplicatory—all pretence of your earlier irritation gone from your tone. “You’re always there when I need you. Let me repay the favour. Please.“

One glimpse of the desperate, determined look on your face has Hiro crumbling. Weak-kneed and weak-willed as ever to your every whim and plea.

He sighs, opening up the door a little further, just wide enough for you to step through.

It’s embarrassing. Letting you see how he’s been living, the space that he’s been living in, the mess.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been over,” you say, your tone light and casual as you step over a half-filled bag of trash to set your tote bag down on the kitchen counter.

It has been a while. Weeks have passed since the last time you’d shown up at Makki’s door like this.

Since before the last time Oikawa had visited home.

You and Tooru had talked, or so you’d told Makki after the fact over a mediocre feed of late-night sushi. The two of you had settled things. Gotten closure. You’ve been doing much better since then. Holding yourself a little taller, like something had been lifted from you that no could see you’d even been carrying.

But he had.

Takahiro had helped you bear the weight when it was too much for you to shoulder alone, and now that it was no longer there it was like the one thing that had kept him linked to you—kept him necessary in your life—was gone. He didn’t know where he fit into your life now that you didn’t need that piece of him anymore.

He was worried he was going to lose you now, and that worry—that fear—had been gripping him since the moment you’d told him the news with a piece of fatty tuna poised halfway to your ruefully curled lips.

“Hey, did you ever end up finding that blu-ray you were trying to get?”

Hiro blinks at you, startled by how normal you’re being—all things considered. He watches as you tie your hair back, sweeping some trash off the counter in front of you and into the garbage bag at your feet.

You look up when he doesn’t reply to your question.

“Earth to Makki,” you say, a brow quirked. “Did you get it? The…what was it again? Zombie something of the uh—” he sees the way you wrack your brain for the title of the indie horror movie he’d been obsessed with getting his hands on only a few weeks prior.

“Zombie Slayers of the Red Planet,” he supplies the title quietly, eyes flickering over to the shelf below his TV on the other side of his tiny apartment where the recently acquired blu-ray sits.

“Right, right,” you nod, tapping your hands against the edge of his sink. You reach in and pull out a stack of the unwashed dishes he’d allowed to accumulate, setting them aside before turning on the tap. You giggle a little. “Aliens and zombies, it’s like it was made for you.”

You crouch down and retrieve a fresh sponge and some cleaning product from the cabinet underneath the sink, squeezing some into the stainless steel basin once you return to your full height.

“Was it any good?” you ask him, scrubbing at some of the grime clinging to the inside of the sink, your voice rising a little to be heard over the sound of running water.

Hiro braces himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, at a loss for words.

“Yeah,” he affirms once he finds his tongue, nodding a little though you’re not looking his way to see it. He swallows hard over the sudden swell of his throat, sticky and painful. “We… could watch it later if you want.”

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, smiling so brightly it makes Hiro’s heart stutter in his chest.

“Sounds good!”

You clean his kitchen, chattering on about what you’ve been up lately as you go. You sustain the conversation even though it’s almost entirely one-sided, but Makki is happy to just listen to the lilt of your voice as you tell a funny story about something that had happened to you at work last week. Once the dishes have been left to dry on the rack and the counters wiped down, you unpack the groceries you’d brought with you from your tote-bag and start putting them away—promptly throwing out the two-day-old bento from inside Hiro’s fridge.

You make him food. It’s nothing elaborate, considering your cooking skills are even more abysmal than his, but it’s something warm and edible.

You work to tidy the rest of his one room apartment a little bit while he eats, humming a wordless tune to yourself as you pick up trash and organize stacks of magazines and video games that had been left haplessly strewn about. By the time Hiro’s plate is empty, his home looks a little more like what he’s used to, and you come up behind where he’s seated at the kitchen counter and rest your chin on his shoulder.

“Full?” you ask, eying his plate.

He grunts affirmatively. He’d forced himself to eat every single bite, but his stomach feels tight and uncomfortable after going empty for so long.

“Wanna lay down?” you ask him, tilting your face to resting your temple against his ear, fingers toying with the fraying edge of his t-shirt sleeve.

He nods.

And so the two of you find yourselves in his bed, watching the trashy zombie/alien horror movie that Hiro’s already seen 15 times. His head rests on your stomach, his knees curled into his chest as you rake your hands idly through his hair.

