@higolmki

Kido live reaction

[kldgo]

MASTERLIST

im kigo! 19.yo 🇨🇳 my blog is (18+)!

+ if you’d like to be tagged in the taglist please specify! there’s nsfw, and sfw works, if you’d like to be tagged in either, send an ask or send a comment. if youd like to be tagged in all sfw works, please send! Or, vice versa! If youd like to be tagged with a specific answer, specify as well!

a hiromi enjoyer, occasionally others

[kldgo]

does anyone watch secret forest/stranger kdrama hereee I miss dongjae so much I need to write a fic about him so bad

[stellarixe]

➤ JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST.

CHOSO .

HIROMI HIGURUMA .

KENTO NANAMI .

MIX JJK CHARACTERS .

© 𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗫𝗘 | any translations, reposts and usage of my fics are strictly prohibited. reblogs are appreciated 🌘 .

[zeyz444]

thinking about ava coleman who has a soft spot for you,, ava coleman who is mean to anyone but you...

0.7k words, fluff fluff more fluff, fem!reader, kissing, lots of kissing, movie night, sweet!ava, after work, "you're lucky i love you"

you’re waiting home for ava to come back from work. your gf has a reputation for not taking an early dismissal for granted and today is no exception. it’s around 5pm and you’re near to dozing off on the couch with the tv humming in the background when you hear the sound of keys turning in the door.

“babe?” you jolt up from the couch with ava’s warm voice. her face instantly lights up when she sees your tired but happy face, her smile lines pushing up her cheeks and you just want to bite them.

“hey ava. how was work?” you ask as she puts down her bags and heads down to your shared bedroom to change. you decide to get up and follow her.

“oh you know, nothing too crazy.” she says as she takes off her earrings. you sit on the bed and watch her through the mirror. “had to call in a favor from the district though.” you tilt your head with a question and ava chuckles. “’t’s not that serious babe. the computers were down and they had to send someone over.” she walks over to the wardrobe and lays out some comfortable clothes.

“was it that tech guy again?” you ask, something deliciously possessive lacing your voice. behind you ava takes off her pants and just laughs.

“you know i only care about you baby.” she says. you get up from the bed and walk over to her, your arms circling her waist as she leans over to grab a pair of sweatpants. you rest your forehead between her shoulder blades and murmur, “i know ava. but he doesn’t know that… i don’t like him.”

“you don’t like him or… is someone jealous?” ava mutters, pulling on the sweatpants and turning to face you. she has that smirk tugging on her lips, evil and all too knowing. you drop your hands to your sides and huff out, defeated.

ava traces your jaw with her thumb, awakening goosebumps. she leans in slowly to your ear, letting you feel her breath there, “it’s okay to feel that way baby.” she plants a kiss to your jaw before pulling away. you are still pouting a little bit and ava is still in her work blouse, the two of you standing in front of the open wardrobe.

“oh come on, long face! i love you so much. how many times do i have to tell? i’m starting to think you’re getting greedy.” ava says all too quickly, one hand on your hip circling slow. you can’t hold back the breathy chuckle leaving your mouth, ava smiles again. you lift a hand to her neck and pull her down slightly, “kiss me.” you say.

and kiss you ava does. her plush lips firm against yours as she draws you in further to her body. you linger like that for a moment, letting ava's finger run up and down your spine.

“i'm tired.” you say once you pull away. “oh tell me about it.” ava responds. you giggle while hooking your arms around her neck and ava places a kiss at your temple. “can we watch a film?” you mumble from the crook of her neck.

you pop some popcorn in the kitchen and grab some drinks as ava finishes cleaning up and picks the film on your tv. “uptown girls or princess and the frog?” ava asks from her seat on the couch.

“oh come on! we watched both of those like 20 times already.” you are not even exaggerating. ava huffs out a breath in protest. “can we watch somethin’ scary?” you walk over to the couch with a big bowl of popcorn in hand.

“okay. how about ma?” ava clicks on the film with the remote. you roll your eyes as you take your seat, you’ve seen that multiple times too. “what?!” ava catches on, “i know what i like.”

you end up watching reality tv in the end, both of you too tired to actually pick something. you are seated between ava’s spread legs, her hand ghosting over your hair. both of you are laughing at what’s showing in the tv when ava leans in to whisper in your ear. “i can’t believe you didn’t let me pick the film.”

“oh shut up,” you mutter as you actively distract her by turning your head and pressing a kiss to her lips. she returns it with a low hum and turns you slightly in her hold. you press a hand at her chest and pull her in close as ava bites your bottom lip.

after a while ava pulls back, looking directly into your eyes and breathing hard. “you’re lucky i love you.”

in this house we love and cherish o'shon <3 (but also like get in line sir!!)

@derpyavocado @spideystoe @asolitaryrose3 @moonabbott @lotties-ashwagandha @theupsidedownsprincess @ladybugb0ng @smoke-that-cigarette @cassiescroft @azishimi @sunset-shimmer-girl06

[throughsixeyes]

HELLO JJKBLR !

we're here to ask the community (more specifically authors) if they're interested to go through an interview about their creative process with the purpouse to elevate smaller writers and tackle the unfounded ai accusations.

we are not online yet since we want to hear your opinions (including readers !) first ! if there's any questions feel free to ask.

edit: thank you to everyone who voted !! we really appreciate it, tomorrow we will be posting our navigation post. and you can send in your requests !

Would you participate/request an author ?

yes

i'll think about it

no

Voting ended onMay 27

[kldgo]

THE SUN THAT RISES BEYOND THE MOON

+ Episode Six, "Schoßhund."

TAKESHI.KIDO / ROYAL.BLOOD.READER

SUMMARY, “A princess with fire in her heart, and an inspector with none. Paths are crossed—guns, glory and sad endings.”

# Political Drama / Slow-Burn / Enemies-To-Lovers /Mr. Sunshine AU / No Happy Ending

AUTHOR'S NOTES, John Smith isn't married in this au for plot reasons.

CONTENT WARNINGS, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Enemies to Lovers, Redemption, Older Man/Younger Woman, Canon Divergent, Mr sunshine inspired, Kido is Kido (menacing asshole) Mild Gore, Mentions of Death, descriptions of death, Kido-centric, Love Triangles

THE WINDOWS were wide panels of white that stretched from one end of the room to the other. The skyline of New York were reflected within these sheens—stark jagged building tops. Obersgrüppen Fuherer Smith sat, with his back against the plush grey of the ergonomic office chair. A cigarette dangled languidly between the crevice of his fingers. His other hand were curled agianst his cheek, the thumb on his lip.

He usually doesn't smoke. Not in the office at least, because then room would be shrouded with the scent of it so, and he found that his subordinates often end up leaving his office with their breaths held and minds occupied with anything but the directives he issued.  Today, perhaps, is a different day because that is what he does, now—smoke. The swirls of white plumed from the end of the cigarette and coiled around his head. It's grey dusts plinked to the floorboard like gunpowder. On the table sprawled pictures, snapshots of the recent killing. Heinrich Strohel, assasinated in Lucia. Sniper. Details. The details were, and still, muddled.One of the many serial killings that occurred sporadicly in various areas of the city. The Neutral Zone, Berkeley, Concord, Fremont.  “Purpose,” He muttered to himself, his mind drifting. The past memoery of several days prior waded to the fore of his mind.

.

HIMMLER HAD called him to his office.  The corridors of Berlin's Reich's headquarters were laden with lush carpets that sunk under his boots, muffled with every step forward.Red curtains, opulent and soft, bloomed from the walls in waves. His reflection warped from the curved sheen of gold engraves vases—ones that cost a lifetime, and ones he was sure was plucked out from the remains of cluttered debris. Upon arriving, he dawdled for a while—unsure of where to go.

The reception was empty. Preparations for the upcoming Reich celebtration drained the roster towards much needed tasks. So, he stood before the large oak doors of Himmler's office uselessly for a while, hands tucked into his pockets and chin on his breast. He was still not quite used to the space. Eventually, a young woman rounded the corner, short hair and blond tucked into the prim uniform of a german, Nazi secretary.  "You must be Oberrüppen Fuherer Smith." Her voice was neither gentle or clip, the perfect in between of a person who did not have time to delay with unwanted pleasantries.  "I am," He smiled, "Pleasure to meet you." She doesnt seem pleased."The Fuherer is occupied at the moment," She gestured to the waiting room, "Please." "Of course," He waved her off politely, "of course."   So, for a while now he idled, staring at a framed painting with his hands behind his back, ears attuned to the muffled discussions behind the large oak door. It was a painting that denoted the events of the bubonic plague. The painting itself was enclosed within a glass box, it's size a little bigger than the stature of a breifcase. On the bottom corner of the glass box printed a label, 'The Triumph of Death in the Palazzo Scalfani in Naples'. The edges of the frame were chafed, with paint peeling from the wood.  John was affixed by the skeleton atride a horse of similar built. He thought it was peculiar. This long crafted piece was a blue dot amongst the many red that littered the walls. A sore thumb, it stuck out. Across the halls and bolstered on walls you'd saunter past, and it would not be difficult to notice the Reich's own panache. Several, and mostly all, denoting the chauvinisims of the war, soldiers curling towards glory in blood soaked uniforms, hands aloft.

