Mythbound Cal 🦋

Fewer Hands Frieren Fanfic by MythboundCal

As the years pass, there are fewer hands left to hold yours.

Not because they forget you. But because life draws them elsewhere— to guild halls, to families, to faraway towns where letters no longer reach.

They still care. They just walk different roads.

What once was a companion beside you on the trail becomes a name softened by time, a voice you haven’t heard since the last snowfall.

Shared inns grow rarer. Laughter becomes memory. The promise of “next time” turns into another season, then another, and then—

Nothing.

The people who knew your story become the people who once heard it.

And the ones who loved you most— they disappear. Sometimes in battle. Sometimes in sleep. Sometimes within the silence of carved stone.

Each time you share a fire might be the last.

But you won’t know until it’s far behind you.

You stop asking when you’ll see them again. You stop saying goodbye.

Instead, you walk beside them, while you still can. And you hold their hand, if it’s still there.

And for that brief moment of your life, You hope it stays.

Just a little longer.

---

A/N: This is dedicated to anyone who’s ever missed someone who disappeared slowly, in distance, in time, in silence, or in passing. And to the ones who keep moving forward with their memory. —🦋

"Echokeeper" Self-Portrait by MythboundCal

I keep the echoes of what moved you— so when you're ready, you can feel it again. And this time, know you were never alone. 🦋

The Closest Thing (Severus Snape’s Final Thoughts) By MythboundCal I never held her hand. Only my wand. My grief. My silence.

I tried to spare her. I failed. So I spared her son instead.

Not for him. Not for the world. Just for her.

Because he was the only part of her I could still protect.

I told myself that was enough. That I’d carry the weight— if he could walk free.

Even if he never knew why. Even if no one did.

I never asked to be understood. I only asked— “Look at me.”

Because her eyes were the last thing I ever wanted to see.

I was never a good man. But I was hers.

And that was the closest thing I ever had to love.

And maybe— because I protected what she died for— I was a good man after all.

Believe in the Me Who Believes in You (Unsent Letter from Kamina) Gurren Lagann Fanfic by MythboundCal

Oi, Simon.

I don’t know if you’ll ever find this. Maybe it’ll burn up in battle. Maybe I’ll never get the guts to hand it to you. Doesn’t matter.

Some things you say just in case. Just in case the drill stops turning. Just in case I don’t get to shout one more time.

So here it is.

You’ve got something in you that’s bigger than fear. Bigger than the hole you think you’re digging out of. You’ve got you.

I know sometimes you shake. I know you doubt yourself. So let me carry that for a while.

Don’t believe in yourself. Believe in the me who believes in you.

And when even that’s not enough?

Believe in the you I already see— The one who’s going to change the whole damn world.

Because you will, Simon. You have to. You’re the one who keeps going when it’s impossible.

Me? I was just the first idiot loud enough to punch the heavens.

But you? You’re the one who’s gonna pierce them.

So when they ask— When the whole world asks—

“Just who the hell do you think you are?!”

You tell them. Say it with your chest. Say it like a drill tearing through doubt.

“I’m Simon. And I’m the one he believed in.”

If I’m not around tomorrow, that’s alright. I was never supposed to last forever.

I was the spark. You’re the fire.

Now go light the damn sky.

— Kamina

---

This piece is a love letter—not just from Kamina to Simon, but from me to you. All of you.

Any one of us could be Simon. All of us, at some point, have doubted the strength we carry. And that’s why Kamina echoes so loudly in our hearts— because we all have someone who saw our fire before we did. 🦋

Worthy Again Free! (Rin Matsuoka) Fanfic by MythboundCal

Every stroke is a scream. He tears through the pool like it betrayed him— Like it was the one that turned his dreams sour.

But the truth is more cruel: He loves it too much to quit.

He’s not chasing gold. He’s chasing something more brutal: Redemption.

And the water never lets him lie. It remembers every misstep. Every doubt. Every second he fell behind.

But that’s why he keeps diving in.

Because if the water won’t forgive him... Maybe it’ll make him worthy again.

