#so I put some extra effort into the sleeves on this piece!

[yutaan]

Papercraft Yuna from FFX! This game came out riiiight when Baby Yutaan was starting to figure out the bare bones of how design worked, and I was absolutely floored by the game’s aesthetic, particularly the character and clothing designs; Yuna was my favorite of the whole cast, and she still has one of my top favorite character designs of all time. I’ve wanted to make a papercraft of her for years, but was never satisfied with my sketches. But finally I feel like I’ve managed to do her justice! 🌸 

[nightingalescall]

Weight of the World

Kingdom of Ebreau:

prologue|part 1(you are here)|part 2

"You really do look like God."

Zephyr caressed your cheek with his thumb as he smiled lovingly at you. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours before raising his other hand to cup your face.

He stared into your eyes, awestruck before signing blissfully, "You look just like him....". You remained silent at his blatant display of affection. Zephyr continued, nuzzling his nose against yours as he closed his eyes and let out a content chuckle. In an effort to ease the awkwardness you felt from having the saint be so close to you, you adverted your gaze to the side, landing on your and Zephyr's reflection in the standing mirror situated in a corner of your room.

Zephyr was dressed in his usual white robe but today, he had put extra care into his hair and tied it in a low ponytail using a black ribbon. As for you, you had long since changed out of your old blouse and shorts. In fact, the temple gave you a makeover and threw out your old clothes the moment you stepped foot inside the building, saying your current attire was "unsuited for their beloved Messiah". It had been a few days since your "fall from heaven" as the devotees liked to call it but you still clearly remember the absolute bewilderment you felt when the nuns handed you your new clothes. Holding a golden dress with black beads as embellishments around the collar, skirt and hem of the long sleeves, the nuns grinned brightly at you, expectantly waiting for you to try it on. It looked more expensive than your total salary as the guards' errand girl(which wasn't a lot but you still could never imagined spending all that money on one piece of clothing). You declined at first, unable to accept such a gift but the dejected expressions and teary eyes that immediately came onto the faces of the nuns made you reconsider. Reluctantly, you took the dress from their hands. You stepped inside an empty room nearby and changed into the dress. Oddly enough, the dress fitted perfectly. Not too big, not too small. It was a wonder how they matched your measurements so well.

You slowly creaked opened the door, feeling bashful and self-conscious for wearing something so....Different from your usual attire. Your body felt foreign to you as you struggled to walk normally, thinking you should change the way you carry yourself in order to better match the sophisticated aura the dress brings. Feelings of doubt crept into your mind as you began to regret being so gullible to the nuns.

But what's done has been done. The door opened and dozens of eyes snapped towards you as you reappeared from within the room. The staring made you feel even more awkward.

"Does it look weird?" You asked, hoping to divert their attention and save yourself from the uncomfortable silence. Zephyr was the first to move. He immediately came forward and grasped your hands in his. His smile was wide as he answered. "You look wonderful, Messiah." He seemed a bit breathless.

Thud!

You heard something heavy hit the ground and some frantic voices come from behind Zephyr. You peered over his shoulder and saw that a few devotees had fainted.

"Messiah? Are you alright?" Zephyr's voice rang in your ear, cutting your flashback short. As you came back to reality, you saw Zephyr's reflection in the mirror staring back at you, a concerned frown clear on his face.

"Yes. Sorry, I was, um...." You tried to come up with an excuse as you turned your gaze back at him. Your eyes flickered towards his ponytail and a lightbulb lit up in your mind. "I was admiring your new hairstyle."

A bashful smile spread across Zephyr's face the moment you finished your sentence. "Do you like it? I'll tie it up more often if you like." He blushed slightly. Before you could reply, a knock came from the door.

You saw Zephyr's smile drop before he turned away and excused himself to go answer the door. Now with the saint out of your personal space, you could finally breathe again. Even if Zephyr wasn't cruel or strict in any way, his position as saint was still quite daunting. You felt like you needed to be on your best behaviour whenever he's around.

Sighing in relief, you took a seat on the edge of your bed, the soft mattress sinking lightly with the addition of your weight. You stretched and heard your joints pop softly before you reached for the cup of water placed on the bedside table. Bringing the beautifully decorated porcelain cup to your lips, you took a sip.

You held the almost empty cup in the palm of your hands as you stared down at your reflection in the water after you had your fill. Your face came into view and you were once again reminded of how familiar and yet foreign your face was now.

In the water, a pair of golden eyes looked back at you. This was the mark of Calerus. This was what the temple used to determine you were their Messiah. Calerus had given you the same golden eyes he had when he declared you his lamb that day. You are the one and only human in Ebreauan history to ever possess golden eyes. You're the first person to ever resemble their God. Such was the infatuation the devotees held towards your gaze, fawning whenever you even looked in their direction. So far, Zephyr is the only one who could somewhat keep his composure around you.