He'd assume himmler would have this burned by now, lacerated and grinded to a pulp, even. The scale of death which the Regime brought upon the plenty could be comparable to the plauge, however, for all the Empire's grims dealing with life's mistress, it was never phrased that way.

Only romanticized. Then, the doors opened with a creak. He swivelled to the sound. Military officials, blond, blue eyes regalled in green, flooded out in low tones of chatter, ducking heads, marching towards the hall ahead. Some noticed him, some don't, and those that do offered him a half-hearted salute, which he returned just as languidly to spite them, before moving onwards. The colonel stopped before him, Strohell's younger brother. Karl Strohell. His eyes were red rimmed, puffy and his expression was gaurded, denoting much about his composure. For all that he hid, there were more you could see. "Smith." "Strohell," He intoned, "My condolences to your brother. It must've been heard learning that." "He has a way of drawing condolences to me," He smiled, tight, "That was how he was often since we were young." Smith didn't reply, especially to personal comments the Colonel could've kept to himself. He just patted the man's arms, "The investigation is in my hands. Even if it's a joint collaboration with the Japanese—rest assured I will locate the culprit, he will come to Berlin, and you'll have your way with him."

The colonel didn't react, only regarded him coldly.  "After all, that is what's expected of you, isn't it Schoßhund?" Then, he shouldered his way roughly past John, who stood there with his eyes on the painting, the words milling about his mind. "Ah, Smith," Himmler greeted him, snorting in that usual piggish way of his. His eyes twinkled under the lens of his glasses as he grabbed his hands for a shake, "If you'll forgive the tardiness, an urgent meeting came up. Pipe structure, architectural planning, the dreadful stuff." "Of course," He had said, "I understand." He often wondered if there were a time he didn't. Himmler seemed pleased, his face swelling with pride. "Come, come!" He led him in, "Take a seat. You must be tired of the waiting." Smith learned not to react to the endearment. It was something that the old man wrung out as of late since his promotion, and john found it was better to let things be. After all, the rain fell better on his command when he used the Fuherers name in vain. "It's fine, really." He grunted, helping himself with one of the plush armchairs that sat before a round table, "I get to stand once in a while after all that sitting." "Good to know. Ingrid!" He yelled, "Send this document off to the foreign minister, and relay the message as is—that i will be dining with him in three days" The secretary, the young woman earlier emerged, bowing, "Yes, sir." And upon leavingher eyes caught his, the sharpness of her thoughts were clear. It was the sort of look that he had seen on the Colonel's. Accusing, resentful, demeaning. He simply smiled. She didn't and left. "So," Himmler strode towards the drink cabinet, pouring several fingers of whiskey into the cup, "How is the position coming along?" He also learned that this question wasn't simply about how he was faring. If anything it was about his compatibility, his prone to not being idle, and not causing problems Himmler could not cover up. "It's great," He said, flexing his hands, "It's a lot more sitting than i thought."

"Ah," He laughed, a garish engine like sound as he handed the glass over. "That is expeced you see. From the bottom up, the further you go, the less energy you use."

"Thank you," He accepted the glass, "And you? With the meeting, I hope the pipes are well and fine."

"Trivial, trivial things, Smith," He chuckled, "You musn't be engrossed with those subjects."

"Did something happen?" Still, he prodded. With the current state of the world, even the most simplest quirks are anything but.

"Well," Himmler appeared baffled but he went on, "If you insist. In Fremont. One of the primary pipes leading up to the city ruptured."

"How?" "A mystery. One of the specialists theorized it was the unbalanced pressure underground. Another suggested some other, and in the the end," He gestured into the air, chuckling bitterly, "Nobody bloody knows."

He laughed as well, tapping the armrest thoughtfully. "I see." "Even if it was simple, it caused quite the ruckus in the city," He took a sip, "Flooding, mostly. Excessive flooding. Several deaths were reported. Diseases, spreading. Houses damaged. And now i have to deploy my soldiers, raking them from the frontlines to the back. Only to overlook a simple, plastic pipe the size of Washington's monument."

"Well," Smith drew himself up in his seat, "If it's no trouble I could stop by Fermont. Just to make sure things aren't overlooked. With that many soldiers, things often are."

And those that did, they slip away, like rope coiling taught through the hoops of a pole, missing it entirely.

Himmler smiled as he regarded John for a long moment. “I have yet to see a man as punctual as you."

He smiled, "It is my purpose to serve. I am only one of the many."

"But the many are not you." He said, leaning back, "You are like a son to me, Smith. And even if I have kids of my own, you are considered as one. The girls say you are good to them."

“They’re lovely kids, Mein Fuherer.” He said.

"Well accomplished, aren't they?" "Top of their class. They get that from you, reaching far."

"Then you should as well," He said, "Reach far, Smith and dont reach where your nose can be seen. Reach where the other end of the sea could barely cover the earth," He leaned close, conspiratorial, "Do not just manageFermont. That is a purpose i do not want you to serve. I want you to manage that entire region, Smith.” "By that…you mean."

"Japanese occupied regions."

Smith was thrown off-kilter for a moment. He wasn't expecting Himmler to lay his cards out so expicitly, but he recovered well, "That's ambitious, sir."

"A man's greatest virtue. Tell me how do you describe your relationship with Inspector Kido?" "He's a loyal man," He said slowly, trying to assess the possible cause of this question, "Dedicated to his empire immenesly, why?" "You are close with him, are you not?" "I," He trailed off, laughing, "I wouldn't say close." "A man who is close to the empire's subjects is as close to the Empire itself. But no matter," His eyes twinkled above the rim of his glasses as he drank," you will be in a few months time." "If you want my opinion. I'd say they’ll listen to us if we have enough ammunition—” “Ammunition isn’t necessary,” The smile grew wider, “Diplomatic relations.”

Smith had paused for a moment, “A treaty?” “No,” He said, “A marriage. With the Emperor's neice."Then, he leaned forward with his voice hushed, "That way our empire is closely cinched. And when we are close we will claw our way out of those walls and topple the ones within. No war is needed. A little bloodshed perhaps, but a dainty mishap all the same..." He paused, the words stalling in his skull. The words blurred by. Smith was put on the spot, stuck in a particular way he once was when a grenade launched passed his head and detonated somwhere behind, sending him into a trench of mud, and dead bodies askew. He was hearing nothing and everything at once. "Me?" He said, almost dumbly. "You, yes you!" He laughed, "You are yet to pass mariagable age. Us men are in our prime in our forties, are we not?" His mouth worked, "I, yes sir. I— yes." "Then make a choice, Smith. I trust you'll make the right one." To hold the hand of a woman he had never cared to have met. A woman decades younger, whose eyes, whose lips belonged to a face ornated from delicacy and softness. Whose life only frequented silk cushions and gold rimmed mansions. What choice would he make?

.

THE DOOR knocked. “Sir, the car is ready.”

John was pulled back to reality. To his office, to the cigarrette smoke in his hand. Hepaused for a moment, remembering what this particular sentence was for. 

“Ah,” He said.“I’ll be down in a minute. And my meeting with His Royal Highness, Minister Tagomi—move it to the afternoon.”

“Of course, sir.”

What purpose does the many working gears of the empire serve? Even the military harnessed the many uses of social rankings. The Elite who ruled, who hid behind diplomatic masks and legitimate posings; the Middle who followed, the ramparts who surrounded fortresses; the Lower ranks who were nothing but proxies, a facade to the Elites, who carried out the written word on classified documents with callous, dusked stained hands. 

While unconventional, and while each portion tabled their greivances, and some inciting dissent, they were still a brick yet to be slotted in the continuous, constructing walls of the empire.

Such as the use of the resistance to enforce authority, such as the use of rebels to instill paranoia among the many, and such as those from the myriad of replicants with the same use—the same mold, the same status, position in society to simply breed, work and die—those who flickered an eye towards the darker end, and notice the true silhouette of the inner workings,they emerged a different person. A smile too wide. Eyes that held the sheen of torment, now restricted to one purpose— to live.