“Hiro,” you say gently, halfway through the movie that the boy laying atop you hasn’t paid any attention to. Your voice is guarded, hesitant and a little hurt. Like you’re not sure how to say the words, or if you should be saying them at all, but you still can’t stop yourself. “Why were you avoiding me?”

Takahiro sucks in a sharp breath, a pang in his too-full belly as it tightens with anxiety. He draws his knees a little further into himself, wrapping his arms around them.

He draws in a shuddering, suffering breath.

“Being near you is hard for me right now.”

“Why?” Your fingers pause, strands of his strawberry-hued hair tickling your knuckles.

He doesn’t dare move a muscle.

“It hurts.” Makki’s eyes squeeze shut, a hot tear forcing its way out that he hopes to god you can’t see. “Being around you hurts right now.”

“I’m sorry,” your voice is strained as you reply, anguish winding itself around your throat and into your words.

His heart wrenches with guilt that’s already eaten away at the better part of him.

“It’s nothing you did. It’s me. It’s my fault. I just-“ Takahiro fights back a sob that’s swelling too fast and too fierce in his chest. “I just can’t deal with all of these things I’m feeling.”

He sits up, wrenching himself away from you—leaving you to stare helplessly at his back as he slouches forward and struggles to even his quickening breaths.

“What are you feeling?” you ask him, quiet but desperate. “Can you tell me?”

He turns towards you, blinking tears from his bloodshot eyes.

“I love you,” his voice cracks when he says it. Finally says it. “Really fucking love you. Not like a friend, either.”

Your lips part in shock, but he doesn’t leave you room to reply, too desperate to get the confession that has been festering inside of him for the better part of a decade out before he loses his momentary nerve.

“And I have, for a while. Forever.” He barks out a hollow, joyless laugh, though the situation is anything but comical. “And I know it’s not fair for me to say this to you right now, but I just don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Hiro—”

“Listen, I get it if you hate me,” he shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed as his face screws up with disgust. “I’d hate me. But I swear that I never meant to—“

“Takahiro.”

Makki pauses, eyes popping open as you take his face in your soft, warm hands.

You’re so close to him, eyes desperately searching his as though looking for an answer to a question you never posed.

No, not a question.

Permission.

You inch forward, your lips catching just the edge of his. It’s soft, sweet—everything he's ever wanted and more. Better than he'd ever hoped it might be.

Suddenly it doesn’t matter that his apartment is a mess. Doesn’t matter that his stomach hurts. Doesn’t matter that the movie in the background is at probably the least romantic moment it could possibly be as a zombie has its head violently ripped off—the spatter of gore the soundtrack to the gentle brush of your lips.

You pull back, resting your forehead against his as a tear drips off the end of his nose—your hands are still gently cradling Makki’s burning cheeks.

“This isn’t the right time, but we’re gonna talk about this when you feel better. When things are a little bit less overwhelming, okay?” you say the words so quietly, so tenderly, as your eyes bore into his.

He nods, because he doesn’t know what else he can do.

“But right now,” you say, shuffling back a little so you’re resting up against the pillows again, “we’re just gonna take a nap.”

Makki follows you up to the head of the bed, drawn to you like the pull of gravity or the tides are to the moon, nestling down beside you as you pull the comforter up around both of your bodies.

He curls into your side, his heart beating so loudly it’s all that he can hear. Your eyes flutter closed after a while, but he can’t help but watch you.

“You can’t fall asleep if you don’t shut your eyes, Hiro,” you say with a breathy giggle, not even needing to look at him to know he hasn't even tried to rest his eyes.

Something warm and syrupy squirms in Makki’s chest, and he cranes up, nosing gently against the edge of your jaw.

“Can I have one more?” he whispers.

You crack an eye open, peering down at him as you quirk your brow.

Your second kiss is as sweet as the first, and just as chaste, but it tastes unmistakably like the promise of more.

Takahiro is not stupid enough to think that his problems are solved, even if he did fail all of his college entrance exams. He’s not foolish enough to believe that he’ll never have another low, or even a low worse than this one.

But it’s a little more bearable—a little more tolerable—knowing that there’s something to look forward to ahead.

Takahiro closes his eyes, buries his face into the warm crook of your neck, and sleeps better than he has in years.