'It was late spring, the first time all year that the sunshine had any real strength behind it. Satoru was wittering on about something inane as always — Tentomon or something equally ridiculous.
There was nothing special about the moment. Not really. Except for the fact that Satoru had shrugged off his jacket in the heat. It was draped around his shoulders just so, exposing the long column of his throat, pale after a long winter.
Really, there was nothing special about the moment. But when Suguru looked at the boy silhouetted against the spring sky, bright and blue and boundless and beautiful — just like his eyes, Suguru thought — his heart skipped a beat all the same.
With all the sight afforded to him, Satoru never missed a thing. So it was risky, what Suguru did. Later, when he was looking at his new phone wallpaper under the cover of darkness, grinning like an idiot, he'd wonder how he ever got away with it.
Yet, if Suguru's yearning to capture that perfectly ordinary moment forever was stronger than all reason, perhaps it was stronger than the Six Eyes, too. After all, not even Satoru could stop time.'
- by my beloved @fushiglow ♥
(( also glo says: FUN FACT! Tentomon is voiced by Suguru's VA — ergo it's Satoru's favourite Digimon, obviously ))
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freshly added headcanons:
• gojo at some point randomly barged into sugurus room and put glowy stickers all over his ceiling
• suguru has gojo as his phone wallpaper, but keeps it a secret
• suguru is a hamasaki ayumi fan
• the cinnamoroll phone charm is from gojo who spent almost an eternity getting that out of a gatcha machine for him
• they were happy
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mdni
prisoner!toji x prison doctor!reader, anyone?
the first time you meet him, it's because he busts his knuckles so badly in a fight that he needs stitches.
"had i known there was such a pretty little thing hiding back here, i'd have done this a lot sooner."
the only response you offer is a roll of your eyes.
despite your evident disinterest, he visits the infirmary much more frequently after that day. the next time, he swears he feels ill and that there's something going around his cellblock.
"so, why's a nurse like you working in a place like this?"
"doctor."
"doctor, hm?" he muses. "i guess i really don't have a shot, then."
you let out a breath, something between a laugh and a scoff. the pads of your fingers prod at the lymph nodes below his jaw, and you conclude that he's probably feeling just fine. "not a chance."
a week later, he hurts his shoulder while weight lifting in the prison gym.
"you should really be more careful," you chide, rather confident his small winces aren't for show.
"if it means i get to see your pretty face, why should i?"
it's unbelievably inappropriate the way heat rises to your cheeks, but you can't help it.
so for the next two months, you just ignore it.
you ignore the easy conversation that seems to flow between the two of you. you ignore when his hand brushes against your thigh as you press your stethoscope to his chest. you ignore the fact you look forward to his visits.
but late one night, he's brought to infirmary after a fight with his cellmate. his eye is black, his lip is split, and his knuckles are bloody.
and you think fate must have it out for you, because you can't ignore it anymore. not when he's pushing you against the wall, a medical tray clattering to the floor in his haste. not when his lips devour yours hungrily, his grip on your hips brutal and unforgiving. not when he's sighing your name against your mouth, his soft tone a stark contrast to his actions.
finally you gather yourself enough to pull away, to ask him what the hell he's doing.
it doesn't matter though, because it's too late. you've had a taste of him, and you are so unimaginably screwed.
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When I was younger, I was in love with the idea of moving out to a lone island and never speaking to anyone again. I wasn’t good at talking, physically, nor did conversations come easy to me, so I kept quiet and I was totally fine with that. But while the people closest to me rolled their eyes at my wishes (again, lone island), nobody told me how talking to people was fun. Nobody told me how nice of a feeling it was to feel a new friendship blossom, to have inside jokes with people, to hand out compliments and get them back, to ask questions to people who are excited about having the answers, to remember something that someone mentioned last time and make them feel heard, to flatter people, to share slightly embarrassing facts and be able to laugh about them, to have people to say hi and bye to. It took me years and years and years to gather the courage to speak, but it was so worth it. It’s so much fun.
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(content warning: blood)
Sewed Up Heart
[ID: A Trigun comic done in grayscale with red accents. First, an anatomical heart gushes blood, forming a puddle which shifts into Vash's coat. Vash's gloved hands can be seen sewing up a tear at the hem.
Vash raises his hands, which are now bare and covered in blood. He looks sweaty and distressed, and he raises his coat to his face and cries into it. His clenched hands rip the sewed portion apart, and the red thread leads to a heart whose own stitches are tearing apart. The background gets darker and darker, and the red looks brighter and starker against it.
Then the background returns to white, and brown-skinned hands using embroidery scissors snip a red thread. Wolfwood holds up Vash's repaired coat, grinning proudly, and does a happy thumbs-up in Vash's direction. Vash lifts his head, seeming distant.
Wolfwood holds out the coat. As Vash puts out his hand to take it, the cloth is replaced so Wolfwood is dropping a sewed-up heart in Vash's hand. Vash rubs the coat against his face with a teary smile. End ID] ID CREDITS
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I think there's something to be said for fanfiction that loves canon in a way that’s rude. Like thank you for this wonderful thematic tragedy made out of this character’s entire arc ending in death, it was emotionally and intellectually moving, but also fuck you fuck you fuck you they live, this time and every time they live, they never died, their flaws are not their undoing, actually they have no flaws, actually they save everyone, actually who cares about a story, any story, where this one dies, actually i cared about that story so much i made a new one, actually i cared so much i unmade the old one, you gave me morals and i left them for the mortal, but they’re mine now and i will never let them die, actually thank you, actually fuck you, strongly worded letter to follow
A kiss for canon and spit in its face all at once, it’s great
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