Then that's what he will be. His purpose. A lapdog.

[kldgo]

MIDNIGHT BLUES

+ Episode Four, “Stuff A Pea In A Pod.”

HIGURUMA.HIROMI / READER / SUGURU.GETO

MIDNIGHT BLUES

SUMMARY, “HIROMI HIGURUMA, a senior neurosurgeon at Tokyo Medical Hospital with an outstanding track record, applies for the head director position to join the medical reformation committee, facing competition from SUGURU GETO, a senior cardiovascular surgeon. Meanwhile, YOU, an emergency room nurse and Suguru's friend, remain unaware of the hospital's political landscape. A unique bond develops between you and Higuruma following a late-night encounter at a mart.”

AUTHOR'S NOTES, I find myself finding comfort and ease writing this series, but fear not the plot thickens after this chapter!

CONTENT WARNINGS, Hiromi Higuruma/Reader Getou Suguru/Reader, Hospital Medical Au, Hospital Politics, Marure Themes, Drama, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, More Hiromi Centric, Descriptions of gore, Fluff, Angst, Age Gap, Reader is 25, Hiromi 36, Getou 34, Reader is referred to as Nurse

Hours Earlier...

SHOKO IERI stood in front of two glass doors, closed shut, with one gloved hand clasped around a neon pink highlighter. Her face reflected off the veneer sheen. Saw herself clearly in the impression: brown eyes lined by purplish-grey sullen lids, perpetually amalgamated into ennui. Her lower face was covered by a mask. The rest were the usual, black scrubs topped on with a white coat. Her crocs were, and she would have to admit it was a bit unusual, shuffling from one foot to the other.

On the upper corner, right beside the doors, ‘Cardiovascular Department’ gleamed across the brass tag in golden hues.

Behind her, the hospital passed by. And, in front of her—through those glass doors— was the reception. Miwa sat behind the desk, typing away at the computer while also occupied chatting with Momo. The glass door opened with a whoosh. Cold air rushed out. Shoko glanced up, the fingers around the highlighter tensing. And, there, standing before her—

—is Utahime Iori.

She hadn’t moved yet, her eyes fixed on a clipboard in her hand, stopping with the assumption the person blocking her way would eventually move. There, Shoko got her fill. Enough to finally retrace the features that her mind often danced to in sleepless nights. The scar on her face. Those eyes. Those soft, tousled bangs that blew gently from the hush of the AC. Eventually, when Utahime realized the person wasn’t going to leave, she glanced up.

Their eyes met.

Her expression was always pinched, in the sort of way that suggested she's always perplexed why some things are the way they were. Such as her current dilemma, the senior nurse of ER, blocking the way. Her cheeks were flushed— either from the cold, her presence, or her usual temper— she doesn’t know.

“You.” Her voice was edged, “You’re going to start a line.”

Shoko doesn’t waver. “I know.”

“You know?” She said, incredulously. “How long will you keep coming here?”

“Until you tell me to leave.”

“Then I’m telling you to leave.”

“I’ll listen to you when you mean it.”

“Then listen to me because I do.”

The last word landed like a vase swept off a tabletop. Shoko simply bore the aftereffects of the shatter, feeling every sting each fragment drew across her skin. Through the glass doors, the interior bustled: an old woman in a patient gown was wheeled from the opened door of a consulting room—where, the door cracked open a little, to show a young and a similarly aged man, arguing. Their arms, gesturing wildly. Their shouts were muffled as the doors clicked shut. Brothers. Sisters. Family problems where eventual financial stability highlighted those qualms.

“I won’t keep you long, then,” Her voice became quiet, “I just thought I’d return this,” her hands unfurled and the pink highlighter laid on her palms. "It's been with me for a while, now.”

At the sight of it, Utahime paused, closing her mouth. She looked down to the object in her hands. It was rectangularly shaped with the corners rounded off smoothly. The cap was scuffed with marks, and smeared with pink paint. A cat sticker, faded and peeling was stuck to the end.

“It could be with you longer." Utahime said.

“It can’t,” She reasoned, “It’s been too long with me.”

“Then let it be.”

She was here. Not for any reason a passing bystander would have imagined she'd have. After all, you'd be some sort of oddball. The Hospital—since funded by the Zenins —grew to the land size of Olympus. Emergency was a good mile from Cardio. You'd have to wade through meandering corridors that looped end on ends. Juniors like Yuji often got lost navigating the interior, and would sometimes be cut off by other department corridors, and hence, walking into wrong rooms. Sometimes, it would lead you to ones with red-stained floors and beds with tangled blankets, the monitors beeping.

Shoko’s eyes drifted from her hand, that gripped the edges of her clipboard tightly to her eyes. She said quietly, “Don’t all objects have owners?”

Utahime hesitated for a moment. Even when the heartbeat had leveled they continued to pulse. Shoko hadn't quite forgotten those eyes. Brown, soft and so wide.

"What owner does it have,” Utahime said, “if I already gave it away?” Then, she walked passed Shoko leaving her to stand between the two doors that struggled to shut.

.

SHOKO’s TYPE of restaurant was the snug, mellow kind—some dainty, niche French bistro holed up in an obscure alleyway nobody knew the first letters of. The bulb hung from a coiled copper hook, casting a dim orange glow over their table. The sky was dark, littered with tiny freckles of stars and you both took a spot near the window as the jazz band crooned on. The low chatter of the restaurant drifted by. Forks poked porcelain plates, while wine glasses were held up in toasts—and then clicked.

A scarf was wrapped snugly around your neck. You were prone to cold chills even when the air conditioner wasn’t all that extreme—hence, the arm warmers at the Hospital too keep your peace. Your off-work clothes helped, as well, all sweaters and skirts—comfortable, snug and soft.

“Why do you smoke so much?” You asked, chin cradled by your hands.

Shoko sat before you, slumped against her seat, nose pointed to the ceiling. In her hand was a pink highlighter she mindlessly turned over and over.

“Beats me,” She sounded as she always did, exausted, teetering over the edge of divulging you something— and then, eventually not.

You frowned, one fingernail worrying the scratches on the tabletop, “You always say that.”

“What else should I be saying then?”

“Something, maybe,” You said, “Something that could help?”

You had a sixth sense for those sort of things, noting her unusual mood at the atm when she slung her arm around you. She didn’t say much when she picked you up. You didn’t spoke much either as she drove.

You couldn’t tell her your dilemma. After the entire endeavor with the head of neurosurgeon Higuruma, the blackmail and card and all, you had forgot—point blank—that Shoko hadn’t liked involving with the Zenins that much. Not that you knew entirely of Higuruma’s campaign, you’d like to very much stay out of it, but you were sure you spotted Noaya and the Neurosurgeon being all handsy in one department you walked passed. Not in the, well, usual handsy sense.

“Nothing helps.” She said eventually.

You frowned. “You don’t mean that. Even nothing means something.”

“I do, and maybe you should start realizing that meanings don’t have much value when people are forced to confide.” Her eyes flickered to yours. She paused for a moment, searching your eyes — making you squirm— then she said, almost knowingly, “If I’m not wrong, you’re very chatty today.”

“Psh, what?” You drew yourself up defensive, “I’m always chatty, what do you mean?”

“Sure you are,” She smiled, lopsidedly, “You’re unusually asking a lot of questions. Probing. Prodding. Something good happened? Something, maybe, having to do with a certain card?

Your cheeks flushed with heat. I may or may have not blackmailed our boss’s boss into buying me food whenever I need it.“Depends.”

She opened her hands, “You’re being vague.”

“You didn’t answer my question, first.” You shot back.

“My question is different from yours.”

“How is it even—uhnnf!”

A blur of black coat plummeted into the vacant seat beside you like a rocket, sending you flat to the other plush end of the couch with a wheeze. A

“I’m so, so sorry I’m late!” Shimizu cried, quickly taking off her gloves and settling in, unbothered to give you space, “I got to the bus late today, and I took another one instead and it took the wrong route to the apartment. I forgot you had the keys to our place so I had to run all the way here, sweating with my panties wedged up my ass—”

“Do you mind?” You rasped, still smooshed.

She turned, looked down at your crumpled form, and then back up, “You’ll be fine,” She said cheerfully, flapping one hand. Not fine, hello?

Shoko said calmly, “Good evening to you too, Mizu.”

“Enough with the pleasantries!” She beamed, “I’ve got all the potty gossips today so listen in.”

So much for paying dinner.

