#rails development

[rorbitssoftware]

Ruby vs Ruby on Rails: Find Out The Differences - RORBits

If you're wondering whether Ruby and Ruby on Rails are the same, you're not alone. Many people are curious about the differences between the two. Ruby and Ruby on Rails, while related, serve distinct purposes. Discover all the key differences between Ruby and Ruby on Rails here.

[neapenning]

First morning on the Express 🚂

[baeshijima]

thoughts on being engaged to duke!sunday, the head of the oak family, an incredibly influential figurehead within society, the close subordinate of emperor gopher wood who brought him and his sister in and raised him like his own, and the villain who faces a tragic ending in a novel you recently finished — the very same one you just so happen to find yourself transmigrated into. he is as cunning as he is blinded, a trait which brought ruin to many in the empire, and one which ultimately brought ruin to himself at the hands of the protagonists.

as luck would have it, you became a barely mentioned side character from a marquis family, whose role was to be the villain's wife stuck in a one-sided love who, too, would get caught up in the tragedy alongside him. however, now that it's you who is stuck in this position, you're determined to try any means necessary to deter him from going down that path, all in an effort to escape your predestined doomed fate!

of course, you didn't expect it to be easy. the day of your arrival in this world was already the night before your wedding, so you had little time to prepare yourself for the nonchalance of your supposed family, how they viewed you as but a means — a tool — to boost their influence and prosperity, the dismissive mannerisms of the household servants, and the absolute beauty of a man you will be married to.

(seriously. the novel descriptions did not do him justice. he was like... like... like he was handcrafted by god himself! and not to mention his sister, robin, was the very epitome of an angel! perhaps you're destined to perish by the god-tier visuals instead...)

to say the least, the wedding ceremony went by quickly. safe to say you didn't spend the night; he was cordial and gentlemanly upon letting you know that he won't do anything until you're ready, that you can take this relationship slow, but somehow you ended up feeling a tad insulted. like, who leaves their newly wedded alone in a big cold bed as they walk out on their own? a sick bastard that's who!

well, whatever. it's not like you need nor want to consummate with him! besides, you have bigger things to worry about — things such as your impending death. and, of course, the only way to stop sunday that you can imagine working is by chipping away at his resolve bit by bit, and opening his eyes to reality.

he is a tragic character, one who cares more about the well-being of penacony and its people than anyone else, but was manipulated into getting his hands dirty in the emperor's stead. you knew this. you sobbed over his story, cursed out the protagonists, and even fought internet randos on novel forums about sunday's motivation and how,

no, he is not just a stupid villain. he is a complex character with flaws and humanity and was cruelly taken advantage of by someone he considered family. he was deceived through the suffering the emperor wanted him to see to make him easily manipulated, creating a rift between him and robin to have that prominent separation. you know what? maybe you're just a !%#@ who can't even #@?"% read properly!

and yet you still find yourself at a loss when faced with the walls he has in place. your initial efforts went as well as it possibly could have; you trying to earnestly help him, while he "kindly" dismisses your offers! well, "kindly" being more condescending since you could read between the lines of his mannerisms and amiable demeanour, but that's fine! you expected this! that just means you have to double down on your sincerity, get through to his heart (somehow), and help him realise humanity isn't as weak as he's led to believe!

you have three years until the novel's plot officially starts, and another year after that until your demise. that's plenty of time to get him to warm up to you!

it was easier said than done, but after your valiant effort and abundance of time put into this relationship, which admittedly you could do with some of that lost time back, you could give yourself a pat on the back with the progress you made! while you definitely could have done without a lot of the headaches, it's safe to say sunday has significantly warmed up to you in comparison to your wedding day. he now willingly eats all his meals with you with some real conversation, takes garden strolls with you in the early evenings, invites you out for dinner at a restaurant at least four times a week, hell he's even joked and laughed with you more frequently! but most importantly, he has begun asking for your opinion before finalising any decisions he is required to make. and he actually listens and considers your side! now, that certainly is the best outcome you could hope for after all this time, and it most definitely will help in your endeavour to save you both from the protagonists!

however, you've noticed he's been more... affectionate? well, at the very least he now willingly holds your hand when in private (not just in moments when you're in the public eye and he has to make sure the family's reputation is spotless), sometimes he will hug you out of the blue ("i just need to... recharge. you have a way of calming me down. i hope you don't mind." ...how could you say no to his supreme god-tier face card? that's just a losing battle you won't even bother fighting against.), oftentimes he opts to just gaze wordlessly at you (robin had mentioned over one of your tea times how it almost appears as though there is no one but you in the world when sunday gazes at you with, in her words, "the eyes of a man so deeply in love!" ...whatever that's supposed to mean...), but a more recent development has been his sudden interest in kissing you; well, more specifically giving you a kiss to the back of your hand or on your forehead — certainly not anywhere near the lips! (besides, he's probably just gotten comfortable with you, enough where he can freely act without judgement. nothing more, nothing less.)

well, either way, development is development! soon enough, the time for the main plot to start has arrived. it of course follows what you remember, from the organised balls to the protagonists meeting to the political aspects of it all. the only difference is sunday's less active involvement in all the schemes and the emperor's ploy. rather, he seems more focused on you and the future of your marriage and even displayed a sudden interest in your practically non-existent relationship with one of the foreign diplomats, aventurine— wait...