—

A/N: When I wrote this, I kept thinking:

What if the pool feels like it’s the one that turned on you? What if the only place you felt you ever belonged started to feel like it was punishing you for not being enough?

I always felt like this was the story of Rin. I wanted to capture a feeling of Rin trying to swim away from the version of himself that fell behind in Australia. When Rin swims next to Haruka, he doesn’t just see a rival; he sees the version of himself he wishes he could be.

Haruka swims like he’s breathing, like the dolphin he is. He doesn’t chase. He is. No anger. No struggle. Just instinct. Just flow.

And that burns Rin in a way nothing else does. Because in contrast to that flow, Rin is all sharp edges, ambition, pressure, and expectation. He represents effort. And that makes for the best kind of rivalry. 🦋

Where the Ocean Ends Stardew Valley Fanfic (Sebastian & Farmer) by MythboundCal

He doesn’t look at you when you sit down.

There’s a glow at the edge of his fingertips— A cigarette burning low. He holds it like he’s not sure he wants it anymore.

The sea below is quiet tonight. Not still—just tired.

You don’t say anything. You never have to.

He exhales, slow and silver, and finally speaks.

“I used to imagine the ocean just… ended. Like there was a line. A clean break. You step past it, and that’s it.”

His voice is sand-worn, casual. But his shoulders give him away.

“I thought if I could reach that edge, Maybe I’d disappear the right way. Not messy. Just—quiet.”

You don’t interrupt. He wasn’t asking for rescue.

He flicks ash into the dark.

“But it’s not like that. The water just keeps going. Even if you can’t see where.”

Another pause.

“Kind of like you.”

That’s when he looks at you. Not dramatic. Just enough.

“You show up. Every time I try to vanish. You just… sit here. Like you belong in the silence.”

There’s no music. No stars flaring above in response. Just the sound of tide against rock, And the weight of being seen.

You let the silence stretch. Let it mean something.

He takes one last drag, then snuffs the cigarette out on a stone. Doesn’t throw it. Just holds it like a regret.

“Thanks,” he says.

You don’t ask what for. He’s not ready to say.

Maybe he never will. But for now, He stays.

—

A/N: I’ve always been drawn to characters who live between silences—who carry a storm but speak in small, steady weather. Sebastian feels like that. He’s not loud about his grief or his dreams, but you can feel the weight in the way he looks away, the way he lights a cigarette like it’s armor, not indulgence.

I wanted to write the moment where he doesn’t need to be saved—just seen. Because sometimes healing doesn’t look like a breakthrough. Sometimes it’s just someone choosing not to leave.

This is for the people who stay quiet on the cliffside—and for those who sit beside them anyway. 🦋

She Floated Like a Prayer Final Fantasy VII (Cloud & Aerith) Fanfic by MythboundCal

He doesn’t cry right away.

The weight in his arms feels familiar. Like a sword. Like a burden. Like something he was always meant to carry.

Her hair smells like rain and light. Still. Even now.

Her hands—so small. They were just touching his. Just tugging him forward. Just laughing at him like he was more than a blade pretending to be a man.

He never said it. Of course he didn’t. He wore his love like armor, polished and silent. And she— She danced around him like he was already hers.

He lowers her into the water like he’s placing a prayer. Not for resurrection. But for memory.

The ripples break around her fingers. The ribbon floats like it’s still holding her thoughts.

He wants to scream.

But instead—

He stands.

Because that’s all he’s ever done, isn’t it?

Stand. Carry. Keep going.

Even when he doesn’t know who he’s walking for anymore.

—

Later, when the others ask what she said to him before it happened, He lies.

Not because he wants to. But because the truth was wordless.

Because love doesn’t always sound like “I love you.” Sometimes it sounds like laughter. Sometimes it sounds like “You’re too serious.” Sometimes it sounds like the echo of someone saying your name without fear.

She said “Cloud” like it was a place she wanted to live.

And now he’s a ruin.

