cast-r: ✎ I think it's about time we dispelled the myth. We /are/ the same person.


case in point.

cherrylippedsnowblack: [ ✎ and ✔✔✔✔✔✔✔✔ because I'm a lil shit and I don't follow rules ]

A habitual rule-breaker. But coming from you, that means a lot. Thanks.

Anonymous: ✎☁ - You write well and I will always wish to see more. Keep at it, even if the topic or story seems mundane.

I appreciate the feedback.

As for the stories, part of me digs the mundane-ness but it’s also a weakness. Sometimes I feel like the flow just lingers on. My dislike of over-exhaustive plotting (and the word plot itself) doesn’t help. But thank you.

lxyalmarquis: ✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎✎ give us all more of your glorious writing y/y

Guess I’ll have to get to those pre-P3 Shinjiro drabbles sooner rather than later. Mucho gracyass.

arutemishi-a: ✎ ( You've already begun the headcanon challenge of sorts so I won't repeat that. <3 )

Right back at you, darling.

windsaffinity: ▼▲ ✎ You're perfect


I try not to inundate the blog with too many images, as I want the writing/interactions to be the sole focus. But drabbles? That I can do.

Blog content improvement. I would like to see more…


What would you like to see more of on my blog? Send me the symbol!
You’d like to see more..

   -   …-more canon images

▲   -   …fanart

♒   -   …roleplay posts

✎   -   …drabbles/fanfictions

✉   -    …asks&answers

☁   -   …headcanons

☼   -   …OOC-ness 

♡   -   …about the mun

✔   -   You’re doing fine: I like your blog the way it is

ojou-sama )

Losing your French? Like, words sprouting legs and taking a red-eye flight? Where would they go? A cozy enclave on the outskirts of Paris? But her French isn’t like Frenchy French. Only French. The kind of French people speak to come off as bookish. Rudimentary, fragmented French. Dinner party French. Trying to get a promotion French. The list went on inside his head.

She should’ve been thankful. After all, he was the one that found her missing language, dangling in the doldrums of their conversation. Of course, knowing exactly who he was dealing with, any forms of gratitude would consist of little more than a nod and a terse thank you.

In other words, typical Mitsuru.

“I suppose that makes me your subject, then.” He took a sip of his chamomile tea, made from scratch. Hot sugar and honey seared down his throat, coagulating his stomach with a warm, fuzzy feeling like an abandoned sweater redolent with mothball residue. Perhaps his stomach wasn’t the only thing running amok.

It began in the not-so-distant past. The juniors and Akihiko were out, haven taken Koromaru for a walk at the shrine. Why all of them decided to go together was beyond him. He didn’t particularly care. They did steal him from spending time with the dog, but he got over it in quick succession as Mitsuru also remained at the dorm. She was leafing through a booklet of test questions—she and Akihiko were graduating soon. Two out of three wasn’t so bad, Shinjiro mused, staying mum as to avoid interrupting her studies. She insisted that it wasn’t problematic, that the Kirijo Group owned the school, that she could offer an ear to an old friend.

Silence then lapsed over their brief exchange, realizing the mistake of giving the other too much rope. Wordlessly they vowed never to do it again.


Any interactions since were limited to sparse words, maintaining their defenses, as they were castles of the most fortified degree. Their walls contained water, warm water surrounded by a membrane in the form of bricks. They needed that kind of safeguard from the world, set in its ways to harm them, to buckle their souls in eternal submission. But on that evening, similar to the one not-so-distantly before, their walls came tumbling down.

And that frustrated him.

“…what else were you going to say?” In French he meant to add, mind like a television on the fritz. He was completely pathetic.

day ten.

is there one event or happening your character would like to erase from their past? why?

October 4, 2007. The still image of a mangled body will haunt him for several lifetimes to come. And the son that loved what used to be his mother, his cries the aria which puncture away at his soul. Reversing the flow of time on that moment, he couldn’t; he wouldn’t. Misery builds character and his angst, oceans deep, defines him more than words ever could.

A far less traumatizing moment (though still an episode itself) was his first execution. He forgets why Mitsuru felt the need to encase Akihiko and himself in blocks of ice, but she did and years later, he can still feel the bitter cold shivering down his spine. Akihiko spent the next month having nightmares: a gargantuan Mitsuru impaling him with icicles the size of Antarctica. Naturally, he slept with Shinjiro until the dreams subsided.

“She wouldn’t stop coming” indeed.