"[name]," he calls your name out so sweetly you nearly disregarded it as someone else he was talking to. well, perhaps you would have done had he not suddenly appeared before you, a tight-lipped smile tugging the corners of his lips as he steadily approaches you.

oh. he doesn't seem very happy, if his tense figure is anything to go by. you wonder if one of the nobles grated his nerves a little too much this time?

sunday comes to a halt a step away from you. "i don't like that... gambler being so close to you. it... it brings me a rather unpleasant feeling." there's a slight, trembling pause. not a moment later does he close the gap between you, one knee on the ground as he matches your seated height on the fountain rim, your hands gently enclosed in both of his.

you idly wonder if this is what robin meant by the so-called "eyes of a man so deeply in love" she constantly gushed about, for the way in which he gazes up at you is enough to render you breathless.

"tell me, [name]," he begins once more. there is an underlying desperation woven within his tone, one which has your head spinning and heart thumping wildly as his trembling gaze holds you in place. "tell me, what am i to do with this fervent love and overwhelming adoration i hold for you?"

oh.

...oh.

perhaps your impending doom should be the least of your concerns when you now find yourself in the arms of a clingy husband...

(though, it's safe to say you did, in fact, manage to prevent him from succumbing to his tragic fate! you just gained a loving, yet slight slightly emotionally challenged husband along the way.

well, you can help him work through it; you have the rest of your lives now to figure it out, after all.)

[harmonysanreads]

Hello! I recently saw your Vampire!Alhaitham headcanons floating around again, and since I just finished 3.2 not that long ago and have a certain feeble scholar on the mind, what are your thoughts on Vampire!Anaxa if you have any?

Would be similar or different from Alhaitham in your opinion?

If Vampire!Alhaitham is one who’d much rather pull the strings from the safety of the shadows, Vampire!Anaxa is someone who’d parade in the sun with his head held high, if only to spite the people praying for his demise.

He���s a paragon of truth, his desire to answer the question of what exactly he is, is far hungrier than the instincts he has to battle with all day. Outwardly, he looks quite like a stereotypical vampire — thin figure, pale complexion and a temperament that seems to hint that he has spent a millennia divorced from human society. The only thing, and a rather crucial thing at that, which he appears to be missing is that untamable thirst for fresh blood.

Contrary to the impression he gives, he’s actually lived among humans for quite some time as a scholar and he often thanks his ‘control over the bloodlust’ in assisting him to not blow his cover up. Not that he's fond of this charade, but the benefits of enduring humankind's nauseating presence kept him sane enough. Perhaps arrogance crawled to occupy the space of where his heart should’ve been beating, as when his belief of ultimate self control was put to the test, he refused to accept it.

“But you were a human once, weren't you?” the whisper of a road sporting the garments of mystery, intent on making him lose his way for eternity. A cool finger glides over the line of his jaw, its chill very different than his own.

Anaxa forces himself to swallow, that metallic tang insistent on his tongue — not willing to believe that he was a tad too late to conceal the ungraceful drool.

“You and I, we’re both rejected by this world, shackled in the shadows. Why not quit this pouting game and team up with me instead?” as if dissatisfied by the level of atrocity in your words, you amp it up by poking at the bloody fang peeking from his lips. He responds in kind by biting down, hard ; you seem just the tiny bit amused.

“Curse you…” it's a futile exclamation, laughable at that and that is exactly how you respond. Despite his talons clinging around your neck and a fresh wound marring the skin where your artery thrums, you appear not the tiniest bit fazed. It steals his breath away.

“Look at you,” you coo, extending your palm as if to cradle his face but brush past it instead, dizzying him. “Salivating just from one taste. You’re not as immune to this bloodthirst as you’d like to believe, you wouldn't survive an hour if any of those humans found you like this. I can offer you protection and you can be my little toy. Is there any deal better than this?”

Don't listen, don't listen, don't listen. That is the whisper that weaves poison, enchants desperate souls into pawning their remaining spark. A creature neither foolish nor wise. “I’d rather burn at the stake than entertain your schemes.” comes his sibilant retort.

“Ah ah ah.” you chastise, as if he's nothing but a child who knows little about how this world works. “But you still haven't found the answer to what you are, why you're like this.” you glance towards the trail of blood oozing from his bite, a flick of your fingers and within a blink, the scene disappears.

“What if I told you… that I know the answers you seek?”

A road that will lead him nowhere, a serpent disguising as a flower. And he, the Fool that will chase the mirage, despite knowing that nothing awaits him but doom.

[aventurineswife]

you could write a scenario with Aventurine, Dan Heng and Jing Yan (or any other more character of your preference) the theme is the song "Treat you Better" by Shawn Mendes, like, the fem!eader is in a relationship with someone who doesn't treat her well and they're like "leave him, I can treat you better"

idk this idea just stuck in my head while I was listening to the song, it brings me nostalgia 😭😭

It's my first time making a request soooo... Sorry if the grammar is wrong, English is not my first language

Anyway, I love your writing, it's really good and recently I've been addicted to your writing 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

“I Can Treat You Better Than He Can”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Fluff, Angst, Character Development, Comfort, Self-Worth, Protective, Inner Turmoil, Slow Burn.

