#this was written on a whim

[shushu3991]

My rotten brain totally wrote a crack fic inspired by THAT SCENE in the proposal… 😅

[blaiddydbrokeit]

I do find it hilarious that no one has asked for Dimitri headcanons because you all know that's my expertise. I can dissect him right down to how he swings his lance. I look at him and go "Of course I know him. He's me." Come talk to me about Dimi A. Blaiddyd.

[shorthaltsjester]

when people think delilah just completely takes over and laudna has no control. when people think jester is just an uwu child who has been manipulated by every man she’s met. when people think vex is an empty husk of daddy issues without her brother by her side. when people think fjord is an arrogant asshole who doesn’t pay attention to the party around him. when people think scanlan saying that vox machina doesn’t care about him is an accurate assessment.

[killerpancakeburger]

Tags: suggestive, angst with a happy ending, gn!Reader, virgin!reader, low self-esteem!reafer, established relationship but they never went all the way. 300 words. Pic credit to @esteljune

When you tell Soap you've never had an orgasm, you fully expect him to laugh in your face.

And he does.

The carefree, genuine sound stings.

It's even more painful because until now, your brain and heart have grown accustomed to link Johnny's laugh to something soft, warm, pleasant. You’re used to your him laughing with you, not at you.

You shrink on yourself, the weight of your inadequacy, abnormality suddenly dialed up to eleven.

You never meant for the conversation to take that turn. He was joking around about how such thing would never be as good as an orgasm, and before you could bite your tongue, the sentence spilled from your lips— I wouldn't know.

You'd swallow the words back if you could. Take back the vulnerability you stupidly showed and tuck it back deep inside you.

"Very funny," he adds, and you sitffen upon hearing his voice again, but dare to give him a sidelong look, and the expression on his face makes it all clear.

He laughed because he really thought you were joking.

His features twist with concern as he takes in the pain on your face. He slowly raises a hand to cradle your face.

"What's wrong, hen?"

You look down in shame, retreat from his touch. There's no dignified reply you can offer him, so you stay mute.

It doesn't take him long to put two and two together, though.

"...Ye weren't kidding."

Withdrawing into silence, you don’t confirm, but you don't deny it either.

However you forsake that silence soon enough when Soap grabs your ankle to drag you down the bed, pulling a surprised screech from you.

You raise on your elbows to stare at him in shock; kneeling between your parted legs, he's attacking the button of your pants. You press the sole of your foot against his chest to stop him.

"Wowowoh, what are you doing!?"

He looks up at you like it's self-evident, his expression a mix of puppy eyes and righteous indignation at the interruption.

"Makin' up fer lost time. Gonna give ye an orgasm fer every one I've had. Only with my tongue and my fingers though. Dinnae want tae get distracted from the mission objective."

[hauntingofhouses]

We all already know Mizu and Akemi are narrative foils. But you know what? Lemme just say it, here's what I think:

Taigen and Mikio are foils.

Not necessarily to each other as individuals in the way that Mizu and Akemi juxtapose each other, but mostly in the contrast between their relationships with Mizu.

I've covered specific parallels between Taigen and Mikio in other posts I wrote; but as the number of parallels I'm noticing between them keeps piling up, I'm compelled to just compile them all in one post. So! This is, thus, the post in question.

First of all, let's look at their similarities.

1. Their status in society is the same. They are both samurai who lost their honour and have dreams of reclaiming it.

2. They are also both diligent as they strive to achieve this goal, they both care deeply about their work, but here as they begin to contrast, as the work in question and way they go about their goals is different:

For Mikio, his work is in taming and rearing horses; in order to prove himself, he must tame Kai—a willful and strong horse—and present it to his lord. For Taigen, his work is in sword fighting and martial arts; in order to prove himself, he must kill Mizu—a willful and strong swordsman—and present her dead body to his lord.

In the parallel above, not only are Taigen and Mikio contrasting each other, but Mizu and Kai are placed in comparison as well. And of course, Kai is Mizu's horse, and represents her. Which is why, when later, Mikio sells Kai off, it represents the way he is tossing Mizu (and their relationship) aside.

From there, the rest of the details of their character begin to contrast and juxtapose each other more clearly. So let's look at those differences, shall we?

Their backstory:

Mikio was a great samurai who was banished. A somebody to a nobody. Taigen was a fisherman’s son who rose to the top. A nobody to a somebody.

2. The first time we meet them on-screen:

Mikio is an adult. An older man. Mizu's superior in age. He is Mizu's to-be husband. A love interest. Taigen is a child. A young boy. Mizu's peer in age. He is Mizu's bully. An antagonist.

3. Their maturity and growth:

Mikio is mature, but stuck in his ways. Taigen is immature, but capable of changing and learning.

4. Their overall attitude:

Mikio is generally relaxed, easy-going and unfussy. Taigen is uptight, irritable and severe.

5. How they talk to and conduct themselves around Mizu:

Mikio is aloof, soft-spoken, and serious. Taigen is obnoxious, brash, and sarcastic. Mikio is quiet, speaking only when spoken to, even when Mizu turns to smile at him and shows openness to be near him. Taigen is loud, talking while others are silent, even when Mizu turns from him and shows no interest in conversing with him.

Mikio doesn't show much of who he is to Mizu throughout their marriage, despite their growing affection. Taigen openly shares his traumas and life story to Mizu during their brief alliance, despite their mutual antagonism.

6. Their external vs internal selves:

Mikio is calm, gentle, and considerate on the outside. Taigen is hot-headed, rude, and selfish on the outside. Mikio is cowardly and deceitful on the inside. Taigen is brave and loyal to a fault on the inside. Mikio tells Mizu that he wants to know and see all of her. But he scorns and betrays her, the woman he loves. Taigen tells Mizu that he wants to duel and kill him. But he endures torture to not betray him, the man he hates.

9. Their hair, a symbol of their honour:

Mikio's topknot is untied by Mizu during their spar. This humiliation occurs in private, the two of them alone in a rural location where no one can see them. Taigen's topknot is cut off by Mizu during their duel. This humiliation occurs in public, the two of them being watched by many others in the Shindo Dojo.

10. Their power dynamic with Mizu:

Mikio believes he is Mizu's mentor. He teaches her to throw knives, how to ride and care for horses, and about the tactical benefits of using a naginata. Taigen believes he is Mizu's equal. He views Mizu as a samurai like himself who received all the same teachings he did, and who possesses the same values.

