So I Just Got An 8-5 Office Job That I Start Tomorrow Aaaaaand That Means My Life Will Be Hectic Af For

Kudos to fanfiction writers for writing about all the trauma and emotional and mental turmoil that the original content creators dont acknowledge when putting characters through hell

I already commented on my main blog but once again, your comments and feedback brings me so much joy!! Yuki fic incoming ❤️

Post-canon, Akito-centric fic recs

I'm back with 2 more Akito-centric fic recs because over the weekend, I had an incredibly vivid dream about her and immediately had to hunt down some fanfic, lol.

These two one-shots are the kinds of stories that are so beautifully written, it almost hurts. The prose and imagery used in each is so evocative and moving, and I was in tears by the end of them both.

The first is the hope i want to share with you by ao3 user warsfeil (I tried looking them up on Tumblr and couldn't find a blog, but if you know them under a different username, please let me know, as I would obviously love to tag them for credit!).

It's a 13K story told through vignettes, and MY GOD. It's actually a bit difficult for me to convey how reading it made me feel, but I've included an excerpt below that I really loved. For context, this takes place after Akito has a dream in which she and Shigure are getting married, and Ren is present at the wedding, taunting her:

Akito can’t speak, for a moment: she grips onto Shigure so tightly he hisses, her nails leaving crescent moons of red welling in their wake, and she buries her face into his chest and squeezes her eyes shut like it will help subside the fear that permeates her entire body.

“I’m here,” Shigure says, which is the exact right thing to say but also the wrong thing entirely because it makes that fear bubble back up into Akito’s chest until she can’t help but cry. “What were you dreaming about?”

Akito can’t manage the words, at first, so she just stays there. It’s familiar, to cry against Shigure, to let him wrap his arms around her and stroke her hair until she sleeps -- but she doesn’t think she’ll be going back to sleep, this time.

“I don’t want a wedding,” Akito says, and she feels Shigure pause. “I don’t mean I don’t want to get married. I don’t -- I don’t want a wedding. I don’t want anything to go wrong”

“Then we won’t have one,” Shigure says, “but even if we did, I wouldn’t let her touch it.”

Akito knows, she knows the kind of things Shigure thinks about -- he talks about revenge with his fingers trailing around his sake cup, he reads records and papers and forms plans and ideas that Akito can barely follow, much less follow through on -- but something in her heart still aches at the idea of it all. Relief that he’d fight for her; sadness that he has to; guilt that she could ever think of allowing anyone to get revenge on her behalf when she’s left so many broken on her own.

----

The second is worthy, by @renywrites (Renegade_Reaper on ao3). I think I'd read anything you write, Reny!!

Just like their story 'I can barely breathe', worthy is so, so gorgeously written, and is a 6K fic exploring Akito's mental state after the curse break. Have you ever read prose so beautiful it's like a wallop to the face? Lol, that's how it felt reading this, in a good way!!

I've included an excerpt from it as well, and for context, this scene takes place in a Catholic church, during a trip that Shigure and Akito take to San Francisco. Note that Akito uses they/them pronouns:

Shigure leads them into the large building, into a huge room with stained glass windows depicting men and women and children. Akito was sure they meant something, but to them, it was just pretty imagery.

They’re left by the altar as Shigure goes to track someone down, likely to interrogate for his book. They watch him go, left to take in their surroundings and hope that nobody tried to speak to them. Akito looks up at the wall above the altar, and wonders if this religion had any truth to it, too.

They had been a god, once. They had been revered, feared, respected, obeyed. They had been worshipped, too. But being a god had been such a horribly lonely existence. Everything had been so dark, so crushing, so significant. The slightest act of defiance had sent them into a rage, and in their attempts to draw everyone closer, they had only succeeded in driving them away.

Akito lowers their dark gaze to the altar, and wonders if sacrifice had ever been necessary in this religion. They wonder if it would matter if they had sacrificed themself, bled out on a stone cold slab for their own glory.

