#maybe aside from yves...

[usurpator]

RE2R might be my new favourite survival horror

RE puzzles are great

[dicenete]

I repainted his face more times than probably necessary but something always caught my eye and still does, but it is done. is done. It's fine. xD IkePri Tagteam:

@scummy-writes @goustmilk @solacedeer @m-mmiy @mxrmaid-poet

@pawnkyyy @ludivineikewolf @violettduchess @floydsteeth @wistfulwanderingone

@sh0jun @lorei-writes

A little bit of rambling of him below the break, spoilers (Keith's route, and little bit of Nokto's route) and such :0 so you have been warned.

TL;DR: I enjoyed the route despite its questionable elements. MC is too forgiving at times, but other than that, romanctic route was cute. Licht, the third wheel, was funny but sad.

Okay first about Keith's visual design: I really love how his design is the most asymmetrical from the suitors. Like the jacket and the vest he has. The jacket is very interestingly layered, almost like you aren't sure which part is the main thing and what is the accent. The green or the gold? The host or the alter? : D Same with his vest. His duality is battling in his clothing too hahaha

Keith's route was interesting. I had heard lots of differing opinions about it and I had my own reservations.

One mainly about the portrayal of DID and how the route does it. First things first: I'm not an expert at all. I won't even humor the idea that I had any say in anything regarding it. But overall, it could have been worse? Of course it might be very extreme in the way Alter Keith is hostile towards Host Keith. And of course you shouldn't take this as the only way the alter systems work. But as I said: I'm not an expert.

I had heard that the dramatic route follows Alter Keith and romantic route host Keith. I picked the romantic one. I had my personal reasons for that tho. But aside from that, it was nice to be with Keith that who struggled with self-worth. It was nice to see him grow as a character and find that strength to stand up for himself. (The fact that the host Keith seems to think that he is inferior to Alter Keith and that people would prefer the alter over him. The amount of stress that will bring. )

Keith's uncle was your very generic villain/antagonist without any real depth. He was a spoiled noble and so on. But since this was more about Keith inner journey I thought it was fine that it was like that.

The drugging scene… Well. That's a… a topic. Hmm… Host Keith himself felt very guilty about it and was full of remorse. Not that it was his choice to do it. Alter Keith well… He might justify it because he was gathering information about a rumor that might endanger his home country and people if it were true. I kinda can see where he is coming from, but also...IT CERTAINLY WAS DESTROYING OF TRUST. Like that time when Nokto "accidently" gets MC drunk. but hey ho. Since there is limited time frame for the chapters, I do understand they can't really jam all the things there, but I wanted Belle be more angry with him with Alter Keith for longer.

Maybe that's what bugs me sometimes. That Belle/Emma/MC is sometimes too forgiving and too much of a doormat. It works in routes like Yves and Licht (from the routes I have played, Leon seems like the most respectable gentleman too), because they are not being insulting towards her. I would even think that she works with Clavis, tho I would love to see him with someone who shares his chaotic gremlin energy. But with characters like Chev, Silvio or Alter Keith the their "power" doesn't feel balanced. MC seems to be completely on their mercy even if they stand up to them in some way. (Gilbert is another can of nasty things.)(With Chev's route, well, that is also a rambling for another time. But I haven't finished his route yet. so I will keep my ramblings to myself for now.)

Is Keith's route more about acceptance then? Accepting the good and the bad of a person? Possibly. I would think that is a good way to put it. Both Keiths have good and bad sides. And it seems that they are working on them.

[minzis]

Ghost Snippets pt II

Art credits: Le Baiser Nacre (The Mother Of Pearl Kiss) by Yves Pires

ꨄ︎༻Summary: After having shot a man in self-defense, as a medic you struggle to come to terms with having taken a life. Ghost tries to offer some comfort.

ꨄ︎༻Tags: mentions of blood and death.

ꨄ︎༻Authors note: ngl forgot this was in my drafts lowkey thought I posted this months ago my fault y’all but if you’ve ever watched “The Punisher” series you’ll see exactly where I got my inspo from anyways love yall and happy new year😘

•┈୨♡୧┈•

Your hands pressed more guaze into the wound but the blood it just kept pouring out. You let out another choked sob, your hands leaving crimson red smudges on the man’s clothes along with your own. You knew you had fired your gun in self defense but you couldn’t help the riddling thoughts of having killed him. You knew you had no choice, it was you or him and yet you were still trying to save him.

You kept apologizing even though there had been no choice. The man’s eyes met with yours and you couldn’t really tell if he was actually looking at all. You shook your head insisting he would be okay. Your hand gun was long tossed aside, you couldn’t even bear to look at the thing.

There wasn’t going to be enough gauze to pack the wound, he wouldn’t even make the trek back to a reasonable enough place to be properly treated. He coughed harshly blood spilling out the corners of his mouth. You muttered another apology tearing at his clothes to get a better look at his wound. The bullet hit in his lower abdomen, it definitely hit something vital. You were trying to thinking straight but considering the amount of blood loss, and the lack of supplies. It was obviously he wasn’t going to make it.

Your movements slowed at the realization, it seemed he had already come to terms with that fact by the distant glow in his eyes. You were ready to cry when the crunch of sticks and leaves caught your attention. It was almost on instinct how quickly you rushed for your gun, by the time you flipped over the figure was already in front of you. You knew his familiar outline anywhere.

“Ghost?” You muttered in relief of no longer having to be the biggest person in the room. You dropped the gun as it thudded onto the ground. The sinking feelingly it left behind was deep. His eyes took in the scene in-front of him, he reached for you but you ignored him going back to the man.

“Come on help me,” you ushered him a spark of hope that maybe with his help you could in fact save the life you were slowly taking. Killing was different when it was your own hands, you were always on the field with them. Close enough to witness the death and destruction that war was but never close enough to use your own gun.

You were trained just enough to use a few guns, most of your brain was over filled with medical knowledge. To think you’d have to fire one of the bullets that had collected dust in their chamber. Ghost always insisted on training you more just to be safe, sometimes he’d bother you enough to where you’d allow just an hour of training before scurrying off back to saving parts of people the world tried so hard to break.

“Kid there’s nothing you can do, you know that,” he meant to speak more gently but nothing ever came out his mouth in a nice tone. You felt angry with him how easily he could brush off a life, this life. So you ignored him again reaching for more gauze, there was hardly any left you couldn’t remember when you used most of it. He tried to reach for you again but you pushed his hands away.

“But he someone’s baby, he somebody’s person,” you felt sick, your stomach churned uncomfortable. Your spilled medical supplies laid sprawled out by the same medic bag you always carried. The words ‘Medic’ engraved on the bag seemed to feel like an awfully cruel joke now.

“Hey hey hey look at me,” he spoke softly his hand tugged you upwards moving you away from the man. His hands rested on your arms shaking you slightly. You wanted to yell and scream tell him of how wrong it was.

“I killed him, fuck I killed him,” you rubbed your hands off on your pants over and over but the blood still sticked. It felt horrible, how could a person have that much blood?

“No you just shot him,” his gun suddenly fired off making you jump. “See I killed him,” you glanced down at the man’s now unmoving body. A bullet hole edged through the middle of his forehead. The blood poured around him, not a twitch was left in his fingers as he laid eerily still.

“I killed him, you hear me? Not you. His blood is on my hands not yours,” he stared at you burying the words in your head before you could think any different. His decision was simple and easy. He would always become the monster, be the worst person if it meant you never having to. Never having to deal with the aftermath of killing another person. He would forever keep his hands dripping in blood if it meant yours staying clean.

He knew better than anyone how much you didn’t deserve to live with that. Not now and not ever because you were taught to treat wounds, to restart a un-beating heart. He would rather it be him if it meant keeping the spark in your eyes that you would inevitably loose. Everyone does when they experience war first hand, but yours lasted longer than others. The team had almost become reliant on the breath of fresh air you would bring. He refused to lose that version of you so he’ll always decide without hesitation to be the evil so you can stay being the good.

[scorchieart]

Budget Cuts

Leon: Alright, how about this one?

Chevalier: ...No.

Leon: You didn't even read the whole thing.

Chevalier: I have read enough to know it requires major revision.

Leon: Okay, fine. I can maybe cut back a few orders for the kitchens in Spring, but you'll have to answer to Yves when he—

Chevalier: Not that. Line 39.

Leon: Ah, yeah. That... It's a minor condition.

Chevalier: It does not belong in the budget plan.

Leon: It's just for one day. It'll fly by.

Chevalier: I refuse to comply.

Leon: It's your civic duty as the Second Prince to comply with the wishes of the citizens of Rhodolite.

Chevalier: And since when have the citizens of Rhodolite wished for this?

Leon: The Boys™ and I conducted an end of year survey. One question was: If you could demand one act of community service from any prince next year, what would it be?

Chevalier: Was it multiple choice?

Leon: Free response, actually.

Chevalier: Did Clavis "assist" you in your data collection?

Leon: Listen, you should be honored. And that wasn't even the top pick. But Sariel made an executive decision to veto that one. Didn't represent domestic values, or something.

Chevalier: What was it?

Leon: Jin Topless Tuesdays.

Chevalier: And yet, this was deemed adherent to "domestic values"?

Leon: Give me some leeway here, Chevalier. I'm letting you keep your bit about constructing fifty new bee sanctuaries across the kingdom, even though they pose zero military advantage as far as I'm aware. Aside from maybe stinging invaders.

Chevalier: Having additional sources of food along the journey decreases the need to overpack at the start. Additionally, the honey invigorates soldiers without risk of sugar crash.

Leon: So that's how Luke convinced you.

Chevalier: You need to revise your proposal.

Leon: You need to learn to be a team player. There are only 10 days left till the budget plan is due.

Chevalier: Meanwhile, I am counting down the days until I am crowned king and can veto any ridiculous suggestion that exits your mouth.

--— 11 days later —--

Townsperson 1: Hey, is that... is that Prince Chevalier?

Townsperson 2: Mhmm.

Townsperson 1: Wearing a giant, adorable, fluffy tiger costume?

Townsperson 2: Mmhmmm.

Townsperson 1: And handing out chocolates and terrifying grimaces to the children?

Townsperson 2: I think those are meant to be smiles?

Townsperson 1: This is why I voted for Topless Tuesdays.

Jin + Clavis: Psshhh! Speak for yourselves. *high-fives*

[hells-okayest-dad]

This comment on my fic "this is why I don't leave the house" from @zombiecowboy65 is HAUNTING me so now I have to make a post about it I hope you're happy with yourself.

So. For context I was never Catholic, but I was raised deeply ingrained in Vanilla Christianity and for Reasons, I don't vibe with Christianity at large anymore.

I've been to like 3 Catholic services so I don't really know how Catholic kids, specifically, are taught about God and also I'm not sure if Jean would've ever attended any sort of Sunday School because of the way his parents were about him being around other kids. So I think he grew up going to Grown-Up services. Maybe he has a kids Bible that he looked at all he'd keep still and keep quiet.

We know so little about Jean as a child, but the things we know point to this kid who's trying his best for himself and for his little sister. We know he was driven to protect her, that he felt responsible for her well-being, that despite his own youth he felt guilty for not protecting her. So yeah, I think that baby Jean-Yves is getting drawn to this Shepherd figure, this guardian and protector and even Father figure of God.

I however DON'T get the vibe that Jean's parents were particularly religious, considering the murders and the child abuse, so I don't know how much of this was reinforced at home aside from a "honor thy father and mother" on occasion. I imagine their church attendance was more about trying to blend in with the community/keeping up appearances. But he and Elodie prayed anyway. They had hope that maybe maybe someone could see them, someone would help them.

I think of Jean in the Nest trying to hold onto that hope. Did he think about Joseph being sold by his brothers? Did he recite the prayers of his youth? But there are only so many times you can be caned by the person whose care you're supposed to be in before a shepherd with a rod and a staff stop being comforting. There's only so long you can go unanswered before it starts to feel like a choice—of you pray thy will be done every night and you wake up for another day of torture, when do you start to fear that that's God's will after all—or like there was never anything there to begin with.

I don't know how it came up with Renee. Maybe in a round of "tell me something" she mentions going to mass. Maybe Jean's rude about it because it makes him uncomfortable, or maybe he asks her how she can still believe after what happened to her.

"because I got out," she says. "Things got better and I see the miracles all around me." She sees the miracles in him, too. Jean isn't sure that's good enough for him, but it's good enough for her and he isn't going to take that away. But when he learns about Elodie he knows it isn't good enough.