11. Their perceptions of Mizu:

Mikio sees Mizu's feminine side first. He sees her as sweet and gentle, but also clumsy and incompetent. Taigen sees Mizu's masculine side first. He sees her as terrifying and deadly, but also strong and skilled.

12. The way they approach sparring with Mizu:

Mikio only spars with Mizu once. As the fight progresses and she is beating him, he tries to put a stop to it. When she teases/provokes him, he starts taking the fight personally and seriously, finding no enjoyment in it. Taigen spars and brawls with Mizu all the time. No matter how many times Mizu beats him, he doesn't back down. When Mizu challenges him with a chopstick, he is eager to compete with her and gladly rises up to the challenge.

Mikio and Mizu's one and only spar is a friendly match; Mizu is smiling and having fun while he grows increasingly frustrated. Taigen and Mizu's last-seen spar is a playful wrestling match; both him and Mizu are having fun and laughing.

Mikio cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, so he scorns her and walks off, avoiding her thereafter. When Taigen cannot deal with Mizu being better than him, he follows her to observe her moves and continues training in hopes to eventually beat her. After being bested by Mizu once, Mikio leaves her and sells the horse he'd previously gifted to her. After many times losing to Mizu and fighting alongside her, Taigen commends her and admits she is better than him.

13. When Mizu pins them down in a friendly spar:

Mikio sees Mizu's whole face objectively. Taigen stares at Mizu's mouth and eyes.

Mikio gets angry when she kisses him, throwing her off of him and snapping at her, calling her a monster. Taigen gets aroused, apologising, so she pulls herself off of him.

14. Mizu's blue meteorite sword is a reflection of her soul. She believes most are undeserving to face it, let alone hold it. And on that note:

Mikio is the first person (chronologically) that Mizu fights against using her sword. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) that Mizu fights against with her sword. Mikio is the first person (chronologically) to ever hold her sword, as she passes it to him, letting him wield it. Taigen is the first person (we see on-screen) to ever hold her sword, as she passes out, and he picks it up and carries it for her.

15. Then, last but not least, in Fowler's fortress, when she is drugged and in pain, she hears Ringo's voice in the dungeon. She then follows it to an open cell:

Mizu first sees Mikio as a hallucination, the sight of him haunting her and causing her to lose her grip on reality. Her eyes glow a surreal blue to represent this. Her Mama appears then and says Mizu's name accusingly.

Mizu then sees Taigen, but he is real, the sight of him a relief and grounding her back to reality. Her eyes return to their normal blue colour to represent this. Taigen looks at Mizu weakly and says her name softly.

Then, later, when facing Fowler, her revenge awaiting her, she instead chooses to follow her conscience (represented by Ringo's voice in her mind), putting aside her vengeance for a time, in order to save Taigen.

So that's basically all the ones I've noticed so far, but even then, I feel there's already so much that forms a contrast between these two.

What makes it especially incredible about these juxtapositions is that Mikio was Mizu's husband, the man she had fallen in love with, the one person she had ever been intimate with, the man who made her begin to accept herself, to put down her desire for vengeance and instead live a life of peace and happiness.

So for Taigen to have so many parallels with him... Do you see what I'm saying here!

Not to mention that Mizu clearly already has some burgeoning attraction to him, as indicated by how she thinks of him when asked about her desires. And Taigen clearly has shown interest as well (see: him getting a boner after their spar, him holding her hand and telling her, "We're not done yet.").

And on the topic of speculating future possibilities of this relationship, this post by @stromblessed has pointed out yet another parallel between Taigen and Mikio:

Mizu promises Taigen to meet him for their duel in autumn. Mizu fell in love with Mikio and duelled him during autumn.

With all that said, I do believe Mizu and Taigen's relationship is definitely hurtling towards something. But whether they will actually end up together in a sustainable relationship and have a happily ever after? Well, that is a whole other story; we'll just have to wait and see.

[catsoupki]

你留下的遺憾 / destruction in your wake (bakugou x reader)

Summary: you wonder whether bakugou remembers you: a girl from his distant past; something he’s left behind. you think he’s forgotten all of your touch and the smell of your hair, but to him, you’re still leaving traces on him, and he’ll never escape

Warnings: just kinda angsty actually, the reader is said to have a chronic illness, didn’t specify what tho, wasn’t expecting to post this so sorry for the lack of capitalisation!

wc: 700

now, at twenty five, you see the ghost of your past haunting you. when you pass by the sandbox, you hear the blooming noises of explosions. you hear the stifling tears from fighting bullies and you smell the stench of nitroglycerin. the last time you had seen katsuki bakugou was this morning, when you were making breakfast in your kitchenette with the television turned on. the bleed of morning sun flutters into your studio apartment, inundating your belongings with warmth. the news channel broadcasted an accident from a previous night, in which pro hero dynamight was able to catch and arrest two villains by himself during his night patrol, but still left destruction in his wake.

it’s the collapse of scaffolding, the uprooting of walkways, with soot and burn scars scalded into the walls of concrete. it’s the name of your childhood love plastered over every single surface that exists.

the last time you had seen katsuki bakugou, you were fifteen. wearing a graduation cap too heavy for your dipped head, donning a robe too large for your then small and sickly thin body.

katsuki bakugou had looked at you with something in the guise of disgust. head held high with a kind of dignity you’re unfamiliar with, the dignity that comes with being the best at what you do, the dignity that encompasses his self-assurance. or perhaps it was betrayal, a shattering unbeknownst to you.

a dream too good to be true— two tickets that would allow you to step foot into the heroes’ world, only to have one fall short, in the name of illness.

he had never visited you during your chronic stay at the hospital. but at twenty five, perhaps now you recall the nameless cards that were littered onto your bed-side table before you had even awoken, at the glimpse of dawn.

a promise broken by betrayal— he looks at you, from a pedestal unto the commoners, he looks at you with his head tilted high and leaned back, as if he’s too afraid to get too close. maybe he is. he was never good at deceiving you.

since the day of your graduation, you see the ghost of your past everywhere. when you walk past the convenience store on the way to work, only to be greeted by the face of dynamight on the package of onigiris. and when you go shopping with friends, you'll be reminded of his face on the commercial district billboard for calvin klein.