----

The Fruits Basket fandom is full of such talent, I'm so grateful for incredible writers sharing their work!! If anyone wants to reblog with their own Akito fic recs (post-canon or otherwise, including ones they've written themselves), it would make my day!!

Presented without comment.

EXCEPT to say- commonplacecaz.

writing is hard

I can't believe how much you guys like my shidge oneshot 💜 thank you!! I appreciate every single one of you. It means a lot to see that people appreciate my writing.

yall haven’t written the next chapter of ur fanfic and it really shows

Hello Tumblr…

So as of recent, we’re losing my grandmother. It’s been very hard for everyone, as she was an incredible woman. Kind, gracious, would give you everything she owned and then some if you needed it.

Her most prized possession was her house. Built in 1913. A living antique, full of her family history. If someone in the family doesn’t take the house, it will all be gone, sold off. So I’ve been tasked with taking the home.

Yeah! Free home! Except like…I’m from California. The home is in Arkansas. I don’t know Arkansas. I don’t have connections or know anyone. I’m starting from scratch and I don’t have a lot to my name right now. I am only 22 after all, and this has been thrust upon very suddenly. (For the record, I consented. My grandma means a lot to me.)

So while I hate asking this, here’s the situation, and here I be, asking for help. It leaves a bitter fucking taste in my mouth so if anyone wants any art or something as compensation, I’d be more than happy to oblige.

PayPal: notyaboku@gmail.com

Ko-Fi: Ko-fi.com/happyradio

“reblogs aren’t important you’re just whiny”

yeah because when you see this

tell me you don’t get annoyed.

tumblr’s algorithm only cares about posts that are reblogged, it doesn’t count likes. posts don’t get promoted or circulated when they only have likes (the way instagram functions), only reblogs matter for increasing reach on tumblr as a platform.

support content creators.

The Rhythm of Love

Keith always known that Lance had the most angelic singing voice known to man. But they were dating, so he supposed he was a little biased. He could sit and listen to his boyfriend sing for hours - while they were cleaning, in the car, on the quad at their college campus. Even if he was goofing off, Lance still blew Keith away with his range and the sweetness of his singing voice.

He liked it best when Lance sang in Spanish. It was so natural, the way it flowed, and he looked so happy when a song in his mother tongue. More often than not, Keith found himself whisked into some form of dancing with his significant other. Lance would take him by the hand, twirl him around.

The most common thing Lance liked to do was make silly faces at him while he sang. Sometimes he would sneak kisses, but he always made Keith laugh. The Korean had noticed that this was a habit his boyfriend had formed whenever it was a particularly rough day.

Those singing and dancing sessions usually ended with Keith pressed against Lance as the Cuban sang into his hair along with the music, swaying from side to side. They didn’t have these very often, but Keith appreciated them nonetheless. It was comfortable.

The point is, singing had becoming integrated into the Korean’s life. He’d learned to love it, love the way it changed the dynamic of their relationships and the routine of everyday life. A few years ago, Keith was left to his thoughts.

Lance had learned just how dangerous that had been when Shiro, Keith’s older brother, had called him by mistake instead of Matt and Pidge. Keith would never forget the look on Lance’s face when he woke up in a hospital, arms bandaged and pain thrumming through his temples.

After that, Keith’s boyfriend had taken it upon himself to immerse him into music. He couldn’t complain; he found he preferred the music tastes of his boyfriend over anyone else’s. Granted, they lived together, so it was about ninety percent of what he listened to anyways.

Sometimes, when all of their friends gathered together, Lance would bring his guitar out and they would drink beer and sing old camp songs. Other times, Keith would beg and plead and nag to get Lance to serenade him with old Cuban love songs.

At the moment, Keith and Lance were spending a day off together. Music was playing, of course, and they were baking a cake for Pidge’s birthday. Which is code for Keith was baking a cake - it had surprised him that he was the one who knew how to cook more than his boyfriend - and Lance was being in the way and trying to eat all the batter.

“Lance.” Keith snaps, swatting his hand away. “If you keep eating it, I’ll have to start all over.”

“Ouch,” Lance whines. He pouts for a moment, then reaches over to steal more. “I’m fine with that.”