Warnings: Emotional Trauma (mentions of unhealthy relationships, emotional abuse), Heavy Themes of Self-Doubt, Mental Health Struggles (emotional burden, survivor’s guilt, loneliness), Manipulation (Aventurine’s past as a manipulative figure may be referenced), Conflict of Interests.

A/N: NOOO I USED TO LISTEN TO THAT ALL THAT TIME AS A KID AND SAME GOES FOR MY SISTER TOO 😭🙏

Tagslist: @themiddletenmasibling

The Astral Express hummed quietly as the night passed, the stars outside flickering like distant dreams. Inside, Dan Heng stood by the window, his piercing gaze focused on the black void that stretched out before them. His hand rested lightly on spear, but his thoughts were elsewhere, fixating on the unspoken weight in the air.

You had been quiet lately, quieter than usual. Your normally bright and radiant demeanor had been replaced with something more distant, more guarded. He couldn’t ignore the subtle change in the way you carried yourself, the slumped shoulders, the barely concealed sadness in your eyes whenever you thought no one was looking. He noticed how you would retreat to corners of the train, as if trying to escape the weight of the world you carried.

It didn’t take long for Dan Heng to piece together that you were in a relationship with someone who didn’t deserve you. He had heard the whispers when you weren’t around—the way your voice cracked when you mentioned your partner, the way your eyes became dull with resignation. He knew it wasn’t his place to say anything, but something inside him churned with a quiet anger at the injustice of it all.

Tonight, as the crew settled in for a rare moment of rest, Dan Heng found himself walking quietly towards you. He was unsure of what to say, how to break the silence that had been between you for so long. But as he approached, he noticed the familiar look of frustration and sadness on your face, and the words slipped out before he could stop them.

"Why do you stay with him?" His voice was soft but firm, cutting through the quiet like a blade. He didn’t look at you directly, his eyes focused on a point beyond the window, but his presence was unmistakable.

You hesitated, a sigh escaping your lips as you glanced at him. "It’s complicated, Dan Heng."

He could feel the hesitation in your words, the uncertainty that plagued your thoughts. He let out a soft breath, turning slightly to face you, his gaze finally meeting yours.

"It doesn’t have to be," he said, his voice quieter now, almost like a whisper meant only for you. "You deserve someone who will value you, who will make you feel seen, not someone who drags you down."

He stepped closer, his expression softer than usual. "I can treat you better. I’ll be here for you, no matter what." He wasn’t sure where the words were coming from, but they felt true in the moment—like the truth had finally found its way to the surface.

You opened your mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against your arm.

"Just think about it," he said. "You don’t have to carry this burden alone. There’s no need to stay in something that makes you unhappy."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was heavy, yet comforting in its own way. Dan Heng’s words had opened a door, one that you weren’t sure you were ready to walk through—but part of you knew he was right. He was offering you a chance at something different, something better.

And for the first time in a while, you didn’t feel so alone.

The soft light of the Xianzhou Luofu’s lanterns flickered around you, casting long shadows across the polished marble floors. Jing Yuan, with his trademark laziness, stood at the entrance of the grand hall, surveying the scene with a sense of quiet satisfaction. His sharp eyes never missed a detail, yet tonight, they were focused on you.

You had been distant—more than usual. He could see the weariness in your movements, the way you seemed lost in your thoughts, as if the weight of something was pressing on your heart. It didn’t take a master strategist to figure out that you were struggling with the dynamics of your current relationship, and Jing Yuan found himself growing increasingly concerned.

He had long been the quiet observer, the strategist who planned steps far ahead of everyone else, but in this moment, he could feel the protective instincts rising within him. You were not just any crew member on the Luofu. No, you were someone he had come to care for, someone whose well-being mattered to him in a way he had not expected.

As the night wore on, Jing Yuan approached you slowly, his presence commanding yet soft in its approach.

"You’ve been quiet tonight," he remarked, his voice carrying a quiet authority. There was no judgment in his tone, only concern—a rare admission from the usually aloof Arbiter-General.

You gave him a weary smile, trying to brush off the unease that had settled in your chest. "Just tired, Jing Yuan."

He studied you for a moment, sensing that there was more to your fatigue than just physical exhaustion. "Tired of what?" His gaze softened, a rare vulnerability flickering in his usually calm eyes. "Tired of pretending everything is fine?"

You stiffened, caught off guard by his perceptiveness. It was like he could see right through you. There was no hiding from Jing Yuan’s wisdom, no shield to protect you from the understanding that radiated from him.

"Is it your partner?" he asked gently, the question hanging between you like an open wound.

For a moment, you faltered, unsure of how to respond. But the way Jing Yuan was looking at you, with such quiet intensity, made the decision easier.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "It’s... complicated."

He took a step closer, his presence looming but not oppressive. "It doesn’t have to be," he said, his voice low but unwavering. "You deserve someone who sees you for who you truly are. Someone who doesn’t make you doubt your worth."