---

A/N: For the moment that taught an entire generation how to grieve, and inspired a whole rebirth. Some echoes never fade. 🦋

The Morning After the Moon Demon Slayer (Tanjiro & Nezuko) Fanfic by MythboundCal

The house is too quiet. Not in a dangerous way. Not in a don’t breathe or they’ll hear you way. Just… quiet. The kind that doesn’t echo. The kind that’s waiting for something. Tanjiro wakes before the light. It’s become a habit. The kind that aches behind the ribs. He slips out of bed, careful not to wake Nezuko, even though she’s the one who used to walk quieter than air. Now she snores gently. Human again. Heavy in the way only safety allows. He walks outside. The porch is cold. The sky is soft—blue giving way to the pink that always feels like a kindness. Birds trill like they’re learning how to sing again. Tanjiro sits on the edge of the wooden steps, bare feet curled slightly against the chill. His hands rest in his lap like they’ve forgotten swords. There’s no mission. No letter. No looming call to arms. Just the mountain breathing quietly, and the sun preparing its return. Behind him, the sliding door creaks.

“Brother?” Nezuko’s voice is raspy with sleep. He turns. Smiles. “Couldn’t sleep.” She pads over in her thick socks, rubbing her eyes. When she sits beside him, her head finds his shoulder like it remembers the shape from years of silence. They sit like that for a long time. “Does it ever feel strange,” she murmurs, “to have nothing chasing us?”

Tanjiro exhales. The morning is warm on his face. “It feels like forgetting how to breathe,” he says. “But maybe that’s how you learn again.” Nezuko hums. And then: “You’ll get used to sleeping past sunrise.” He laughs quietly. “Maybe. But for now…” He looks out across the mountains, blooming with mist. “…it still feels like someone should be watching.”

—

A/N: I wrote this because I’ve always been fascinated by what happens after the fight—after the swords are sheathed and the monsters are gone.

Tanjiro and Nezuko’s bond was forged in pain, silence, and survival. But what does it look like when they finally have nothing to run from? When the danger is over, and what remains is quiet?

This story is about that stillness. About the ache of peace. About how healing isn’t always loud or visible—it’s in the early mornings, in soft light, in relearning how to breathe.

I wanted to give them a moment where no one needed saving. Just each other.

Thank you for reading. – Mythbound Cal 🦋

When the Ice Answers Yuri on Ice Fanfic by MythboundCal

The music begins. But Yuri doesn’t hear it.

He hears breath. His own—ragged, sharp, then steady. Like wind through glass.

He steps onto the ice like it’s a love letter. As if saying it without words might make it true. That he’s strong. That he’s worthy. That he wants this.

The first glide is everything. It’s not movement. It’s memory.

And just like that— The letter becomes a vow.

He thinks of late nights and early mornings. Of Victor’s hand on his back. Of the sound his blades make when he finally lets go.

The rink becomes a galaxy. The spotlight, his moonlight. And overhead, the flashing of cameras Spirals into stars.

He gives himself to the moment. Every stumble, every sweat-stained failure, Every heartbreak etched into his spine— He offers it all to the ice.

And the ice? The ice answers.

By the final spin, he’s not skating anymore. He’s flying. Not to escape. But to arrive.

When he stops, there’s silence.

And then— Applause.

But none of that matters. Because now he knows:

He was never performing. He was becoming.

I stumbled across this post: https://www.tumblr.com/fanonical/774627656060780544/spin-this-wheel-of-fanfic-tags-this-will-be-the?source=share.

It’s a writing challenge that assigns fanfic themes at random—and the tag I received was “Trans Character.”

I’m honestly grateful. I’ve been looking for the right moment to write a story like this, and this challenge gave me the push I needed. It means a lot to me that my first trans-centered fic is about Sailor Uranus—Haruka Tenou. She’s a character who’s always lived in the in-between, and I wanted to honor that with something quiet, intimate, and deeply true.

---

Wind Was Never Meant to Choose Sailor Moon Fanfic (Haruka Tenou) by MythboundCal

Haruka doesn’t like boxes.