“Well, I’m not!” Keith snatches the bowl away, just as the oven beeps to indicate that it was hot enough to start baking things. “Look, now you can’t anyways. I’m putting it in the oven.”

He pours the batter into three separate cake pans, sliding them into the oven and setting the timer.

“Now what will I eat?” Lance groans.

Keith rolls his eyes, sliding the oven mitts off and making a shooing motion. “Other food. I think we have chicken nuggets out in the freezer in the garage.”

The Cuban perks up, sliding off the counter and leaning over to kiss Keith’s flour-dusted cheek. “Hell yeah, chicken nuggets! I’ll be back.”

The Korean shakes his head fondly, looking over at him. He turns back to the task at hand, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counters. He had never been a clean baker. Once, he’d baked a cake at Hunk’s house, and the poor guy nearly had an aneurysm. Now he stuck to his own kitchen. At least here, he could get flour all over the place and it was a team effort for cleaning, so long as he let his boyfriend ‘help’.

The music was playing softly beside him. Keith turns it up once he recognizes the song, humming to himself. He had never thought his voice was remarkable. Lance had been the one in choirs, with a couple voice lessons, with the garage band he’d been so devoted to in high school. Keith just liked to sing to himself on occasion.

He could harmonize, though. Pidge had told him once that his melodies were eerily good. He didn’t like to sing the low undertones that you usually found underneath the lead singers’ voice - he liked to find a pitch or a range that was new and fun to try.

The song that was playing already had a lead vocalist whose voice was strange. Not in a bad way, like some of the music Lance had tried to get him to listen to. This guy could do things with his voice that made Keith shiver and have to catch his breath. Lance liked to try and imitate him, just for the reaction he got out of his boyfriend.

Singing to this one artist was fun. Keith found new ways to sing along every time, by changing his pitch or adding slides or simply making his voice do incredibly odd things that made his ears happy. This was one of the times he experimented.

Personally, Keith was impressed just because he could hold the pitch. He sings to himself as he wipes the kitchen clean and stacks dishes in the sink. It isn’t until he realizes that Lance had been gone a long time looking for chicken nuggets that he stops what he’s doing, singing and all, and looks up.

Lance was leaning on the doorway, his arms crossed and a small smile on his lips. His blue gaze was incredibly soft, resting on Keith like he was the loveliest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Keith blinks at him, then blushes and looks back down, busying himself with the dishes. “Oh, hey. Did you find the… stuff?”

“No,” He hums, pushing off the wall. Lance walks over, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and kissing his shoulder. “How did you learn to sing like that?”

“Oh, I just,” he leans back into Lance, shrugging. “I dunno. I just… sing, I guess.”

“It’s beautiful.” The Cuban murmurs, nosing at his neck. “You’re beautiful.”

Keith smiles to himself, tipping his head back to look at him. “So are you.”

“Oh, hush.” Lance laughs, brushing his hands along his side. “Let me pamper you, babe. Let me praise your beautiful singing.”

“Lance...” He groans, a blush creeping up his neck.

His boyfriend laughs, peppering kissing up his neck and wrapping his arms snugly around his waist. “Okay, okay. Just promise me you won’t stop, okay? I wanna sing with you.”

Keith thinks about this for a moment, biting his lip. “Yeah,” he consents. “I guess so. Just don’t make me sing in front of people.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

They stay like that for a little while, Keith leaning back against Lance. Music filters softly through the kitchen. The timer counts down. Life slows down for a just a few moments.

“Did you find what you wanted?” Keith hums after a moment.

“No…” Lance grunts, dropping his chin onto Keith’s shoulder.

“Did you move things around, or did you just open the freezer?”

Lance stays quiet at that, huffing and tightening his grip. Keith rolls his eyes, pulling away and taking his hand. “Let’s go. I bet you it’s in the back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He whines, following Keith out to the garage. The two bicker good-naturedly, caught up in each other’s company and love. Back in the kitchen, the music that had brought them together plays on.

the urge to write never leaves but the motivation to do so is a lover lost at war