Speaking of which…

.

DINNER WAS fun. Especially when you turned your head towards the bathroom was and not at the prices on the laminated menu of dishes the other two settled on. Two thousand yen. Carbonara. You crumbled. Several thousand more. Wagyu. You melted, spooling to the ground. And another more for drinks. You were oil, by that point. Suddenly, the numbers blurred and you’re a lot more calmer, realizing that even money—like one’s life, in a way—does not exceed permanence. You were smiling to the ceiling, reminiscing what it was like to be a garden gnome with a treasure trove under the soil and a house in the flower beds. Then, reality came back when Mizu chortled on one thick expensive slab of Wagyu steak.

“Aghck! Water!” She reached for a cup with her hand flapping.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the glass, “It’s one hundred yen.”

“You’ll end up as a fifty thousand yen hospital bill if you don’t give me that cup.”

Shoko had three glasses of wine with her Carbonara. By that point, you completely annulled the thought of even thinking about the receipt. She stood her ground well, unlike Mizu who passed out after three sips of her sake. And then was resurrected by another round of Wagyu. You didn’t drink any (weren’t allowed by your parents) so you stuck to a Mojito. And even then you kept nervously asking if there were actually any alcohol in it, since anything ends with -ito, made you anxious.

Mizu had looked at you blandly, “Cheapskate.”

“It’s not because of that!”

The Arcade came after in shrouds of sweet popcorn, clamors of 8-bit whirls and coins clinking slots. Across the area, purple to yellow to blue strobe lights reflected off the glass panes from the machines. Above, the solar system was in full display as round plastic globes from the ceiling. Kids yelled and laughed about, slamming buttons and jerking joysticks. In one corner, two girls were cheerfully gunning down zombies on the screen, cackling with the intensity a child has no business having towards fictional characters. You paled a bit at the name, ‘Bloodfest Delight!’ In thick bold red letters.

And obviously, Shimizu wanted to have a go.

"Get your hands off me!" You cried as you were dragged-gosh, Mizu really is a handful of muscles despite her stature - towards the guns, "I'm not-i'm not going to jail for this!"

She looked at you incredulously,"They're not real guns, you idiot!"

"You're tainting my image!"

Shoko hadn’t joined, watching you shriek at every appearance of a monster across the screen, ducking and hiding behind the console while Shimizu stood her ground, yanking the trigger absolutely unrepentant. While leaning against the wall, Shoko caught sight of a plushie machine. Hooked over one of the rods was a human-like fox, with wide brown eyes, and bangs over its forehead. She hesitated for a moment, then walked over. .

WITH THE plushie tucked into her pocket - it was a small handful-size enough to - she watched as you emerged , distraught, staggering towards the toddler section, hand reaching for anything cutesy and pastel for the touch. You almost reached for a bunny plushie when Shimizu wrung you to Karaoke, comprising of banshee-screeching your lungs out with Mizu to old campy Japanese songs. Shoko had a business call that lasted the entire session.

“Must be a long call, you had!” You said to her, emerging from the room, a little breathless and a little dumb yourself.

Dumb number two, nudged your ribs to chastise. “She’s the head, don’t prod.”

The person herself tucked her phone, looking over at you both, “Want to go gambling?”

Both heads turned to her, “Where?”

“At the arcade.”

“Again?”

And so you both found yourself at the adults section, nervously biting your nails as Mizu watched the screen. The symbols kept spinning, and spinning and spinning. And, eventually, when it aligned—when it fell into place, and you both leaned over to peer closely at the screen—it was three different objects.

“Jackpot?” You asked, uncertain.

“No jackpot.” Mizu said.

“Mm.” Shoko said, smoking from the back, “Try again.”

You tried one machine, tongue poking out as you yanked the reel. The waiting begins. The spin, the spin and, and—first object, stop; the second one, stop; the third, stop—all miss. No jackpot, again. Shoko had to drag Mizu by the scruff to stop her from gambling every last yen in her wallet. Which found you all now at the parking lot, with Mizu thrown over Shoko’s shoulder, drunk.

“Thanks for dinner, Shoko.” You said, delirious despite not really drinking any.

She stared. “You paid, though.”

“Oh,” You scratched you cheek, then frowned when you registered what she meant, “…Oh.” Ojisan’s card. You closed your eyes. You’re not going to check the balance for the fear of crumbling to your knees at the sight of it, "Right. Of course," You looked up, making sure your eyes were as doleful as possible, "I have not been known to pay my own dinner these past few years. But today is a change. You should thank me, both of you for sacrificing my life's spending."

Mizu muttered, "Sure thing, sugar baby."

"It's not your money anyway," Shoko jerked a thumb over, “It's late we should get going."

They're still coherent after all that? I could barely think.

"My car isn’t small," Shoko went on, "There is space. I had to clear my cabinet the other day, and there were boxes in the back.”

You peered over to see the back of her Honda were stuffed chock-full of boxes and bundled paperworks. Through the windows, it was all what you could see: more boxes, more paper, more boxes and more papers. Only the passenger and the driver's seat were empty.

“So,” You blinked, “Where will I sit?”

“With the boxes,” She said, “You’re small. You can fit inside.”

"If you had said I was as small as a cute garden gnome, I would have agreed."

"But you're not.”

"Cute?" You prodded.

"Both."

“It’s fine,” You waved her off, “I can walk. My flat isn’t far from here.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Get in the car or I’ll strap you to the ceiling.”

Gosh, everyone is so violent today.

Behind you, a car honked, startling utter living the daylights out of you. Shimizu slept on, her lips parted to drool. She simply whined at the commotion and nuzzled deeper into Shoko's neck. At the damp sensation, her eyes twitched a little. A sleek grey sedan pulled up. The headlights flickered off and on several times, purposely blasting against Shoko's face, stark white. The window then rolled down, and your cheeks warmed a little at the mystery man.

Suguru Geto - in a grey sweatshirt with his hair down - leaned out, an arm over the ledge. A smile curve his lips, “Evening ladies. To what do I owe you the pleasure of?”

Shoko didn't waste a beat, “Getting out of my sight.”

"Ah," Geto laid a hand on his chest, “Disheartening,” Then he looked over at you, eyes softening a little, “Nurse?”

“Going to my flat,” You said, shuffling on your foot.

“Now that’s a response I was looking for,” He grinned, “Granted,” With a click, the passenger door was unlocked, “Come in passenger princess, I’ll get you straight home.”

You ducked your head down, hiding your lower face into your scarf. His eyes, they were so gentle and yet so moving. Your eyes was sparkling, "Really?"

"Yes, really," He tilted his head, "Now, get in before the Head nurse of the ER decides my skull is looking a little tasty."

"Goodbye, Shoko-san!" You said, then rounded the car to the passenger seat, scrambling to pull the seatbelt over.

“How did you even find us?” Shoko kept her gaze leveled with his.

“I was passing by.”He said mildly.

“You were absolutely not passing by.”

“I was, I can show you my GPS—”

The seatbelt went into the slot with a click. "I'm ready!" You said brightly.

They both turned to you. You were snugly ensconced into the seat. you hands dimly folded on your lap as you smiled up at them with the most sunniest, guileless expression on your face. That sort of wavered Shoko's resolve.

"Fine," She palmed her face, "I'll get Mizu home. And you'll get her straight home as well, Suguru." "You'll expect nowhere less." He promised.

You waved vigorously, “Bye, Shoko!”

.

HE, IN FACT, did not take you straight home right away. You had been dozing off against the window, warm and snug in your sweater - and it was cold, too, made it all the more tempting to snooze - when he pulled the sedan up by a mart. The car's engine chuttered off, and he pulled the key. You slowly roused at the commotion, rubbing your eyes at the bright light flaring in from the window.

"Sorry," He said, "Didn't mean to wake you up.”

"Mh? Where are we?" You peered up to him, soft and drowsy.

"A quick detour," He smiled, "Figured we should get some ice cream before heading home. I'll head quickly down — you don't have to come if you're tired."

"I don't mind." You brought yourself up, "But won't she know?" Shoko always does. There's no point in hiding anything from her. What's peculiar is that she's quite adept at hiding hers.

“Can’t hurt to be a few minutes late, right?” He offered, the ever so-reasonable one.

"Guess so," You leaned back against the seat, yawning. "Don't take too long, 'cause I'll pass out in a mo."

"Of course," His body turned halfway to the door, "Any particular flavor you like?"

You opened your mouth, and suddenly you recalled sensation of the night air against your face. That night, this morning. The cold ledge of the pavement under your legs. The hard plastic chair of the mart, and his card that landed on the table. What flavor do you like? You wondered what he's doing now, extorting from other junior nurses, maybe?

