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That sharp chestnut gaze continued to follow you as you went about keeping the young master's records. You were in your natural element, among the dust of bookshelves and drawers filled with stacks and stacks of old letters—things collected recently and things survived, like Lucifer’s will as he bathed in the hellish river among his fallen angels. Sin emerged from his skull; you figured she, too, must be collecting dust stuck at the gates of hell, waiting for the sinners to come and meet her, finally. Surviving.
There was something divine about the archive, the act of preserving items, and storing them away for whenever they would begin a new life. New eyes would skim over the words and brush along the pages you carefully put away, suggesting new interpretations once your bones joined tree roots.
Sebastian could recognize that sort of divinity, or at least he could see why you described it as such. These dusty old papers would not survive as long as he, and he knew he was much older than the medieval texts his young master collected from a particularly eager seller. Dante, Gawain, Beowulf, Odysseus, and Gilgamesh—he was here before them, and he would be here after them, once the technologies advanced to a point where their texts could be accessed on command.
“The staring is beginning to distract me.”
Your voice was quiet, as if you were afraid to interrupt the flickering of the lamps. The flames danced in conversation, small, yet if he just tipped the little light onto that flammable wood, all these words would be ash. How could you deem this all to be so divine when all it would take to destroy them all was a spark?
Sebastian smiled. “I merely intend to keep you company.” He did not bother hiding his lie; you were a brighter human. Though to him, that was like being the more clever roach in the attic. His being was so incomprehensible to humanity that he came in a form they could more easily accept and admire, but he still looked down upon the beings of flesh he shaped himself around.
You rolled your eyes. “The boy lord asked that you ensure that I properly archive these papers. I do not know why he deems them as valuable, but I can assure you both that I am capable of completing my job alone.”
“Ah, I would never imply otherwise. You are a fine records keeper.” Mocking, of course. You were like a mouse in his very own maze. He dangled the cheese, and you lunged towards it before another panel of wood stopped you from completely making it through.
A frown appeared on your lips as you looked at him from over your shoulder. “You are much too devilish for your own good.”
He arched a black brow, a knowing grin pulling at his all-too-perfect mouth.
GUYS HOW DO I MAKE ANIMANGA WRITER FRIENDS?? LIKE IDK WHATS WRONG BUT THIS ACCOUNT MAKES ME KINDA UNCOMFY???? like on my rooksamoris account im so shameless and yet i feel kinda shameful here, which is so odd since i made this account to thirst over soshiro hoshina UGHHH is the aot fandom still alive??? i wanna write for that since the moral dilemmas are sooooo good but also im a history/literature student so bungo stray dogs is like right up my alley??? anyways this post is all over the place. soshiro hoshina ive got a home for you and its between my legs <3
zanka and enjin shippers are kinda wild HE'S A BABY??? AND ENJIN IS A GROWN ASS MAN???
i've always interpreted their bond to be more sibling-like, if that makes sense?? im the older sister and my little sibling's friends kinda treat me like im some cool badass whenever they see me, seeking out my advice or my approval. zanka reminds me a lot of those kids who insist upon showing off their hairstyles or their "cool moves" to me, to receive some sort of praise.
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gen is such a fucking drama queen like bitch where did that cigar come from??? and soshiro is such an instigator like this dude fully was enjoying seeing gen act like a cartoon. the way he's rolling around and throwing a tantrum sdkjhjkdshfg
what's on for tonight?? assigning the kaiju no. 8 characters with arabic terms of endearment, and how they react to hearing them.
featuring!! kafka hibino, reno ichikawa, kikoru shinomiya, soshiro hoshina, mina ashiro, gen narumi.
notices!! around 130 words each, no warnings save for showering (non-sexual) in mina's. reader is gender neutral.
KAFKA HIBINO.