he is everything you’re not, and likewise, vice versa. you’re everything he’s not. your contact is left to collect dust in his phone but he’s sure you would’ve forgotten him by now. it’s the doing of his teenage self, to push you and your illness away until you recover, until you move on with life, onto normalcy. you won’t ever realise the years that he had used his birthday wishes and new years fortune to pray for your recovery. for you to make it out of the hospital, alive and well, because what is there to being a hero if not for you? what is there to protect when you’re not even there?

but he also won’t ever know the times you’ve knelt in front of the television in your childhood home, when you were sixteen, bowing your head and praying to god that even if he doesn’t show you mercy, he should at least use that to keep bakugou safe, alive and well.

it’s been over a decade. the last time he saw you, you had pale cheeks and barely made it to the graduation ceremony without fainting. your body was sticks and bones, remnants of an unhealed sickness that stole your dreams away.

he sees you now in the flowers he receives. he sees you in the eyes of students in the schools that he gives talks at. a childlike wonder that never got to grow up, a kindness that was killed over and over again until you became a tinder without a fire.

he tells himself: he’s moved on. and perhaps except for izuku, no one will ever notice just how ugly the scar on his heart is. you’re no hero, you’re no villain, you’re something of the in-between, but still, you leave destruction in your wake.

[myokk]

fast sketch of ominis & fast intro to the ominis longfic I'm working on!! This is going to be the most self-indulgent pride and prejudice ripoff that ever existed, 100% based on the ominis of my oneshot💘

I am just OBSESSED with exploring the idea that he’s a natural legilimens & OBSESSED with the thought that he thinks too much for his own good🫶🫶🫶

Ominis Gaunt has always suspected he is cold-blooded.

It makes sense, really.

He always seems to be cold: frigid, long fingers that are often stiff and difficult to move; goosebumps raising the skin of his arms and the back of his neck any time he walks through the drafty halls of the dungeons; even his eyes, he has been told, are reminiscent of ice. They are apparently quite unsettling. The only time he feels comfortable in his body is when he basks in the heat of the sun.

His earliest memory is of the cold. It went like this: he was four years old: his older brother, Marvolo, had led him outside as a joke, he swore up and down that it was just a small joke, and how was he supposed to know that poor, blind Ominis would not be able to find his way back home? When his parents had finally found him, his frail mother sobbing and holding his tiny, blue, hypothermic body to her chest, Ominis remembers feeling quite perturbed at the disturbance. Couldn’t he just be left alone, in the silent soft snow?

He does not know if he has ever felt warm since.

As he strides through the dungeons, the copious amount of warming charms he casts on himself do not seem to be enough, but he keeps casting them anyways and also: wrapping his wool scarf more tightly around his neck, quickening his pace in the hopes that blood flows more easily through his limbs, wishing that he had remembered his gloves. Winter is always a terrible time of year (this winter more terrible than usual), and every breath of warm air leaves his lips reluctantly. How he wishes that he could just hold on to it a bit longer and yet the warmth leaves him precisely fifteen traitorous times a minute, the frigid air gleefully entering and burning its way down his throat in response. Maybe it’s a punishment of some sort.

His whole life has been defined by punishments and sometimes he preoccupies himself with the thought that it is the only way he can view the world. Most of the punishments are manifested in curses inherited from his family. (His parents and Marvolo insist that they are gifts, but Ominis begs to differ.)

First, his blindness: the only true punishment-curse that even his family rejects: caused by inbreeding, no doubt. He did not cry after his birth and his mother cradled his tiny body in silent arms, lovingly whispering nonsense-evil-Parseltongue to him but when he opened his eyes and she saw a brilliant celestine blue with no iris, she screamed in horror and shattered the frigid peace of the room. His parents tried everything to fix him, make him whole, throwing money at various possible solutions to no avail. Magically induced disabilities are not, apparently, curable by magic.

Ominis is not sure that he hates being blind, although he suspects everyone thinks that he should. It is as much a part of him as his fifteen-breaths-per-minute, and he thinks that vision is not all it’s cracked up to be. He is always terrified at the thought that his tenuous hold on sanity is only due to the fact that he cannot see, until he realizes he shouldn’t be terrified of hypothetical situations that cannot come to pass. He consoles himself with the thought that maybe, if he has had to give up his vision for his sanity, it is a small price to pay. Although, he also thinks sometimes that it would be nice to live a life without any morality holding him back.

He is entirely too introspective, after all.

It is precisely this introspection that is his downfall in this moment (and his cold blood). Ominis is so busy casting warming charms on himself and thinking in circles that he cannot use his wand to help him sense his environment and so he should not be surprised when he crashes into her.

And yet he is. Terribly surprised.

Maybe if he were not so caught up in his own thoughts he could have paid more attention to his surroundings. Instead, he spent too much time ruminating on his reptilian heritage and has now barreled head first into his arch-nemesis.

Rosalie Harris.

The girl who has stolen his oldest friend from him.

The girl who is currently making angry noises as she clambers to her feet and is picking up the things that he has crashed everywhere. Even if he could see, Ominis is not sure he would help her. Helping her would be akin to betraying himself, after all.

“Hey! Watch where you’re - oh, hello, Ominis.”

“Rosalie,” he says shortly, nodding his head where he thinks she might be standing and stepping to the side. He tightens his grip around his wand, feeling the texture of the wood change from rough to smooth as he runs his thumb down it. Smooth where he always seems to worry it, rough where the wood refuses to yield to the brushes of his thumb.

He surreptitiously casts the spell - he has at least done it so many times he no longer needs to say it out loud - and his surroundings light up. Or, he supposes that is the most apt description, considering he cannot actually differentiate between light and dark. He senses Rosalie’s silhouette to his left - she is standing with her arms crossed and her foot taps impatiently as she waits for him.

Waiting for what? he thinks, slightly irritated. She never seems to leave him alone and he wracks his brain trying to think of something, anything he can say to get rid of her.

Maybe if he speaks in Parseltongue, she would finally be scared away for good. He does not really want that second reminder of his family’s curse, though.

His family preferred speaking in Parseltongue with each other, believing the ability made them morally superior to everyone else and Ominis had not even realized until he had arrived at Hogwarts that no, it was not normal. When his name had been called at the Sorting, furious whispers had erupted amongst all the students, and his every step (terrified, confused, unsure - he had still been getting used to using his wand to navigate his surroundings) to the stool at the front of the Great Hall was plagued with a susurration reminiscent of snakes. Except these whispers, sneaking their way into his mind, had been unkind and overwhelming.

(He had not realized in that moment that he was also hearing their thoughts.)