"what about the people who didn't get out?" He texts her late one night. He doesn't know why he's asking, there's no answer that will be good enough for him. He wonders if Elodie tried to say her prayers in Algeria. "What belief is there for the people who loved them?" He wonders if Neil told her, if he warned her about this, but he doubts it. He isn't sure Neil's given it a second thought at all, and Jean likes that.

"I don't know," she responds with, which is endlessly frustrating. "It doesn't feel fair, does it?" And he knows what she means. How could he be the one that survived? She was just a child-but so was he. "They're in a better place now, I'm sure." That gives him pause. If heaven was real, Elodie would be there. Happy, safe, free, the way he'd always chosen to pretend she was so her memory hadn't been suffocating. Maybe that was better, even if it still felt like a dagger in his chest.

I think maybe he sits in some middle ground with religion now. Not entirely writing it off, and maybe holding on to some bits he likes. Heaven because Elodie must be there. Miracles because Renee Walker is one. Faith not necessarily in a particular god but in goodness in general, that there are things worth staying for.

[caffedrine]

Yves Kloss - Cleaning Time with Love - Event Translation

This is a poor attempt at a fan translation, so take everything with a grain of salt. For a better translation, buy this when it comes out on the ENG server.

One day, I was heading to the workshop with black tea and snacks I had prepared for Yves.

(Right now, he’s been holed up quite a lot. I wonder if he’s making new clothes.)

(I wonder what kind of clothes they are. Maybe I can catch a glimpse of them...)

Yves: Whaaaah!?

(What was that voice… Yves!?)

Hearing the scream and the sound of something crashing, I hurriedly opened the door.

There, I saw—

Emma: Whaaaah!?

A massive avalanche of clothes, accessories, and design sketches had collapsed, and Yves' arm was visible from underneath.

Yves: Uu~~….

Emma: Yves, hang in there! I’m coming to help...!

As I dug through the rubble and pulled his arm, Yves emerged with his hair in disarray.

Emma: Are you okay?

Yves: Emma... thank you—

Yves: Watch out!

Emma: Huh?

Emma & Yves: Whaaaaah!

Caught in a second avalanche, I found myself swept up along with it.

Emma: Mmm...

Yves: Emma, are you okay?

When I opened my eyes upon hearing my name, I found Yves lying on top of me protectively.

Yves: That was close. If it wasn't for me, that whole heap would have hit you right in the face.

Yves cleared off the things on top of me and helped me sit up.

Emma: Yves, thank you… hehe.

Yves: What’s wrong?

Emma: Oh, it’s just that I tried to help you, but I got caught up in it too.

Emma: When I thought about it, it felt kind of funny… umm…

Emma: W-Why the sudden kiss?

The unexpected kiss made my heart race.

Yves: Why? Because you were smiling shyly while being so close, of course I would kiss you!

Yves: So this is your fault for making me want to kiss you with that expression.

Emma: W-Well, that’s true...?

(I feel like it’s a bit hard to accept, but I’m always happy to receive a kiss from Yves, so I guess it’s fine.)

After slightly touching my heated cheeks, I turned to look around the workshop again.

Aside from the collapsed heap, there were also piles of clothes and design sketches sorted by type.

(There’s so much… but it feels like there’s way more than last time I came.)

Yves: This is a serious situation.

Emma: Could it be that you’ve been holed up in the workshop lately to clean up?

Yves nodded with an uncomfortable expression.

Yves: But I can’t decide what to throw away, so I haven’t progressed at all.

As if to back up his words, the box for disposing items in the corner of the room was still empty.

Yves: All of this is what I designed and created thinking of you.

Yves: But I got carried away with my imagination, and now I have dozens of dresses and one-piece garments for a single purpose.

Yves: To be honest, I can’t keep up with the opportunities to wear them. I still have more clothes to create in my mind…

(I’m really grateful for Yves’s feelings.)

(But if this keeps increasing, he might get buried under the pile. There’s also a risk the floor could collapse...)

(What should I do… Ah!)

Emma: How about I try on all the clothes here before deciding what to throw away?

Emma: By wearing them, we can absorb the various feelings they hold, and I think that might make the cleaning process go smoother.

Emma: I also feel sad having to say goodbye to the clothes Yves made without getting to wear them, so I’d be happier this way.

Yves: Emma…

Yves: So it’s a fitting session before disposal. Sounds good, right?

Yves: Once we decide, I’ll prepare everything, so just wait a moment.

Emma: Oh, I’ll help too!

Yves: Then I’ll count on you.

And thus, our private fitting session began.

--- However, an hour had passed, and the disposal box remained empty.

Yves: This one-piece dress is so nostalgic! I designed it thinking about going to the beach with you.

Yves: Look! The hem flares out, creating a mermaid-like design, right?

Yves: I thought the design with a waistline would make your style look even prettier.

Yves: You look cute in anything, but when you wear something that shows off your body line, it gives a different vibe.

Yves: With your cuteness and charm, there’s also a dignified beauty—it’s perfect for you, isn’t it?

Yves: Oh, speaking of which! This dress here—

(This is...)

(This might have had the opposite effect. The cleaning is progressing even slower.)

Yves: Let’s put this one on hold for now and try this one next.

Yves: It has tulle in the skirt to make it fluffy, so it’ll give off a sweeter atmosphere than the previous one.

After making the change behind the screen, I wrapped myself in the tulle skirt dress, and my mood instantly brightened.

(Wow, it’s so cute!)

When I stepped out in front of Yves, his ultramarine eyes widened, and he rushed over and took my hand.

Yves: Yes, as I thought, it really suits you! You look too cute!

Yves: I designed this one-piece imagining us going shopping together on a holiday.

Yves: The skirt sways as you walk, accentuating your adorableness, right?

Emma: Yes, yes! I feel like I could walk as much as I want, and maybe even dance!

Yves: Of course, it’s comfortable to wear, and you can move gracefully while dancing.

Yves: Okay, now try this one on.

Emma: Got it!

The dress he handed me was a black, sleek fabric one-piece.

As I hurried to change, I was enveloped by a feeling of straightened posture.

Emma: It’s chic and lovely…! It has a classical impression, yet it’s so easy to wear.

Yves: This is a dress I made for a concert viewing after hearing that an orchestra would come. It has an elegant design.

Yves: I added a touch of elegance with the stitching and decorations, and using silk keeps the sound of the fabric rubbing together to a minimum.

Emma: So it’s filled with attention to detail beyond just appearances!

Yves: Of course. I make these clothes just for you, so they should be perfect down to the last detail.

Yves: One more for now, so let’s move on to—

(I notice the tulle skirt dress is now also in the ‘on hold’ pile!)

The disposal box remained empty, and more and more clothes stacked up in the 'on hold' side.

It was about to form a small mountain.

(It’s okay. There are still plenty of clothes to try on, so we should eventually find something to throw away... probably.)

A moment of anxiety crossed my mind, but I hurriedly brushed it away.

At that moment, Yves picked up a certain dress and stopped moving.

Emma: Yves, what’s wrong?

Yves: Oh, it’s nothing...

Noticing Yves's somewhat embarrassed demeanor, I followed his gaze to see an unfamiliar embroidery at the hem of the dress.

Yves: I tried challenging myself with a new stitch.

Yves: I thought it would create a design that brings out your adorableness, harmonizing with the fabric pattern.

Yves: But I messed up, and it ended up being shelved.

Emma: I see…

(The clothes we’ve tried on so far are all completed products, but this one is unfinished, and according to Yves, it's a failure.)

(But the fact that it hasn’t been discarded means...)

Emma: I want to try this one on too.

Yves: Huh? But…

Emma: Because if it’s still kept, like the other clothes, it must be filled with your feelings, right?

Emma: If that’s the case, I want to wear it.

Yves: Emma… okay, show me how it looks.

Yves: I’ll help you change since it needs to be tied at the back.

Emma: Thank you.

(Still, changing in front of Yves feels a bit embarrassing.)

Right there, I removed the black one-piece, leaving just my underwear.

Not looking at Yves, I slipped into the moss pink dress adorned with embroidery.

It had a deep cut just above my bottom, designed to be laced up with strings.

Yves: Stay still while I tie it.

After tightening the waist, something soft grazed my nape.

Emma: Yves…?

Yves: I designed this dress to showcase your beautiful neckline as much as possible.

With soft kisses landing on my neck, I felt a warm heat spreading deep within me with the moist sensation of her lips and the faint sound of water.

Emma: Mmm…

Yves: As I thought, it really suits you. But…

Yves: I don’t want anyone else to see how charming you are, so maybe it’s a good thing it's shelved.

A teasing breath brushed against my skin, making me involuntarily squirm.

Emma: Geez… Yves, we’re not making any progress with the cleaning at all.

Yves: Well, it can’t be helped. It’s your fault for being cute in anything you wear.

Yves: Oh, by the way, I have an accessory that matches this dress. Just wait a moment.

When he returned with a necklace set with gems of the same color as the dress, Yves put it on me.

Yves: ...Yeah, the color and design fit perfectly.

Emma: I really love this dress. I can’t believe it’s a failure.

Yves: Hehe, thanks. It’s thanks to you that this dress’s beauty shines.

After trying on dozens of outfits, we created multiple mountains of clothes in the ‘on hold’ pile.

(...Not a single piece has gone into the disposal box yet.)

Yves looked at the empty disposal box and let out a big sigh.

Yves: Ugh, what should I do?

Emma: I understand how you feel, wanting to keep every piece that holds so much meaning.

Emma: But realistically, organizing without reducing the number of items seems really difficult…

Yves: Yeah. Even if we change the storage method, there’s a limit…

(Yves had been trying to tidy up for the past few days, so it didn’t seem like there would be an easy solution.)

Yves & Emma: …

Emma: For now… how about we take a little break?

While holding hands with Yves, we went for a refreshing walk.

Yves: I never thought organizing clothes would be this hard.

Yves: I wonder what everyone else does in times like this.

Emma: Hmm…

(Thinking back to a time when I had accumulated too many things…)

I recalled memories from long before I came to the castle—

(Ah, by the way…)

A few days later——

On a beautifully sunny holiday morning, we were at a distant charity bazaar venue.

Emma: Is this the right way to arrange the clothes?

Yves: Yeah, that’s perfect. Thank you.

Yves: I prepared this necklace to match the dress. I was thinking of displaying them together, what do you think?

Emma: It’s lovely! It subtly enhances the vibrant dress.

Yves: I’m glad. If you’re happy, then it’s right.

After smiling, Yves carefully arranged each piece of clothing.

(I never expected to participate in a charity bazaar on the vendor side with Yves...)

What crossed my mind was that day during our fitting session—

Emma: How about putting some things up for sale at the charity bazaar?

Yves: A bazaar?

Emma: Yeah. A long time ago, I set up a shop just once.

Emma: I wanted to create space for my growing collection of books, so I decided to sell clothes and miscellaneous items in exchange.

Emma: I thought someone else could use them, which would be happier than just throwing them away.

Yves: That's a good idea!

Yves: I’ve understood well over these past few hours that I can’t throw away clothes that hold sentimental value.

Yves: It’s much better for the clothes I made to find their way into the hands of someone who wants them rather than being discarded.

Yves: I’ve decided. I’ll put them up for sale at the bazaar.

Emma: I’ll help too!

After that, we hurriedly applied to set up a stall and selected the clothes to sell.

It was a busy time, but we somehow made it to the day of the event without any issues.

Emma: I hope lots of customers show up.

Yves: Yeah. I’d be happy if they liked them.

Emma: Those are clothes Yves made with a lot of care, right? They’re bound to be liked!

At that moment, a pair of women approached.

Woman 1: Wow, all the clothes are so cute!

Woman 2: Oh, hey, look! This tulle skirt one-piece is lovely, isn’t it?

(It seems to be well-received right away, and I’m thrilled as well.)

I wasn’t the only one feeling this way; Yves next to me also seemed to relax his gaze with a delighted expression.

Yves: Please take your time looking through. We also have accessories that match the clothes.

Woman 1: Wow, that’s true! They match perfectly with the dress.

Woman 2: These earrings have such intricate designs. I’ve never seen anything like them. They’re so cute…!

Emma: Thank you! The clothes and accessories here are all handmade by him.

Woman 1: Did you make all of these!?

Yves: Well, um… yes.

Woman 2: Wow! Are you a tailor?

Yves: No, I didn’t think I’d make this many either…

Yves: I really love the moments when I think about the person who will wear it, design the clothes, and ponder over the fabric…

Yves: Before I knew it, it became my hobby.

(Yves…)

My heart fluttered with sweetness, as if I were receiving love from Yves.

Woman 1: That sounds… wonderful.

Woman 2: Yeah. If the clothes hold such feelings, I feel like I should cherish them for a long time.