You stayed seated on your bed, waiting for Zephyr to finished attending to the person who came knocking. It was taking longer than anticipated.

"...me help the Messiah put them on, Saint Zephyr." Your ears perked up at the mention of your name(or your title to be exact) from the doorway. You glanced over at Zephyr and saw he was conversing with a young monk. You leaned back a on your bed, trying to get a better look at him from your position.

The monk seemed to notice movement within his vision and moved his gaze from Zephyr to the inside of your room. You both make eye contact and you finally notice the brown box he was holding in his hand.

A package?

The young monk's voice suddenly echoed through your room, drawing your attention from the box back to him. "M-miss Messiah. H-hello!", he waved enthusiastically at you, a toothy grin plastered on his flushed face. "Please allow me the honor of-" "Thank you, Brother Esten. I'll take it from here." Zephyr suddenly cut him off, snatching the box from the young monk's hand before slamming the door in his face. You jumped, startled as the door closed with a loud bang.

Zephyr walked over to you, holding the box the young monk had delivered, his usual kind smile back on his face. "Sorry that took so long, Messiah. Brother Esten can be a bit stubborn but he is a good soul." He smiled and handed you the box. You took it from his hands as you nodded. "Did he want something?" You asked, shaking the box gently as you tried to guess what was inside based on its weight.

Zephyr shook his head before reaching for the lid of the box. He lifted the lid and revealed the contents inside. A pair of black ballet flats. You raised an eyebrow in confusion.

You didn't order any shoes.

Zephyr simply chuckled at your expression before taking the flats out of the box. "These are a gift from the temple, Miss Messiah. We thought they would go well with your dress." He said as he went down on one knee in front of you. Placing the flats on the floor beside him, he gestured towards your feet.

"May I?"

You hiked up your dress, revealing the old brown boots you've worn even before becoming the guards' errand girl. They've been with you through thick and thin, through stormy and sunny weather so it pained you a bit having to say goodbye to them. Zephyr slowly undid your shoelaces and slipped the boots off your feet. “Brother Esten had asked to help you put on your new shoes but I informed him that I could do it. He was persistent though, insisting that he should be the one to do it.” He began to recall, taking one of the black flats and slipping it onto your foot.

“In his words and I quote, “A lowly task like this shouldn’t be handled by the saint. Let this humble servant of god do it instead.” I, of course, refused.” Zephyr relayed what transpired at the door just now as he slipped on the other shoe and checked if they fitted you.

You nodded, unfazed by his confession. Zephyr had been constantly at your beck and call ever since you became Messiah, lending his aid even when unnecessary. He goes out of his way to serve you and make your new life as comfortable as possible. In addition, you've also noticed that he had taken over the other nuns and monks' jobs of serving you, such as delivering meals, giving you fresh clothes and other menial tasks after a few days of observation. Sometimes it truly feels like he's your servant rather than your colleague.

You take a look at your new flats too, admiring its design. They fitted perfectly just like every other clothing the temple has given to you. "They're very comfortable. Thank you." You thanked Zephyr for helping you put on the shoes despite not needing the assistance. He smiled tenderly at you before reaching out to hold your right foot in his hand. "You're welcome, my Messiah." He pressed a kiss on your foot.

!

Your eyes widen in surprise at his action. You blushed and adverted your eyes to the side, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes. No matter how much time you spend with him, you don't think you could ever get used to his odd affection towards you.

"Miss Messiah..."

You heard Zephyr's voice call for you before feeling some weight on you lap. You looked down and saw he had placed his hands on your lap before resting his chin there. He gazed up at you, a look of concern plastered on his face. "You seem distracted today." He frowned. "I noticed you staring at your cup in a daze just now when I was talking to Brother Esten." Zephyr said as he moved one of his hand from your lap and reached for your hand. He gently rubbed the back of it with his thumb as he continued, "Is something bothering you?".

"Oh..." You let out, not expecting him to point out your habit of daydreaming. They've become more frequent after you came to the temple as Messiah. You just had a lot to think about. Your duties, your future, your new role and now the future of Ebreau as well as the well-being of its citizens. The role of Messiah required you to stand with the people and lead them towards a better life. The sudden drop of weight on your shoulders of being Messiah was a heavy one indeed.

"I'm fine. Just a lot to think about especially with how Ebreau is right now." You confessed and sighed, sharing your concerns about the country's current state. Zephyr reached up and cupped your face, making you look at him. "You have a heart of gold, my dear Messiah. I understand that with the way things are presently, you have much to worry about but please remember to not overwork yourself. Too much stress will do no one any good." He stated firmly, his eyes clear and free of doubt, wholeheartedly believing in what he said just now.

You were shaken by his conviction as you fell silent, processing his words. You nodded after a while. "You're right. I'll try my best to manage my anxiety. Thank you, Saint Zephyr." You thanked him, grateful he helped you snap out of it.