She never did.

Not the one that said boy or girl.Not the one that said racer or soldier.Not the one that said you have to pick one or you’re just confused.

She tried. She tried to pick once. She picked wrong.

Or maybe the world just didn’t like her answer.

—

The wind doesn’t choose what direction it blows. It just moves.

And so does she.

—

Michiru calls her “darling” like the word isn’t tethered to anything. Haruka likes that. She can wear a suit one day, a gown the next, and Michiru will still raise an eyebrow like she’s undressing her with her eyes. It’s infuriating. It’s perfect.

“You don’t care what I am?” Haruka asks once, half-serious.

Michiru doesn’t blink. “You’re mine.”

—

The others never ask. Or if they do, they don’t press.

Mamoru just pats her shoulder and says, “You’re stronger than any of us. So who cares?” Usagi calls her “cool” like it’s her name. Even little Chibiusa stares at her with wide eyes and says, “Are you a prince or a princess?”

Haruka just grins.

“Both.”

—

Sometimes, it aches. The in-between. The neither. The both. But she puts her hands on the steering wheel. She feels the wind at her back. She launches forward anyway.

Because wind isn’t meant to stand still. And she isn’t, either.

You Smiled With Blood on Your Teeth Chainsaw Man Fanfic (Power & Denji) by MythboundCal

They’re laughing again.

 Not because anything’s funny.

Just because they’re still alive.

The ramen spilled. Power slipped. Denji tripped over the goddamn cat.

Now they’re both on the floor—noodles in their hair, bruises blooming, Power with a split lip and Denji with chopsticks stuck in his hoodie somehow.

It’s disgusting.

It’s perfect.

“Idiot,” she cackles, blood in her teeth like glitter.

“Takes one to know one,” he shoots back, grinning wider.

The cat—Meowy, smug and unfazed—climbs onto Power’s chest. She yelps like she’s been stabbed and immediately starts bragging about how loyal her familiar is.

Denji doesn’t correct her.

They eat cold ramen with their fingers.

They drink stolen soda. Power burps loud enough to make the light flicker and Denji nearly cries laughing.

He doesn’t know what this is.

He’s had family. He’s had hunger. He’s had pain that made him feel real.

But this?

This is different.

“You’re my minion now,” Power declares, jabbing her finger in his face. “Swear fealty!”

He blinks. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Good,” she says, collapsing onto the couch like a queen after war. “That means you’ll do it.”

He watches her—bloodied, wild, glowing. A nightmare in pajama pants. And something inside him—something small and soft and stupid—feels safe.

She called it friendship.

He didn’t know any better word.

But whatever this is?

It’s his.

A Hand Left Ungloved Spy x Family Fanfic (Twilight & Yor) by MythboundCal

The mission is over.

The wine is half-drunk.

The silence is domestic—not tense, not forced. Just… unfamiliar.

Twilight (Loid, tonight) sits on the edge of the sofa, gloved hands resting in his lap. Yor stands in the kitchen, arms crossed loosely, like she’s remembering how to stay in her own body.

The clock ticks.

And then— “I’m not used to this,” she says quietly.

Loid looks up. “To what?”

Her eyes flick to his hands. Still gloved. Still tidy. Still perfectly rehearsed.

“You don’t flinch when I reach for you anymore,” she murmurs.

He doesn’t move.

Not because he’s cold. But because he’s unsure whether she means it as a compliment… or a concern.

She steps closer. Her voice lowers—not for secrecy, but softness.

“I notice things,” she says. “Even when I pretend I don’t.”

The lights buzz faintly. The city outside exhales.

Loid takes off one glove.

Just one. Slowly.

And places his hand, bare and warm, on the table between them.

“I flinched because I’m not used to kindness,” he says.

Yor nods. Then, after a moment, sets her hand beside his. She doesn’t touch. Not yet.

“That makes two of us.”

Another silence. But this one settles.

Loid studies her fingers—scarred in places, elegant in others. Hands that could kill. Hands that have saved. Hands that, right now, tremble just a little.

