lemons-pears - Tumblr blog

[lemons-pears]

These? Oh, they aren't of any-

"Mercado!- Wh-" Dead in his tracks for a moment. Ah. No wonder his friend was screaming bloody murder in the middle of the field. Captain's already ahead with the others, and Moth could've done with one more lap around the place. Then again, he also tripped earlier, so it wasn't likely he would catch up too easily - low energy, long day.

"Hey, Dan," Hissed through clenched teeth as Moth crouched down to look at him. "Hala- it hurts, sir." It's quite simple.

Mercado's sat up, though grounded, one knee bent and being cradled, the other leg extended out. Click of the tongue and a quiet "Right then.". Fiddling a little, taking off a boot past its many secure ties. Gently- oh so gently- taking the ankle into his own two hands, and- "Scream when it starts hurting."

Pressure. That's how it always worked when he was younger. Using his thumb to put pressure on certain regions and slightly tilting at the joint. Ignoring the way his sergeant would cuss him out in a variety of different ways: "Tangina-" One area, "Ay- bobo-", another area, "F-FUCK-!" Bingo. Eversion.

"-Cado, it'll be fine," He speaks, peeling back the sock to check the skin, already starting to discolour slightly. Bruising. No way in hell is he letting him walk back without assistance. "You've just sprained it. Hurts more because these boots don't make it any better." Possibly a lie, though if it helped to hear then Moth would tell him anything.

Sorting it out. Normally, the stash of bandages is for his own personal use, but the truly injured take priority. Sitting with his legs crossed, foot on his lap, being wrapped with practiced precision. "Heh- with the way you're working at me, you should've been a medic."

"Ah, that's my sister. Hands are too rough for that," Tying the last of the bandage off, shifting the sock back over it all. "After you're back, I'll try and buy you a couple days off. Don't worry about it, just rest up. No walking it off."

"Dan." Packing everything up - taking any of Mercado's heavier belongings to carry himself.

"-And I'll do the paperwork, too. See if you can get rest without duty, you're my responsibility,"

"Danilo." Stern. Snaps him out of it.

"Yes, Cado?" Stare back.

...Concern?

Concern's written all over Mercado's face: "...Your hands are...".

Looking down.

Ah.

Dusty, dirty, covered in blood and scraped a little raw. He didn't just trip and fall - he pretty much ate shit after missing a rock and mis-stepping. Now that he's stopped to think about it, his foot feels like it's on fire. It's not great. It's not a main concern. It's not...

...Not sterile- "Ah! Cado- Don't worry- it's not an open wound or anything. Can't get infected, alright? We'll... still get the bandages changed, though." But the look on his friend's face doesn't falter at all.

Warmth rushing to Moth's face. Red. Running down his cheek, even. No, later. If it's cut then that's a later issue. Right now?

Loosely putting the boot back on his comrade. Helping him up to his feet. Slinging an arm over his shoulder. They'll walk eachother back - stumbling, but walking. They'll sit down and wait until a medic attends to the sergeant, and then he'll wait until his friend is properly admitted. Then. Then...

He'll check himself in the mirror later to see if there's any wounds left to lick.

Normally by then, they aren't of any concern.

[lemons-pears]

Miscellaneous Moth Doodles

no context, no thoughts, head empty. just moth.

[lemons-pears]

Silly thoughts

Moth must be one of the more well-adjusted people in Shadow Company. Not a lot of trauma written on his face, that's for sure.

Well, he does obscure his face, too. But it's not as though he's actively hiding it. Actively hiding anything. Secrets? What of them- anything you need to know about him is in his file!

What do you mean you "don't have it"?

[lemons-pears]

at this point Moth's character sheet is basically done, but i don't have the drawings done so 😭

[lemons-pears]

i don't remember it at the moment but one of the best fanfictions i've ever read is unironically an othello one. as in "Virtue? A fig!" othello. yes it's getting late where i live how could you tell-

[lemons-pears]

old, unfinished doodles from earlier this year.

(ft scarecrow, penguin and riddler GOTHAM'S FINEST)

one day at least one of these is getting a digital render. one day.

[lemons-pears]

for future reference: guys where do you post fanart do you @ them or do you go straight to inbox

[lemons-pears]

i love you cicero i love you virgil i love you ancient rome

[lemons-pears]

theoretically the character sheet doesn't need an accompanying image, but i don't want him to just be text on a background.

[lemons-pears]

"Come, sit down, I'm making-"

2am is a peculiar time in Shadow Company: some are fast asleep to face the coming day, some are staring at their ceiling, and some are still out and about. Of course, some members would hold roles that involve active duties past midnight.

However, some are avoiding the Sandman for different purposes entirely. Depending on the Shadow, some spend their time outside, watching the sky and, perhaps, indulging in a vice - whether that be smoking with the stars, or sharing a drink with past ghosts.

Others remain inside, though their bodies still as active as ever.

Communal kitchen, 2am. Or, he assumed it was communal, anyways.

Half of the ingredients he practically smuggled in himself, the other half he found unopened at the back of the cupboards. Unlike prior occasions, Moth's basically eyeballing it all the best he can with sleepy eyes.

Ingredients he's smuggled in include: glutinous rice flour (it looks so genuinely suspicious underneath his bed - wrapped in plastic, double bagged and it still left some remnants behind), coconut milk (oddly enough they had coconut cream, but not the milk itself) and cheese (cheddar - the fridge had an opened pack of American cheese, and processed cheeseburger slices). They're all spread out neatly and within arm's range.