A small smile graced your lips, "The crackly lemon thing."

"I'll get that too," He unlocked the door and turned back tapping the corner of his mouth, "Oh, and.” His voice became a little amused, “You've got a little something."

Something? You glanced to the rearview mirror, still drowsy. A hot wave of chagrin scalded your neck. A glistening sheen of drool had trickled down the corner of your lip. That's not a little something?! With your heart pounding in your chest - oh god, why, why ,why - in front of him of all people?! Your hands fluttered useless to your face wiping every saliva you probably had slobbered over your face during your nap. "Oh! Gosh, I’m—!”

“Hey,” He reached out, and his fingers—cold and so soft—closed around your wrist. You stilled, your heart still pounding, unable to meet his eyes. You will for the floor to suddenly crack and plummet.

"It happens,” He said, “Don't be embarrassed.”

You couldn't look at him, kept your eyes down where his shadow fell across your lap. You were much too embarrassed, with your cheeks boiling to the point of hissing like a kettle.

"Nurse," He mused, "It's alright."

The shadow moved across your lap, it enlarged as he leaned down, slowly. Bit by bit. Inch by inch, as if you were a fawn he had no intention of distressing. The scent of his heeded your nose, holding up to the same stature as his cadence. Gentle, light, fragrant. His hands rose and reached for your face, tilting it up. His palms were cold under your warm cheeks, thumb pressing gently against the corner of your mouth.

"Don't beat yourself over for being human," He said, his dark eyes glowing a warm honey brown by the flare of the light from the mart. His own earnestly searched yours. For a moment, you held your breath. And when his thumb swiped off the drool from your lips, your heart — you felt it beating against his palm.

.

HIGURUMA HAD taken a quick detour to his apartment, eager to purchase the usual spoils before heading home. At GoGo Mart, he was dressed in his off-work clothes, a beige cardigan with a black coat over. His mind was elsewhere as he browsed the shelf, long exhausted dealing with Noaya's antics from this morning. Especially his false declarations of 'having something against Prince Charming' when he, in fact, did not. Only several vague documents detailing about his practice prior coming to TMH, which he was sure was forged by the Zen'in's.

He had respectfully declined the notion for a smear campaign. If he had to do everything in his power to bring a seemingly good man down to the levels of the underground, where will that leave him? The one standing at the hilltop, preaching for reform when deceit was all that was weaponized? He would do things his way, whether Noaya had liked it or not.

His eyes finally landed on the carton. Strawberry Milk. Shimizu also reminded him to introduce himself to the man, at some point. Much to her both, surprise and irritation, he hadn't known what this Prince apparently looked like. Was he as handsome as they say? Probably not. Adoration tends to breed exaggeration beyond reality which he was sure was the case.

Then, he reached up. When his hand curled around the carton, unbidden, the memory of your own reached up to clutch it, territorial of the milk you’d wanted. The corner of his lips quirked up.

That girl.

There was one way to measure the Prince's influence. If the Junior Nurse was easily swayed by money, he was sure you'd be easily swayed by his looks too. He shifted the carton to his other hand, and with his free one pulled out his phone. He checked his balance, keeping track of what you’d bought. It was his card after all, and he was curious about where you went. He raised his eyebrows. Already, he could tell you weren’t the frugal type.

He tapped the screen, pulling up his contacts. He stilled when he remembered he hadn't asked for your number. So, walking with the milk in one hand, he browsed the roster list he kept in his phone. When he reached your ID, and your name beside it. He punched the numbers in, holding the phone to his ear.

He looked up.

And paused.

Through the window, there, the sedan was positioned in a way the driver's seat faced the mart, and your body in the passenger seat was dwarfed by another shadow. The shadow of a man, the profile of one, leaning down towards you. He caught just the right side of your eye, wide and soft looking up into the depths of another. Higuruma watched, and he watched for a moment longer, the phone in his ear, the Strawberry Carton milk cold in his hands, as the man’s head blocked your own completely.

Next On Episode Five, “ — ”

taglist, @alebrasil0101, @hanjifreaq, @aflowerofevil, @yokirope, @mimicosmos8, @fortune-kiki, @peonysecret, @icyshadewhisper, @leafington, @ane5e, @hanniesrock, @nayla6411, @yorikae, @pequnopastel, @megssleepygirl, @cutelikeharry, @maya2848, @silentfriday, @abanico11, @sadeaholic, @qrtgojo

[jennacolemans]

The Man in the High Castle - Character Bios from Amazon’s X-ray feature - requested by anonymous

John Smith 

John Smith was born in Manhattan in 1917, the second son of a prosperous Wall Street Banker.  In many ways, John’s early life looked picture perfect.  Any hint of superiority, however, was tempered by his father, who instilled a deep sense of civic duty and propriety in his sons.  The boys were four years apart in age.  John looked up to older brother Chris, a star athlete and an A-student, following in suit.  In 1927, when John was 11, Chris collapsed and was soon wheelchair bound.  In March, 1929, The Wall Street Crash struck, and overnight American banking institutions folded.  John’s father was financially ruined and promptly took his own life.  And so, at 13 years old, John Smith swore to himself that he would never allow himself to break.  Even when his beloved brother passed away, two years later, John Smith pressed on.  Despite witnessing a New York City that had become decrepit and corrupt, and a failing America that had been gutted once more by the 1933 assassination of President Franklin D. Roosevelt, John was still determined and still a patriot.  He earned a degree at Princeton, he joined the New York Mayor’s office, implementing programs to get America back to work, and, when war loomed, he signed up for officer training at West Point. where he proved a natural solder and tactician.  Graduating to a post within the US Signal Corps.  By 1942. John Smith was a 1st Lieutenant.  In 1943, he was promoted to Captain and re-deployed to the Pentagon to advise all branches of the military on intelligence gathering.  During this time, he met and married Helen McCrae, the beautiful, accomplished daughter of two Harvard academics.  Helen became pregnant with their first child in July, 1945.  Just a few months later, the American government fell to the New Reich.  Smith saw surrender as the right thing to do.  America had lost.  Nothing in the US arsenal could compete with Nazi nuclear power.  So, John Smith assimilated into the interim government, in sincere hope he could lessen the brutality of Nazi retaliation against rebel uprisings.  He could save American lives.  He could keep those he loved safe.  Nazism is survival.

Keep reading

[lackadaisies]

this is killing me 😭

[midnightsandwriting]

respectfully i need aj cook to f my brains out.

[honeyoftheisle]

Monstrous Game Masterlist

Sherlock!Gojo x Watson!Reader x Killer!Sukuna

Victorian Au, Sherlock Au

Synopsis ~ The monsters have come out to play. The city trembles and people are moved like chess pieces. Sukuna's reign of terror as he slaughters in Whitechapel, has killed the city in more ways than one. Can Gojo bring him down? You think so, you just hope it doesn't bring you down too.

Tw/Cw ~ murder, period typical attitudes.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Epilogue

Divider by @/strangergraphics

[kldgo]

OMGGG SHERLKCK AU

@aflowerofevil

[kldgo]

MIDNIGHT BLUES

+ Episode Four, “Stuff A Pea In A Pod.”

HIGURUMA.HIROMI / READER / SUGURU.GETO

MIDNIGHT BLUES

SUMMARY, “HIROMI HIGURUMA, a senior neurosurgeon at Tokyo Medical Hospital with an outstanding track record, applies for the head director position to join the medical reformation committee, facing competition from SUGURU GETO, a senior cardiovascular surgeon. Meanwhile, YOU, an emergency room nurse and Suguru's friend, remain unaware of the hospital's political landscape. A unique bond develops between you and Higuruma following a late-night encounter at a mart.”

AUTHOR'S NOTES, I find myself finding comfort and ease writing this series, but fear not the plot thickens after this chapter!

CONTENT WARNINGS, Hiromi Higuruma/Reader Getou Suguru/Reader, Hospital Medical Au, Hospital Politics, Marure Themes, Drama, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, More Hiromi Centric, Descriptions of gore, Fluff, Angst, Age Gap, Reader is 25, Hiromi 36, Getou 34, Reader is referred to as Nurse

Hours Earlier...

SHOKO IERI stood in front of two glass doors, closed shut, with one gloved hand clasped around a neon pink highlighter. Her face reflected off the veneer sheen. Saw herself clearly in the impression: brown eyes lined by purplish-grey sullen lids, perpetually amalgamated into ennui. Her lower face was covered by a mask. The rest were the usual, black scrubs topped on with a white coat. Her crocs were, and she would have to admit it was a bit unusual, shuffling from one foot to the other.

