shrimb
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“Well now, I have to say I didn’t expect this when I smelled a dying snake.”
In one of the larger gaps above his face, the view of the surface overhead is completely obscured by a narrowed, blood red eye. As Tobirama fixes his gaze on it with all the focus he can muster, it curves into an unnerving crescent as if the person to whom it belongs is smiling down at him. A cold shiver ripples along his spine.
“This seems like it’s quite the predicament, hm? Can’t imagine how cut up you must be if the water around here smells this good.” The voice is a deep, low, husky thing, its tone teasing for all that the words are practically a threat. At that moment, there is no doubt in Tobirama’s mind that the mer speaking to him is something dangerous, something predatory. His throat clicks around a thick swallow, and suddenly drowning doesn't seem all that bad.
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There’s a person crouched in the trees above him.
Shaggy, short white hair drifts in lazy waves against porcelain pale skin, and the red marks that slash across his sharp cheekbones are punctuated by the impossibility of soft, fuzzy white and gray furred ears that adorn the sides of his face. His pupils- framed by white lashes that match his hair- are the same shade as the marks, as Madara’s still active sharingan that he's staring down without hesitation.
He's gorgeous, and Madara is absolutely, undoubtedly in love.
And he is also dripping lake water like a bedraggled house cat while pathetically gaping at the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.
Damn.
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Humans were never meant to hold the soul of a God within themself and live to tell the tale, and Varka was perhaps foolish to think he had escaped unscathed. The itch that begins to crawl beneath his skin soon after he passes through the gates of Mondstadt reminds him of this and he soon finds himself in the midst of a change he is less than prepared for. With Boreas of barely any help at all, Varka resigns himself to whatever his new fate may bring. At least the turn of the winds have seen fit to deliver something much more pleasant to his side, too.
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In his sleep, Robert appears- for once in his life- like he’s not stressed to hell and back. The frown lines on his forehead are smooth and lax, and even the exhausted bruises that paint the skin below his eyes a sickly purple seem diminished in the soothing glow of Chad’s bedside lamp. He’s still scruffy and unfortunately clothed in that hideous uniform, but all that does is add to the reality of Robert being here, safe and comfortable in Chad’s bed.
Without even realizing he’s doing it, Chad reaches out and smooths his hand over the messy puff of Robert’s hair. The other man hums quietly and turns towards the warmth of his palm, and Chad flinches back like he’s somehow, impossibly, been burned. Robert’s face creases into that oh-so familiar frown as if Chad’s touch was wanted in the first place, and a spike of longing spears through him.
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Keep Your Blood In by shrimb
Fandoms: ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
25 Oct 2025
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"He is lying on crushed metal and drying blood, somewhere on a rooftop in Cairo- too broken to even speak to a ghost. In that moment, he thinks that if he doesn’t survive tonight that it may have been kinder to let him drift away before- when death had its hooks in him and he was none the wiser. Now, Noriaki is just a boy; a seventeen year old, facing death with only the spirit of someone long gone at his side."
Noriaki was supposed to die at the hand's of Dio's The World. It should have been inevitable, a given. Miracles don't generally favor people who are living the types of stories that he is. But the dead don't consider themselves miracles, and some of them have a vested interest in not letting certain parts of history repeat themselves. And if that means facing some of the things from their own long buried past- no matter how painful- so be it.