Zephyr smiled before leaning in to kiss your cheek. "You're welcome, Messiah. Also, please just call me Zephyr." He pulled back as he looked into your eyes, his gaze soft and warm. "Thank you, Zephyr. You may call me (y/n) too." You smiled back.

For a brief moment, you saw the corner of Zephyr's lips twitched. He suddenly looked down at your lap, avoiding your eyes before taking a deep breath. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at his behavior.

Did you say something wrong?

"One would suggest thee to not push the saint's self control too much."

A familiar voice rang inside your head. It was Calerus. You perked up at his sudden presence. "Oh, hello." You thought in your mind. The God of prosperity had a tendency to randomly pop up and speak to you directly through your mind ever since you became his lamb. Sometimes it was advice on what to do as Messiah and sometimes it was just to give one-off comments about the situation at hand. It was the latter this time.

Zephyr suddenly sprang onto his feet, pulling you off the bed by your hands as he did so. Not expecting the sudden pull, you stumbled and fell into his chest. You heard him chuckled as he wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly against him. You looked up from his chest and stared at him, perplexed. Zephyr simply laughed, "Let's take a walk in the garden, Lady (y/n)."

~✟~

The temple's garden was big and well kept. The flowers here bloomed splendidly, attracting little bees and butterflies to come play on their petals. The soft breeze of the afternoon blew gently, weaving through the yellow leaves of the aurum trees lining the walkway through the garden and shaking them lightly. The soft rustling of leaves paired with the running of water from the nearby fountain was a pleasant change in atmosphere that you desperately needed at the moment.

Zephyr walked beside you quietly as he let you bask in the warm afternoon sun and relax yourself. You sauntered through the garden, going off the pathway and inched closer to the various flower beds. You admired the flowers and couldn't help but smile at the sight of them.

It was a welcomed change of pace. You never found yourself to be a flower lover but here you were. Perhaps it was just a lack of exposure to them in the past.

"This is nice." You mumbled, crouching down and observing a butterfly on a purple flower. "What's this flower called?" You pointed at the flower as you turned your gaze up at Zephyr.

Zephyr smiled and joined you, crouching down beside you. "These are meripurlets."He started as he tucked a loose hair of yours behind your ear. "Their flower language is devotion." He smiled.

You raised your eyebrows at his words. "You know flower language?" You tilted your head. Zephyr chuckled, "Just the few that are commonly used around the temple."

You nodded with a brief "I see." and went back to the flowers before you. Their colours were vibrant and its leaves were evergreen, signifying that they are well taken care of. The shade of purple was nearly identical to that of Zephyr' eyes. You stared as you wondered who's in charge of taking care of the garden, awed by their dedication to these flora.

...

"...siah!"

?

A voice too soft and distant suddenly caught your attention. You couldn't make it what the voice said but it sounded frantic. You looked around the garden as you searched for the source of the voice, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Beside you, Zephyr did the same except instaed of being confused, he seemed more cautious and alert.

"Messiah!"

The voice got louder and closer as you heard it call for you. You turned and looked towards the entrance of the garden. A man waved at you as he ran over, tripping on his feet as he did so. Behind him, you see two guards tailing him closely, screaming at him to stop.

"Sir, stop this at once!"

"This is an act of trespassing and will have you arrested!"

The man ignored their demands as he continued to sprint towards you. As he inched closer, you noticed he looked familiar.

Mr. Citris?

Before you could confirm your suspicion, someone blocked your view, shielding you behind them. It was Zephyr. He kept you behind him, his hand holding onto yours in a tight grip as he watched the man approach.

You heard a thud come from in front of him. You tried to peer over his shoulders to see what was going on but unfortunately, he was too tall even when you went onto your toes.

A familiar voice rang and you confirmed who the man was.

"Saint Zephyr! Please let me see the Messiah!"

Mr. Citris pleaded but Zephyr didn't budge.

"My brother, while the temple is open to all followers of his Lord, Calerus, the garden, however can only be accessed by the devotees of this temple." His voice was deadly cold, unbefitting of his usual warm manner.

"I know, my saint, I know! But please! I'm at my wit's end. Please just let me talk to the Messiah!" Mr. Cirtris begged. He really did sound panicked. What got him so worked up? In your mind, nothing could ever shake Mr. Citris.

Mr. Citris is a farmer who sold fresh produce at the central market. You remembered passing by his stall when you were shopping there a few times. He scared you at first. His tough appearance paired with the ever present scowl on his face, it wasn't just you who felt reluctant to approach him. It was only until after you heard more about him from the guards that you changed your opinion on him.

Mr. Citris lives near the northeast outskirts of Ebreau. There, he has a plot of land where he use to plant his vegetables and fruits. His wife passed from complications of childbirth many years ago so it's just him and his daughter at his home.