On the upper corner, right beside the doors, ‘Cardiovascular Department’ gleamed across the brass tag in golden hues.

Behind her, the hospital passed by. And, in front of her—through those glass doors— was the reception. Miwa sat behind the desk, typing away at the computer while also occupied chatting with Momo. The glass door opened with a whoosh. Cold air rushed out. Shoko glanced up, the fingers around the highlighter tensing. And, there, standing before her—

—is Utahime Iori.

She hadn’t moved yet, her eyes fixed on a clipboard in her hand, stopping with the assumption the person blocking her way would eventually move. There, Shoko got her fill. Enough to finally retrace the features that her mind often danced to in sleepless nights. The scar on her face. Those eyes. Those soft, tousled bangs that blew gently from the hush of the AC. Eventually, when Utahime realized the person wasn’t going to leave, she glanced up.

Their eyes met.

Her expression was always pinched, in the sort of way that suggested she's always perplexed why some things are the way they were. Such as her current dilemma, the senior nurse of ER, blocking the way. Her cheeks were flushed— either from the cold, her presence, or her usual temper— she doesn’t know.

“You.” Her voice was edged, “You’re going to start a line.”

Shoko doesn’t waver. “I know.”

“You know?” She said, incredulously. “How long will you keep coming here?”

“Until you tell me to leave.”

“Then I’m telling you to leave.”

“I’ll listen to you when you mean it.”

“Then listen to me because I do.”

The last word landed like a vase swept off a tabletop. Shoko simply bore the aftereffects of the shatter, feeling every sting each fragment drew across her skin. Through the glass doors, the interior bustled: an old woman in a patient gown was wheeled from the opened door of a consulting room—where, the door cracked open a little, to show a young and a similarly aged man, arguing. Their arms, gesturing wildly. Their shouts were muffled as the doors clicked shut. Brothers. Sisters. Family problems where eventual financial stability highlighted those qualms.

“I won’t keep you long, then,” Her voice became quiet, “I just thought I’d return this,” her hands unfurled and the pink highlighter laid on her palms. "It's been with me for a while, now.”

At the sight of it, Utahime paused, closing her mouth. She looked down to the object in her hands. It was rectangularly shaped with the corners rounded off smoothly. The cap was scuffed with marks, and smeared with pink paint. A cat sticker, faded and peeling was stuck to the end.

“It could be with you longer." Utahime said.

“It can’t,” She reasoned, “It’s been too long with me.”

“Then let it be.”

She was here. Not for any reason a passing bystander would have imagined she'd have. After all, you'd be some sort of oddball. The Hospital—since funded by the Zenins —grew to the land size of Olympus. Emergency was a good mile from Cardio. You'd have to wade through meandering corridors that looped end on ends. Juniors like Yuji often got lost navigating the interior, and would sometimes be cut off by other department corridors, and hence, walking into wrong rooms. Sometimes, it would lead you to ones with red-stained floors and beds with tangled blankets, the monitors beeping.

Shoko’s eyes drifted from her hand, that gripped the edges of her clipboard tightly to her eyes. She said quietly, “Don’t all objects have owners?”

Utahime hesitated for a moment. Even when the heartbeat had leveled they continued to pulse. Shoko hadn't quite forgotten those eyes. Brown, soft and so wide.

"What owner does it have,” Utahime said, “if I already gave it away?” Then, she walked passed Shoko leaving her to stand between the two doors that struggled to shut.

.

SHOKO’s TYPE of restaurant was the snug, mellow kind—some dainty, niche French bistro holed up in an obscure alleyway nobody knew the first letters of. The bulb hung from a coiled copper hook, casting a dim orange glow over their table. The sky was dark, littered with tiny freckles of stars and you both took a spot near the window as the jazz band crooned on. The low chatter of the restaurant drifted by. Forks poked porcelain plates, while wine glasses were held up in toasts—and then clicked.

A scarf was wrapped snugly around your neck. You were prone to cold chills even when the air conditioner wasn’t all that extreme—hence, the arm warmers at the Hospital too keep your peace. Your off-work clothes helped, as well, all sweaters and skirts—comfortable, snug and soft.

“Why do you smoke so much?” You asked, chin cradled by your hands.

Shoko sat before you, slumped against her seat, nose pointed to the ceiling. In her hand was a pink highlighter she mindlessly turned over and over.

“Beats me,” She sounded as she always did, exausted, teetering over the edge of divulging you something— and then, eventually not.

You frowned, one fingernail worrying the scratches on the tabletop, “You always say that.”

“What else should I be saying then?”

“Something, maybe,” You said, “Something that could help?”

You had a sixth sense for those sort of things, noting her unusual mood at the atm when she slung her arm around you. She didn’t say much when she picked you up. You didn’t spoke much either as she drove.

You couldn’t tell her your dilemma. After the entire endeavor with the head of neurosurgeon Higuruma, the blackmail and card and all, you had forgot—point blank—that Shoko hadn’t liked involving with the Zenins that much. Not that you knew entirely of Higuruma’s campaign, you’d like to very much stay out of it, but you were sure you spotted Noaya and the Neurosurgeon being all handsy in one department you walked passed. Not in the, well, usual handsy sense.

“Nothing helps.” She said eventually.

You frowned. “You don’t mean that. Even nothing means something.”

“I do, and maybe you should start realizing that meanings don’t have much value when people are forced to confide.” Her eyes flickered to yours. She paused for a moment, searching your eyes — making you squirm— then she said, almost knowingly, “If I’m not wrong, you’re very chatty today.”

“Psh, what?” You drew yourself up defensive, “I’m always chatty, what do you mean?”

“Sure you are,” She smiled, lopsidedly, “You’re unusually asking a lot of questions. Probing. Prodding. Something good happened? Something, maybe, having to do with a certain card?

Your cheeks flushed with heat. I may or may have not blackmailed our boss’s boss into buying me food whenever I need it.“Depends.”

She opened her hands, “You’re being vague.”

“You didn’t answer my question, first.” You shot back.

“My question is different from yours.”

“How is it even—uhnnf!”

A blur of black coat plummeted into the vacant seat beside you like a rocket, sending you flat to the other plush end of the couch with a wheeze. A

“I’m so, so sorry I’m late!” Shimizu cried, quickly taking off her gloves and settling in, unbothered to give you space, “I got to the bus late today, and I took another one instead and it took the wrong route to the apartment. I forgot you had the keys to our place so I had to run all the way here, sweating with my panties wedged up my ass—”

“Do you mind?” You rasped, still smooshed.

She turned, looked down at your crumpled form, and then back up, “You’ll be fine,” She said cheerfully, flapping one hand. Not fine, hello?

Shoko said calmly, “Good evening to you too, Mizu.”

“Enough with the pleasantries!” She beamed, “I’ve got all the potty gossips today so listen in.”

So much for paying dinner.

Speaking of which…

.

DINNER WAS fun. Especially when you turned your head towards the bathroom was and not at the prices on the laminated menu of dishes the other two settled on. Two thousand yen. Carbonara. You crumbled. Several thousand more. Wagyu. You melted, spooling to the ground. And another more for drinks. You were oil, by that point. Suddenly, the numbers blurred and you’re a lot more calmer, realizing that even money—like one’s life, in a way—does not exceed permanence. You were smiling to the ceiling, reminiscing what it was like to be a garden gnome with a treasure trove under the soil and a house in the flower beds. Then, reality came back when Mizu chortled on one thick expensive slab of Wagyu steak.

“Aghck! Water!” She reached for a cup with her hand flapping.

Your hands trembled as you gripped the glass, “It’s one hundred yen.”

“You’ll end up as a fifty thousand yen hospital bill if you don’t give me that cup.”

Shoko had three glasses of wine with her Carbonara. By that point, you completely annulled the thought of even thinking about the receipt. She stood her ground well, unlike Mizu who passed out after three sips of her sake. And then was resurrected by another round of Wagyu. You didn’t drink any (weren’t allowed by your parents) so you stuck to a Mojito. And even then you kept nervously asking if there were actually any alcohol in it, since anything ends with -ito, made you anxious.

Mizu had looked at you blandly, “Cheapskate.”

“It’s not because of that!”

The Arcade came after in shrouds of sweet popcorn, clamors of 8-bit whirls and coins clinking slots. Across the area, purple to yellow to blue strobe lights reflected off the glass panes from the machines. Above, the solar system was in full display as round plastic globes from the ceiling. Kids yelled and laughed about, slamming buttons and jerking joysticks. In one corner, two girls were cheerfully gunning down zombies on the screen, cackling with the intensity a child has no business having towards fictional characters. You paled a bit at the name, ‘Bloodfest Delight!’ In thick bold red letters.