You met his gaze, the weight of his words sinking deep into your soul. Jing Yuan was always careful with his words, and when he spoke like this, you knew he meant it.

"You don’t have to stay in something that hurts you," he continued, his tone softening further. "I can treat you better. I’d never ask you to settle for less than you deserve."

There was something raw in his words, something unspoken that hung in the air between you. In that moment, Jing Yuan’s stoic demeanor cracked, revealing a depth of care that he rarely allowed others to see.

He wasn’t asking for anything in return, only offering his presence as a foundation of support. And for the first time in a long while, you felt as if you were no longer alone in your pain.

The dimly lit room was filled with the faint hum of machinery and the rustle of papers, but Aventurine hardly noticed. His eyes were trained on you, watching as you moved about the space, your posture stiff and your steps hesitant, as if carrying an invisible weight that had settled heavily on your shoulders.

Aventurine had always prided himself on his ability to read people, to understand their motives and desires, but tonight, it was different. There was something in your gaze, something in the way you avoided his eyes, that tugged at him. He had seen this before, the quiet defeat, the sorrow carefully concealed beneath layers of indifference.

And he wasn’t having it.

With a swiftness that surprised you, he crossed the room and placed himself in your path, his usual teasing grin replaced by a rare expression of sincerity. His eyes, usually full of playful mischief, were serious as they met yours.

"Why are you still with him?" Aventurine asked, his voice lower than usual, stripped of its usual bravado. "You deserve more than that."

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but he wasn’t giving you the chance to retreat.

"You don’t have to keep sacrificing yourself for someone who doesn’t see your worth," he continued, his words laced with an intensity that was at odds with his usual flamboyant charm. "I can treat you better. I know what it’s like to fight for your place in this world, and I would never ask you to stay in something that drags you down."

Aventurine took a step closer, his hand hovering just slightly above yours, a gesture of support that you had not expected from him. He was no stranger to manipulation, to using people for his gain, but in this moment, his sincerity was undeniable.

"You’re more than just a pawn in someone else’s game," he said, his voice softer now, vulnerable in a way you had never heard it before. "You’re worth far more than that."

His usual bravado returned as he added, with a grin that didn’t quite match his eyes, "And if you ever want to play a different game, I’m yours."

You looked up at him, unsure of what to say, but in that moment, you realized something: for all his flaws and the games he played, Aventurine was offering you something you hadn’t known you needed—a chance at something better. Something that didn’t involve settling.

And that, for once, felt like enough.

[jupitisms]

WHY HE HAS BGUGS IN RHERE?!?

[hefestesse]

[metalbody]

‎⠀˖　𓈒⠀⚜️　　SUNDAY　tumblr　layouts。

f2u w credits. ֺ ۪ ☆　renders　1 ,　2 ,　3 . psd by Es

@rottenfram3　<-　thought　ud　like .. ˖ ۫　໒꒱

[gurggggleburgle]

Anyone saying that Binghe would be jealous of Shizun’s baby wrong- AMETUERS!

Binghe would not only be enthused and devoted to the child but he'd be the most annoying doting dad spoiling his child and being an asshole at the pta meetings dad you can imagine. Having kids with shizun would be a dream that he doesn't need but would be so happy to have the moment it was offered as an option.

Both him and Shen Qingqiu should share a mutual doting dual pregnancy where they get to give birth at the same time affectionately holding hands through the experience and dreaming of the life they'll have together.

[rorbitssoftware]

Docker For Ruby On Rails : Meaning, Benefits, & Use Cases

Discover the power of Docker for Ruby on Rails in this comprehensive guide, where we dive into its core meaning, examine its benefits, and explore practical use cases. Learn how Docker streamlines development, simplifies deployment, and enhances scalability for Ruby on Rails applications, making it an essential tool for modern web development. Whether you're new to Docker or looking to optimize your Rails projects, this guide offers valuable insights into why Docker is transforming Rails development.

[uruwashi-no-nightingale]

”anaxa’s part is all worldbuilding and exposition!!!!!” exactly. it’s what he would have wanted

[zephyrine-gale]

wardance pookies

[aventurineswife]

“Failure Is a Stepping Stone”

Summary: In the quiet hours before a major exam, you’re overwhelmed by period pain and the dread of being unprepared. Anaxagoras — the eccentric, infamous scholar — finds you in your distress. With his unique mix of irreverent wit and unspoken warmth, he comforts you through the night, easing your pain, grounding your panic, and reminding you that even chaos can be a stepping stone to brilliance.

Tags: Anaxagoras x Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Period Comfort, Academic Stress, Soft Anaxa, Reader-in-Distress, Eccentric Mentor, Established Relationship or Developing Bond, Protective Anaxagoras, Late-Night Vulnerability, One-Bed Trope (Gentle), Pretty much Self-indulgent.

Warnings: Mentions of Period Cramps/Pain, Academic Anxiety/Stress, Emotional Distress, Brief Mention of Nausea and Insomnia, Soft Angst, Anaxagoras Being Incredibly Tender (Emotional Damage Warning If You're Not Braced for It).