However, life seemed to be particularly unfair to him as his one and only daughter suffers from a degenerative muscle disease that causes her to have difficulty moving. She still tries her best to help out her dad in his field but she can only work for so long before the pain kicks in. She's been prescribed some medicine to help slow down the degeneration and ease the pain but from what you heard, the medicine is quite expensive and is an extra burden on them when they can only make enough money to put food on the table each day. However, Mr. Citris somehow made it work by selling his products at the market and doing odd job around the city. Tiring as it is, he was able to make enough to afford the medicine and food for his daughter.

From then on, you invested in his small business when you could and even spread the word of his predicament around so people would consider buying from him more. You're not sure if it helped but at least you've seen an increase in customers at his stall ever since then.

In short, Mr. Citris was a big guy with an even bigger heart. Family was everything to him and you admired the lengths he went to for his daughter.

"My brother, the garden is a private resting place for the devotees and workers of the temple. You're intruding on the Messiah's personal time." From your angle, you could see the frown on Zephyr's face as he looked at the man.

Mr. Citris sounded like he was on the verge of crying as he called for you, hoping you would listen to him from behind Zephyr's back. "Messiah, please give me some of your time! It's about my sick daugther!" That immediately caught your attention. Zephyr continued to shield you behind him.

"Brother, you need to leave."

This time, Mr. Citris was silent and you felt a chill run down your spine at Zephyr's demand.

Zephyr stared him down and once he made sure Mr. Citris had nothing more to say, he ordered. "Guards, please escort this man out." Footsteps sounded as the guards approached Mr. Citris.

"On your feet, sir." One of the guards demanded when Mr. Citris remained unmoving on the ground. "I..." Mr. Citris breathed shakily. The guard who had previously ordered Mr. Citrus to move leaned down and grabbed onto his arm, ready to pull him up. Just as his hand touched Mr. Citris, another appeared, its touch soft but firm in stopping any further action.

You stepped forward, coming out from behind Zephyr's back. Pressing your hand onto the guard's, you stopped him from taking Mr. Citris away.

"Lady (y/n)?" "Messiah?" Zephyr and the guards let out in astonishment.

You kneeled down onto the ground as the guard withdrew his hand from Mr. Citris. Mr. Citris kept his head down, his eyes fixated on the ground. Now on the same eye level as him, you could see the redness at the corner of his eyes.

He was holding back tears.

"..."

Something big must have happened for Mr. Citris to be this desperate.

"Mr. Citris, what happened to your daughter?" You finally asked. Mr. Citris' head suddenly snapped up and stared into your eyes, his own wide in shock, seemingly only noticing your presence after you called for him.

"My Lord..?" Mr. Citris whispered in disbelief, his body trembling. "Sorry?" You asked back, caught of guard by his question.

"C-calerus." A invisible question mark appeared above your head.

"I'm (y/n), Mr. Citris. The Messiah. You asked to see me, no?" You attempted to correct.

"Mes...Messiah?" He repeated as if he was unsure of your dentity even after you told him

"Yes." You nodded and smiled at him, wanting him to believe you. Mr. Citris' mouth stayed shut as he blinked, staring at you as he seemed to ponder something profound.

You lightly coughed and asked again, ignoring his stare. "So, tell me, Mr. Citris, what happened to your daughter?" You wanted to get to the bottom of Mr. Citris sudden visit.

At your question, he snapped out of it, shaking his head as he took a breath. "Y-yes, Messiah....Of course..." He mumbled under his breath before meeting your gaze once more.

"I...It's..." Mr. Citris stuttered, his voice shaking and you saw tears well up again in his eyes. "Take a breath. Slowly now." You patted his shoulder reassuringly.

Mr. Citris breathed in deeply and calmed himself. "My daughter....She has a degenerative muscle disease ever since birth but she has been prescribed some medicine to help with the sickness. They are expensive but I am able to pull together enough money each month to buy them by selling vegetables I've planted on my land at the outskirts of the kingdom." He began to tell and you nodded. Nothing you didn't know of.

He suddenly paused, swallowing as he seemed contemplate something. You raised an eyebrow and ushered for him to continue.

"No need to be hesitant, Mr. Citris. Let me hear it."

Mr. Citris nodded and continued. What you heard next stunned you.

"Recently, my house got attacked. By...by the Casvians." Your eyes went wide at his words. Behind you, you felt Zephyr stiffen.

"Casvians?" You repeated, not believing your ears.

Mr. Citris nodded. "They attacked my house, burned my land and my crops with it. I managed to save my daughter and myself before they got to us." He said mournfully. You listened attentively, nodding each time he looked at you for conformation to carry on.

"We've been living at an inn in the capital for the past 2 weeks but with my land gone, I've lost my main source of income from selling vegetables and fruits on the market. I...I can barely afford food for us both now, let alone...." He trailed off but even with no words spoken, you knew what he was going to say.

He can't buy medicine for his daughter.

You bit the inside of your cheeks. This was a tight spot for Mr. Citris. Food, medicine and now accommodation? Even if he did still have his land, you doubt that'd be enough to afford all three of them.