Yves: Thank you. I’d be happy if you could wear them with care.

With that, they each bought some clothes and accessories.

As I watched them walk away, Yves suddenly spoke up.

Yves: The clothes that I let go of will now become someone else’s memories.

Emma: If we had disposed of them, those memories would never have been born.

Yves: It’s strange to think about. And somehow, I feel a little good about what we’ve done.

Emma: You did a good thing. After all, they were all smiling the whole time.

Yves: You especially, right?

Yves: It’s been a great decision to participate in the bazaar and bring joy to someone else.

With a smile, Yves gently embraced my waist and leaned in to kiss my cheek.

Emma: Hehe, Yves, you’re already satisfied. The bazaar has only just begun, you know?

Yves: That’s true. Alright, I have to keep up this pace and make sure many people pick things up!

Emma: Yeah!

After that, customers kept coming in, and clothes and accessories were selling quickly—

Woman 3: No way, did you make all of this!? Amazing!

Yves: I’m glad you like them!

Woman 3: Um, actually, I have a important friend’s birthday coming up.

Woman 3: I want to give her a special dress. Would it be possible to place an order?

Yves: Ehm…

(I can tell she really likes Yves's clothes if she wants to place a custom order.)

Feeling proud, I looked to see how Yves would respond.

What I saw on his face was a smile full of joy from the bottom of his heart.

Yves: Thank you very much. I’m truly honored. But…

(Ah…)

Yvesglanced at me and then turned back to the woman.

Yves: The reason I make clothes is the same now as it always has been, and that won’t change.

Yves: So I can’t make clothes for anyone else. I’m sorry.

(Even if someone asks him, Yves only makes clothes for me...)

The emotions conveyed to me were more than enough to fill my heart with sweet and sour joy.

The woman, holding a beautifully wrapped dress, left with a smile.

As I stole a glance at Yves’s profile while saying goodbye, he murmured:

Yves: I see… so that’s how it is…

(? Yves looks really relieved. I wonder what’s going on.)

A few hours later— the clothes and accessories we had brought sold out completely.

With the remaining time, I explored the bazaar with Yves as a customer, and when we returned to the castle…

Emma: Yves… what does this mean?

At the bazaar, a considerable number of clothes and accessories were sold, and thanks to that, the workshop was tidied up.

It seemed like everything was resolved with just the storage space being sufficient, but...

In front of Yves were the items bought at the bazaar — a row of fabrics, threads, buttons, and more.

Yves: I thought all of these would look great on you, and they just kept piling up...

Yves:  Look at this wooden button! The wood grain looks like a striped pattern and it's so cute!

Yves: If I match it with this fabric, I think I can make a dress suitable for picnics or tea time.

(Ugh... when I see her sparkle hiis eyes and say that, I can’t say anything in return.)

On the contrary, I was happy that Yves enjoyed the bazaar.

Yves: Just so you know, the reason I bought so much is partly your fault, okay?

Emma: Me!?

Yves: You were right next to me the whole time, selling things, weren’t you? And the whole time you had that adorable smile...

Yves: Today alone, I’ve come up with designs for ten outfits in my head!

Emma:  That many!?

Yves: Of course! When I see you, my creativity just keeps flowing.

Yves once again focused his gaze on the purchased items. He looked very happy.

(It seems that the day when an avalanche occurs in the workshop again isn't far off.)

(But looking at Yves now, somehow I don’t mind... I really am overly lenient on him, aren’t I?)

At that moment, I suddenly recalled Yves’s demeanor at the bazaar.

Yves: Oh, right... That's what it was.

(Now that I think about it, what was that?)

Emma:  Hey, Yves.

Yves: Hmm?

Emma: You looked like you noticed something during the bazaar. What was it?

Yves: Noticed... Oh, that was it. Well, you see—

As Yves beckoned me over, I was suddenly hugged tightly.

Yves: I figured out why I keep making clothes to the point of overflowing in the atelier.

Emma: That answer is...?

Yves: You see, I wanted to somehow shape my feelings for you, and that’s why I’ve made so many clothes.

With a soft sound, his lips brushed against my ear.

That happened several times, and Yves's hand gently stroked my hair.

Yves: I can’t help but love you. Every day, my feelings for you just keep growing.

Yves: But no matter how many times I say it this way, those feelings aren’t visible, and the words disappear quickly, right?

Yves: That must have been frustrating for me.

Emma: Mmm...

Yves’ palm cradled my cheek, and their lips met.

Pecking kisses changed angles and repeated several times, gradually growing deeper.

Yves: No matter how much I think of you, just saying ‘I like you’ isn’t enough to express it.

Yves: Even when our skin touches, it still doesn’t feel sufficient, and I can’t suppress the desire to convey my feelings.

I was slowly pushed down onto the work table, my back touching the cool surface.

Yet the hand that touched me was warm, and the sapphire eyes looking at me were feverishly moist.

Yves: So, Emma. From now on, I’ll keep making clothes just for you, to convey my love.

Yves: I want you to receive all of my love.

(I didn’t realize that the overflowing clothes in the atelier represented Yves’s depth of affection...)

(What should I do? I’m so happy.)

Emma: Each piece of clothing contains Yves’s feelings, huh?

Emma:  Then I’m even more grateful that I got to try everything on before participating in the bazaar.

Yves: Yeah. I was also happy to have you wear it and to receive my feelings back.

As our noses touched in a kiss, smiles escaped from both of us almost instinctively.

Emma: ...But, I love you just as much as you love me, Yves.

Emma: I can’t make clothes, but... I hope my feelings are getting across properly?

Yves: Hehe, of course! There’s absolutely no way this Yves Cross could miss your feelings.

Yves: If you want to convey your love to me even more... then keep wearing the clothes I make.

Yves’ hand brushed against her blouse, and her heart rate quickened.

Yves: And show me that radiant smile, enough to make me drown in it while thinking, ‘I want to make clothes for you forever.’

Emma: Ah...

As mmy chest was gently fondled, a pressure began to assert itself, rubbing against my clothing, and my body trembled with a faint pleasure.

I tried to escape upwards in her frustration, but was immediately pulled back by Yves.

Our lower bodies pressed tightly together through their clothes, and I felt dizzy from the heat transmitted between them.

Yves: I’ll continue to love you in every way possible from now on. So make sure to fully receive it.

Emma: Yeah... of course.

Honey-colored hair fell over his forehead, and he gently closed his eyes.

We kissed and pulled away repeatedly, locking eyes at a distance where our eyelashes brushed against each other, making my body heat up even more.

Suddenly, my gaze landed on the items Yves had bought at the bazaar earlier.

Yves: I'll apologize in advance. Before long, this workshop will probably overflow with clothes to the point of an avalanche again.

Yves: When that happens, I’ll organize it again like today, but I won’t stop making clothes with you in mind.

Yves: I won’t reduce the frequency either. Otherwise, my heart will go wild with feelings for you, and it’ll become a big deal.

Yves: You know that my love is boundless and has no end, right?

Emma: Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. I’ll help you clean up no matter how many times, even dozens of times.

(So, I’ll keep receiving a lot of Yves’s love from now on.)

In the workshop filled to the brim with Yves' love—I was overwhelmed with bliss to the point of melting.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

May I know the negative aspects of being Yves' darling?

Unlike other characters I have ever seen, he does not hurt you, or outright kidnap you. He doesn't tell you not to meet with other people (unless it is someone who is really bad for you.)

He may control your food preference without your knowledge but it is also good for your health. I mean reducing fast food and soda is something that I need to do right now at this moment but I can't. So, having someone like Yves by my side to reduce the unhealthy food intake is something I would appreciate.

So, as far as I see, Yves has all good aspects. And I can't find a single negative thing that comes with him.

So, may I know what are the disadvantages (if there are any) of being Yves' darling?

(maybe his disinterest for kids can be called as a bad things? But I don't mind personally because I don't particularly love kids either.)

It's just personal preference, there are some who doesn't like him because he is too perfect. It do be unnerving that he doesn't talk about his past or himself too in depth, making him an enigma. To some, that lack of vulnerability doesn't allow you to fully connect with him.

Yes, it is a really bad idea to have children with him. He doesn't like them and would mistreat them, just like what he went through in his youth. If you're a pet lover, Yves wouldn't be for you either.

If you need constant sex in your relationship, look away from Yves. He would only have sex when a very specific set of requirements have been met. Yves is very direct if he has to, especially when it comes to his boundaries. No bullshit, he will firmly but lovingly, straight up tell you if he doesn't like what you're doing. If there is something that needs to be talked about, he will do it no matter how emotionally exhausting or uncomfortable. To some that may be a bit too intimidating or a bit too much like a parental/guardian figure instead that of a lover's... Well I mean, he is written to be an allegory of this mythically perfect parent.

Or maybe you wouldn't appreciate it if he actually deletes part of your personality that he deems too problematic, making feel like you're missing something.

Or maybe you don't like how he would nag quite a bit, finding it grating. But he wouldn't have used that tactic if he knows it wouldn't work.

Or maybe you didn't like how he presents himself as a super feminine man.

I'm definitely biased towards Yves, as he is my absolute favourite. A lot of my readers like Yves, but there is a small handful who's really really fucking brutal with their hate letter with Yves. I did receive a few anon asks like literally, hating his guts to death, almost like spilling into the domain of hating me as the author for creating him,, and I needed to delete and block them cause it was really fucked up, low-key threatening and made me super uncomfortable LAWLZ

But from what i see, the majority of Yves haters didn't love the fact that he abuses children and pets,,, aside from that, I don't know what other flaws he has,, i guess it really boils down to personal preferences.

[kaizoku-musume]

Mayday Hayday Gift Exchange

I had the absolute pleasure of participating in this years' Ikeseries gift exchange hosted by @olivermorningstar and @lorei-writes, and I got the wonderful @tulipsaisle for my giftee. She has a wonderful OC that was fun to write about and I hope I did her justice. Thank you all for the opportunity to join in on this amazing experience!

Fox Fashion

Shiloh scratched the tabby cat’s back, taking a break from running her stall at the day’s slow peak. It was so heartwarming for her attention to be rewarded with purring delight and affectionate head bumps.

Paying attention to the cat also had the added benefit of Shiloh being able to ignore Nokto Klein.

“Shi-loooooh,” Nokto sing-songed as though he’d not been yapping for the past five minutes about his latest conquest at some ball he just attended. Couldn’t he have picked a more interesting topic? It’s not like Nokto wasn’t a great storyteller: the way he could draw in a crowd as he utilized his honey-smooth voice and descriptive embellishments was near unparalleled, but he so often wasted his talents by telling tales no one wanted to hear, least of all Shiloh.

“Did you hear something, Minou?” Shiloh cooed at the cat, “All I heard was the wind. If only it would blow its hot air somewhere else, huh?”

“Come now, I’m sure there are better ways for me to put my mouth to use than just blowing air, hmmm?” Nokto purred. Shiloh clucked her tongue and turned her face away so he couldn’t see her red cheeks. She always struggled to think up a good comeback when he toed the line of vulgarity like that.

“Be honest, dear,” Nokto said, angling his body to try and catch a peek of her face, “is a cat you see every day really more interesting than a prince specifically stopping by to visit you?”

“Oh, of course not,” Shiloh waved Nokto off. She took a small toy mouse out of the pocket of her dress (it was worth  making friends with the best seamstress in town) and tossed it on the ground for Minou to play with. “If Licht were to stop by, I’d be happy to sit him down for some tea and snacks.”

“Just Licht?” Nokto prompted.

“Well, there’s also Leon, Jin, Yves,” Shiloh counted on her fingers as she listed everyone aside from Nokto, “I heard Prince Keith is a good conversationalist and knows a lot about flowers, I wouldn’t mind picking his brain about them, and there’s-”

“I think I get it,” Nokto said dryly, “so foxes rank pretty low under cats with you.” He reached out to boop Minou’s nose, causing the cat to scrunch her face adorably. “What am I going to have to do to make you change your mind?”

Shiloh raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “Do you really think you can compare with Minou’s gentle sweetness? Her precious curled feetsies?”

“I don’t think any human can compare to that,” Nokto admitted. That was suspicious. Usually he didn’t give up so-

“But I can show you a different kind of pleasure that’s just as delightful.”

-soon. “Unless you’re talking about the pleasure of silence, I’m not interested,” Shiloh said, dusting her dress as she stood up, ready to refocus on her shop.

Nokto laughed and said, “I’ll get you to admit my charms one day, Miss Hayes.”

* * *

“Ugh!” Shiloh groaned as she fanned herself with her hand, “Why can’t spring last longer?” Maybe she should upgrade from an outdoor stall to a shopfront-then she’d have more than just shade to protect herself.

