cant-icle
:3c intensifies
in my heart shall burn an unquenchable flame, all consuming and never satisfied!
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im not surprised but I am disappointed in you degenerates (lying)
#this is the one whwre akira is being meaj and im gonna have to do my best#i love reading about mean doms but ive never written it ita hard#“ita hard”-mario
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Writing is not about 'telling an epic story' or 'making something that will outlive you'. Writing is about going "You know what would be fucking awesome?" and then committing word crimes
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an homage to the box set by one of my favorite pegoryu writers, kolibris!!! i strive to be as funny as them and i think i got pretty close. if you haven't read the box set it's linked in the thing so go read that first!!!
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ok so i'm almost done editing, do i wait for the algorithmically appropriate time to post or do i just post it like, whenever
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did i have a stronk,,,,
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whi h is funny bc of all of tjem that's the on3 closest to being finished, all I gotta do to that one is the smoothing pass
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im wrorting (:
#working on updating a fic from 2019 only me and apparently Hilary Duff(tM) care about#im 2k into it but now i must Sleep
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looking over a completed first draft wip is exquisite torture bc
a) I'm so fucking funny and I wanna share it but
b) I have to make the rest of the fic good before I can.
c) I could share the favorite snippets but then
d) I would get the dopamine early and not when I post the fic and
d2) this one phrase in particular I'm desperate for people to get slapped in the face without warning lmao
#i forgor i finished it a while ago ive been working a lot of shifts#yday was 2 years since my mom passed and ive been doing a lot of avoidance behaviors#like working and sleeping and kissing my dogs#all good things to do
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someone left a 🥺 type comment on a fic from 2019 (hold the wheel and drive) and while I'd planned on just revamping it into passenger side entirely now i kinda wanna finish it. it's just the two last prompts/chapters, free day and glow/21st century lights, and i know what happens (shameless porn bc I'm me) but like. whatever I write won't have the same flair, if that makes sense? won't be the same style? would it be weird
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hi it’s me again. i also can’t stop thinking about like a rusty knife. what the FUCK do akira’s parents think about their strange child coming back from tokyo even stranger
That evening, tucked up together in their respectable bedroom in their respectable house in the respectable town they live in, Kurusu Hisoka hesitates before turning off the light next to her side of the bed. "Are we going to talk about this?"
Her husband, who has long since taken off his glasses and rolled over on his side, deigns to grunt at her.
"No," she presses. "Kazuo. We have to. That-- that boy."
Kurusu Kazuo, married to his wife for eighteen years and exasperated for each and every one, gusts out a sigh and rolls over onto his back. "Hicchan."
"That's not my son." It tears out of her, this horrible thing that she says, rips its way free from her breast and hovers bloody and menacing between them. The wound it leaves isn't clean; she's already short of breath, heavy and aching. "That's not my Akichan. You have to see it too. You have to."
A pause; Kazuo finally rolls to face her entirely. "Hicchan. We've talked about this."
"No, I've talked about this! You just bury your head in the paper and go 'yes dear', I know you don't listen to me! That boy doesn't move like my son, he doesn't speak like my son, he doesn't act like my son--"
"And what are we to do?" His voice is firm, but hollow. "We were lucky to get him back in one piece in the first place, after that man. He's a teenage boy, and he's back with his family. You'll see. Akira is still your son."
Hisoka takes a breath, another, wet, gulping. "I'll just have to remind him," she says, mostly to herself. "That he's my baby. That he belongs with me, with us, right? Once he gets his legs back under him, he'll realize he can stay here and be safe. No more of this-- escapism."
Her baby, her boy; she almost went mad the year he was gone, but Kazuo had expressly forbidden her from calling more than once a week. And half the time she could tell Akira wasn't even paying attention to her, could hear the low background murmur of voices behind him.
Her poor baby boy, all alone in that terrible city she'd barely escaped from. What a blessing it is to live here in Inaba, quiet and calm and safe.
What a relief it will be for her boy, her calm and placid boy, when he finally calms down and remembers who he is, who he's supposed to be.