Maybe now, with Rosalie standing in front of him and just annoyingly waiting for Merlin-knows-what, Ominis should use his Legilimency to find out what Rosalie wants. (He hates it, though.) It would not be difficult. (The thought makes him shiver in horror because he doesn’t want to abuse the ability.) He can feel the edges of her mind, her magic, and all he has to do is reach out - she is right there, and -

“Ominis?”

Her arms are crossed, he hears an impatient huff.

Why hasn’t she left him alone yet?

Hadn’t the Hogwarts Express already left the station, bringing all of the students home for the winter holiday? Ominis had thought he would be one of the only students left in the castle, and if he is being honest with himself, he had been looking quite forward to having the place to himself.

Ominis’s winter has just gotten infinitely worse.

Going to Gaunt Manor for the holidays is out of the question (he will not think about the nightmares that have been plaguing him ever since he received the owl demanding he go home), and Ominis does not want to be more of a burden to the Sallows. They already do enough for him over the summer, and Sebastian and Anne have convinced him to go to Hogsmeade with them at least twice over the next two weeks. Besides, with Anne’s curse progressing, Ominis does not want to be in the way.

“Why are you still here?” Ominis asks. He knows his voice comes across as cold as his blood, blunt, but he cannot help himself. Ever since Rosalie arrived - her entrance to Hogwarts also causing quite the stir - Ominis has been intensely annoyed by her presence. She is too��happy. Too carefree. Too…well, everything he is not.

And, she does not seem to leave him alone.

Rosalie is always there, always hanging around Sebastian. (Taking Sebastian away.) He even showed her the Undercroft, which had almost caused a rift in their relationship. Ominis could not believe that Sebastian would be so careless, showing someone who for all intents and purposes is crashing her way into their lives, forcing them to pay attention to her. They barely even knew her, and yet Sebastian thought it was a good idea to show her such a sacred place?

(It does not help that she is intelligent, and Ominis has caught himself on more than one occasion about to ask her about her opinion on something before he catches himself.)

“I was looking for you.”

Ominis tilts his head at that and fiddles with his ring. He considers walking away, leaving -

“I mean…Sebastian said that you were also going to be here over the holidays and since everyone else just left I thought -”

“Thought what?” Internally, Ominis winces at the biting tone to his voice. It came out harsher than he intended, his voice loud and echoing through his mind, bouncing off the cold, stone walls surrounding them.

[everpresence]

i don't know why some people demonize logic here. i guess it makes sense when it comes to the practical aspect (e.g., trying to figure out how your desires come into fruition in the 3D when it's really not your job to figure out the "how"), but we often mistake our limiting beliefs or our reliability on 3D as logic. true logic is rational thinking, and when logic is used in a way that helps you return to the state of wish fulfilled, it can actually be really helpful. let me explain.

when you find yourself fearing, worrying, checking the 3D, etc., then that is a key indicator that you're in a state of lack. that's when you have to ask yourself, "if i already am the person who has this desire, then does it logically make sense for me to worry about not having it?"

and when you contemplate on it by using logic, you'll realize that of course it doesn't make sense to worry about not having it. it's like when abdullah asked neville this: "if you already are in barbados, why would you be talking about going to barbados?"

so logic actually does help us recognize some weeds in our garden that is the belief system and throw them out. should you rely on it more than imagination? no. i believe that logic and imagination go hand-in-hand. instead of believing that logic is your enemy, you can choose to let it be your friend. it has a role to play, after all.

[unicornpopcorn14]

Kunikida genuinely snapping at Dazai makes for an interesting scenario...

It isn't a 'haha Kunikida is strangling Dazai for not pulling his weight' moment, but one filled with yells, flailing hands, rage and spilled tears because he's overworked and stressed and Dazai isn't helping and he's just so, so tired.

It could be due to him having no proper sleep all week. It could be due to a failed mission and only him getting reprimanded by Fukuzawa. It could be due to Dazai pushing his buttons too far. It could be the frustration piling up to the brim and finally spilling out.

But all the same, Dazai thinks that it's their typical ritual of Kunikida getting angry at him at first, so he pushes further, until the yells get hearty, the words get harsh, the tears spill, and Dazai just stares, stupified. He isn't sure what to say or do, blanking because things are currently out of his depth. Can't even say a word when Kunikida storms and leaves...

Later, when things settle after Kunikida receives the space he needs, Dazai would try to go and apologize, to own up to his mistakes in the ways he knows how, which isn't to say are right or great ways, but close enough...

Of course, Kunikida doesn't expect Dazai to magically switch from slacker to hard worker just because of this single instance, but he conveys his appreciation for Dazai's apologies anyway, saying sorry himself for the unwarranted yelling and harsh words. They make it work.

And they spring right back the day after...

[gojoed]

A HOUSE THAT SMELLS LIKE HOME. | gojo x reader. | 2k words

He was a hard working man. 

Following the words of the elder people he disliked immensely, and doing their bidding. They had been running him down to the bone even more these past few weeks. Gojo was a person who didn’t like showing his fatigue but it couldn’t help but show itself without his permission.

His usual quick and irritating quips were slowing down, only offering a smile at times. The bags under his eyes had grown increasingly more apparent with each night, barely a few hours of sleep before the sounds of his phone waking him up and demanding him to go to work.

And Gojo has been living off of sweets for the past few days. Not that he normally doesn’t do that but the time saved for lunch with you or his students were cut short as he was yet again sent off. And dinner was no exception. A half eaten plate would become more of an occurrence with him rushing through the door. 

You decided enough was enough when you came home one day. All the lights were off, the structure was silent on the inside just as it was on the outside (you lived in a calm neighborhood close to the school.)

The only light source were the streaks of sunlight peeking through the slits of the curtains, most of them closed; some of them were left open to let the house get air. And one of those streaks of light seemed to land on a head of white hair. 

Gojo was sleeping, if you could really call it that. His whole body took up the entire couch, with a blanket roughly thrown on himself. His work jacket was left laying on the floor, he must have gotten home not too long ago then.

His snores were clear and loud, he only ever did when he really was tired. Getting closer to him and leaving your things behind at the door, you could now see that not only was he snoring but also drooling onto the cushions. Poor thing was exhausted.

You ran a single finger across his forehead, lightly removing his hair from his face and tucking it as best you could behind his ear. You let another finger join the other, running them along his jawline to down his neck. He didn’t stir from his sleep. Gojo never settled as a light or deep sleeper. At night it varied, where one night a single creak could make his eyes snap open or where even the loudest of shouts couldn’t wake him up.

