#aisha's fics

[cosmickoshi]

His insides constrict, and he wants — he wants so, so terribly, and there’s not enough room in this singular human body to contain it all. The hum crescendos like the buzzing of the cicadas outside, unfurling, threatening to peel back his skin and spill through the crevices.

Isn’t that what love is, though — a feeling in equal parts beautiful and terrible? An unbearable ache that writhes against the confines of the body, longing to tear open the ribs and spill out and hold and shelter and consume, to satiate and be satiated? Or maybe Hikaru has that all wrong, too. Maybe his love is not the right kind, and maybe he'll never love the right way in the same way he'll never be the real Hikaru — he's an intrusion, trying to emulate something that can never be his.

Maybe his love is something else entirely — something just as monstrous and empty and hungry as he is.

— an excerpt from my untitled hikaru character study that examines his monstrosity as an allegory for internalised aphobia

[cosmickoshi]

You are an amalgamation of two dozen years of shame and grief and performing and pretending that now spill through your ribcage as every ugly, catastrophic part of yourself comes unravelled. You're drowning in them. (Or: What Hirugami Sachirō's life looks like nearing his graduation from vet school.)

I write one (1) fluffy fic and go right back to angst. Why am I like this. n e ways consider this a prequel of sorts to my last hiruhoshi fic (since it contextualises the events of said previous fic), but it can be read as a standalone. Enjoy!

[cosmickoshi]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

The very things Kōrai had once taken for granted — making breakfast in the final traces of dawn, folding freshly-dried laundry on the living room floor, doing the final load of dishes after dinner — have now become the times they most frequently carve out opportunities to spend time together. He no longer sees them as dreadful tasks he has to psych himself up for, but as chances to bask in the presence of his best friend since boyhood and make up for lost time. Apologies and promises and reassurances all condensed into such small, mundane gestures. Especially since the puppy said best friend had brought home last night has shoved an entirely new set of responsibilities into the narrow crevices of their already-jam-packed itineraries. (Or: Kōrai and Sachirō are in the middle of adjusting to living together after Sachirō graduates from vet school. However, matters are made even more complicated when Sachirō brings an abandoned puppy home one night.)

I’m back with yet another hiruhoshi fic because it’s Hirugami’s birthday and I wanted to have something done for the occasion! (And I also need to keep spreading my qpr hiruhoshi agenda.) I’m not used to writing fluff and I fear it shows, but oh well.

[cosmickoshi]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“Let it out,” Kōrai murmurs. His hand trails the length of Sachirō’s bare back, closing over his mangled wings, tucking them in with more benevolence than Sachirō has ever dared to show himself. “Let it all out.” And he does, for he is not immoveable, and he’s exhausted from pretending to be. (Or: Kōrai takes care of Sachirō during a relapse.)

It was your girl’s birthday yesterday so she finally posted the fic she’s been saying she’ll post “soon” for months now! Sorry for even writing this to begin with - I had a bad day when I started it and multiple bad days while I wrote it. Please check the tags before reading! It gets very heavy very quickly.

[cosmickoshi]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

To hell with the composure and the indifference, the performances Sachirō had spent a lifetime contained beneath. He lets his body lay loose and limber in the grasp of the man he owes his life to, pushing and pulling to mould himself around a curvature he can map out blindfolded because all that matters is that he’s here now. (Or: Kōrai's return home from the 2021 Tokyo Olympics, and all the ways he and Sachirō aren't the textbook definition of normal.)

Happy hiruhoshi day, everyone!!! Here’s a fic that took literal years off my lifespan to celebrate :)

[cosmickoshi]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

“Please,” it begs, its mouth pressed to the hollow above his collarbone, warm lips and swirling mass caressing the flushed skin. It grips the fabric of his shirt in its desperation, buries its face further into him. “Just give me one more chance. Let me try again. I can do it, I know I can. Please… I don’t want to kill you, Sachirō.” (Or: Kōrai goes missing for a week and something else comes back in his place.)

I finally posted my hiruhoshi tshd AU!!!!! I don’t think I’ve ever written an AU before, and horror (and, more specifically, body horror) isn’t a genre I frequently dabble in, but I had a vision and wanted to see it through nonetheless :)

[cosmickoshi]

“It’s okay, Bokuto-san,” he’d reassured him time and time again, hiding beneath the covers lest he be caught on the phone so late into the night. Curled up on his side, talking to the star he’d selfishly let himself follow. “We’ll make it work.” The words had been hollow; ash on his tongue from a flame he’d left ignited for far too long. He’s managed to withstand the burn thus far — and yet, as he watches the water from the tap seep between his fingers, he knows, deep down, that today might be the day he finds himself choking on the smoke. (Or: Fukurōdani's third years are graduating, and Akaashi learns he isn't as good at goodbyes as he once considered himself to be.)

This fic has been literal months in the making and was supposed to have been posted two days ago (... sorry about that), but it's finally here! Leave it to my favourite owl boys to get me back into writing after an approximately-two-year-long writing hiatus. This is my first hq fic and I'm admittedly quite nervous, but oh well.