A/N: I kissed the brick this time. ☺️💖🫶

It was past midnight. The moon hung like a pale coin in the black velvet sky, half-shadowed — much like how you felt.

The Grove’s once-lively corridors were still, only the distant hum of magical wards and an occasional echo of an owl punctuating the silence. Everyone else had long buried themselves in their tomes, or fallen asleep atop them.

You, however, sat curled up at the foot of your bed, cradling a heat pack to your stomach, eyes bleary and red. The textbooks lay open around you like a battlefield, pages dog-eared, highlighted, and forgotten.

Your abdomen throbbed with an unforgiving ache, like molten weights swirling inside you. And the panic—

It crept up your spine like a parasite.

Exams. Tomorrow. You're not ready. You're failing.

You pressed your forehead against the cold bedpost.

A knock echoed on your door.

You didn’t respond, hoping the night would swallow you whole instead.

The door creaked open anyway. A familiar voice, laced with exaggerated flourish and an undertone of sincere concern, followed:

“Am I interrupting a ritual of self-destruction, or is this the ‘mourning of motivation’ I’ve read so much about in your kind’s textbooks?”

You groaned. “Anaxa... not now.”

“Oh, perfect. You can still speak. That means the gods haven’t claimed you yet,” he quipped, stepping inside, a glint of mischief in his eye. But then, when he took in the state of your curled posture and tear-streaked cheeks, the humor slipped from his face.

He sat beside you wordlessly, not asking for permission. For someone accused of so much blasphemy, Anaxa knew the sanctity of silence.

“…Cramps?” he asked softly after a while.

You nodded.

“And exams,” you whispered. “I’m… I’m so screwed. I didn’t study half the material. My brain’s mush. Everything hurts. I can’t—”

You didn’t realize you were trembling until his gloved hand took yours, grounding it.

"Shh. Take a breath." His thumb stroked over your knuckles in deliberate, slow circles. “Pain warps the mind, compresses time. Right now, it’s telling you you’re doomed. But that’s a lie, and you know it.”

You shook your head miserably. “I feel doomed.”

“I’m not dismissing the feeling,” he said gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are hurting. That’s real. But I would not allow any student of mine to be truly doomed — especially not you.”

You looked up at him, eyes glistening. “Anaxa…”

He gave you a soft smirk, but his eye was painfully tender. “Have I ever told you what I did the night before my Divinitas Trials?”

“…Failed spectacularly?”

“Absolutely not. I threw up on my notes, accused my invigilator of divine fraud, and passed with the second-highest score in the cohort.” He tilted his head. “Chaos is the seed of innovation.”

You huffed, a weak laugh spilling out despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet I’m here,” he murmured. “Lie back.”

He helped you onto the bed gently, pulling a pillow under your knees, fetching your heat pack and placing it just right. Then, surprisingly, he took off his jacket and draped it over your blanket, as if adding an extra layer could shield you from the weight of the world.

“…Stay?” you asked softly, almost afraid.

His reply was immediate. “Until the stars forget how to shine.”

He sat cross-legged beside you, muttering small comforts as he summoned a soft, golden projection of your textbook pages into the air, slowly flipping through them. The way he read aloud — softly, dramatically, emphasizing the ridiculous and the relevant — made even dry theory feel like myth and magic.

You watched him between bouts of pain, something deep in your chest loosening. You still felt terrible — but you no longer felt alone.

At some point, your eyes fluttered shut. You weren’t sure when.

But long after you drifted off, Anaxa remained. A pale flame flickered in his visible eye as he looked at you — not with pity, but with reverence.

He whispered, not to wake you, but as a promise to himself.

"Even if the world tries to crush you under divine law and temporal torment, I’ll be here — until you’re ready to set it ablaze."

[m1ckeyb3rry]

MIRA WAIT HEAR ME OUT ON ROADKILL FOR LUOCHA (are you surprised?) literally just combed through that event post, also that sperm banner is sending me to the orbit TT hehe roadkill sounds like a banger i’m so excited to read the others too!! ❤︎

── WHERE PLUM FLOWERS BLOOM

Synopsis: You don't know it, but you love Luocha — or perhaps you've always known it, somehow, but it's only through the passage of time and his eventual departure that you realize just what he means to you.

HSR Masterlist

Divider: @/saradika-graphics

Pairing: Luocha x Reader

Word Count: 3.5k

Content Warnings: i forget if there's anything that makes this f!reader but possibly that, another nonsensical m1ckeyb3rry drop with 0 elaboration just vibes, idk anything about luocha i was just making it up #allinmyhead, mentions of blood and like. ritualistic abuse/injury (😭?) NOT TOO EXPLICIT THOUGH it's just mentioned, partially epistolary, luocha is down mf bad, in terms of characterization/worldbuilding/relationship development we have no characterization/worldbuilding/relationship development, uhm. i think that is sufficient lmk if i missed anything though

A/N: HELLO KOU and congrats on being the first request to escape development hell KSDHF thank you for sending an ask for my event!! hehe roadkill was going to be very screwy with concnurrent timelines and whatnot so instead of going for a 1:1 au thing i took that inspiration instead and made it a bit vague and whatnot 😪 i can only hope that i did not butcher your beloved...i have done my best KLSDHF

Dear Luocha,

It is strange, calling you that. To me you will always be someone else, someone with a dearer name, but if this is who you are now, then I must accept it — though I beg of you not to change anymore, lest you be unrecognizable entirely upon your return! Although, as you once said, there is a certain charm in that, in getting to know you entirely over again. Anyways, I am sure that at your heart of hearts you will always remain the same, so perhaps I should not fuss quite so much.