At least she wasn’t suffering alone. Nokto had shown up minutes ago, having heard the same thing from Celine, the seamstress, about a surprise showing up around now. And Nokto wasn’t any better in the heat than she was. “I can easily say this isn’t my preferred method of working up a sweat,” he agreed, asking for the second time, “Are you sure you don’t want to close up and go to a cafe? I’d never imply you were anything other than a delight to look at, but you’re turning a shade of red that even I normally can’t get out of you.”

“No thanks,” Shiloh stood her ground, though there was a part of her that couldn’t deny being tempted, “but if you can’t handle it, I won’t think less of you for needing to escape to safety.”

“Such a kind offer. But I’m not callous enough to leave you out here all by yourself. Why, what if you were to feel faint under the-” Nokto sputtered a bit when Shiloh frantically shushed at him to be quiet, flapping her hands in his face. She’d just spotted Celine’s surprise trot around the corner.

“Oh. My. God!!!” she shrieked, taking in the sight of Minou in the most adorable little getup Shiloh had ever seen. Never in a million years would Shiloh ever imagine she’d see Minou in a dress, but here she was, watching the tabby proudly prance over to her, wearing a tiny, flowery-there were roses! And junipers!-green sundress, perfectly sized and aimed at making Shiloh lose her mind with cuteness overload.

“Well, that’s certainly something,” Nokto observed over Shiloh’s gushing, “That must have been a struggle, to wrangle a cat into that outfit.”

“It’s worth it,” Shiloh declared in awe, “she’s the most precious thing I’ve ever seen. And such a good idea! How many people would jump on the idea of outfits for their pets? Celine could start a whole line of clothing for pets-the fabric and labour costs would be much lower, too. Oh, she’s brilliant!” 

Nokto watched on as Shiloh began muttering about the process of the fashion industry and how it can accommodate Celine’s project. “This is what gets you going, is it?” he chuckled in amusement, “Regular clothes just aren’t enough for you anymore so now you need a tiny version to get excited over?”

Shiloh cut off her rambling, a hand on her hip as she addressed Nokto, “When a new line drops, I’ll be all too happy to talk your ear off about it. Don’t for one second think I’ve given up one of my big loves in life. But come on!” she gestured toward Minou, who was in the middle of grooming herself, “I challenge you to find anything cuter than a cat in a dress.”

“Sounds like a tough challenge,” Nokto said, a sudden gleam in his eyes, “what do I get if I win?”

That didn’t sound good at all. Shiloh eyed Nokto warily, wondering what the tricky fox was up to. But it wasn’t like she could take it back-withdrawing now would just make it look like she thought Nokto could actually do it. She would have to face this head on. “If you can succeed, I’ll take you up on one of your non-sexual! invitations.”

Nokto’s grin made her immediately regret her words. “Sounds like a deal. I hope you keep to your word.”

Ah, great. Shiloh blamed her poor decision on the awful heat.

* * *

Well, today was the day. Nokto had messaged Shiloh to let her know he was ready to show her something cuter, and Shiloh could only hope that he came up with something perverted; it would be a pain to deal with, but at least she lose and be dragged along on whatever plan he had up his sleeves. All Shiloh could do was count down the minutes until the time Nokto promised to arrive, her eyes boring holes at the street corner he should come down.

She’d wracked her brain, trying to think of every possibility available, but when Nokto finally rounded that corner, she realized nothing could prepare her. Shiloh slapped her palm over her mouth to stop herself from bursting out laughing at the sight before her.

“Well?” Nokto twirled for her, the hem of the dress he wore flaring out with the motion, “What do you think?”

“Wh-why?” Shiloh wheezed behind her hand, still struggling not to laugh despite the realization that the dress actually looked good on Nokto. He’d gotten it tailored to his measurements and picked a colour that went well with his skin tone, so he was clearly taking it seriously . . . kinda. Nokto hadn’t passed up the opportunity to be as, well, slutty as possible: the dress was a slinky little number, the neckline was cut as low as physically possible, and there was a slit along his right thigh nearly to the waist, revealing pantyhose of all things! Why was he like this?!

Nokto struck a couple of unnecessarily sexy poses, “Because it’s clear that the only thing cuter than a cat in a dress is a fox in a dress, wouldn’t you say?”

Shiloh had a lot she wanted to say, such as “but you’re not an actual fox” and “then why didn’t you wear a cute dress?”, but none of that mattered more than telling him, “There’s no way this counts.” Nokto just smirked, like he was prepared to debate this all day if he had to, and Shiloh knew, with a dawning sort of horror, that she’d sealed her fate the moment she set up that condition.

Maybe she could still get something out of it if she convinced Nokto to wear a dress to whatever party he wanted to drag her to-at least that would give her something positive to look forward to in the face of her crushing defeat.

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice [5/?]

Hello, remember this series? This chapter took me like six months to write. It was very embarrassing opening up the google doc again to see that the last edit was in April (back when I rewrote this chapter from scratch five times over before giving up entirely.) Anyways, I need to post it before I lose my nerve. 😭

Part 5 ft. fake dating, a cold, and an intervention

You can read part 1 [here]! (No context is needed aside from the previous 4 parts).

—

The drive to Good Day Diner is uneventful. Francesca recommended it to him awhile back, when they were both still in college, and he’s been trying to puzzle out their recipes ever since. Though, even with the ones where he’s come close, he rarely has the time to make them properly, in between work and everything else, so he’s been back here a few times since then.

Yves picks up two pint-sized containers worth of soup—chicken farro and miso with ginger—and strikes up a conversation with the cashier while he waits.

“This isn’t your usual order,” she says.

“Yeah,” Yves says. “It’s for a friend.”

“They’re a fan of miso?” Yves considers this. They’ve gone to more than a couple work outings together, and though Yves hasn’t paid particularly close attention to what everyone else has ordered, he thinks he remembers Vincent getting miso salmon on one occasion, a few weeks back. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I hope so.”

“Your friend didn’t tell you their order?”

“He doesn’t know I’m getting dinner for him. I just happened to be passing by, so I thought I might as well.” That part’s not entirely true—the restaurant is a twenty minute drive from the office, and it’s not really on the way home, either.

“So it’s a surprise,” the girl says, leaning back with a smile that looks a little too knowing for Yves’s liking. Whatever she thinks she’s figured out, he’s sure she has the wrong idea. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

“It’s not like that,” Yves says. “We aren’t that close. I’m not even sure if he’ll be happy to see me.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s done a lot for me, and I think—” I think I might’ve repaid him in the most ungrateful way possible, his mind supplies unhelpfully. “I think all I’ve done, in return, is cause him trouble.”

The girl finishes ladling soup into the containers and reaches over the counter for two caps. “Usually when people do a lot for you, that means they like you.” 

“Or it means they’re just really nice,” Yves says. “I think that’s closer to it.”

“So you’re getting him soup because you feel indebted to him?” She sets the soup containers carefully into a brown paper bag, slips in two plastic sleeves worth of utensils, then slides it towards him.

“Something like that,” Yves says, taking the bag from her. “Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes the next time I’m back. Have a good one!” 

“You too,” she says. “I hope your friend appreciates it.”

It’s not as nice as treating Vincent to dinner, but maybe what Vincent needs right now is convenience, not luxury. if he’s already made up his mind about working late, then at least he can work late with dinner on the side. Yves doesn’t even have to talk to him, really. He can just leave the soup on Vincent’s desk with a note, as unobtrusively as possible, and then take his leave again.

The drive back is shorter than expected. Yves turns on the radio, if only to not be left with just his thoughts, and listens to the newscaster talk about traffic, and the weather, and a local festival that’s going to be held on friday. When he puts the car into park and pulls the keys out from the ignition, the silence that follows is not reassuring in the least.

He pockets his keys and heads up the stairs, into the office building, and takes the elevator up to the fifth floor. The office is well-lit, even this late at night—it gives the impression of it being perpetually daytime, even though the clock on the wall says otherwise. 

He takes a post-it note off of Cara’s desk, scrawls on: Figured you wouldn’t have time to get dinner, so I got you soup, and signs it: -Y. He sticks the note onto the paper bag, regards it for a moment, and then—after reconsidering—staples it on, just in case. 

Then he heads off—past rows and rows of desks, around the corner and through the hallway, past the break room, to stop at the doorway which overlooks the room where Vincent sits.

Vincent is still at his desk, paging through documents with one hand, scrolling through what looks to be a long list of email correspondences with the other. From this distance, it’s hard to tell that anything is off, except— 

He looks exhausted. It’s subtle, but once Yves notices it, he can’t stop noticing it. It’s present in the way Vincent holds himself, as if the wiry frame of the office chair is the only thing keeping him properly upright. It’s in the way he blinks hard at his monitor, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if he’s been staring at it for hours.

There’s a mug of what looks to be black coffee on his desk, half empty but still steaming, which seems to imply that he plans on staying much later. Yves clears his throat.

“Still working hard?” he says. 

Vincent’s gaze snaps up to where Yves is standing. “Yves,” he says. “I thought you left.”

“I did.”

“Did you forget something here?” Vincent dog-ears the page he’s flipped to, then sets the stack of papers off to the side. “I can help you look.”

“No,” Yves says. “Well, not exactly. I know you said you didn’t want to be bothered. I promise I’ll be out of here soon.”

“Okay,” Vincent says, expectantly.

“Have you eaten?”

“I ate,” Vincent says. The relief Yves feels, at that statement, is unfortunately short-lasted. “Lunch. A few hours ago.”

“Lunch was eight hours ago.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow.”

“Will you catch up on sleep tomorrow too?”

“If I manage to finish this by then,” Vincent says, “Then yes.”

Yves stares at him. Does Vincent really, truly think there’s nothing wrong with any of this? With whatever sleepless, miserable late-night work session he’s already seemingly resigned himself to? “So what? You’re going to crash on the couch here?”

“I’ll head home around 4,” Vincent says.

4am. “And what? Lay down for fifteen minutes?” 

“Three hours, maybe,” Vincent says, turning aside to muffle a cough into his elbow. “I don’t live that far.”

He says all of this in earnest, as though none of it strikes him as even the slightest bit unreasonable. Yves can’t help it—he doesn’t think he could hide the incredulity in his voice even if he tried. “You have to be kidding me.”

Finally, Vincent’s face shifts to show—something. Something other than the utter blankness from before, something past the civil, perfectly drawn business facade. Yves doesn’t have to look for very long to register it as frustration. “What part of my answer was unclear?”

“None of it is unclear,” Yves says. “It’s just… exceptionally unreasonable.” 

“By some arbitrary metric of yours, sure.”

“Ask anyone else at the office and they’d agree with me.”

“What you—or anyone else at the office—think about my sleep schedule doesn’t concern me.”

“Let me help,” Yves says. “Please. We’ll get it done twice as fast if I help. Or if you really don’t trust me, hand it off to someone you do trust.”

“There’s no need. It’s my work to get done.”

“You should be at home right now, not working overtime on your first day back,” Yves says. He looks over all of it, now—over the desktop computer and the monitor, the charts and graphs laid out on screen, the piles of paperwork currently occupying Vincent’s desk. There’s a pang in his chest that he hadn’t quite accounted for.  “It can’t be pleasant doing all of this with a headache.”

Vincent blinks at him. “What headache?”

“The one you’ve had since before I left.” Vincent can attempt to deny it if he wants. But between Leon, Yves’s younger brother, and Victoire, his younger sister—who’ve caught their fair share of colds throughout the years, between the other members of the crew team he’d spent his 6ams with—who he’s seen frequently tired and occasionally under the weather—Yves thinks he’s well equipped to recognize a headache.

And Vincent looks as put-together as always, for the most part—he looks like he could’ve just walked out of a photoshoot for some classy magazine, his hair neat, his tie done neatly, his suit jacket criminally well-fitted to his shoulders. But Yves doesn’t miss the stiff set of his jaw and the tension strung through his posture, the way he tilts his head ever-so-slightly away from the bright overhead lights as if it hurts to look at them, the way he rubs his eyes or pinches the bridge of his nose, always subtle enough to go unnoticed. The way he holds himself, now, as if it’s taking all of his energy to appear so presentable.

“I don’t,” Vincent starts. “I haven’t—”

“I can tell, you know,” Yves says, a little dejectedly. “I’m pretty sure it’s my fault you have one, anyways.”

Vincent frowns. “Talking to you hasn’t given me a headache.”

“Not that,” Yves says. “But I’d imagine that spending all of New Year’s Eve next to me when I was under the weather might have.”

Yves watches the surprise flicker across Vincent’s face.