And the tired Gojo Satoru that was left at your kind mercy was deep in sleep, off in dreamland. You worried for him, not that a curse could leave him for dead but that his own disregard for his own wellbeing could end up killing him. He always put others before himself, taking care of his own; even if to others it didn’t seem like that. 

And that worry only peaks when you hear a soft buzz on the floor.

Thankfully it wasn’t enough to wake him up, so you quietly took his phone out of his jacket without stopping your fingers from playing with the ends of his hair.

It was one of the higher ups again, practically demanding that Satoru had another job to do.

Anger rose up in your body, but you didn’t let it control you. Only sending a message reading ‘He won’t be taking it’, you shut his phone off. Was it a little harsh? Just a bit. But they deserved it, Gojo was not a machine. 

He was a human, with needs and wants, just like any other person.

Standing up, you fixed the blanket that was roughly covering him up and went to change. You thought about waking him up to take a bath, but he needed sleep. 

So you took a loose shirt of his and a pair of sweatpants and set it over to where he was sleeping. He was still drooling, still snoring, only having shifted a little. Good. 

Next was food. Gojo had been living off of unhealthy food for some time now, so something soft could help settle his stomach from the contrast of street food and an uncanny amount of sweets. White curry, which was a favorite of his ever since he went to Hokkaido and tried it, seemed to fit for tonight.

Chicken katsu would be accompanying the curry, since he needed the protein. 

Roughly an hour into cooking you felt long arms circle around your torso and tighten. It nearly gave you a heart attack, the arms pulling you slightly away from the stove where you held chopsticks and chicken was cooking on the heated pan.

“Shit Satoru, give me a warning next time.”

“Potty mouth.”

His head was resting on top of yours. He was taller than most people, so his neck was slightly arching downwards. No doubt giving him a bit of pain, but it seemed he paid no mind to it.

“Whatcha cookin’, honey?” 

You hummed, “Chicken katsu right now, we’re eating white curry tonight.” 

It was Satoru’s turn to hum, burying his face now into the nape of your neck, giving it small nips. You leaned backwards, bumping into him as if to say ‘quit it’. He knows you didn’t mean it harshly, so Satoru only hummed again and faced towards the food on the stove.

“It smells good.”

“Yeah?” 

“Definitely, yeah.”

You both stood there, silently appreciating each other as it had been some time since you’ve spent time like this. Satoru ends up softly swaying the two of you side to side, playfully pinching at your skin that his hands could reach. 

“Yknow, it felt nice to wake up to the smell of your cooking.”

That comment made your smile falter just a little bit. Knowing his past, you knew he had grown up with barren walls and very little happiness. The clan where he had gotten his name did not treat him with love. The only smell of food he would ever get was the food that was delivered to his room. No one to eat with, no one but the four white walls that enclosed his room. 

But with you, Gojo had learned things. He learned that dinner was not a time of silence, but a time of noise. The clinking of tableware, the sounds of voices conversing. And the feeling of contentment hanging and infecting the air. To him, a house that smelled like home was one where he could find you cooking.

Taking a deep breath in you calmed yourself and told Satoru to go take a bath,

“But I'm hungry.”

“The rice is still cooking ‘toru, so go take a bath in the meantime, ok?”

“But what if I don't want to take a bath?”

“Satoru, you stink.” The tone of your voice being playful.

“I do not! I smell great, for your information.”

And he did, even with the days of only showering quickly and hastingly going to bed he still smelled good. Like rain water, and something deep that just smelled like him. But if fatigue had a smell, you would say it was lingering on his body.

“Doesn’t matter stinky, now go bathe.”

He whined, but reluctantly began pulling away from the heat your bodies created.

“Promise you won’t forget about me?”

“It's hard to forget you, Satoru.”

“I’m going away to bathe, all alone, it’s scary when I'm all alone.”

“Want a kiss to stay safe then?”

That made him smile ear to ear, taking your chin and letting his lips clash softly with yours. Satoru kissed gently, he kissed roughly, and he kissed as if he was putting his whole heart and soul into it. And he did. Everything he did to you and with you was everything to him. 

Giving your side a hard but playful pinch, he left you with a sore spot and went over to the bathroom to bathe (taking the clean clothes you left near him). 

By the time Satoru has returned, food had already been plated and set onto the table. A sight he would never grow tired of seeing. He happily slid over to where you were standing, leaning on the counter checking your phone. 

He reattached himself to your previous position, draping himself all over you and practically shielding you from everything else that wasn’t him.

“I’m back, did you miss me?”

“Terribly so.”

Satoru grunted and pulled you with him over to the table. Fighting against the monstrosity of a man would prove useless, you learned that out the hard way multiple times before. He let you go to be able to sit down, taking his own seat that was next to you. Why should I sit so far away from you, it’s better this way! Was his argument some time ago when Satoru said he wanted to eat next to you. 

His hair was slightly wet, you could tell by the water droplets that had caught themselves into his shirt. The collar being dotted with dark spots from his bangs. You decided to say nothing, as the sight of Gojo Satoru grabbing onto his chopsticks and anxiously digging into his food was something that could leave you content for days. But your growing hunger made your stomach make noise, so you followed after him.

“Mmm, I love the way you make this curry.”

“And after only looking at the recipe once.”

“Show off.”

“But you still love it.”

“Of course I do! White curry is way better than regular curry.”

“That’s only because you have an unhealthy affection towards dairy, ‘toru.”

“Hokkaido milk is amazing, are you- perhaps jealous?”

“Satoru, I’d have to be pretty weird to be jealous of dairy.”

The rest of dinner was eaten the way Satoru liked it, with you. 

Dishes had taken a little longer to wash, as a water fight ensued, with a plate almost breaking but being cleverly rescued by Satoru’s infinity. You had tasked him with cleaning up the spilled water on the floor while you dried the newly washed dishes and put them away. My new name should be Cinderella now, so cruel to me, my own spouse, he pouted. 

Well that was Gojo Satoru for you.

By the time the kitchen was cleaned, night had already fallen. No more sunlight peeked through the curtains, only faint moonlight and streetlights. Lights within the house had been turned on as well; a warm glow that emitted from them. 