He said Casvians attacked him but how? You knew Mr. Citris' house was near the boarders between Ebreau and its neighbouring country, Casviren but it couldn't be that close to where he would get caught in the crossfire.

Then, assuming he isn't lying, for the Casvians to attack Mr. Citris' house would only mean either the Casvians are getting bolder or...

Ebreau's defenses are falling.

You clenched your fists as your expression hardened.

The situation may be more dire than you thought.

This kingdom is falling apart. Fast.

You took a deep breath and steadied yourself. The state of the kingdom needed to wait for now. First, you need to help Mr. Citris.

You turned back and looked up at Zephyr. "Does the temple have spare money to buy the medicine for his daughter?" You asked, standing back up and facing him. Zephyr was silent as he stared at you, his face unreadable. You felt uneasy at his silence. You glanced downward briefly and saw his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Was he angry?

The thought crossed your mind for a second but you quickly brushed it off. Why would he be? You're helping someone. There was nothing wrong in that.

Right?

Zephyr noticed that you have spotted his curled up fists and quickly release them. He cleared his throat before answering. "While the temple does not lack in terms of money, the Royal family specified that the funds given to us should be spent on strictly temple related matters and nothing more." Zephyr said, his lips turning down into a small frown and his eyes softening in concern.

"Them, is there anyone in the temple with medical training that can help Mr. Citris' daughter?" You refused to give up, searching for another way to help the man.

To your dismay, Zephyr shook his head, a look of sorrow on his soft features. "There are some nuns and monks that have basic medical knowledge but I am not aware of any that are experienced enough to able to take care of someone with this sort of disease."

You bit your lip, your eyebrows knitted together in worry. This was bad. How were you going to solve this...

Just as you were going to begin panicking, Zephyr gave you something that lessened your anxiety. "However, if Mr. Citris likes, he may collect meals from the temple." You tilted your head at his suggestion. Zephyr smiled at you and elaborated. "The temple prepares food for all devotees everyday and most of the time, there will be leftovers. If Mr. Citris doesn't mind, him and his daugther may have the leftovers." Zephyr looked at Mr. Citris behind you. "I know it's not what you wanted but hopefully, it will at least decrease your financial burden." Zephyr added, bowing his head apologetically at Mr. Citris.

You turned and looked back at Mr. Citris. He was staring at you and Zephyr, unmoving and silent.

"I...Thank you, saint. I am grateful. Any help is appreciated." Mr. Citris lowered his head. He sounded... Disappointed.

Everyone fell silent. The light breeze that tickled your face had stopped blowing and the sun that shone brightly had dipped behind the horizon, leaving behind only streaks of its rays as the afternoon turned into evening and soon night. You sighed silently and hung your head like Mr. Citris. You felt so ashamed at your incompetence. As Messiah, the people expected you to lead, to guide, to help but today's encounter showed you that you were still far from fulfilling any of those requirements.

You were Messiah in name.

Power and will?

You can only pray Calerus will give them to you in the future.

Mr. Citris sniffled and the boulder weighing on your heart became heavier. You felt a hand on your shoulder. "You're trying your best, Lady (y/n). Don't blame yourself." Zephyr whispered into your ear. At that, you loosened your fists which you didn't know you were gripping.

Yes, calm down, (y/n). Nothing can be accomplished by moping around.

You inhaled deeply before kneeling back down. Mr. Citris kept his head low, unwilling to meet your gaze. On the ground beneath him, you saw small splotches.

He was crying.

And he didn't want you to see his tears.

Your heart ached at his predicament but what else could you do?

Carefully, you reached for his hands. You clasped them in yours as you pulled them close to you and shut your eyes.

There was nothing left to do but pray.

You mumbled your prayer, loud enough only for you and Mr. Citris to hear.

"Calerus, our lord high above."

Your grip on Mr. Citris' hands tightened.

"A problem arises that cannot be solved by our mortal hands."

I'm sorry, Mr. Citris.

"Please grace us with your mercy and benevolence in this time of need."

I wish I could do more for you.

"Spare the daughter of this follower of yours. Let her pain be subsided. Let her agony be gone."

But, alas, I am a fraud.

"Give the daughter the strength to overcome that which plagues her body. Give the father the strength to overcome that which plagues his mind."

I am only a pawn in Calerus' hands.

"Let your power be seen through this pair of parent and child."

I am at Calerus' mercy.

"Earnestly, we pray."

Clink!

Your eyes snapped opened at the sudden sound.

Clink! Clink!

?

You looked around, confused at what's making that noise. It sounds like....Coins dropping?

Clink! Clink! Clink!

You gazed down. On the ground between you and Mr. Citris, a few gold coins laid there, some still spinning in place.

Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink!

More appeared, seemingly falling from thin air. They fell rapidly, like they were overflowing from their source. You were perplexed at where they were coming from until you looked at your hands.