“So that’s what this is about?” Vincent says slowly, his eyebrows furrowing. He looks—confused, now, taken aback by Yves’s admission—and then a little sad. “You’re just here because you feel guilty.”

“I do feel guilty,” Yves agrees—that much is true. “But that’s not why I’m here.” he feels hopeless, suddenly, attempting to explain himself to someone who would probably have preferred it if he never bothered. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. Perhaps it was presumptuous to think that he could help in the first place. “I realize now that I can’t change your mind on any of this. But even if you plan to stay here all night, I— I just thought maybe I could—”

He’s interrupted with a harsh, “hhHh’NGk-t!” which jerks Vincent forward in his seat. Then a soft, wet sniffle, and then another— “Excuse m—Hhh’GKT!”, neatly pinched off into his hands. Vincent’s eyes flutter shut as he cups both his hands over his mouth, his eyebrows drawing together as his shoulders tremble with an inhale: “hih… hiIIh… hI’GKSCHHuuh-! Snf-! hH… HEh’DZSSChhUH!”

It’s immediately followed up with a few harsh, grating coughs which leave Vincent hunched over slightly, his glasses slightly askew, his hands still cupped to his face.

“Bless you,” Yves says, a little stunned. 

Vincent doesn’t say anything to that—he just reaches across the desk for a tissue and blows his nose quietly into it, before he discards the tissue into a small metal trash can under the desk. The tips of his ears look a little red.

His throat probably hurts too, Yves realizes, with a jolt. Yves really shouldn’t be prolonging this conversation if he can help it.

“I, uh, brought soup,” he says awkwardly. The paper bag crinkles slightly as he lifts it. “Just so you wouldn’t have to skip dinner entirely. That’s why I was gone earlier. I initially meant to just drop it off here, not—” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to argue with you.”

Vincent is quiet for a moment longer. Then he says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“What? Bring you dinner?

“You didn’t have to come back at all.”

“I know that,” Yves says. “But I wanted to.”

Vincent takes the bag from him, lifts the post-it note so he can read the few lines Yves has scrawled onto it. He turns aside to muffle a few coughs into his sleeve. “This must have been a lot of trouble.”

“Not more trouble than attending a New Year’s party on someone else’s behalf, that’s for sure,” Yves says. It’s a wonder that Vincent agreed to that arrangement in the first place—Yves doesn’t know how he’ll even begin to make it up to him. “If we’re keeping count, I still owe you.”

Vincent regards him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I never thought that you owed me.” 

“Okay,” Yves says. “Then I’m doing this on my own accord.”

“What do you possibly have to gain from that?”

Is it not obvious enough? Yves sighs. “Nothing. I care about you.”

Carefully, slowly, Vincent opens the bag, shifts his documents over to the other side of the desk, and takes out the two containers of soup. Yves regards them closely—hopefully they’ve still retained most of their warmth, even after the drive here.

“I’m not sure if they’ll be to your taste,” he says, a little sheepishly. “If you tell me what you like, next time I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

“I’m not picky,” Vincent says. He rummages through the paper bag for a spoon. “I think I’d like both of these. Have you eaten already?”

“Not yet,” Yves says. Perhaps he should’ve picked up dinner for himself at Good Day, too—he’d been so preoccupied with getting something for Vincent that he’d forgotten. Either way, it’s inconsequential. There’s probably enough in the fridge to last a day or two before his next grocery run.

“You also got dinner for yourself, right?”

Yves must hesitate for a moment too long. 

“That’s a little hypocritical,” Vincent says. “Do you want to pull up a chair?”

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten. You brought two soups.”

“They were both supposed to be for you.”

“You’re already here.” Vincent says. He shuts his laptop and leaves it off to the side, clears a space on the table, and sets the chicken farro soup in front of Yves. As if it really is that simple.

Yves stares down at it, a little perplexed. I thought you didn’t want to speak to me, he wants to say. 

“Unless you’d just prefer to take this home,” Vincent says, misinterpreting his silence as hesitation. 

“No,” Yves says. “You’re right. I’ll pull up a chair.”

—

Yves ends up dragging over a chair from one of the tables nearby—he makes a mental note to put it back before they leave. Vincent shuts his laptop and leaves it off to the side.

“Now we’re both staying past nine,” Vincent says.

“Yes,” Yves says. “I’ve always wanted to see what this place turns into at night.”

“Does it live up to your expectations?” “It’s a bit of a ghost town,” Yves says. “But not in a bad way. Feels like I could take all the snacks out of the break room and no one would bat an eye.”

“That’s the real reason why I’m here right now,” Vincent says, so deadpan that it barely sounds like a joke. Yves laughs. 

Something about this scene—about sitting with Vincent, here, having dinner on the only corner of his office desk that isn’t occupied by documents—feels a little nostalgic.

“This is just like when I first joined,” he says. “When you were helping me with all the onboarding stuff.” 

Back when he first joined, Vincent’s desk was a frequent destination. It’s not that Vincent is particularly friendly—it’s more just that Vincent is really, really good. He has expertise in things that he’s only done once in his life, and he can spot mistakes at a glance. He’s patient, too, even though Yves thinks that if the roles had been reversed, anyone teaching Vincent anything would never have to exercise any patience at all.

He can’t blame Angelie for looking to Vincent for help, either. It wasn’t that long ago that Yves was the one hovering at his desk, watching Vincent go through relevant work over his shoulder.

“The first couple weeks are - snf-! - always difficult,” Vincent says. “But you picked things up quickly.”

“I can’t imagine you as a beginner at anything,” Yves muses.

“Everyone’s - snf -! - a beginner at s-some— hH-! Just a second—” Vincent turns his head away sharply, burying his nose into his shoulder before— “hh’GKt-! Hh… Hhh’IIZSCchuhH! snf-! Hh-! hhih… HiH’GKT-!... Hh… hHih… hIH’IKTSHhh’uuh!”  

“Bless you,” Yves says reflexively. 

“Thank you,” Vincent says, with a small cough, which he muffles into his sleeve. He sighs. His voice has held up pretty well, but Yves can hear the muted edge of congestion in his voice, softening his consonants. “What was that you said to me? ‘You’ll get tired of that phrase really quickly?’”

“I won’t if you get over this cold soon,” Yves says. “Maybe that’s the real reason why I brought soup.”

“So that’s why you’re being suspiciously nice to me,” Vincent says, with a laugh. “I’m relieved to know you’ve had ulterior motives all along.”

Everything gets easier, after that. Vincent seems to enjoy the soup, for the way his eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, after he takes his first bite. (“So I was right to think you’d like miso,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs and says, “Am I really that predictable?”) When Yves offers again to help, after dinner, Vincent wordlessly hands him a small stack of business proposals. It’s not much, but just the fact that he’s agreeing to let Yves help is already a step in the right direction—give Yves an inch, and he’ll take a mile.

Yves looks through all of the documents he’s handed, scrawling notes in the margins, and then goes through another third of the stack of unreviewed paper on Vincent’s desk, while Vincent scrolls through pages of spreadsheets, processing data and creating new graphs. Vincent is almost frighteningly efficient, even when he’s not feeling his best—they lapse into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the occasional, near-inaudible hitch in Vincent’s breath, always followed by a wrenching sneeze, or two.

There’s the coughing, too—always muffled tightly into his sleeve, after Vincent turns to face away from him, which must be exhausting. Yves doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s not as though he can catch this cold again.

(“Bless you,” Yves says, after the tenth-or-so sneeze, trying not to let the concern creep into his voice. “I think the pharmacy near 59th is still open. If you want, I can stop by and grab you something for your symptoms.”

“No need,” Vincent says. “If it - hh-! - gets bad enough, I’ll — Hhh-!”

“Bless you again—”

“hihH’IZSCHhhuh! - snf-! - I’ll get something myself.”

Yves wonders what his metric for bad enough is. Then again, it’s probably better not to press.)

It’s nearly eleven before Yves decides to head home at last.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Vincent says, with a rueful sniffle. “You must be tired.” “Not really,” Yves says. “I usually sleep pretty late. If you’re still feeling this bad tomorrow, take the day off.”

“I’ll think about it,” Vincent says. 

Yves sighs. “At the very least, promise me you’ll head home sooner rather than later?”

 “No promises,” Vincent says—though at the disapproving look Yves gives him, he amends, “But I’ll try.”

He sounds like he means it, at the very least. Yves supposes he’ll take what he can get.

[ Part 6 ]

[wildflower-otome]

[Translation] Shuuen no Virche - Adolphe Short Story

Writer: Satomi Nakayama Source: Shuuen no Virche Error Salvation Visual Fan Book

NOTE: Spoilers for Adolphe's route below.

Chrysanthème ~Flowers of the dead • Unchanging Love~

This is the “tale of a certain day” before I met Yves once more.

December. Adolphe’s birthday was approaching, so I was spending the day enjoying myself— by thinking about what to give him this year.

(I can’t seem to think of any more ideas…..Maybe I’ll go to the lycoris flower field and try thinking about it there.)

I began to make my way towards where my other family lived, in order to relax and contemplate.

Today too, the lycoris flowers rustling in the sea breeze seemed to be gently welcoming me as their compatriot.

‘A bouquet…..might be nice. But Adolphe doesn’t have any flower vases at his place…..so it may just end up being a bother to him.’

As I continued to consult the lycoris as I stood there alone—.

‘…..…..-!’

A strong sea wind blew, causing my hair and clothes to flutter wildly.

At the same time, lycoris flower petals all at once scattered across the blue sky—.

‘How beautiful…..’

Just as my gaze was captured by the lovely sight—.

‘…..Adolphe?’

I saw the figure of my adopted brother by the seaside—in the direction the flower petals had blown in.

He couldn’t swim, so he rarely visited this place aside from when he took Roland out for exercise.

(Did he come here to look at the ocean?)

So that I wouldn’t disturb him, I slowly walked up to him from behind. However—.

‘…..…..…..…..’

In one hand he held a bouquet. It was made up of beautiful yellow-coloured flowers—and Adolphe was slowly throwing them into the sea.

‘…..…..Adolphe?’

‘!’

As I instinctively called out to him, he turned around, looking flustered.

‘…..Oh, it’s you. Don’t startle me like that.’

‘Sorry. When I saw you Adolphe, I just- …..What were you doing? You weren’t just—throwing the flowers away, were you?’

‘…..…..…..Ah, no, that’s not it.’

Adolphe fell silent for a little while—and then for a moment looked upward.

‘…..It’s sort of like a grave visit. There was someone I knew who…..had their ashes scattered in the sea.’

‘! They didn’t become a reliver…..?’

‘…..No. They lived out their life unconnected to things like that.’

I see, I said, giving a safe response.

‘For you to bring them flowers, they must have been someone you were pretty close to. …..If it is alright with you, might I pray with you?’

‘…..That’s fine. I brought too many flowers, so do whatever you want with them.’

Taking up the extra flower bouquet at his feet…..I gently began to send them into the sea.

The flowers that at first drifted around at our feet slowly—began to flow out towards the open ocean.

‘…..I hope they don’t end up going out to the Sea of Death.’

‘…..Yeah.’

After Adolphe and I exchanged words, I put both my hands together and prayed for a peaceful rest for the departed.

Watching me from the side as I did so, Adolphe spoke—

‘…..The ones I brought these flowers for-‘

He spoke quietly, in a voice that sounded somehow younger than it usually did.

‘-Were my benefactors, who were like a starting point for me. …..If they hadn’t protected me back when I was weak, I wouldn’t even be alive right now.’

Hearing what he said, I was a little surprised. Because up until now, Adolphe had always lived an independent life, only trusting a select number of people…..

I wondered at what point in time there had been so many people he was able to trust.

‘…..I see. Then we better make sure to thank them all properly.’

So that my gratitude would reach the people sleeping in the vast ocean, I prayed.

(Thank you for being there for Adolphe. Even though I don’t know your names or faces, I’m sure the reason I’m able to be with him as family like this right now is all thanks to you.)

And also.

(The Adolphe you protected is someone I love, very much. My dear brother, that I’m more proud of than anything in the whole wide world— I hope that you can be proud of him, too.)

After spending a long time praying, I looked up. —And as I did so-

‘…..…..You. Everything you’re thinking, you say out loud.’

‘Wha-…..!?’

With reddened cheeks, looking half fed up, half embarrassed, Adolphe was staring at me.

‘S-Sorry. Maybe because I felt so strongly about what I was praying…..’

‘…..You don’t need to apologise. …..Although I can’t say so for sure. I’m sure “those people” were happy about it.’

So speaking, Adolphe put a hand on my shoulder as we faced out towards the ocean.