It is my sincerest hope that we may be reunited once more. There was much left unsaid upon our last meeting…but it is not something to be written in letters. Some discussions can only be had in person; I think this may be one such case, where the words cannot be found nor believed unless they are spoken. Though I know you always say you are ten times more eloquent on paper than aloud, so perhaps you would disagree; well, if that is what you will! But I shall keep my silence until you are before me once more.

Ever yours,

Y/N

You first met him ducked behind the marble walls of the church, standing on his tip-toes and extending his arm towards the laden boughs of a plum tree, resembling a bird on the brink of taking flight. For a moment you were still, watching as he plucked one of the riper fruits off the end of the branch, rolling it in between his fingers with an appreciative grunt, and then you took a single step towards him, crushing pink-white petals underfoot when you did.

His green eyes met yours at the instant his teeth broke the delicate skin of the plum, and panic sparked when he bit down, juice wetting his lips as he hastily chewed, swallowing that single morsel before tossing the entire fruit away and hiding his hands behind his back, bowing at you.

“My apologies,” he said. “I have been remiss. Did the teachers send you to collect me for our lessons? It isn’t a good excuse, I know, but it truly was a moment of distraction, nothing more.”

Even back then, he spoke with the cool, detached grace of a priest, though he was as lowly born as you. Unlike you, however, he had been bestowed with a divinity upon his birth, or so it seemed, and therefore at such a young age he had ascended to a status you would never reach.

You knew his name already, had heard it whispered throughout the shining capital a million times over, that pretty, delicate word which meant prince of lilies, and before you could stop yourself it was falling from your tongue. How sweet it tasted, how melancholy, and you said it again and once more for good measure, your eyes dropping to the purple stains upon his fingertips so that you could avoid his scrutiny.

“You come here to hide, right?” you said, surprising yourself with your boldness. His hands curled into fists disguised by the flowing fabric of his white robes, but you saw them, saw the way his tendons flexed momentarily, and for some reason felt entirely relieved by the fleeting display of humanity. “I won’t tell them.”

“You won’t?” he said dubiously. You shook your head. He regarded you carefully, and then he nodded, beckoning you closer. You did so at once, caught up in the lily-scented headiness of his presence, and when he dropped a plum in your hand, your fingers curled over it instinctively. “Good.”

“Good?” you said. He smiled, and you could tell based on the slowness of its dawning that it was not something he did readily nor frequently, so you were quick to return it with one of your own.

“Yes, it’s good,” he said. “Thank you…Y/N.”

It didn’t occur to you for many days that you had never told him what your name was, and by then the time for asking had long since passed, so you were left to forget the topic, except on those days when he was very close, his breath fluttering over your collarbones as you thought to yourself that there must’ve been a meaning to it all, one that you might be able to discern upon further consideration but did not yet dare to.

Dear Luocha,

Sometimes, I wonder what the weather must be like where you are. Is it sunny, or is it raining? I hope that you are in the kind of place that is in an eternal springtime, for I know you have never been fond of the cold, no matter how brave of a face you put forth. I am sure you are laughing in that way of yours — and if you are not, humor me as if you are, alright? — at such a childish notion. What sort of a place is forever caught in the time when flowers first bloom? It is unrealistic and bizarre, but I think it would make you happy, so you mustn’t blame me for imagining.

I am so frightened. In the worst of my dreams, those flowers are bullets and you are surrounded by hellfire and I do not know when I will see you again and I worry, I do worry…The baker was selling plum tarts the other day. I thought of you but did not buy one. 

Ever yours,

Y/N

He was more mischievous than he let on, more mischievous than one of such a controlled voice and refined stature ought to be. You first learned of this proclivity when skipping your afternoon lessons and sitting where the shadows of the plum tree and the church intersected went from a coincidence to a habit; he was incorrigible, really, always encouraging you to stay at his side for a minute longer, to braid ribbons and weeds into the locks of gold which were beginning to spill over his shoulders, in accordance with the holy customs of the land.

“They mean to make me one of their priests some day,” he said, lying with his head in your lap and his eyes closed. A butterfly rested on the tip of his nose, flapping its wings lazily with every breath he took. The first time such a thing had happened, you had been awed, but now you did not bat an eye, for such occurrences were common with him.

“Haven’t they always?” you said, twirling the ends of his hair around your index finger. “You were born for such a role.”

“Maybe,” he said, turmoil flashing over his face, darkening it in the way thunderclouds darkened even the loveliest of sunsets. 

“You don’t want it?” you guessed. He chuckled.

“Am I so obvious?” he said.

“Only to me,” you said. “But that comes as no surprise.”