Gold coins seeped out from within your sleeves and onto the ground. They flowed like water, their speed and frequency of appearance increasing rampantly.

"What in the..." You gasped as you looked in disbelief. Gold coins were basically pouring out of your sleeves right now.

"Messiah...!" Mr. Critris gasped as he finally lifted his head and saw the scene before him. "I, um," you struggled to find words to say in this situation.

Mr. Citris suddenly bowed down to you, his forehead pressing on the ground. " Thank you, Messiah! Thank you! Thank you! This will be more than enough!" He thanked you before raising his head, a wide smile plastered on his tears stained face. He wiped away his tears, drying his eyes as he continued to thank you. "Messiah! Truly, my Messiah!" He cried, tears of joy (you assume them to be at least) continued to roll down his cheeks despite just wiping them.

The pour of coins slowly calmed down into a drizzle before finally stopping. In front of you, a small pile of gold coins sat on the ground, reflecting the last bits of sunlight and shimmering softly.

You stared in shock at what just happened with a still emotional Mr. Citris kneeling before you, muttering incoherent thank-you's while scooping up the gold coins. Your brain was melting from having to process the weird occurrence. Was that Calerus' answer to your prayers? Or was that your power all along and it was just a matter of you not knowing? Your head was spinning.

A hand suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you onto your feet. You looked back and Zephyr glared at Mr. Citris over your shoulder, a frown tugging on his lips. He pulled you back behind him, pressing you to him so you couldn't do something he didn't expect again.

"Mr. Citris, it seems our gracious Lord has answered your prayers." His tone was cold despite the miraculous event that called for a joyous celebration. "Now that your problems have been solved, I think it's time for you to go back to your daughter, yes?" He questioned, his voice holding a certain persuasiveness and firmness in it, like he wasn't asking but ordering.

"Yes, thank you. Thank you, my Messiah...My saviour...m-my God!" Mr. Citris smiled, looking up at you. His smile grew into a grin as he began to mumble to himself. You grew concerned at his mumbling.

Mr. Citris isn't usually like this...

Before you could ask if he was alright,. Zephyr tugged at your arm and pulled you away from the scene. "Help Mr. Citris collect his money and escort him out of the temple." He ordered the two guards before quickening his place and pulling you away with him.

You were still in a daze, astonished by what just transpired. You barely even noticed Zephyr had dragged you towards one of the entrance to the temple that connected with the garden. Only when you both stepped back inside the temple did he let go.

You finally snapped back to reality as the familiar white marble walls and well lit halls came into your view. You raised your hands and stared at them. They seemed fine. Nothing looked different from before....Then, what on earth happened back there?

Another pair of hands came into your peripheral before intertwining your hands in theirs. You looked up and saw Zephyr staring at your hands in his.

"Zephyr?" You raised an eyebrow. He's been acting weird since Mr. Citris came.

You felt him tighten his hold as he breathed shakily. "Lady (y/n)..." He whispered, eyes still glued to your hands.

"Are you alright?" You made no move to pull away from his grasp.

Zephyr was quiet.

"..."

"Zephyr? You're worrying me." You voiced your concerns. Zephyr was really out of it today.

At your words, he raised his head and met your eyes. His signature smile still absent from his face.

"Did you know, Lady (y/n)?" He began.

"Know what?" Zephyr was beginning to confuse you. You thought you had a decent understanding of him now after living together for the past few weeks but...

Maybe there was still more to him than what meets the eye.

"Meripurlets and aurum trees have a symbiotic relationship." He rubbed your hands.

"Meripurlets have short roots which causes them to have a hard time finding water especially during dry seasons. To battle this, they grow near aurum trees which have long roots and can easily absorb water deep within the soil. A meripurlet will penetrate its roots into an aurum tree's to take its water. As such, meripurlets are categorized as a parasitic plant." Zephyr glanced outside towards an aurum tree.

"However, if you look in books, they will say that the relationship between meripurlets and aurum trees is mutualism. Fascinating, no?" A small smile finally crawled onto his face. You couldn't help but feel relieved when you saw it. At least he looked like he was back to normal. Wish the same would apply to his voice though.

"That is because meripurlets only take a small amount of water from aurum trees. Just enough to sustain itself. In return, they give nitrogen they absorbed from the soil to aurum trees to let them grow taller and stronger. Research also found that each meripurlet plant only ever get water from one aurum tree. It doesn't matter if another one is planted beside it, once it chooses one, it will depend on that aurum tree for the rest of its life. A very...devoted flower, don't you agree?" This was interesting and all but you couldn't wrap your head around why Zephyr was telling you all this. He continued on with his rambling.

"Despite all the good they do for each other, did you notice that the meripurlets and aurum trees in the garden are not planted together, Lady (y/n)?" This time, Zephyr tilted his head.

You recalled back to your walk. Indeed, the flowers and trees were separated from each other. You nodded, unsure where this was going to lead.