‘—This is my precious little sister. She’s good at cooking, and loves cleaning. She possesses a strong spirit, that can cry and feel hurt for other people….. …..If not for your guidance, I would never even have met her. I’m grateful to you.’

—Speaking in a gentle voice, he proudly introduced me to those unknown “someone’s.”

***

23 years ago.

‘—Listen, ■■■■. We’re about to be sold. Considering who the buyers are, we’ll soon be killed.’

‘However, you alone must survive. Even if it means drinking down muddy water, no matter how miserable you feel—’

‘Until you meet that precious someone, a person you want to give flowers to.’

‘—You must live.’

‘We will be-‘

‘We shall be-‘

‘Watching over your journey from the heavens.’

[bluejay-writes]

Puppy Love Picnic

Fandom: Ikemen Prince Pairing: Silvio/Airin (OC) (You can also read this on AO3 if that's your jam!)

This is a gift for @airin-queenz for the My Ikemen Valentine Gift Exchange hosted by @ikemenlibrary. I hope you like the story!!

Silvio had been planning the perfect picnic. Everyone knows that the perfect picnic starts with a prime location. Then, add a super soft blanket, good food, and delicious drinks.  He’d be set.  There was no way that Airin could get a better date anywhere. He’d bet on it.

The location was the hard part, but Silvio had gotten Emma to show him this hill that overlooked the entire town, her “secret place”, and she promised him she would stay away from there on Saturday.  She’d loaned him her favorite picnic blanket and basket, giving him a wink and telling him not to mess up his date with her best friend.

He’d even bribed that idiotic mutt to get Yves to make the food. The cat’s cooking was far better than anything he could get in town, and while there was nothing he could do directly to convince him to put together picnic foods and desserts, he knew that Rio was entirely capable of making it happen.

Drinks were something he didn’t need help with. He’d brought some of his favorite bottles with him from home, and he just knew that the sparkling white he’d been saving was perfect for this occasion.

Once he had everything settled, all he had to do was find the girl in question. But for some reason, every time he got anywhere near close to Airin, she ran off, or someone else needed his attention.  It was to the point where he was starting to lose his mind over it.  He hadn’t gotten to see her in days, and he was starting to think maybe he’d read her wrong, and she wasn’t interested in him.

Finally, he ran into her in the hallway, or well, she ran into him. His mind was elsewhere, and suddenly the Mad Dog of D’Avalos was pinning him to the wall. All 4’10” of her, but still she had him contained. He flinched and drew back from her before he realized who it was, and then relaxed all at once with a laugh.

“Spend your Saturday with me, Airin.” He said, just as she said,

“Your Saturday Night is mine, Silvio.”

They blinked at each other, and then laughed like idiots.

“Okay, two more steps. One more… and stop.”

“Silvio, what are we doing out here?”

Silvio chuckled and stood behind Airin with one hand protectively on her lower back before taking the blindfold off, the whole of the city arrayed before her in the afternoon sunlight. The soft sound of her gasp as she took in the view made all of the planning and the stress worth it.  The picnic itself was all a bonus after that, but it was still a bonus he’d worked hard on.

“Can’t a man just do a nice thing once in awhile?” He half-growled in irritation.

“No. He cannot.” Airin laughed, turning to look at the picnic spread out in front of her. “What is all of this?”

“Shut it, dog. It’s a picnic.” He answered, looking at her like she was an idiot as he settled himself on the blanket with a muffled jangle. “Come, sit. I have a particularly nice sparkling Moscato to drink.”

Airin settled herself on the picnic blanket and smirked at him, trailing a hand down his arm, causing him to startle and flush slightly.

“Do you want the wine or not?”

Airin held a hand out, and Silvio poured two glasses before handing her one and setting the bottle aside.  Next should have been offering her food, but Silvio found himself distracted by the satisfied smile she wore after taking a sip of the wine. At least he knew he’d done one thing right for this picnic. For her.

After a potentially awkward amount of staring, Silvio shook his head to clear the cobwebs, and offered her some of the food that Yves had made.  There were various kinds of finger sandwiches, various fruits and nuts, a small spreadable cheese with lovely crackers to spread it on, and even small meat pies.  For dessert he’d sent some honey-pistachio layered triangles that looked like a sticky mess that he couldn’t wait to lick off of her fingers, if she’d let him.

Over the course of their picnic they fed each other bites of food, sometimes laughing over a touch or a fumbled bite, but neither spoke much, until Airin met his eyes.

“Did you plan this yourself, Silvio?”

“I did.” He said, smirking. “Does it meet your expectations?”

“And then some. How did you get Yves to cook for you?”

“I called in a few favors.” 

“For this?”  Airin looked dubious, but was wearing that flirty smirk that he adored. Not that he was likely to admit that to her. Ever. Silvio pouted as he realized the wine was gone. That meant they were running out of time for conversation, and were going to have to pack everything up and head back. He hadn’t even managed to steal a kiss yet. Where were his priorities? 

“For you.” He clarified gruffly. “Wanted you to have something nice, instead of all the hell you’ve been going through with Eyepatch lately.”

Airin smiled in a way that lit up her face, and Silvio felt himself relax just a bit. Ah, right. That smile. That was the priority.

When they returned to the castle, Gilbert immediately arrived, sent a look to Airin that Silvio could in no way decipher, and then turned to Silvio himself.

“I need your help with something, jangler.” Gilbert said, before turning and walking off, assuming that he would follow, the tap-tap-tap of his cane infuriatingly regular.

Silvio winced and turned to Airin. “I know you claimed my attention this evening…”

“Go. We both know what a bother he can be if he doesn’t get his way.” Airin muttered. “Just… come by my room when you’re free?”  She reached out and tapped his nose, smirking at the way he startled from her touch, and then ran her finger down his neck to his shirt collar before turning on her heel. “Get going, lover boy. You know he’ll keep you longer out of spite if you dawdle.”

She turned on her heel and walked away, leaving Silvio no other choice than to follow where Gilbert led.  Great, just great. Now eyepatch is making me go back on my word with Airin, too.

A few hours later, interminably filled with Gilbert going over numbers and expectations about business situations that normally would have been interesting challenges for Silvio but were instead something he simply needed to get through in order to keep a promise, Gilbert stops talking and stares at him.

“Why are you so useless today?”

“You’re forcing me to break my word to Airin, eyepatch.”

“Oh, did she have something exciting planned?”

“Perhaps. She asked for my time, and I promised it to her.”

“Did you not spend all afternoon in her company?” Gilbert smirked knowingly.

“Yes. That was a favor she did for me, and I would like to return it and not be in her debt.”

“Ah. So she has something she wants you to teach Emma again, I presume.”

Silvio paused.  That was usually, in fact, what Airin had in mind when she asked for his time.  Something that Emma needed, or to help Emma understand how royals worked.  The two were very good friends, which made sense for the Belle of the Kingdom of Roses and the Rose Lady of Benitoite.

“Princess…” he sighed, mostly under his breath.  He’d hoped for some time alone just the two of them after the lovely picnic they’d had, but if she needed his help with something for Emma, he was still going to happily provide it.  Well, with his usual veneer of snark, anyway. Wouldn’t want the girls getting too comfortable after all.

“Are you done torturing me?” Silvio grumbled, looking over at Gilbert with irritation. “I should go see what Airin and Emma want.”

Without waiting for a response, he stood, and stalked out, heading for Airin’s quarters at the fastest pace his dignity would allow.

Silvio knocked on Airin’s door, startling slightly when he heard her call out instead of opening the door. “Silvio, is that you?”

“It’s me.” He said. “Answer the damn door.”

“It’s unlocked. Come in.”

He was going to have some choice words with this woman about leaving her door unlocked at this time of night, Silvio reasoned.

Of course, reason went right out the door when he saw what was waiting for him on the other side.  Airin, bedecked in lingerie that showed almost more than it hid, lay posed in perfection on top of her blankets like some kind of feast.

“It’s time for the second half of your picnic.”

[vacantgodling]

re. about

you may call me: ren, renjamin, rimz, r.a.a, or vacant

refer to me with he/him pronouns (masculine nicknames like ‘king’ & terms of endearment like ‘dear’ or ‘sweetie’ are also good. just nothing overtly feminine like ‘queen’ is the gist)

i am 26 and my birthday is october 2

i am black, transmasc, neurodivergent, and queer (achillean or yknow gay if you want to be specific. i’m a fag ok.)

as a psa: i don’t care if minors follow me but i’m not your parent so proceed at your own risk.

aside from writing i like: playing video games (mostly overwatch, my special interest for a ridiculous amount of time. but also, legend of zelda & the sims), drawing (when it’s not annoying me), gothic literature & older books with flowery prose, the colors pink, black & gold, history, anime (older anime+demon slayer really), and i’m learning japanese (to the best of my ability. むずかしです)

re. wips

find a list of all my wips HERE! i work on them sporadically when inspiration strikes. find a wip sampler where i show off a piece of prose from the work to give you a sense of its vibe HERE!

if you’re interested in being on my taglists, fill this form out!

my 2023 year in review!

also, for ease of access: current tag games i’m doing (i want to keep track of it this year)

last line tag 2024

wbw 2024

ask games 2024 (general)

tcol character tournament!

re. connect

here are other places you can find me:

bluesky || cohost || pinterest

my partner yves and i make stories together, which is here -> @mothgrudge (i also rb a lot on @babylonsfalling)

i have a discord so if we’ve spoken feel free to ask for it (however i don’t really do servers. maybe one day, but for now no)

maybe this year i’ll work on an actual website & i’d love to make a youtube where i just talk about shit so… maybe, we’ll see...

re. navigation

talking -> musings and personal thoughts

about renjamin -> insight to me / who i am

ren analysis -> when i get meta about my wips

ren mix -> a treasure trove of my music taste

ren polls -> any polls i make

ren reads -> for my ramblings and analysis as i try to get back into books

friends tag -> talking with friends or boosting my friends work

others work -> boosting other writeblrs work

hall of fame -> praise / things that make me happy that i want to keep

ren writing -> all of my writing in one place

ren poems -> all of my poems in one place

short stories tag -> micro or flash fiction bits and bobs

ren art -> all my art

q eh you eh -> queue

sex mention -> tag for any sexual content.

worldbuilding -> all of my worldbuilding notes across all my wips

ren hot cakes -> specifically for my overly opinionated opinions

to read -> others works that i need to get around to reading

rens ocs but sims -> for when i make my ocs in the sims lol

ren plays -> me talking about video games but it’s usually overwatch

ren is jopping on main -> for the rare occasions where i talk about kpop

character stats -> when i decide to compare and contrast my ocs to see trends

ren rabbit hole -> i like history and mythology and the ancient world and i Will ramble about it

[risingsh0t]

😘 + logiee and 😘 + yvaine andd 😘 + satine ?? 🥀🥹 if you would like to of coursee !!!!!

thank you leg!! ❤️

logan: "logie" of course, but only olga is allowed to call him that 😂 otherwise, he's not really the type of guy to inspire nicknames. aside from olga, cyrus, and darcy most people will just use his last name, "campbell".

yvaine: any affectionate nickname from aurie is fine by her. most common is probably "yve" or "yvie". i imagine arthur would also call her one of those and she's accepting of it now! 😌 tbh anyone she doesn't trust doesn't need to know her name (according to her). so she's probably known as aurie's bodyguard/guard dog by the camarilla and others.

satine: similarly, only people she trusts know her actual name. and even then she prefers to maintain an air of mystery (no family name or location attached). she went by many different aliases during her time as an assassin, most of them purposely normal and forgettable! maybe regis could get away with calling her "tina". maybe.

[whenyoucomeback]

hihiii nikolai >_0 if ur still doing the s/i game how abt 🌩️✨📚 !! pick anyone u wanna dooo :3

referencing this ask game!

YAYYY thank you yves :3 I am indeed still accepting asks for it since I ♡ excuses to ramble muahaha >:3 decided to go with dmitrie and éloise for the first 2, but for 📚 I took into account all my s/is and wrote as much as I could think of atm! under the cut bc rambling wahoo ^_^

🌩️ ; Do any canon characters hate your S/I? Who's their worst enemy?

Dmitrie: He gets on Rikai's nerves sooo much it is so funny oh my goodness. With his obnoxious flirting towards Amahiko, and him trying to 'ship' the rest of the charismas he gets yelled at a lot (reasonably so bc what is this man's problem!1!1!1) for acting like a weirdo. I need to put them in a locked room with security cameras together and watch what happens..

Éloise: Her dislike of Mozus is mainly something that rubbed off on her from Divus, but it'd still definitely be there without him around. She considers him a pain to talk to for long and feels as though he's a strict, boring old guy. If she had to choose, she much prefers standing off to the side giggling as she watches Divus and him bicker.