And now, the both of you were in your living room, Satoru laying his whole body on top of you like a sheet. His head resting on your sternum while he faced the tv. You had placed the blanket he was using earlier to cover now the two of you. The tv was playing a movie, but only a few minutes in, not even twenty: you could feel Satoru’s breathing start to get even deeper.

You nudged him lightly, feeling a little bad about it when he jumped a bit and made his chin now rest on your chest to look at you.

“You wanna move to the bed now, sleepyhead?”

Satoru didn’t respond until after he yawned, complaining after you said he needed to brush his teeth.

“No, I don't want to. I’m comfortable here.”

“You sure, it’s bigger than the couch, baby.”

He hummed, moving his hand that tucked under him like a cat would and poked your cheek.

“I’m more than happy to sleep here, if it’s with you.”

Raising your own hand, you cupped his face. The face of the man you fell in love with, the man who bore himself to you.

“Ok, just don’t complain when you have back pain.”

“Dummy you ruined the moment.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Go to sleep, Satoru”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

He was a hard working man. But the best payment he could ever receive, was to be able to come back home to you.

[wintergreenoreo]

Been in my feels so I wrote a small Strollonso hurt/comfort fluff piece. Enjoy 🙏🏽

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fernando and Lance sit side by side on the edge of Fernando’s hotel bed. Lance sighs.

Lance: I feel like a burden…

Fernando: Why is that?

Lance turns his head slightly towards the older man and gets a good look at his face. He looks rough. His eyes devoid of any light. The bags underneath them sunken and heavy. Eyebrows furrowed. ‘Poor guy’ Lance thinks to himself. He answers.

Lance: I watched you struggle to finish the race. Your radio… it made me realize that… you do so much for this team. Even putting your own health aside just to make their hardwork pay off. I couldn’t even start the fucking race….

Lance turns his head away from Fernando and stares at the ground underneath his feet.

Lance: I’m a screw up.

Fernando: Hey! Do not say that about yourself!

Lance continues to stare at the ground, tears starting to form in his eyes.

Lance: I mean am i wrong? I could never do the things you do for them…. i don’t know why you even continue to mentor me and teach me skills that i’m obviously not smart enough to do myself…. im useless.

Fernando sighs.

Fernando: Look at me.

Lance doesn’t move. ‘Crying infront of your teammate…crying infront of Fernando Alonso… he must think im pathetic…’ Lance’s thoughts making his eyes water even more.

Fernando: Please look at me cariño.

The ‘cariño’ being the reason Lance slowly turns his head to face Fernando. Stray tears falling down his flushed cheeks.

Fernando: You really think you’re a burden?

Lance tries to look away but Fernando catches his chin to keep him faced towards him.

Fernando: Because to me you are far from that. You don’t understand how much the team needs you… how much I need you.

Lance’s eyes widen, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks. The older man lets go of his chin and looks up at the ceiling with a small sigh leaving his mouth.

Fernando: Every teammate I have had… I always wanted to best them. Humiliate them. I wanted them to fear me. Know that no matter how hard they tried they could never compare to me.

Fernando tilts his head to look at Lance.

Fernando: But not you. You are different. I felt like it was my duty to help you. Guide you to become a better driver. Use my experience to help you adapt to different situations. By doing that, I knew that I could care about someone else other than myself. Be a better person.

Fernando places a hand on the back of Lance’s neck and leans closers to him, wiping the tears off his face using his other hand.

Fernando: You’ve made me a better person Lance… I need you to know this.

Lance is to stunned to speak. He let his mouth hang open at the words Fernando had just said. Fernando chuckles slightly to himself as he looks at Lance’s goofy expression.

Fernando: And remember, you are the centerpiece of this team. Without you, this team would not function properly. Your presence and determination is what drives this team. Even though people will say differently or say you don’t care, they don’t know you like we do. We know how hard you work. You are not useless. You are an incredible driver. You are valuable.

The Spaniard’s face moves closer to Lance’s. His hand gripping his jaw softly while the other is still grasping Lance’s scruff. Their lips inches apart. Both of them staring into each others eyes.

Fernando: You are loved.

Lance immediately makes the first move, crashing their lips together without a second thought. He for a split second expected Fernando to pull back or show some sort of resistance… but instead he felt Fernando kiss him back. Suddenly all the tears swelling up in Lance’s eyes had been released, down pouring down his cheeks and pooling into his collarbone as he deepens the kiss with his older teammate. Fernando continues to whisper ‘you are loved’ in between kisses making Lance’s face blush red like a tomato. They continue like this for a couple more minutes until Fernando breaks their kiss and leans a few inches back, leaving a strand of saliva hanging between their lips. They both take a moment to catch their breaths.

Fernando: You feel better?

Fernando tries to dry Lance’s face with his sleeve and moves his other hand gripping Lance’s scruff to the top of his head, ruffling up his hair a bit which causes Lance to giggle softly.

Lance: Yeah… I do. Thank you for caring about me Nando.

Fernando: Of course cariño. Just… promise me you won’t go calling yourself those terrible things. Useless, burden, a screw up. Get those words out of that talented head of yours, OK?

Fernando drops his hand from Lance’s jaw and holds it out for him to take. Lance rolls his eyes and sharply exhales out of his nose at the ‘talented head’ part but can’t help his blush from getting any redder. Lance takes the Spaniards hand into his, locking their fingers together. Sealing an unbreakable bond.

Lance: Ok. I promise.

[angelcent]

husband choso who comforts your daughter when she has a nightmare.

it’s past midnight when you’re woken up by the pitter-patter of small feet and hiccuping sobs entering your bedroom. you wake up first, but choso is faster, rushing out of bed to kneel down to your daughter. he doesn’t want to scare her so he gently inspects her, taking her tiny hands into his as he lifts her arm and checks for any injury.

tears are still running down the soft swell of her chubby cheeks when she wraps her arms around your husband and cries even harder into the crook of his neck. choso immediately scoops her up and brings her to your shared bed, all while soothing her and asking what’s wrong.

she had a bad dream that choso had died. the topic of death was briefly touched on in her class recently due to a classmates grandparent passing, so you’re not entirely surprised by this. still, there’s a shared twist in both of your hearts at this because the last thing you want is for your sweet girl to experience any hurt. especially choso, who is oh so protective of his mini me.

but choso is a good man, husband, and father—so he wipes her tears away with his thumbs and comforts her. you hold her while he reassures her that he isn’t going anywhere because papa is strong; he reminds her how he easily carries you on his back, how he brings all the groceries in by himself, and how he never loses against uncle yuuji when they box against each other.

once your little girl is soothed and her innocent red-rimmed eyes are heavy with sleep, he places her between you two and kisses her forehead goodnight.