Zephyr smiled wider. "Well, another fascinating thing about meripurlets is they don't like to share."

"What?" You blurted out.

"When another parasitic plant comes and lives off the aurum tree they had chosen, the meripurlets will suck all the water from the aurum tree and will stop giving the tree its nitrogen supply. Slowly, the aurum tree will wilt and die just like any other host plants in parasitic relationships." Zephyr explained as he stepped closer, brushing his lips against the back of your fingers.

"As for the meripurlet, the excessive water will cause it to rot from within until it eventually dies." His gaze darkened and you unconsciously swallowed nervously.

"The meripurlet would rather kill the aurum tree it tethered itself to than share it with another plant. It would rather die than choose another aurum tree to depend on." Zephyr looked back down, his bangs tickling your hands.

"To this, botanists like to say..."

He leaned in and whispered into your ear.

"Devotion can kill."

~✟~

Done! Another chapter in the bag. Thank you all for the immense support you've shown for the prologue. I didn't expect it to blow up like that especially since it's the first thing I've ever posted here. Thank you again for the support and for waiting for the next chapter!(I'm a slow writer so please bear with me!(´-﹏-`；))

Same thing applies, if you find any problems, please tell me so I can make corrections in order to give everyone the best reading experience!

~

Taglist

@ursinaw @ceeesxy-blog @deepinballs @vash-yuu @fairy-lenaa @fleurescentlight @surprisemodafakas @cerisearan (you wrote master list but I'm gonna assume you meant tag list. Sorry if I'm wrong(T_T)) @avyannasstuff

[farleighlover]

farleigh angst is so a need like reader is his gf n he cant communicate well or express himself cause hes scared LIKEKEEE (this nga toxic but only cuz he dk how to love right 🫵🤣)

i was THINKIGNG farleigh who always uses sex as apologies getting into an argument with his gf (us !!) and shes so pissed that she says something about it, like “do you wanna fuck so you can stop—” wtv wtv, right? RIGHTTT? like something where she basically just shades his neediness for sex n everything… and he legit looks like a child getting scolded, saying no n everything, trying so hard to tell her that he wants her to hold him but he cant, so he just tried to tug at her hands and all </3

₊⊹ “numbingly obsessed.”

| farleigh start x fem!reader

w.c.: 2.6k

a/n: IM BACK thank you for this glorious request i love you !!!!!!!!! mwah mwah mwah nsbfjsjndjdjd sorry for not posting in sooooo long, i have pieces in the works so do not worry i also know i did mix up the request a little so sorry :(. and @firemenenthusiast take this

masterlist here …

you knew you and farleigh wouldn’t last.

you knew deep down your relationship with him went to shit. constantly arguing, yelling, just everything.

yet here you were, in his bed, sore from yesterday’s stupid decisions. it was like a never ending cycle. you and him get into an argument, he storms out of your dorm, then when it’s night you always hear the same knock and each thing leads to another, every time.

farleigh has already left a while ago, leaving no trace other than the drawer with his extra pack of cigarettes opened. he always left without leaving anything because at this time of age, you two don’t have the time for that anymore. or in other words, don’t care to make the effort for each other anymore.

you make your way to the courtyard where farleigh was with felix and some other popular jackass guys. the tension from the argument you two had yesterday was still heavy in the air as you both didn’t come to a conclusion with farleigh calling you a whore from how you dressed and “talked” to guys. you two went back and forth yesterday, and even now, it was obvious by his expression that he wasn’t going to drop it any time soon.

you went up to him. “hey.” you intertwined your fingers with his as he glanced down to see your face, then giving your fingers a little squeeze and kissing your head before he went back to talking. even the tiniest bit of affection still brought butterflies from the pit of your stomach.

it also reminds you of what you two had before farleigh turned into a second replica of himself, forgetting details of him when he turned popular. before, he was sweet and a loving person, and you know it’s basic words to describe him but it purely fit the old him. you two were secure and enveloped in love endlessly, always doing some cliché lovers thing, for example, you two wore stupid silly matching “bff” necklaces from claire’s because for the life of him, couldn’t find a girlfriend and boyfriend one. you teased him when he told you this, saying “it’s claire’s, baby. i wouldn’t be surprised.” he scoffed and laughed it off.

farleigh persuaded you to wear your part of the heart. he was so excited and so proud of himself as he made you drumroll and overdo it for the reveal, and when he finally pulled it out of the bag, he was all giggles and smiled as he went over to help put your necklace on. there were struggles here and there, farleigh cursing at the “stupid bitchy hook” he would call, but when he eventually got it on, he smiled and giggled before hugging and kissing you in joy.