Ya helo. Helo is just as sweet and playful as its meaning. You said it to him the first time, pinching his cheek after some clueless comment he made, and he was hooked on it after that. He tries to repeat it after you, clumsily, earning that laughter he loves to hear from you so often. He subtly tried to get you to say it again, being extra helpful and charming, but eventually he folded and asked you to call him it again. Helo, sweet, like those childhood snacks that you smuggled into class. Helo, like candied apples at the local carnival. Helo, like honey over a biscuit. He loves hearing it nearly as much as he loves you. Every time he hears it, he has to fight the urge to tug you into a never-ending, swaying embrace.
KIKORU SHINOMIYA.
Ya wardati. Wardati, my rose, a name fitting for a girl as beautiful as a princess, ready to wield her massive blade against any creature threatening humanity. There she was, drenched in kaiju remains, battle axe many times her size above her head as she steadied herself on the ground after bludgeoning her weapon into that hideous creature. She panted softly, while you just stared at her with pure admiration. She was beautiful like this, with rose-red blood in her golden hair. You mutter the affectionate term, and she looks over her shoulder at you with a scoff, reminding you to get your head in the game since these kaiju would not kill themselves… All the while her heart skipped many beats, and her face heated beneath the mask.
RENO ICHIKAWA.
Ya habib qalbi. Reno is loyal, collected, and compassionate. Sometimes he seemed like a knight in shining armor. He reminded you often of heroes, such as Antarah ibn Shaddad, Gawain the Green Knight, and Lanval, so you gave him a classically sweet term of endearment: habib qalbi, the love of my heart. You said it for the first time as he held out a water bottle while you panted on the training grounds, looking like an angel with the fluorescent lighting shrouding him. He blinked and then blushed. He had heard the word “habibi” before, and “habib qalbi” sounded similar. Quietly, he urges you to repeat it. “Ya habib qalbi, nawart al-dunya ma’a ibtisamtik,” and though he has not the slightest clue what it means, his heart races.
SOSHIRO HOSHINA.
Ya qamar. There is something almost majestic about Soshiro, seeing him zoom through the sky like a shooting star, the occasional slice of his blade filling the air; it was no wonder the term you used for him was the moon, that guiding light in the scary night. Your back is against the training mat, and he looms above your sweaty body, training blade pointed at your neck, not quite touching you. He grins, joking about how you got distracted. Soshiro noticed that you lost focus during the moment he flexed his back, and it was through that cheeky grin that he made sure you knew it as well. You were breathless, cheeks flushed, and chest rising and falling when you mumbled it out to him on accident. It made him raise a brow before he pulled back and helped you up, ready to tease you about how obsessed you were.
MINA ASHIRO.
Ya sanadi. What term could better suit Mina than sanadi, my backbone, my support? You mutter it to her quietly as she scrubs the dirt away from your body during a shared shower after a particularly tough confrontation with a kaiju. She does not ask you to translate, merely pausing her circular movements before humming in response. Then, she returns to making sure your body is cleaned of all that gore. You told her what it means, and for a moment she wanted to repeat it back to you but decided against it, worried she would butcher the language. In all truth, she believed you were her backbone, her pillar, the wall she could lean on when things became too much. Her work was taxing, but you made it all the more pleasant.
GEN NARUMI.
Ya ‘oyouni. Truly, Gen deserves to be called himar (donkey) or al-himar al-kaslan (the lazy donkey), but no, instead you call him 'oyouni, my eyes. The first time you called him it, he did not notice since his eyes were glued to his handheld console. He only looked up when you smacked his arm and began cursing in Arabic instead. Gen understood what those words meant with how often you wielded them against him. He actually hears it for the first time during a late-night gaming session, where you were lying beside him on your tummy, watching him play. He looked away the minute he heard the words sleepily leave your lips. When he asked you to translate, you merely grinned and reminded him to focus or he would lose his match.
i haven't been on either blog much these days yall </33 semester started and im in a research competition. ugh i wish i could just write fanfic and no writers block ughhhh
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