✨ ; What are some of your S/Is favorite things, aside from your F/O?

Dmitrie: He eats UP badly written romance, could live off of a steady supply of YA fiction instead of food for about a month or two. He also has a bit of a sweet tooth, and enjoys cherry and strawberry flavored things. His favorite color is red, the color of love, but he's also a fan of pink and white, since they're other colors commonly associated with love. He also loves stuff with tacky heart motifs. Valentine's Day and the days leading up to it are like the "Objective: Survive" time of the year for his wallet.

Éloise: She loooves things with berries, especially blueberries! I imagine she always has some blueberry tea in her house because it's her favorite kind, and indulges on blueberry tarts once in a while when she needs to satisfy her sweet tooth. In terms of music, she likes classier stuff, usually listening to orchestral music while she works or relaxes. She wears a lot of green and works with nature, so me saying she likes it isn't anything special, but she also has a fondness for orange and I think she'd really like amber jewelry :] Anddd finally, one of her favorite flowers is a sunflower 🌻! I'd have to google a bunch of flowers to accurately list off what she likes since she probably knows ten times more types off hand than I do but those I do know about. So yay!

📚 ; Do you think any of your S/Is from different media would get along well?

Ohh absolutely!! Martha being the gothic girl she is would looove being around Rina, and be so curious about her whole.. haunted doll thing. I think Rina and Odette could also be doll friends and bond over doll things. Jarek and Dmitrie would at least get along decently because I think they'd be able to bond over The Longing™ together, but this is assuming Dmitrie doesn't start being really weird. As all the crsm characters are known to be. But even then I think Jarek wouldn't mind much like c'mon he's in love with King Yaoi III who knows maybe being Like That is just how Dmitrie copes with being in love with whoever this Amahiko guy is 🤷 Dorenia is a friendly fella so he'd generally be pretty ok with most of my other S/Is I think. Aven and them feel like they'd get along well but I think that's because they're some of the most Nikolai-truthful characters in terms of personality so I think that's just them being similar people,, Interesting question hehe this was really funny to think about!

[loosesodamarble]

Hello senpai it’s 🖤  anon for the ask game can you answer 2, 4, 11, 12, 19 and 25. I hope it's not too many.

🖤 anon! It's always a delight to have you in my inbox! Thank you for all the questions!

And don’t worry, it’s not too many! 💖🥰 I’m more than happy to answer!

2) a character whose POV you’re currently exploring

A small WIP (that I really should address soon) is centered on Gauche's character and I've only written for him once before and years ago. I find him fascinating because of how exclusive he is with his care (initially, he branches out his love in canon). He's not self-centered the way, say the Dark Triad are. But he's not sociable and giving the way someone like Asta is.

I guess most people are like that, they have their circle of who they care for deeply. But Gauche is a lot more intense about it. And that's what makes him fun.

I really hope I can get him right with the WIP.

4) a story idea you haven’t written yet

So I answered this question earlier but I can answer it again all fresh because AAAAAHHHHH! I have a lot of story ideas that I have yet to write out.

An idea that has been plaguing me recently is the thought of writing different endings for certain dating sim routes. The "Normal Endings" from Radiant Tale have a bit of range to them.

In Zafora's Normal Ending, mc Tifalia and him don't end up in a romantic relationship (which is kinda the goal of a dating sim) but he usurps his corrupt uncle's position of power and Tifalia is his secretary. That sounds normal enough. Meanwhile in Ion's Normal Ending, Tifalia ends up in an indefinite coma due to injuries while Ion has his heart frozen to keep him from being used as a living puppet. So both of them are essentially dead to the world. The ending had me going "the heck just happened in my sweet yet adventurous circus otome?!?!?!" And then Paschalia's Normal Ending just... Fucking slaps Ion in the face with how ideal it is in comparison.

I would like to write alternate endings for RadiTale's routes that fall more in line with the tone of Ion's Normal Ending because, man, I cannot have him suffer alone!

11) a WIP you’d like to finish someday

AAAAAHHHHH! I have a WIP for a second chapter of a fanfiction I wrote for the Cinderella Phenomenon games.

It's such a cute idea! Lucette wants to give Klaude a special gift but ends up adding a bit more to the gift so it suits Klaude a little more while still keeping the original idea in tact! KHDIGUAETHIAETH! But I'm hung up on a transition point so maybe I'll skip the transition scene and get onto the real meat of what I want to write and maybe then I'll finish the WIP!

12) a trope you’re really into right now

Aside from the possessive lover trope I mentioned earlier, I will always and forever be a sucker for "I will love/forgive you no matter what" dynamics (one of the core ideas to Nacsele so no surprise there).

Unconditional care is my jam! I do get that some relationships work better with the dynamic one apologizing and the other finding it in themselves to accept and forgive (Silvas siblings, the beloveds). But I will forever prefer relationships where someone has done wrong (and acknowledges/shows remorse for it) and feels like they can't be loved/forgiven, but the other person just brushes it aside in favor of showing love (Finral and Langris, Yami and Nacht, Yves x Ceres [Virche Evermore], Ignis x Kotone [Cafe Enchante], Nacsele).

Love me characters who embrace the one who hurt them because their love is stronger than their pain.

19) the most interesting topic you’ve researched for a fic

🤔 Most interesting topic I’ve researched?

Maybe it was whether or not lye used for soap making was available during a specific era in Japanese history.

I guess recently I did a quick search on terminology used in city planning. Not all that interesting or in-depth though.

I honestly don’t do that much research when writing fanfiction. I know I’m not expected to be an expert in every possible topic that comes up in a fic and readers probably come in knowing my breadth of knowledge isn’t that great. So I end up not putting that much thought into researching and any inaccuracies on certain topics are likely forgivable.

25) besides writing, what are your other hobbies?

Another question I answered before but I can still give fresh answers to.

So I'm not sure how much of a hobby this is but I collect soap bars and then make my way through them. I go to a particular soap shop because I love how big and colorful they make their soap. I sometimes get tempted to bite into the soap because the colors are so, like, candy-esque.

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both worlds (part 9)

Tw: monty being a fuckin creep, vomiting, the girls are fightingggg, so blood and violence, yves being a dick and elitist, using the word queer in a derogatory manner

DAMN i was expecting the votes to be like to go to the uni cause Yves is hottest choice rn

anyways if u guys read the original series where Monty was from, u would know he's like a sub but his behavior depends on the reader, he's actually a switch

tanks for reading, pls send in anon asks, reblog or comments i love 2 hear yalls thoughts and it keeps me going PLSPLSPLS I AM DESPERATEEE

Part 10

The mall it is. You've been visiting the university too much to escape your home and to take your dreaded exams, despite having air conditioning, you're going to feel miserable there. You barely have friends in the university aside from Yves. A change of scenery would be nice, to note down the things you wanted for yourself.

You tried to decide how you feel about Yves. The urge to run away from him and hide is there, but it's not as strong anymore. Because he already saw it all. The mold, your room, your tears, your puke... you can't possibly embarrass yourself again to that degree, right? The worst should be over.

And, he did say it himself; he is interested in you too. So... it should be safe to proceed with this weird relationship. You think. He's already doing way more than what a lover typically does, let alone someone who you barely went on a first date with.

You shouldn't be afraid of bumping into him. He's not going to bite your head off, you hope.

And speak of the devil, you received a text from him.

"(Name), this is Yves. I hope you slept well. Please reply to me as soon as you wake up."

You bit the inside of your cheek, you held onto your bag tightly as the bus drove over a hump.

It's not like he could see that you read it. You don't know what he is going to say next, once you respond.

But it's rude to just leave him hanging like that. He's probably going to find out you're ignoring him anyways.

Might as well text him back. You told him that you're now awake. He must be a fast typer because you received a message a few seconds later.

"Good afternoon, how are you feeling?"

You replied that you're feeling fine.

"I assume you are currently resting at home?"

You don't know if you should lie. But then he could easily find out the truth by asking your housemates. So you let out a defeated sigh and told him the half-truth. You said no. That was it, you didn't elaborate further.

"Where are you? Did you at least apply sunscreen?"

You replied that you're now getting off the bus. You're going to text him back later. After that, you put your phone into your pocket.

You walked away from the bus stand and looked at the billboards littered all over the area. It takes a six-minute walk to get to the Mall, maybe a bit longer because your usual path is blocked by a construction job. The workers gave the pedestrians an alternative pathway to travel.

As you start walking, you wonder why was the bus stop never built directly in front of its entrance. It's such a nuisance to get there if you don't own a car.

You frown because the sun is beating against your head, you're among a group of people being funneled into this other path and you're starting to overheat. You remembered Yves packed a UV ray-blocking umbrella, so you went ahead and took it out. You opened it and shielded yourself from the rays, sighing in relief as you felt coolness instantly wash over you.

You were minding your own business and fighting your own inner demons until suddenly a large hand clamped itself onto your shoulder. You let out a surprised yelp and a jolt at the unexpected contact, this cannot be Yves's because it's too calloused and careless, mildly hurting you in the process.

"Joe?"

Who?

You turned whipped your head to the back and saw the person who paid for your poisoned meal. He took your umbrella off your hands, making you hiss at the sun.

"It really is you!" His eyes lit up and the corners of his mouth curled up into a wide, happy grin. "How ya' been? I didn't see you yesterday. Where were ya?"

You eyed him up and down, he's in uniform.

"I'm on my break right now." His hand guided your back. "C'mon, let me treat you lunch."

You said that you had food poisoning from the place you ate with him. And you asked what he meant by "Didn't see you yesterday".

His jaw dropped in shock at your words.

"It really sucks to hear that, so that's why you look a lil' too thin today. I guess you're just not used to their cookin'. I was fine and dandy." You and him seem to move along with the crowd aimlessly.

You repeated your question about what he meant by not seeing you yesterday.

"I came by your school 'cause I got you some Chinese. I couldn't find ya' and no one seems to know who the hell was I talkin' about. Why didn't ya' call me? I was waitin' all night for your voice."

Luckily you gave him the fake name of "Joe M." on your first meeting with him. But it's not like he would have gotten any information on you anyway, you're invisible in your university. Unless he happened to come across Yves, which you doubt he will divulge him about you.

You just said 'oh'.

"Hope you're feelin' better though. Hey, I know a great place to get some hearty chicken soup. It's gotta be good for your belly, it sure helped me when I'm sick as a dog." You took notice of his deepening southern accent.

You're starting to feel uncomfortable around this man, he's wrapping his arm around your shoulder like he's your boyfriend.

You said that you were full, you had something to eat earlier.

"Aw shucks. That's fine, I'll just hang out with you till my break's over." He ruffled your hair affectionately, laughing as you tried to smoothen it out.

You don't like him. Who does he think he is? You're barely even acquaintances with him. But you think it's safer to play along until you find an opportunity to escape, there is no way you could fight off a 6'5 man who lifts steel pillars for a living.

"You got any plans this weekend? I wanna take you out to have fun, you must've spent all your time studyin', and that's good! Education is important. But you gotta loosen up a little 'cause life is short!" Montgomery is either oblivious to or disregards your uncomfortable body language.

You said you made plans already. He momentarily looked dejected, but he reverted back to his cheerful self when he thought of something.

"What about next week? I heard there is a festival goin' on by the pier. There's going to be a Ferris wheel, cotton candy, funnel cakes--"

You decided to rip the bandaid off and straight up tell him that you're not interested in pursuing a relationship with him. Since there were witnesses, you wriggled out of his hold and waited to see what he would do to you. Hoping that he would just respectfully leave you alone but expecting to be angrily punched right in front of everyone.

He was stunned, speechless for a moment until there was a strange glimmer in his eyes that was concealed by his shaggy, brown hair.

"...You're playing hard to get."

A horrified, incredulous look crossed your face. Absolutely not! What makes him think of you that way? You took a couple steps backward as he tried to get closer.

"I see how it is, sweetheart. You want me to chase you, don't ya'?" He playfully pinched both of your cheeks. You wince, struggling to pull his hands off.

You genuinely do not understand why he has this impression of you. As anyone would do, you vehemently denied it.

"Aww, look at you. Red-faced and all." He giggled, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling you away from the main foot traffic so he could toy with you in private. "If you weren't into me, you would have left me to die that night. I may not be the richest or the most handsome..." his smile faltered when it came to the topic of his looks. "...but I know you saw something in me! I'm gonna make sure you don't regret saving me!" You're already regretting being born.

You called him crazy, anyone would have helped him! You're no one special, he teasingly rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that, beautiful. Anything to help you sleep at night."