“No,” he said. “No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

Dear Luocha,

You might tease me, but I am realizing more and more that you were the only person that mattered to me I could consider a friend. Oh, I can picture how you would snort at that now, but it really is the case. I miss you more and more with each day that passes…but I should not bore you with the trivial details of my longing!

How have you been? I haven’t received any letters from you in some time. I ask the postmaster nearly every day — I think he has your address memorized at this point! My parents are asking after you as well, though of course they call you by your other name, your true one, and they still believe you are on some great pilgrimage instead of fighting in this senseless war. Maintaining such a lie is difficult, especially to my mother, who has always been so discerning, but I have not failed you yet, and I do not plan on doing so in the future.

Ever yours,

Y/N

Watching them break his spirit was difficult, perhaps the most difficult thing you had borne unwilling witness to. You yourself had been assigned to an archival position in the church upon graduating with mediocre grades — there had never been any hopes that you would grow to be someone of note, and you had lived up to the expectations placed before you entirely and without complaint. You had no interest in being important or highly regarded, not when you saw what it did to him, not when there was still sun and summer to live for. 

A priest’s life amounted to a gilt of austerity painted over a heartwood that was rotting away from hedonism. Yet he was not like that, he was a verdant herb or a pale flower, and so he was too malleable to break, too incorruptible, ignoring their cajoling and bribery with the resolute dignity of a martyred saint. 

But of course there were other ways to convince a man, and so he would come to you in that place secluded from the world, marks littering the twin apples of his cheeks, turning them faded and blue and mottled, the sigils branded into his forehead reddening into scars that would only vanish when he complied.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he told you one day, your collar clenched in his fist, the skin over his knuckles split in shapes referring to the king of the gods. His eyes burned green and violent as they bored into yours, and droplets of blood welled in their corners, threatening to fall if he so much as blinked. “Isn’t that funny? They are remaking me in their image, and it doesn’t even hurt.”

You wanted to tell him that it hurt you, that you ached for him, every lacerating rune on his arm burning into your throat as he explained to you what each meant with the flat detachment of a professor, as if the two of you were reading from a textbook instead of the very veins that ran along the angle of his elbow. But that hardly made sense, because your skin remained unmarred and your blood unspilled, so you didn’t say anything to the effect.

“I don’t want you to be remade,” you said instead, quietly and softly. “I want you to stay the same. I want you to stay as you are.”

“I don’t have a choice,” he said, and abruptly every righteous emotion blazing within him was extinguished and he slumped forward. “No matter what I do, I will become someone different. Whether I accept my fate or run from it, I cannot remain the person you met for much longer.”

“You can,” you said weakly, and when he tucked his face against the crook of your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair of their own volition. “Please. Don’t become someone I don’t know.”

You felt more than heard him snickering, his amusement dry and sardonic. You frowned, and though he had no way of knowing, he shifted and exhaled in what you knew amounted to an apology.

“If I ever become someone you don’t know, I’ll reintroduce myself to you, and you can meet me again,” he murmured. “I might be twisted and bent and wrong in some places, but whatever is left of me, you can learn at your leisure. Is that some consolation?”

“As long as you promise you will come back to me,” you said.

“No one can change me enough not to,” he said. “Not the church and not the world.”

Dear Luocha,

Dozen eggs

Bag of flour

Fruit (which is in season?)

Yarn (sweater needs mending, check color)

My apologies, I have used this letter as a bit of a shopping list. I hope you do not mind it; I don’t have anything more interesting to say, so it’s for the best, anyways. If you are reading this, please write back with any suggestions you might have for my next trip to the market.

Ever yours,

Y/N

He kissed you only once, the day after they scrawled incantations over his heart and told him it was theirs now. Your back was to the plum tree, his hand cradling the nape of your neck so that it received the brunt of the bark’s ire in lieu of the slivers of skin exposed by your uniform. He loomed over you, surprisingly intimidating, wearing a halo of afternoon sun and a cloak of autumn wind, nigh-seraphic in both stature and countenance.

His free hand guided yours to cover the place where the verses came to a full stop before he moved his lips against your own, and it was strange, for you had always imagined him to taste sweet like the fruit he preferred, but it was salt and bruise and gunmetal that invaded your mouth like a foreign entity, tracing along your tongue and heaving, panting, desperate and unsure.

Only when he drew back did you pull your hand from his chest, catching your breath while he did the same. Your palm came away bloody, the red shimmering with a preternatural, blessed power, and before you could stop it, your eyes widened in horror. 

You wiped it off on the grass in a hurry, and neither of you spoke of the day again.

Dear Luocha,

They say the war will be over soon. Is that true? Does that mean you will be home soon? I have heard many details of your exploits, which is the only reason I am not more worried than I already am. They speak of a swan-warrior with a silver sword and eyes like cold gemstones, who fights with the grace of a bird and the delicacy of a blossom. It is you, I am sure of it, though no one else would ever consider such a thing. The next High Priest, vanished to study the ways of the blade…after everything they did to carve you in their image, it would be akin to spitting in their faces. They still think you are absorbed in meditation at the sunken temples; how foolish they are, how naive, how certain of themselves and their powers. 

