Recently many people say that Kristao is out of time and the other Tao’s ships are the true love, the new general trend. But I think seeing is believing. In the few times when I saw Kris, the most impressive moment happened last December, in Renda’s underground parking garage. Actually at that time there were just a dozen of fans around the van, so I could see and heard clearly what Kris was doing or saying.Tao was ill at that time, I guessed it from his voice. I was about one meter behind his back and I heard him yelling “Wait for me, Kris!” then Kris replied “Yes” and after a while he added “Be careful,Tao-ah!” (Because some fans were about to knock into Tao when they were pushed by the security). Tao’s voice was soft and lightly whiny (like aegyo). Kris’s voice was gentle, like he’s was pampering Tao and really caring about him. At that time I felt that my support for Kristao was right and worthy, even if this kind of emotion just comes out as bromance, it still amazes me.
PS: I had a picture of Tris of that day, I failed to take a video of Tao because I was too close to him.
I’ve been meaning to draw something TWEWY-related for aaaages and have been on a bit of a Fire Emblem kick… (if all the fire emblem art of late didn’t tip you off). Well… Came across @yirri-doodles ‘s badass FE x TWEWY art (seriously cool idea, I love it) and felt inspired to try something similar, so I ran with it~ (Would recommend checking em out if you like Fire Emblem or Tales of stuff! Their art is shiny <3)
Anyway I remember loving TWEWY a whole heck of a lot. I definitely have to revisit it one of these days.
So much of it bubbling beneath the surface it takes a moment for the bitterness to start flowing. It begins in his toes, undulating in waves across every crevice before splintering onto the road mapping his legs, cutting up and up until the cold freezes into a glacier, plonking down in his gut.
He needs it to happen a lot faster if he’s going to withstand the impact of your palm striking his cheek.
And there’s no doubt it’ll hurt. You’re frozen in that vast space between a second and a heartbeat, and Mitsunari doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so alive. Blazing. Torn between hell’s fury and the devil’s wrath. Arm jerked high and hand poised, ready to strike.
He’s prepared for it, despite the curdling in his pulse and the ice in his gut.
“Don’t ever say that to me again.” And you tear away from him so fast, like a whip returning to its master, he feels the echo of a slap ringing out anyway. You can’t look at him, and the ice snaps and huffs as you stagger to his bookshelf, pitched forward, fingers etched too tight into the wood for purchase.
It’s all he hears, your breaths furious, rankling in his ears.
“Shut up. Don’t say a word.”
His breath shakes out of him too, once, twice, before you turn to look at him, red and puffy lining poison-black eyes. It’s the only part still savage when your entire face withers. He has but a beat to summon the ice again before you’ve stalked back, hands fisting into his sleeve.
“Listen to me, Lord Mitsunari. You can’t— you can’t say something like that without realising what it does to the people around you. It’s too cruel. We love you… Lord Hideyoshi loves you. I— I love you.” You gasp against the choke, swallowing, and every word has to be dragged out. “If I don’t see you barreling down the hallway with a book in your hand, my day doesn’t feel right.
“You are important and valuable and a part of this family. We would crumble without you. You don’t know how significant you are to all of us.” Your breath hitches, voice too shaky to go on. He wants to howl because he’s hurt you. “I need you to know that if you suddenly disappeared from this earth it would— it would—” Tears gather again though they don’t fall because girls like you don’t cry; strong girls, fierce girls, “—it would break my heart.”
In a broken rush of air you drop the world into his lap.
He doesn’t know what to do because he has ice in his veins.
So much of it bubbling beneath the surface it takes a moment for his heart to cry out a rhythm to the corners of his flesh. It starts in his feet, shooting out and pulsating so furiously it doesn’t see how his toes curl, cutting off the path and sending the ice hurtling head long into its first barrier and smashing little fractures all over. It back tracks in revulsion because the sensation is so foreign, crashing through the chambers of his veins up into his legs. The ascent is a rocky one, and along the way shards crack and hurl about, whittling the cold down before it reaches his gut.
Mitsunari can’t breathe.
His gut swallows the torrent and a glacier starts to form, a feeling so familiar to his bones it takes a moment longer before the cry reaches it and everything starts to spit and hiss and decompress, and his gut, wound so tight already, spits the ice back out because it no longer wants to be the sanctuary of so much fear. The ice weaves back into his veins and spindles out and out and, bypassing the heart altogether, funnels into his arms and down through his fingers, where it thinks it can make a mockery of how coiled his fists shake.
But Mitsunari can’t breathe.
And the ice shrieks against a blaze so thunderous it jerks back through the sensory paths and twists around his neck. Freezing and freezing.
He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe.
His mind steps in, his breath, short and stiff, steps in, his gut steps in, his toes and feet and arms and fingers step in, you step in, straight into his chest and they all clip and chip away at the stranglehold around his neck. The ice screams and chokes, spittles furiously, and it won’t let go because he is ice, he is nothing without the ice, he needs this ice.
It’s too much. He can’t breathe. It’s all too much.
Suddenly everything bursts.
He can breathe.
Because he feels it, so soft and sweet, against his chest and it makes him want to crumple to the ground and cry because your lips flutter through the fabric to his heart, hushing and cooing the storm.
It starts in his toes then.
Seeping out in lazy flicks, burning and lighting the path and sizzling the blood in his veins. It caresses every nook and cranny, each dip in his muscles, until the aching pool of warmth settles into his gut, and he feels the holding and whispering tendrils of heat fanning out and out. It’s fire. Hot and bright, gentle and misunderstood. And it’s you as well, breathing a fever through his heart, melting the winter and roasting the shards, making it blaze forever and ever until his whole body thaws into you.
CastielXReader ft. Sam and Dean Winchester, and special guest, Crowley
Word Count: 3331 (Part
A/N: Part 8 of a
Soulmate AU mini-series. Oh my…the angst. Rest assured, I plan to stuff the fluffiest
damn epilogue ever down my muse’s throat in retaliation to restore the
natural balance. The epilogue will be posted on 8/29 to give you all a chance
to brine in your own tears catch up on the story.
Summary: What if
angels didn’t end up just anywhere when they are banished by sigils…what if
sometimes they end up exactly where they need to be? Turns out you are
Castiel’s grounding stone, and it’s more complicated than either of you
realizes. The Winchesters locate Crowley’s elusive mystery box, and the
powerful secret it contains is heartbreaking.
In the end, no words remain. There is no spoken solace to
share, nor any valediction to express the unspeakable. No words exist. There is
only the merciless march of time – marked by a luminous red-orange summer sun eternally
devoured by the horizon – the blotchy orange and purpled hue of lost day
bruising the clouds and rippling reflected in the lake in reminiscence of a passionately
blazing light forever fated to fade to night.
“It’s time,” Sam murmured softly, apologetically – ever the
more tactful brother. He towered, sentinel on the shore, gazing out onto the
huddled forms of you and the angel watching the sunset at water’s edge. Fists
jammed into his jacket pockets, he futilely sought amongst the lint therein the
comfort none of you would find this night.
Sam’s voice reverberated hollowly in Castiel’s heart. To be
entirely accurate given the circumstances, what the hunter should have said
was, specifically, your time together is ending.
The angel made no motion in the slightest to move.