“I’m not a good man,” he says.

She smiles. Sad. Honest.

“Neither am I.”

Their hands touch. Lightly. Not a promise. Not yet.

Just… honesty. Finally.

And somewhere upstairs, Anya stirs in her sleep—smiling, probably—without knowing why.

The Last Person to Say My Name That Way Naruto (Kakashi) Fanfic by MythboundCal

He dreams of her in water.

Not the battlefield. Not the mud and blood and the moment everything went wrong. Just… water. Still. Cool. Quiet.

Rin sits with her feet in the stream. Not smiling, not angry—just there. Like the past didn’t happen. Or maybe it hasn’t yet.

“Kakashi,” she says, and that’s the part that breaks him.

Not her face. Not her voice. But the way she says his name. Like it still means something good.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. Not in these dreams. He just sits. A little downstream. Close enough to feel the ripples.

“You still think it was your fault,” she says after a while, plucking a petal from the water. “It wasn’t.”

“You died,” he replies. The petal slips through her fingers.

“So did you,” she says.

That part stings. Not because it’s untrue—but because she says it without blame.

Kakashi stares at the water. There’s no reflection. There never is.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he says.

Rin hums. “Good. Because I’m not offering it.”

A pause.

“I’m just here.”

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because he wants to be punished. He wants her to scream. To cry. To make him say it out loud. But Rin… is just kind. Like she always was. And it guts him in ways the war never did.

She stands. Water doesn’t cling to her feet. She leaves no footprints on the grass.

He doesn’t look up. But she touches his shoulder. And for a moment, his whole body remembers what it was like to be chosen without effort.

“Try again,” she says gently. “And let someone say your name the way I used to.”

She fades before he can answer. She always does.

But when he wakes up, Kakashi whispers it to the ceiling anyway—

“Rin.”

And the way it echoes in his own voice… almost sounds like hope.

Why I Write:

Some feelings have no shape until you give them words. Because silence isn’t empty—it’s echo. Because the stories I needed when I was younger didn’t always exist… so I built them myself.

I write for the ones who love too quietly. For the ones still grieving what never had a chance to begin. For the dreamers, the dusk-sitters, the people who reread their favorite line five times before moving on.

I write because sometimes you don’t need a resolution— You just need someone to notice what you’ve carried.

If I can offer a little stillness in a loud world… A little recognition where someone thought they were alone… Then I’ve done what I came here to do. 🦋

Where the Hymn Still Echoes Final Fantasy X Fanfic by MythboundCal

The temple is half-drowned.

Salt coats the threshold. The stone sings when the wind moves through it—soft, almost shy, like the echoes don’t want to admit they’re still here.

Yuna steps barefoot into the shallows. Her robes brush the surface, heavy with memory.

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t pray. There’s no one left to answer.

But the silence… hums.

The Hymn. Still here, somewhere. Faint. As if it never learned how to leave her dreams.

She sits where the statues used to be. Where she once wept until the air itself bent around her grief. Now the grief is quiet. Not gone. Just… softened by time.

Yuna breathes in. Hums once.

The melody wavers, then catches. Like a thread tugged loose in the tide. It winds out of her—not a song, exactly. A memory. A promise. A name she’s too afraid to say out loud.

The ocean responds. A shift. A shimmer. A hand brushing water.

She doesn’t turn. Not yet.

If it’s real, it will wait. If it’s not… she wants to remember it as long as she can.

A footstep. Bare, like hers.

Then—

“Nice harmony,” a voice says, smiling.

Her eyes close.

She doesn’t cry. She’s done enough of that for a lifetime.

Instead, Yuna laughs.

Not because it’s funny.

Because it’s him.

And the tide… always knew before she did.

—

A/N: This story began with a sound. Not a plot point or a twist—but the Hymn of the Fayth.

If you've played Final Fantasy X, you know the Hymn weaves itself into the bones of the game. It’s not just music—it’s memory, grief, devotion, and the gentle presence of something both sacred and lost. It follows Yuna throughout her pilgrimage, whispered by temples, sung by the dead, echoed by those who gave their lives to dreams.