And obviously, Shimizu wanted to have a go.

"Get your hands off me!" You cried as you were dragged-gosh, Mizu really is a handful of muscles despite her stature - towards the guns, "I'm not-i'm not going to jail for this!"

She looked at you incredulously,"They're not real guns, you idiot!"

"You're tainting my image!"

Shoko hadn’t joined, watching you shriek at every appearance of a monster across the screen, ducking and hiding behind the console while Shimizu stood her ground, yanking the trigger absolutely unrepentant. While leaning against the wall, Shoko caught sight of a plushie machine. Hooked over one of the rods was a human-like fox, with wide brown eyes, and bangs over its forehead. She hesitated for a moment, then walked over. .

WITH THE plushie tucked into her pocket - it was a small handful-size enough to - she watched as you emerged , distraught, staggering towards the toddler section, hand reaching for anything cutesy and pastel for the touch. You almost reached for a bunny plushie when Shimizu wrung you to Karaoke, comprising of banshee-screeching your lungs out with Mizu to old campy Japanese songs. Shoko had a business call that lasted the entire session.

“Must be a long call, you had!” You said to her, emerging from the room, a little breathless and a little dumb yourself.

Dumb number two, nudged your ribs to chastise. “She’s the head, don’t prod.”

The person herself tucked her phone, looking over at you both, “Want to go gambling?”

Both heads turned to her, “Where?”

“At the arcade.”

“Again?”

And so you both found yourself at the adults section, nervously biting your nails as Mizu watched the screen. The symbols kept spinning, and spinning and spinning. And, eventually, when it aligned—when it fell into place, and you both leaned over to peer closely at the screen—it was three different objects.

“Jackpot?” You asked, uncertain.

“No jackpot.” Mizu said.

“Mm.” Shoko said, smoking from the back, “Try again.”

You tried one machine, tongue poking out as you yanked the reel. The waiting begins. The spin, the spin and, and—first object, stop; the second one, stop; the third, stop—all miss. No jackpot, again. Shoko had to drag Mizu by the scruff to stop her from gambling every last yen in her wallet. Which found you all now at the parking lot, with Mizu thrown over Shoko’s shoulder, drunk.

“Thanks for dinner, Shoko.” You said, delirious despite not really drinking any.

She stared. “You paid, though.”

“Oh,” You scratched you cheek, then frowned when you registered what she meant, “…Oh.” Ojisan’s card. You closed your eyes. You’re not going to check the balance for the fear of crumbling to your knees at the sight of it, "Right. Of course," You looked up, making sure your eyes were as doleful as possible, "I have not been known to pay my own dinner these past few years. But today is a change. You should thank me, both of you for sacrificing my life's spending."

Mizu muttered, "Sure thing, sugar baby."

"It's not your money anyway," Shoko jerked a thumb over, “It's late we should get going."

They're still coherent after all that? I could barely think.

"My car isn’t small," Shoko went on, "There is space. I had to clear my cabinet the other day, and there were boxes in the back.”

You peered over to see the back of her Honda were stuffed chock-full of boxes and bundled paperworks. Through the windows, it was all what you could see: more boxes, more paper, more boxes and more papers. Only the passenger and the driver's seat were empty.

“So,” You blinked, “Where will I sit?”

“With the boxes,” She said, “You’re small. You can fit inside.”

"If you had said I was as small as a cute garden gnome, I would have agreed."

"But you're not.”

"Cute?" You prodded.

"Both."

“It’s fine,” You waved her off, “I can walk. My flat isn’t far from here.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Get in the car or I’ll strap you to the ceiling.”

Gosh, everyone is so violent today.

Behind you, a car honked, startling utter living the daylights out of you. Shimizu slept on, her lips parted to drool. She simply whined at the commotion and nuzzled deeper into Shoko's neck. At the damp sensation, her eyes twitched a little. A sleek grey sedan pulled up. The headlights flickered off and on several times, purposely blasting against Shoko's face, stark white. The window then rolled down, and your cheeks warmed a little at the mystery man.

Suguru Geto - in a grey sweatshirt with his hair down - leaned out, an arm over the ledge. A smile curve his lips, “Evening ladies. To what do I owe you the pleasure of?”

Shoko didn't waste a beat, “Getting out of my sight.”

"Ah," Geto laid a hand on his chest, “Disheartening,” Then he looked over at you, eyes softening a little, “Nurse?”

“Going to my flat,” You said, shuffling on your foot.

“Now that’s a response I was looking for,” He grinned, “Granted,” With a click, the passenger door was unlocked, “Come in passenger princess, I’ll get you straight home.”

You ducked your head down, hiding your lower face into your scarf. His eyes, they were so gentle and yet so moving. Your eyes was sparkling, "Really?"

"Yes, really," He tilted his head, "Now, get in before the Head nurse of the ER decides my skull is looking a little tasty."

"Goodbye, Shoko-san!" You said, then rounded the car to the passenger seat, scrambling to pull the seatbelt over.

“How did you even find us?” Shoko kept her gaze leveled with his.

“I was passing by.”He said mildly.

“You were absolutely not passing by.”

“I was, I can show you my GPS—”

The seatbelt went into the slot with a click. "I'm ready!" You said brightly.

They both turned to you. You were snugly ensconced into the seat. you hands dimly folded on your lap as you smiled up at them with the most sunniest, guileless expression on your face. That sort of wavered Shoko's resolve.

"Fine," She palmed her face, "I'll get Mizu home. And you'll get her straight home as well, Suguru." "You'll expect nowhere less." He promised.

You waved vigorously, “Bye, Shoko!”

.

HE, IN FACT, did not take you straight home right away. You had been dozing off against the window, warm and snug in your sweater - and it was cold, too, made it all the more tempting to snooze - when he pulled the sedan up by a mart. The car's engine chuttered off, and he pulled the key. You slowly roused at the commotion, rubbing your eyes at the bright light flaring in from the window.

"Sorry," He said, "Didn't mean to wake you up.”

"Mh? Where are we?" You peered up to him, soft and drowsy.

"A quick detour," He smiled, "Figured we should get some ice cream before heading home. I'll head quickly down — you don't have to come if you're tired."

"I don't mind." You brought yourself up, "But won't she know?" Shoko always does. There's no point in hiding anything from her. What's peculiar is that she's quite adept at hiding hers.

“Can’t hurt to be a few minutes late, right?” He offered, the ever so-reasonable one.

"Guess so," You leaned back against the seat, yawning. "Don't take too long, 'cause I'll pass out in a mo."

"Of course," His body turned halfway to the door, "Any particular flavor you like?"

You opened your mouth, and suddenly you recalled sensation of the night air against your face. That night, this morning. The cold ledge of the pavement under your legs. The hard plastic chair of the mart, and his card that landed on the table. What flavor do you like? You wondered what he's doing now, extorting from other junior nurses, maybe?

A small smile graced your lips, "The crackly lemon thing."

"I'll get that too," He unlocked the door and turned back tapping the corner of his mouth, "Oh, and.” His voice became a little amused, “You've got a little something."

Something? You glanced to the rearview mirror, still drowsy. A hot wave of chagrin scalded your neck. A glistening sheen of drool had trickled down the corner of your lip. That's not a little something?! With your heart pounding in your chest - oh god, why, why ,why - in front of him of all people?! Your hands fluttered useless to your face wiping every saliva you probably had slobbered over your face during your nap. "Oh! Gosh, I’m—!”

“Hey,” He reached out, and his fingers—cold and so soft—closed around your wrist. You stilled, your heart still pounding, unable to meet his eyes. You will for the floor to suddenly crack and plummet.

"It happens,” He said, “Don't be embarrassed.”

You couldn't look at him, kept your eyes down where his shadow fell across your lap. You were much too embarrassed, with your cheeks boiling to the point of hissing like a kettle.

"Nurse," He mused, "It's alright."

The shadow moved across your lap, it enlarged as he leaned down, slowly. Bit by bit. Inch by inch, as if you were a fawn he had no intention of distressing. The scent of his heeded your nose, holding up to the same stature as his cadence. Gentle, light, fragrant. His hands rose and reached for your face, tilting it up. His palms were cold under your warm cheeks, thumb pressing gently against the corner of your mouth.