All of them walk around with such swagger and pride, so assured that they managed to turn even you into one of their meek little sheep. It is all I can do to fight back a smile, for I alone know that you have flown far from this place, and whatever becomes of you now, it will be your own choice, not theirs. 

Ever yours,

Y/N

There was no moon in the sky on the day he left the city. His irises reflected the torchlight as he told you in hushed tones that he meant to change his name and join the army, to fight against the invading armies that infested your borders like swarming insects.

“Why?” you said. “Since when have you been a patriot?”

“I have no particular love for our nation,” he said. “But the idea of freedom, of suffering, even of death…I am so fascinated by it. These things that our professors and priests hid from us all our lives, I want to experience them, I want to imbue their essences into my being so thoroughly that I cannot unknow them no matter how hard I try.”

“I see. But what will the elders think? They won’t let you go without a fight, you must know that,” you said. When he was like this, there was no point in arguing. So rarely was he stubborn that on those few occasions he was, it was a proper and impossible obstacle to overcome; you had long ago learnt that there was no sense in even attempting. The only recourse was logical and careful consideration of his argument — for this was another thing, too, there was always a reasoning to it all, and usually said reasoning was flawless in the way of a knifepoint, inevitably swaying you to his side.

“I’ve already left them a letter saying that I was called to the sunken temples to meditate on the future of this war. They will be delighted that I have finally allowed the whispers of the divine to take shape in my mind, so they won’t question it in the slightest,” he said promptly, and when, as usual, you could not find fault in it, you sighed, squeezing your eyes closed so you didn’t have to look at him.

“You will be careful, won’t you?” you said.

“Yes,” he said. “And I’ll write to you as often as I can.”

“Every day?” you said.

“If the postmaster permits,” he said. “Though I’ll have to change my name; mine is too distinctive at present. I’ll make sure it’s something you recognize, though.”

“Okay,” you said, a sorry, pathetic lump forming in your throat. “Okay,  as long as — as long as I know it’s you.”

“Would you forget me that easily?” he said. You shook your head, immediately and furiously, and this prompted a gentle hum from him. “Don’t mourn me while I still walk this earth; save your sorrow for when I am departed.”

“Okay,” you said again, because if you said anything further, you were afraid you would not be able to maintain your cool facade, and if that happened then you would be lost entirely, a fumbling, feeble child in the dark of the night.

There was a silence, and then the silk of his gloves brushed against your cheek. You bit your tongue and tried to think only of the patterns bursting behind your eyelids — spiderwebs, cracks in cobblestone, the thin arteries of leaves, anything but him and how tenderly he lingered even as the window for his chance at fleeing grew narrower and narrower.

“You won’t open your eyes?” he said. You shook your head wordlessly, slowly at first but then faster, faster, and it took every bit of strength you had not to chase after his wrist and cling to it when he moved back. “If that is what you want. Farewell, Y/N.”

“Farewell,” you stammered out. There was something else begging to be said, both of you knew it, but neither of you had that bravery, that wherewithal, and so it could only hang in between you both, nearly tangible in its weight yet refusing to properly coalesce for good. “Don’t leave me for too long.”

Don’t leave me at all.

Only when his footsteps grew faint did you open your eyes, and only when you were sure he would not turn around did you allow your lower lip to tremble unchecked. As the white tails of his coat vanished from your view, you began to weep, and you hated yourself for it, but you could not stop yourself from wrapping your arms around your torso and rocking yourself, wondering who he would be if you ever had the chance to see him again, wondering if you had squandered your last glimpse at the man you — at the man you —

Dear Luocha,

The longer you are gone, the harder it is for me to remember the person I met in the shade of that plum tree. The exact shade of your eyes…the way you smiled…the scent of your clothes after you washed them…day by day, you become more ‘Luocha’ and less the man I grew up with. When I think of you now, it is in abstract images, in the click of the typewriter and the sting of a papercut. I miss you and I do not even know what, exactly, it is that I miss.

Supposedly the war is over and those who fought will come home soon. It has been some time since I last heard from you, and even longer since you wished me farewell on the street that night; the rest of the world has kept moving, but I alone remain frozen in place. My parents think I should wed soon, for I am nearing the age for such things, and maybe they would be right in calling me unreasonable for refusing — however, they do not know the truth which I have steadfastly kept from you thus far but cannot fathom hiding any longer: I love you. Isn’t that such a stereotypical thing? Go on, then. Laugh all you want, but I do. I love you, and I regret that I never told you, that I only realized when it was too late to do anything about it but bawl to myself in a most sniveling, unbecoming way.

Come back. Allow me to cry and tell you these things and humiliate myself entirely; let me learn you again at my leisure, as you once promised I could; tell me who you are now, if you are Luocha or someone else entirely; hate me or love me in return, whichever you please. But come back.

Ever yours,

Y/N

Dear Y/N,

Eloquence is my Well, I have always You don’t I am trying, but the words How have you stolen this from me? I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.will be home soon. 

Ever yours,

Luocha A person who will always come back to you

[otaku553]

Learning how to draw him,

[halfassedtea]

Sampo Koski’s backstory based off of -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/58474642/chapters/148957243