You were adamant that you're not interested and you already have a boyfriend! But this doesn't seem to faze him, he just bent down to your level and placed his hands behind his back.

"Oh yeah? Where is he then? Get outta here, you don't have one. At least, not yet." He winked at you.

Yeah. He is impossible to reason with.

You argued that you do. In fact, he is right behind Montgomery!

He's definitely not believing you, but he turns around anyway to see... no one, as expected.

"I don't see him, do you-- huh?" He was momentarily dumbfounded when all there was in front of him was air.

You managed to blend in with the crowd and successfully entered the mall. You ran into the nearest retail store and hid behind one of the shelves. Everyone was too busy shopping to care what someone shaking like a leaf was doing crouching in the baby and maternal department.

Your hand trembled as you pulled your phone out to see Yves sent you another text.

"Take care. Send me a text message as soon as possible. I will give you a call fifteen minutes later if I do not hear from you by then."

It's been 12 minutes since he sent that text. The next reasonable course of action is to seek comfort and safety from Yves. You thought Montgomery was unhinged and delusional, he thinks you're his just because you saved him that night. You cared as much as everyone else, no one wanted to see another person die if they could help it! But he took it as some ultimate love confession for him.

Then you realize that you should have run as soon as you first rejected him. You hit yourself on the head, he must have thought all the attention you gave him trying to explain yourself was a green light for him to go forward!

You called yourself stupid for not catching this earlier. There's not much you could do now except tell Yves you don't feel safe.

You texted Yves your exact location, even down to the aisle and section. Your texts are a series of panic-induced typos begging him to pick you up because you're scared.

"I will be there in 15 minutes. Is it safe for me to call you?"

You disregarded that text and just dialed his number.

"(name)?" It was so good to hear his smooth, calm voice. Your blood pressure momentarily dropped but rose back again after remembering why you called him in the first place.

You frantically explained what had happened, even your first meeting with Montgomery and the takeaway that gave you food poisoning. Spilling everything even though you didn't mean to, but you're just scared and trapped in a store. You felt upset that he had the umbrella, you apologized and-

"Raise your hand above your head for me, please." He cut you off. You did exactly what he asked, now distracted from your ranting.

"Inhale, following my count." He counted up to four.

"Hold." He counted to seven.

"Exhale." You breathed out for eight seconds. He repeated the cycle a few more times until he could tell you calmed down. Montgomery wouldn't find you from where you're hiding.

"Very good." He praised. "You may put your hand down."

You forgot about that, so you quickly retract your arm to your side.

"I will stay on the line with you until I arrive. Do you understand, (name)?" You gulped and said a shaky yes.

"Stay where you are. You're safe there." He continued. Yves sounded so confident in his answers that you can't help but trust him fully.

You wished you had friends. You wouldn't need to solely rely on him if you did.

"What did you think of the breakfast I made for you?" He asked, in a tone and cadence as if he was casually chatting up with his partner about their day. But you can tell he's speeding through the highways by the intense humming of his car engine.

You said that it's nice. You thanked him for taking care of you.

"I'm happy you enjoyed it. I will be making chicken soup for you tonight, did you apply sunscreen before leaving the house?"

You paused for a while, trying to remember what you did. You eventually tell him no.

"It is important for you to protect your skin. Remember to do so next ti--"

The call suddenly dropped. Your heart started beating wildly again, what happened? You pulled your phone away from your ear and looked at the screen.

You let out a visceral scream that caught everyone's attention, your phone battery is dead.

Seeing that you caused a scene, you flee the store out of embarrassment, forgetting about Yves telling you your original spot is the safest place for you to be in. Now with no means of contacting your savior and being out in the open like this, your brain starts to short-circuit. You begin running aimlessly in no particular direction.

All this stress and explosive physical exertion on you right after a bout of illness is making you queasy again.

But you kept going, just... roaming around while periodically looking over your shoulders. Customers and staff alike were staring at you, thinking that you were suffering from some sort of inner turmoil or drug abuse issues. However, they knew better than to intercept.

However, you focused too much on your back, and not too much on the front.

You slammed into a sturdy pillar, lost your balance, and fell back onto your rear.

"Whoa! You alright?" Except that pillar can speak. And it was the last person you want to see right now. Concern riddled his face as he crouched down to help you up. "This is fun and all, but you gotta watch where you're goin-"

At that moment, your stomach decided to empty itself onto Montgomery's chest. He grimaced as you continued to spew and release more vomit from your mouth.

--

Yves knows where you are. He knew your phone battery died, Yves is just mildly annoyed he didn't catch the fact that one of your room outlets was faulty. It so happened to be the one you used to charge your phone.

Yves pushed the door of the mall's clinic open, glaring daggers at Montgomery as he spotted him waiting on the bench, covered in your puke; noting his filthy fingers wrapping the handle of your bag. He was taken aback by this sudden hostility from an apparent stranger, he looked at Yves confused, what did he ever do to him? Was he offended that he happened to be covered in someone else's throw-up? What a stuck-up bitch!

Yves took his wallet out of his handbag and walked up to the receptionist. He shared a few hushed words with her and spared a couple of unkind glances for Montgomery. The woman behind the counter had both eyebrows raised momentarily before she nodded and picked up a phone. While speaking to someone unknown on the other side of the line, she accepted Yves's credit card.

Soon after, she handed him a clipboard and a pen. He had to sign something before receiving a receipt.

Montgomery looked him up and down with equal animosity, his eyes trailing behind Yves as he took the seat opposite of him.

The dark-haired male elegantly crossed his legs and rested his hands on his knee. Now a blank expression took over his beautiful face. Montgomery took note of his feminine demeanor including his usage of makeup. He somehow deluded himself that he was better than Yves even though he was hunched over, resting his forearms on his thighs while spreading his legs.

Montgomery tried to look away and ignore this stranger. But he couldn't, because Yves was burning holes through his head with his constant stare.

This really ruffled Montgomery's feathers. He's clearly trying to start something.

"What the hell is your problem?"

All eyes landed on Montgomery. Young or old, they're now invested in this sudden outburst.

"What do you mean?" Replied Yves calmly as he tilted his head to the side to feign ignorance.

"You're lookin' at me like you wanted to fight!" Montgomery finally sat up straight while accusing Yves. Meanwhile, the graceful man placed a hand on his chest to express disbelief.

"I do not understand this explosive reaction from you, I have done nothing wrong." Yves's long eyelashes fluttered as he blinked, already winning the hearts of the public. It ticked Montgomery off so bad. For some reason, this androgynous person is making him angrier than usual. Maybe it's because Yves's old money aura reminded him of every city girl and boy who fucked him over emotionally, socially, financially, or physically.

It was quite unusual, Montgomery would usually just not engage with these citizens. But today, Yves is exceptionally infuriating while doing the least. He even smelled the same as those rich bastards, they all must be using the same cologne.

A mere five minutes had elapsed since they first met, yet Montgomery despised him with every fiber of his being.

Yves knows his own effect on the construction worker.

"Don't play with me! You had that stupid look on your face, what have I done to you, huh!?" He rose from his seat.

A ghost of a smile graced Yves's otherwise serious face. That simpleton took the bait.

"Please calm down. You're causing a scene out of nothing." Yves continued provoking him. Mothers began to leave the room with their children, and other patients quietly changed their seats to be further away from the two men.

"Why you-" Something distracted him from his rage.

Yves turned his head and saw you slowly dragging yourself out of the hallway, carrying a prescription slip in one hand and cradling your stomach in the other. You look pale and exhausted as you limp towards the waiting room.

"Joe!" Montgomery called out for you. "Are you alright? What did ya' doctor say?"

You were spooked, you froze in your tracks. Not noticing that Yves is a few steps away from you.

"Dear." You snapped your neck to the source of the quiet but assuring voice. Yves is now standing tall, his arms open for you to run into.

And so, you did. You buried your face in his chest, refusing to see the other man. Yves had a pleased smile as he picked your prescription script from your hands, he slid it into his handbag. Right after, he wrapped his arms around you.

The room was eerily quiet. Everyone was holding their breaths, wondering what was going to happen.

You felt Yves stroke your hair. But you couldn't see or hear anything. So you lift your head a little to see what was going on, he rested his palm on your shoulder.

Montgomery has his eyes open so wide staring at your boyfriend. His mouth is open but soundless. The veins on his forehead and arm were throbbing while he trembled uncontrollably.

"Do you know him, my love? He seems dangerous. You know you shouldn't mingle around men like him, they're usually raised by dysfunctional families- sometimes, they don't even have one." Yves asked you, soft enough for no one else to hear, but loud enough that his pathetic excuse of a rival absorbed every word. This was the last straw for Montgomery.

Finally, he dropped your bag to the ground before launching himself against Yves. Your boyfriend pushed you out of harm's way as he allowed himself to get tackled by the unstable male.

Yves closed his eyes as he took a devastating punch to the face, he was flung to the side from the force and it left a reddish mark on his once pristine face.

"Fuck you! The fuck you mean that's 'your love', you don't mean shit to them!" Montgomery yelled in Yves's ear, and a struggle ensued between them.

Screams and shouts filled the clinic, and the patients present all ran out of the room. Those who stayed tried to film the tussle. Some doctors and customers poked their heads out of the consultation rooms to see what the commotion was all about.

Whereas you grabbed your bag and went outside, securing your safety behind the tempered glass walls.

"You think you better than me?! I'll teach you a fucking lesson to be humble!" Montgomery swung at him again, but Yves dodged in time and utilized his long, slender legs to trip him. Now that he has gotten what he wanted out of this scenario, Yves allows himself to defend his own body.

He got up fairly quickly and tried to land another punch, but Yves grabbed his wrist on time and used minimal force to twist his arm against his back. Montgomery cried out in pain as his limb was contorted to an unnatural position. Being an opportunist, Yves took his chance to strike his broken rib using the side of his hand.

This made Montgomery's legs buckle on itself. You silently cheered for Yves as he subdued the creep on the cold hard tiles.

He pressed a heel against his chest, right behind on fractured bone. So Montgomery was powerless against him.

Yves reached for his handbag and pulled his phone out. He dialed emergency services and reported Montgomery as being aggressive, being a danger to the general public.

"Bullcrap! Fuck you asshole! I will kill you!" Screeched the man currently being stepped on and humiliated in front of his object of obsession. Unfortunately for him, the operator heard his threat towards Yves, increasing your boyfriend's credibility.

He tried to grab his leg, but Yves only drove his sharp heel deeper into his ribs, knocking the air out of him and making stars appear in his vision.

At the same time, the mall security arrives with their batons.

They took over from there, it took more than ten of them to try and get Montgomery under control. He was like a bull seeing red, only goal was to try and disfigure the pretty boy's face as much as possible.

He was forcefully expelled from the premises while kicking, howling, and straining. You saw the tears of anguish in his eyes as he cussed everyone out for treating him as subhuman, he wished horrible fates on all who witnessed but stood by. He was shouting incoherently about having everything stolen from him by the rich, he had one thing good going on but a billionaire had to come along and take you away from him.

He vowed to take what was rightfully his and punish the bad, especially Yves who he referred to as "That fucking queer freak".

Eventually, though, his yelling became inaudible as he got further and further away. The others returned to their day, dispersing as nothing else interesting was going on.

You walked up to Yves, who is now gently dabbing his bleeding nostrils with a folded piece of tissue. He smiled at you, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

"Well done." He praised. Disposing of the soiled napkin into a trashcan nearby.

You said you didn't contribute to anything good. In fact, you're the one who caused all this.

"Don't think too lowly of yourself." He picked up a hairbrush from his bag and started fixing your hair. You looked at his face.

The patch around his nose and under his left eye is already starting to bruise, swelling to a degree that he can only see out of his right. Red dripped down his chin and onto the floor, splattering into many dots.

You look around and see the broken pot, flipped chair, and scattered magazines.

You shudder, asking Yves if you could go home.

"Not yet, (name). The police should be here soon, they have to take my statement." He invited you into his arms, and you snuggled into him as his blood dripped onto you too.

"I packed you something to eat." He softly pried you off him. Reaching for his handbag once again, he retrieved a square container before handing it to you.

You opened it to see a sandwich. It's intentionally bland to accommodate your current weak stomach. As if on cue, your belly growled. However, Yves stopped you from devouring it.

"Always sanitize your hands before eating." He squeezed a good amount of hand sanitizer on your palms. Yves only handed the meal back to you after he was satisfied with your application.

You sit on a chair as you take bites off it. Yves sat next to you too, this time he was tidying his luscious black hair with the same brush and compact mirror.

You continued munching on as you heard distant sirens growing louder.