"Don't beat yourself over for being human," He said, his dark eyes glowing a warm honey brown by the flare of the light from the mart. His own earnestly searched yours. For a moment, you held your breath. And when his thumb swiped off the drool from your lips, your heart — you felt it beating against his palm.

.

HIGURUMA HAD taken a quick detour to his apartment, eager to purchase the usual spoils before heading home. At GoGo Mart, he was dressed in his off-work clothes, a beige cardigan with a black coat over. His mind was elsewhere as he browsed the shelf, long exhausted dealing with Noaya's antics from this morning. Especially his false declarations of 'having something against Prince Charming' when he, in fact, did not. Only several vague documents detailing about his practice prior coming to TMH, which he was sure was forged by the Zen'in's.

He had respectfully declined the notion for a smear campaign. If he had to do everything in his power to bring a seemingly good man down to the levels of the underground, where will that leave him? The one standing at the hilltop, preaching for reform when deceit was all that was weaponized? He would do things his way, whether Noaya had liked it or not.

His eyes finally landed on the carton. Strawberry Milk. Shimizu also reminded him to introduce himself to the man, at some point. Much to her both, surprise and irritation, he hadn't known what this Prince apparently looked like. Was he as handsome as they say? Probably not. Adoration tends to breed exaggeration beyond reality which he was sure was the case.

Then, he reached up. When his hand curled around the carton, unbidden, the memory of your own reached up to clutch it, territorial of the milk you’d wanted. The corner of his lips quirked up.

That girl.

There was one way to measure the Prince's influence. If the Junior Nurse was easily swayed by money, he was sure you'd be easily swayed by his looks too. He shifted the carton to his other hand, and with his free one pulled out his phone. He checked his balance, keeping track of what you’d bought. It was his card after all, and he was curious about where you went. He raised his eyebrows. Already, he could tell you weren’t the frugal type.

He tapped the screen, pulling up his contacts. He stilled when he remembered he hadn't asked for your number. So, walking with the milk in one hand, he browsed the roster list he kept in his phone. When he reached your ID, and your name beside it. He punched the numbers in, holding the phone to his ear.

He looked up.

And paused.

Through the window, there, the sedan was positioned in a way the driver's seat faced the mart, and your body in the passenger seat was dwarfed by another shadow. The shadow of a man, the profile of one, leaning down towards you. He caught just the right side of your eye, wide and soft looking up into the depths of another. Higuruma watched, and he watched for a moment longer, the phone in his ear, the Strawberry Carton milk cold in his hands, as the man’s head blocked your own completely.

Next On Episode Five, “ — ”

taglist, @alebrasil0101, @hanjifreaq, @aflowerofevil, @yokirope, @mimicosmos8, @fortune-kiki, @peonysecret, @icyshadewhisper, @leafington, @ane5e, @hanniesrock, @nayla6411, @yorikae, @pequnopastel, @megssleepygirl, @cutelikeharry, @maya2848, @silentfriday, @abanico11, @sadeaholic, @qrtgojo

[kldgo]

0 fics for Takashi Kido

[kldgo]

I just noticed that your banner is of you (I think it’s you or please correct me if I’m wrong) and inspector kido spending time together either in a store or a museum in tomodachi life lmao 😭🩷

ITS MEEE AND MY HUSBANDDD 🥹🥹 my evil stupid handsome husband. I don’t aculaly have tomodachi life but my friend does and she added me and Kido in there haha and he became my husband LMAO

LOOK AT HIMMM

[dumi719042]

made this a while ago, animating my favorite panels is really fun!

except i've made a mistake of buying CSP Pro instead of EXE so im stuck with only 24 frames T_T

[antholoji]

MUSUBI: TALES OF THE GOLDEN ERA. ₊ ˚ 𓈒 ༉‧₊˚. masterlist .ᐟ Collection of JJK oneshots based on the Heian Era ໒ @kldgo x @antholoji ꒱

MUSUBI (結び) represents the divine, cosmic force of creation, becoming, and the invisible, energetic bonds that connect people, things, and moments in time. It is the power that brings two separate elements together to create something new.

SYNOPSIS. “The Heian Era flourishes under the grace of ink brushes and ruminations. The strokes of these flickers dragged pathways across each region of Heian-Kyō—and within these regions— of silk robes, red and blazing; burning eyes seen through the cracks of blinds—would hold lush, dainty histories of its own.”

CW/TAGS. 18+. au/no curses. tba.

PARTS. kldgo ♡⸝⸝ fushiguro toji. geto suguru. gojo satoru. nanami kento.

antholoji ♡⸝⸝ higuruma hiromi. kong shiu. kusakabe atsuya. ryomen sukuna.

TAGLIST. @adettee @mimicosmos8

© 2026 kldgo x antholoji. all rights reserved. ✾⋆.˚ we do not give permission for our work to be translated, copy or edited in any way. do not repost our full works on any other platform. do not put our work in ai. reblogs are appreciated, but please do not steal. lace dividers by @/cursed-carmine! RESEARCH ACC: @kidokigo

[kldgo]

+ GOJO.SATORU “Semantics.”

DURATION, 1.3k words, CONTENT WARNINGS, Fluff, Angst, Established Relationship, Blind Reader

SUMMARY, “Because,” He went on, “I’m the strongest, that I find it difficult to let you go. Because I’m the strongest that you don’t make me weak. And, because I’m the strongest the opposite is always true.”

+ HIGURUMA.HIROMI, “Quick Study.”

DURATION, 1.1k words, CONTENT WARNINGS, Fluff, Smut, Premature Ejaculation.

SUMMARY, “Documents spilled over his desk, paper cups—around several—cluttered the corner of his working space. Higuruma, ensconced in his chair, tapped the butt of a blue pen against the table in thought and the other to pacify impulsive otherwise murderous urges.”

+ HIGURUMA.HIROMI ( ft. NANAMI.KENTO)

,“Someone’s Feeling A Little Green.”

DURATION, 853 words —CONTENT WARNINGS, Love Triangle, Bantering, Bickering, Tension.

SUMMARY, “The other man, that is the lawyer, had his thighs spread to a point where it was barely possible for you and Kento to sit properly, smushed to one side of the car.”

+ HIGURUMA.HIROMI, “For Better Or For Worse.”

DURATION, 8.8k words —CONTENT WARNINGS, Fluff, Angst, Marital Dispute, Established Relationship, Marriage, Insecurity

SUMMARY, “He’d walk with no destination in mind. Didn’t take the car because there was no car. He sold it. He went to the apartment first to keep the brief case—simply tossing it on the bed—and when you weren’t there he came back down. His feet carried him past closed pubs, glowing convenient stores, until he happened to pass a grocery store, the glass windows wide.”

+ HIGURUMA.HIROMI, “Strawberry Milk.”

DURATION, 8.6k words — CONTENT WARNINGS, Higuruma Hiromi/Reader, Higuruma Hiromi/You, Higuruma Hiromi,Fluff and Smut, Pining oblivious/obvious, Older Man/Younger Woman, Mutual Pining Sexual Tension, Doggy Style, Dry Humping, Table Sex, Penetrative Sex

SUMMARY, “The day you found him slumped on the steps before the sunset in a sorry state, was also the day your existence became concrete. Lathered all over the holes of his flimsy conviction. Hardening, holding him up, forcing him to look and watch the sun go down. And, you’re sitting here, beside him, smiling, with your eyes bright.”

+ HIGURUMA.HIROMI, “Mergers & Acquisitions.”

DURATION, 5.7k words — CONTENT WARNINGS, Smut, Older Husband/Younger Wife, Hiromi is 36, Reader is 27, Submissive Hiromi, Degradation, Corporate Lawyer Au, Cutting Deals, Reader Is Terrible At Jokes

SUMMARY, “Hiromi Higuruma is given the impractical responsibility of negotiating with a veteran broadcasting network for a mergers and acquisitions. You were the top in-house counsel of negotiations at that company and you have a peculiar way on how he might convince you.”

+ HIROMI.HIGURUMA (ft. NANAMI.KENTO)

“Three Way On The High, Way.”

DURATION, 8.1k words, CONTENT WARNINGS, Threesome, Penetrative Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Doggy Style, Older Man/Younger, Woman Reader is 23, Men are in their respective ages

SUMMARY, “Your little checkbox popped into your head, an imaginary receipt with cute little boxes drawn, and you examined all three terms. One, they’re anything but dumb. Two, old man virgin applies to Blondie for sure. Gutsy, tall, dark, and handsome looked like the entire population ran him down. Not a virgin. Three, doesn’t look guilty. No ring in sight. Nope. They’re definitely not married.”

+ COLLABORATION WRITING PROJECT