#filed under:#ask meme#hey hisoka? hisoka? you're gonna be in for a rude fucking awakening my dude lmao#kurusu hisoka used to have a perfect baby boy she could show around#the type that every housewife would love#and instead what came home was a DELINQUENT#with a CAT#CAT FUR ON HER UPHOLSTERY#the tantrum she threw when akira wouldn't put mona outside was unmatched#but for one of the first times in his life akira stood up to her about it#i always hc his home life as EXTREMELY COMPLICATED with COMPLEX FAMILY DYNAMICS#and this is just one facet of many i enjoy#the tags are longer than the content at this point
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yall really like the premise of passenger side lmao, i see i see
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Feed your anger like fire sojiro! And also maybe shiho? Either or. I just miss Her so much
(you didn't give me a situation so i'm just gonna go with the first thing i thought of <3)
Sojiro doesn't know exactly what he was expecting when he agreed to host an unruly teenager for a year. More of a sukeban type, maybe? Outwardly loud and brash? He was prepared to confiscate weapons, prepared to be as harsh as he needed to be to knock an ounce of sense into a delinquent's head.
He wasn't expecting her.
She's the next best thing to silent from the day she moves in; he gets a stilted bow and curt "please-take-care-of-me" , a nod good morning and good evening, an unhappy explanation her first day of school, and otherwise nothing. It's like living with a ghost. She's quieter than Futaba.
He was expecting trouble. She's trouble, alright, but in a far different way than he would have thought. Her eyes shoot towards him whenever he moves; she flinches when he talks. She never lets him walk behind her without shifting in her seat. Like a stray dog waiting for a shoe to come her way at any moment.
There's no tattoos or piercings that he can see. She doesn't walk with a sukeban swagger. Her uniforms are as standard as standard can be, he watches her walk out every morning. No excessive makeup, no snarls or swears. No trouble.
Until he pokes his head upstairs and finds her upchucking into the trash bin, crying fit to burst. She's even silent doing that.
What has he missed over the last few weeks?
The doctor (and he knows it's a private clinic, but the shoes alone... he would have taken Kurusu a little farther but she was barely able to put one foot in front of the other long enough to get here in the first place. He doesn't like the vacant look in her eye or the cold sweat beading at her temples; part of him thinks drugs but the other part, the louder part, worries sick sick sick and can't stop thinking of another girl, just a few blocks away)--
Anyway.
The doctor, as unconventional as she may be, still does have her license. She's efficient, gets Kurusu up off the bench and into the back room. He busies himself scanning the medical pamphlets until the door opens and closes again.
Takemi is almost as tall as Sojiro himself in the impractical heels she wears. Her long strides are almost silent as she glides across the clinic towards him. "You said this girl was your ward on the phone, yes?" she asks with barely-restrained irritation. "Had her under your care for just over a month?"
He'd said all this over the phone, so he nods.
"And you're aware, I assume, that children need to eat?"
Sojiro's brow furrows. "Her parents said they were sending her with a food stipend. She's supposed to get breakfast and lunch from school."
Takemi just barrels on, though, and a cold pit forms in the bottom of his stomach the longer she speaks. "And as the responsible adult, have you been checking in on her? Because that child--" she stresses the word, jabbing one pointed finger back towards the exam room door, "looks worse than some I used to see as chronic patients when I worked in the hospital. She's dehydrated. She's underweight. I had my eyes on her for less than ten seconds and could see that. Sakura, you're lucky if I don't report you--"
He holds his hands up, trying to forestall the verbal tirade. "Look, I'm a busy man, I have a business to run and if she needed something she should've said it--"
"She's terrified of you!" Takemi grits out. "Terrified of me, too! She almost flew across the room when I touched her! If she hadn't said no, I would have thought you'd been 'touching' her."
The implications send a roil of nausea through him. He steps back; Takemi does too, taking a deep breath. "I...you're right," he says, heavy, low. "Damnit, I should have been paying closer attention. She's a quiet little thing. I'd thought the worst of her when she came, but..."
"Even that isn't an excuse to neglect your ward so much," says Takemi, but some of the fire in her eyes is banked. "I'm recommending bed rest for at least 24 hours. She needs to relax or she'll give herself a heart attack, and I'm not being hyperbolic. I'll fax the note over to her school myself." She inhales, blows it out through her nose. "Sakura, just feed your fucking kid."
She's not mine, his brain points out. Futaba's not even mine, and see how I can barely look after her. "Yeah, yeah," he says, dipping his hat lower over his eyes. "You'll give me the discharge instructions?"
"I'll type them up in there with her so she knows them too." She turns on her heel, striding back over to the door.
Before she opens it, she turns over her shoulder. "And what's up with the cat?"
All he can do is shrug.
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