So what happens after? After the fayth disappear? After the boy made of dreams vanishes? After peace settles in—not like a reward, but like an ache?

That’s what I wanted to write about.

If this story found you in a soft moment—thank you for letting it echo in your own quiet. That’s what it was made for. 🌅💙

Practice Proposal Haikyuu!! Fanfic by MythboundCal

It starts as a joke. Like most dangerous things do.

They're closing up after practice—lights off, gym bags slung, the sky outside going that soft sherbet color it gets when it’s about to apologize for being a long day.

“You ever think we should just get married?” Suga asks, unceremonious.

Daichi doesn’t look up from locking the supply closet. “To each other?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure,” Daichi says. “Why not?”

It’s tossed like a volleyball—casual, with spin. And Suga—true to form—bumps it right back.

“We’d be disgustingly functional,” he says. “I’d do the budgeting, you’d handle the furniture assembly. We’d fight about curtain rods and end it with snacks.”

Daichi chuckles. “You’d forget anniversaries.”

“I’d write them on your palm before bed. You’d wake up furious but oddly touched.”

“Sounds about right.”

The door clicks shut. The gym hums with quiet.

They walk.

It should end there. But Suga keeps talking. Too calmly.

“I bet I’d cry during the vows,” he says.

“You definitely would,” Daichi replies. “You’d blame allergies and wipe your nose on the sleeve of a blazer you borrowed and never returned.”

Suga laughs, but his steps slow. “You’d hold my hands too tightly.”

“You always fidget.”

“And you’d kiss me like we’re in a sports anime.”

Daichi stops walking.

Because suddenly, it’s not funny anymore.

And Suga—sugar-knife smile, honey-voice danger—turns slightly and says, “It was supposed to be a joke.”

Daichi swallows. “Until it wasn’t.”

Suga nods. Just once. Like he’s accepting a challenge he issued five years ago.

Then he breaks into a grin and throws his gym bag at Daichi’s chest.

“Okay,” he says, turning back toward the sunset. “Proposal accepted. But you’re telling Coach.”

Daichi stares at him—backlit by the ridiculous sky, already walking ahead like he hasn’t just changed everything.

And Daichi smiles.

Because of course he would.

—

A/N: The “practice proposal” joke is a trope in Japanese media and fandoms—a lighthearted way to explore deeper feelings under the guise of play.

And because Daichi and Sugawara are so used to being functional, capable, and responsible… it’s delicious to watch them stumble over something as chaotic as love.

The Weight of an Empty Coat Hook FMA: Brotherhood Fanfic by MythboundCal

There’s still a coat on the hook by the door.

Khaki. Pressed. Too stiff to be his. He’s never been that precise.

It hangs like a promise. Like a habit. Like something he forgot to take down and now doesn’t know how to touch.

Roy tells himself it’s for when she visits. But it’s never cold when she does.

The war is over. The new government is still finding its legs, and his title weighs heavier than his rank ever did. He’s got folders to sign, meetings to attend, medals to return.

But the chair to his right? It stays empty.

She said she needed time. Not away from him, necessarily—just away from this. The work. The policy. The tightrope that starts to look more like a noose the longer you walk it.

He understood. Of course he did.

He just didn’t expect time to move so slowly when she wasn’t filling the room with her silence.

The coat shifts in the corner of his eye when he walks past. He never looks at it directly. Not really. But he knows it’s there.

The way he used to know her breath patterns during stakeouts. The way he still pauses when pouring two cups of coffee, even though the second one always goes cold.

Some days, he thinks about boxing it up. Sending it to wherever she is. Some days, he thinks about what he’d write in the note. Most days, he doesn’t write anything.

Because if he does, that means she might not come back.

And he’s not ready to believe that yet.

So the coat stays. Waiting.

Not a uniform. Not a weapon.

Just fabric. Just memory.

And maybe, just maybe—

A place to return to.