[nullen-void]

What Use Are Explorers In An Empty World?

[Hollow Knight/Bug Fables]

---------------------------------------

Hallownest. The last and only kingdom, so they say. Beyond it are only endless wastes or endless stone, tunnels long since collapsed, and incomprehensible horrors. If there was ever anything beyong her borders, none remain who are able or willing to talk about it. There is nowhere else.

Kabbu always thought that that was a load of nonsense. After all, he knew he came from the north... but that was all he knew. There were newcomers to Hallownest all the time, but they rarely knew more than snippets of before crossing the border. Master Lurien said that they came to Hallownest feral, mere animals, and it was only after arriving that the Pale Light granted them the spark of intelligence.

Kabbu... doubted, though he would never say as much out loud. He remembered happy faces and jokes shared among friends, even if the names and faces were missing. The feeling remained to fill the void left by the memories. And he very definitely traveled to the kingdom with two others, based on what the ants who saved him from the garpede said. They were not so lucky, but Kabbu had returned to the scene of the attack since. He knew in his heart that they gave their lives to defend him. Would a mere animal do such a thing?

But he would never voice these thoughts out loud. The bugs of Hallownest worshipped the King as a god and believed everything he said, and Lurien was among the most devout. If the King said that there was nowhere else, and Kabbu said that that couldn't be true, Kabbu would be shunned for daring to voice dissent.

...Perhaps he was being paranoid. Lurien was a good bug, and a good boss. His fanaticism only served to make him an ever more effective Watcher, and Kabbu respected him dearly.

Maybe, Kabbu thought, if he could see the Pale King in the shell, he'd get why everyone else revered him so. But as he looked out over the City of Tears, watching the endless rain splash against the glass, all he could think was that maybe he should have stayed with the Ants. Elizant II had her own hangups, but she didn't hide from her subjects and demand worship. She ruled by action, proving herself in every decree. No ant went hungry in the Colony's borders.

From here, Kabbu aimed his telescope at a darkened alley. A loose lumafly fluttered over the head of a destitute butterfly, his wings waterlogged and torn. Kabbu felt for the poor bug... but as a Watcher all he could do was make a note of it and hope it found its way to someone who could do something about it.

It wouldn't. They never did. All that came of it was a reprimand for not paying attention to important things.

"Kabbu."

The beetle jumped, fumbling his telescope. He managed to catch it before it could break on the floor, and he turned to looked up at the robed figure of his boss. "Yes, Master Lurien!"

"At ease," the bug of indeterminate species said, waving an arm. "Are you well, Kabbu?"

"Of course, sir!"

Lurien stared at him through the hole in his mask. Kabbu could see no eyes, but he felt the gaze all the same. "...You were sighing again, Kabbu."

He was? He hadn't noticed. He sighed, then caught himself as he realized he did it again. "I apologize, Master Lurien. I just... don't feel like I'm making a difference, up here."

Lurien tilted his head. "Don't feel like--Kabbu, you've spotted five robberies and four assaults this past week alone. Last month you provided ongoing reports during an active pursuit that were critical in preventing that murderous spider from getting away. You're a valuable member of the Watchers."

Kabbu fidgeted. "But who is comforting the victims? Who is helping the lay-bug with their troubles? The King's automotons are formidable, but they lack the care that a normal guard would. I am stopping criminals, but am I helping bugs?"

Lurien leaned back, absorbing that. "...Hm."

"Please don't misunderstand me!" Kabbu added hastily. "I enjoy the work, I do! I know I'm doing good work up here, but--"

"I understand." Lurien rubbed his chin through the mask, a curious quirk of his Kabbu never understood. "You know, Kabbu, you've built up some vacation time. Perhaps it would do you good to get out of the Spire for a few days."

"Oh, Master Lurien, I couldn't possibly--"

"And if," Lurien said, raising his voice to cut Kabbu's protests off, "In that time, you happen to patronize the Soul Sanctum, perhaps you could pick me up a souvenir? I've been meaning to go on one of their guided tours, but all these missing bugs cases are occupying my time too much."

Kabbu blinked, trying to parse the odd emphasis in Lurien's speech. "...I--wait, hold on. Are you suggesting--"

Lurien raised a digit to hush him. "I would never say anything ill towards my venerable colleague the Soul Master, of course," Lurien added, with heavy sarcasm. "The Sanctum is the foremost compository of learning in Hallownest, after all."

Kabbu thought furiously. He wasn't stupid, he could read between the lines. "And of course, if I see anything untoward," he mused under his breath, "I can act in my capacity as a Watcher to--Yes, of course you're right, sir," Kabbu agreed. "I have been under the weather lately. A break is just the thing I need, yes sir."

Lurien chuckled. "At ease, again, Kabbu. I understand the desire to be down on the ground with the Kingsmoulds. You are far from the first Watcher to say as much. Maybe after you return, I can talk to His Majesty about letting officers patrol alongside them. There ARE still tasks the Moulds are ill-equipped for, I've noticed."

Kabbu's eye widened, but he pushed his surprise down quickly. "Yes sir, thank you sir."

Lurien turned to leave. "Finish your shift, Kabbu. I need to find someone to cover your station while you're 'on vacation,' hah."

[appallinnballin]

✋Speaking for everybody when I say I would like to see your versions

sshitting my pants. please be nice to me

[souglias]

Jaded.

You've come to find that this word has made a place in you. Even possibly, it's become you. For a word that contains the name of a precious gem, it is largely undesired.

But enough of you has been broken by those before, and you've done enough damage unto others.

A lone tree in an almost barren garden. That's what you've resigned yourself to be. You will not search for love, nor will you surround yourself with love. Like a warrior out to war, you will clad your too-brittle heart with diamond armour. A stingy merchant you will be, unwilling to give away any part of yourself.

Yet with the light flick of his fingers on your forehead, a seemingly saturnine man makes a deep indent on the walls of your glass city.

Al Haitham is worming his way into that rock-hard organ people would say is your heart with his silent acts. It sets off alarm sirens in your body.

Thoughts of him keep you awake at night and this by itself feels like a threat to your safe zone. If you choose to love him, you will eventually lay yourself and everything about yourself bare to him. There is no one to say that he will hold them the way he handles out-of-print research books filled with priceless knowledge. Nobody can guarantee you he will not take the deepest secrets you've hidden away and point them at you as a weapon in the future. The cycle of hurt and being hurt will begin again. An earthquake rumbles within you and you toss and turn in bed to distract yourself from it.