Everything else - the eggs, butter, sugar and evaporated milk - was located in a couple minutes. To his surprise, he found some frozen banana leaf jammed deep inside the freezer. In case it belonged to anyone else, he took as little as he thought he needed. He'll ask about ownership later.

Sure, the normal recipe would call for more ingredients, but that would involve more smuggling, and Moth isn't in a position to ask Graves about the rules regarding what can and can't be kept in the pantry- turn the music on and start anyways.

'Strangers in the night exchanging glances

Wondering in the night, what were the chances...'

He lets the speaker take over the singing, silence being filled with sound: an old friend got him hooked on the tradition; before him it was himself and the quiet.

The recipe, how he remembered it anyways, was simple to follow. Having preheated the oven, he spent some time cutting up the banana leaf a little to fit the dimensions of the tin he found. Lining it with care, humming along to the music, and generally enjoying his night. This. This is his vice, in a sense.

Rhythmic cracking and whisking of eggs, he barely needs to measure how much flour he needs at this rate. Stabbing open the cans with a knife because he recalls how the can opener was recently broken. No questions about it. Sugar, butter- it all gets mixed in one glass bowl he rinsed in the sink.

It's fine. He'll clean up after himself once he's done. He stands, in his own bubble, whisking away. The batter needs to be rid of lumps, but not too overdone that it turns out wrong.

It's admittedly quite... domestic in the kitchen, a rare mercy when it comes to the culinary sphere in Shadow Company. He pays no attention to the busted up microwave, after all. He could stay there all night and bake if he wanted to-

"Ah! Kinam- er- good evening-" The music was too loud and he wasn't fully alert when the kitchen door swung open. Now some Shadow is standing there wondering what Sergeant Moth must be up to past midnight. Cradling a bowl in one arm and whisking away like a housewife, sunglasses pushed up on his head and mask covering up the microwave. Lord, he has an apron on too.

...Before they could ask, however, Moth's already quick to talk, practically beckoning them, "Come, sit down, I'm making bibingka." His startled appearance only melts away when they take a couple steps inside the kitchen; not a single appliance combusted once during his time inside so far.

Again, it's mostly quiet aside from the music. He's already finished pouring the batter into the tray, readying himself to put it inside the oven for however long it needs to bake for. They're just sat, watching. Almost childlike. There's a curiosity, at the very least.

"...Ading," Wrong- who cares, it's late, "If... if you want to help whilst you're here, then you could help me grate the cheese? Don't have to, obviously."

Still, he's talking them through the steps, winding up some egg timer. Preheat, line, mix, bake, top, broil. And make sure music is on, because: "Music gives the food some soul, no? Good atmosphere gives it a good mood to be prepared with." Understandably, Moth isn't exactly himself - it's late, he's less concerned with appearance or suitable behaviours. He's more casual than anything.

Looking over as he washed up, making sure they don't slice a finger on the box grater, "We'll put the cheese on top once the sides look done, then we'll broil it... You're doing great, by the way." Eyeing up the first aid kit on the wall anyways, just in case. He'll do some of the cheese preparation right before he pulls it out the oven and grate cheese. "...'m very grateful to have you here." That was bad.

A brief flash of heat when the oven door opens, and he slides the tray out a little. Cheese gets sprinkled on the surface of the bibingka, almost in excess. But good co-operation means extra reward, after all. And once it's all back in the oven?

Moth's handing the Shadow the egg timer, twisted up to a couple more minutes, with a proud look on his face. "I'll make sure the food's all out and cooling once this goes off, yeah? If I'm there then you're taking some, and if I'm absent, then you can take as much or as little as you want, alright?...As long as Commander Graves doesn't find out. Go do anything you need to, Ading." Praise. He's happy for having some company that isn't set and speaker-bound.

"...I'll see you around. Have a good night." Waves them off, takea a breather and... appreciates existing a little more.

[lemons-pears]

workin' on some johnstantine

no solid reference or anything so the proportions and face might look a bit naff. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

[lemons-pears]

guys i've written a thing for moth. it's long, so i'm unsure whether or not i should split it all up and link it, or post it all in one and let it stay connected. aaaaaaaaaaaa it's not heavy lore or anything-

[lemons-pears]

jd i am so sorry i've figured out your backstory i'm so sorry i'm sorry

[lemons-pears]

[UNFINISHED THINGS] i don't think i have the time to finish this so it's back to traditional-

character sheets are hard because i fear it's getting wordy. anyways, have some bits and pieces from moth's under the cut because i'm taking my sweet time with him and it's still up in the air aaaaa-

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[lemons-pears]

joined and instantly forgot what name i go by aaaaa

gonna lurk on discord B)

[lemons-pears]

gonna lurk on discord B)

[lemons-pears]

I WISH MY LAPTOP MADE NOISE i wish it sounded like a bus engine i wish it sounded like a plane taking off i wish it sounded like a hurricane i just wish it would

it's radio silent when i'm running it and it invokes the wrath of hell and all those who have succumbed to the heat death of past universes to overheat it until it crashes in the five minute lifespans it has between powering it on it is like a mirage of functionality as whenever i open something of mild interest it oh-so-silently shifts the screen back to black as though it is dying its next thousandth death only to be revived in the next fifteen seconds by the press of an enter button i do not fear your time constraint i need this revision

one must imagine sisyphus happy