On those same soundless nights, you also wonder about letting him have a more cardinal role in your life. His fleeting touches set your skin alight and you cannot cease the thoughts about a more prolonged contact. His eyes are a scene you want to relish in, and you find the self-imposed time restraint in admiring them slightly challenging to adhere to. With just the tap of his book on your head and a few candid words, he dispels all the baseless worries you hold so heavily in your mind.

Your mind wanders to a possibility where he would preserve you and everything precious to you. One where you would thaw and let your garden bloom with flowers.

You will find euphoria in the way Al Haitham's hair tickles your fingers when you run your hand through the strands. For the years you have left, you will find hope in his eyes that are of the same colour as the distant fluorescent mushrooms in the flourishing Mawtiyima Forest. When your walls can no longer hold, you will find solace in his secure arms that will safeguard you.

Al Haitham's arms will pull you up in the darkest of days. The sound of his constant heartbeat will come to soothe you on your toughest nights and will tide you over to see the first rays of light. His rare smiles will be yours and only yours to find strength in.

The seemingly saturnine scribe of the Akademiya will water the fragile seedlings when you bring yourself to plant them again. He will let the warmth of the sun gradually thaw its way through the frozen lake. If you will be his eventually, then there will be no rush.

—

Please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!! All likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

[alienaiver]

"that's it. i'm removing you from the roster until you've stopped by the doctor."

you look at midoriya in disbelief. unable to keep yourself poised at his final decision, your shoulders slump and the exhaustion washes over you like a wave. he's seen through you.

it's been a year since your near-death experience with an all-too-powerful villain and while shinsou took great care of you during your recovery, something's been off ever since - you haven't been able to put a finger on it, though, so you decided to do what every self-sacrificing hero does: you powered through. until there was no power left to muscle your way out of it. and now it's become visible to others too. you have a feeling shinsou might've ratted you out, but you don't blame him. you'd done the same if it were him.

you get home in a daze and fall face first onto the bed. you don't wake up until you feel the weight shift and the warmth of shinsou's lips touches your cheek. but you don't have the energy to react with more than a hum. your eyelids are so heavy. there's a ringing in your ears but it's so constant that it just feels like a persistent buzz. shinsou says something as he settles behind you, arms wrapping themselves around you. for a while, you think there's silence but he says your name sternly in a voice he only uses when he knows you're not entirely listening to him. huh. you're mostly used to hearing it on the battlefield.

"i'm worried about you."

you sigh and hum, pushing yourself weakly back onto him, "'ve got a doc's appointment..... tomorrow."

he kisses the crown of your head, "okay... okay, good."

he's drawing soft circles into your arm and you drift away again. he wakes you when there's dinner and you perk up again slightly, but not enough to make him stop worrying his lip between his teeth. you fall asleep fifteen minutes into a movie later that night.

you put on your shoes and lock the door behind you, putting the keys in your pocket as you turn for the stairs at the end of the hall. you really wish there'd been an elevator in your building right now. as you walk down the steps, your feet feels heavier but you chalk it up to be your shoes. it's the sneakers you don't wear that often, but it's too cold for sandals today. you shrug it off and just concentrate more on walking.

the doctor goes through your symptoms with you but there's hardly any, you reassure her. you're just so exhausted no matter how many hours you sleep. she warns you that you may be sleeping too much. you agree with a laugh - you don't remember ever sleeping so many hours, having been an insomniac your entire youth. she does some blood tests and sends you home, saying you'll be called in when the answers are back.

the days that pass are all a blur. without your shifts at the agency, time becomes fuzzy around the edges. you don't have to get up, so you just stay in bed, since you've been told you need to rest anyways. on the third day you wake up to several notes on the bedside table, the bathroom mirror and the kitchen counter and fridge from shinsou with various reminders about eating and drinking properly and where he's stocked some snacks and prepped some food for you to reheat easily. you chuckle and shake your head at his antics. you're just tired, is all. the headaches comes with the job, you remind yourself as you try to gently massage out the tension in your neck to relieve your pounding head. he might be right about the water intake - you grab the cold bottle he's put in the fridge for you and brings it with you to the bed.

"i think you should call and ask if they've gotten the answers yet." shinsou says matter-of-factly and you nod, "yeah, it has been a few days. but it's the weekend, right? i'll call on monday." and that ends the conversation.

monday comes but you forget to call, even if you've been determined to do so. by the time you remember, the office is closed for the day. you sigh heavily and fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. you prepare the apology for shinsou on your tongue before you drift off.

tuesday morning your phone rings - several times. you finally reach out and pick up, thinking it's shinsou.

"i do apologize for the wait. the doctor unfortunately had to take some time off last week, but we have your results. will you be able to come in today?"

you agree, dragging yourself up. there's more energy in you today, but it should've been way more given the intense rest you've been having. you put on one of shinsou's hoodies and a pair of sweats before you drag yourself to the kitchen to grab a bite.

turns out, you suffer from anemia. an intense, prolonged form and need medication as soon as possible. shinsou's livid when he comes home and gets the news, angry that it has been missed when the agency periodically keeps an eye on their heroes' health. you sit on the chair with your hands folded like a child being scolded and try to laugh it off, "come on now, hito. i just need to take some medication and i'll be fine. the usual blood tests the past year haven't covered that - even if they should, i know," you hurry to add, "but i'll be fine, i promise."

shinsou sighs and his whole body slumps, leaning against the table you're sitting by. you take his hand, "i'm okay."

he visibly relaxes but there's something he's holding back. you've been together since high school, so you can read him like a book. you squeeze his hand, "open up."

he clicks his tongue with furrowed brows before he opens his mouth, "you've had these symptoms for months. why didn't you tell me?"

you look at the ground, guilt written on your face. mostly, because you don't have a proper answer to give him. you don't know why you didn't - the symptoms had all been sneaking up on you, snaking their way into your body quietly and suddenly it'd just become so chronic that you'd normalized it. you let out an apology and he squeeze your hand back, "it's okay to not have an answer. but please, can we be mindful of things like this in the future?"

you smile at him, "only if you continue to make the little post-it notes. they're adorable - especially your small doodles of dogs."

shinsou hides his face in his hands with a groan, "they were cats."