because farleigh cherished you and paraded you around, showing everybody that you were his and he was yours, you two became the star couple of oxford from how in love you both were. he went heavy on displaying affection, peppering you kisses, holding your hand, always having to be close to you and touch a part of you, like the lace of your skirt or the fabric of your sleeve, to remind himself that you’re still there. one of your favorite times is halloween, because whenever farleigh needs a kiss mark for his costume, he’ll run to you with your signature lipstick (which must i add, had to be waterproof because he didn’t want it to come off from him sweating) and bend down to your level so your kiss mark was on his cheek. most times, he didn’t even need a kiss mark. he just wants a kiss from you displayed.

but the popularity got to him, and it’s like he was a different person. he stopped leaving you morning kisses, he stopped buying you flowers often, he just decided to stop caring as much. and now, farleigh constantly argued. always grumpy about something and he took it out on you. you know that farleigh has a hard time expressing how he feels, so the only way he apologizes his actions is through sex. you knew that farleigh feared losing you.

you snapped out of your thoughts as farleigh smushed his cigarette butt into the grass. you look up at him before hugging him a slight tighter. even after everything, you still loved him a lot. the feelings you have felt since the beginning have always stayed blooming alive in you. he gazed down before he kissed your head and gave you a pat on the shoulder.

you shared first period english with farleigh. you both always sat next and close to each other, no matter how upset you two were at each other. throughout class as you tried to focus on the professor, you could always sense farleigh staring at you and taking note of every inch and every nook of you. he has a small habit of doing that which makes your heart flutter every time, until farleigh gets yelled at. “mr. start, instead of analyzing your girlfriend so much, what about analyzing the text in your hands? just a suggestion.”

a few kids laughed quietly at the professor's remark which makes farleigh scoff and a thin rosy layer spreads across his cheeks. he always looked adorable when he got flustered. you let out a little giggle and pitched his arm, making the corners of his mouth tug into a sweet smile before swatting you away before the professor told you two to quit it. you both immediately stopped, and after a little, you and him glanced at each other and tried to hold in your laugh. in small moments like this, even after everything, you still knew that farleigh was the same lovestruck boy from the start.

it was later in the night. everybody was in the pub. you sat on farleigh’s lap with an arm around his neck as he kept you close with his hand on your hip, drawing little shapes on your bare skin. the tension still remained and worsened when farleigh got drunk.

“your girl’s showing a bit of skin, farleigh.” some guy shot out.

“i know. she’s being a bit of a whore lately.”

you immediately felt your cheeks flush as you glared at farleigh, widening your eyes as all he did was shrug his shoulders. what the fuck did he just call you? you scoffed in disbelief before pushing him off and made past people and leaving. why would he just embarrass you like that? your heels clicked against the concrete as you shoved open the doors.

the shock of coldness from outside hit you greatly. you hugged yourself, trying to create some warmth as you originally arrived to the pub with farleigh’s jacket, but fuck that. you didn’t truly need him, right? you two lost the spark the relationship held a long time ago. you were fed up with every ounce of bullshit he brought when he came over. every argument, every insult he said to you, the complaining, why would you take any more from him?

you sat in your dorm, reading a book as you tried to stop thinking about what he called you at the pub. the clock was about to strike the second hour you’ve been at your dorm, when a knock was at your door.

you already knew who it was. the farleigh start, coming to ask for “forgiveness" which the story always ended the same in bed. but now, you had enough of his shit.

you went and answered the door, obviously pissed. farleigh groaned and did a quick eye roll when he saw your expression. “listen baby, i’m sorry okay? is that what you wanted to hear?”

you scoffed. “i’m sorry my ass. you can do better.” farleigh got more impatient by the second. “can you let me in at least?” a small bite was present in his voice which somehow instead of making you feel small and the burn in your throat, you stood your ground. “farleigh, i fucking deserve an apology. you humiliated me in front of everybody. why the fuck would you do that?” the anger was shown in your voice.

farleigh glared, him getting increasingly annoyed. “so that’s what all of this is about? chill the fuck out, everybody was drunk. nobody will remember it tomorrow.” he let out a small sigh and crept his hands onto your hips, drawing himself closer to you. “baby c’mon… i’m sorry okay? let me show you…”

you instantly grabbed his hands away from your hips. “oh, you’re going to fuck me as your apology? like how you always do?” you were pissed. it felt like everything you kept in for months just snapped out.

farleigh’s eyes widened. he never seen you talk and act like this to him. “baby, i just—“ you immediately cut him off. “don’t fucking call me that! i’m not your “baby” farleigh, for fuck’s sake.” you spat.

“c’mon, i’m sorry okay?” his tone softened a little. farleigh always had a hard time expressing his feelings. he moved into your doorway, trying to get closer as you kept backing up. when both of you were in the dorm, he closed the door behind him, still keeping his eyes on you.

he took a deep breath before adding on. “i didn’t mean when i called you a whore, i was just mad from yesterday…” farleigh tried to hold your hand but you snatched it away. “i don’t fucking care! you always do this. you just come here and pick out a problem about me. you were never like that before. if you don’t want to be with me, then just say that!”

farleigh’s heart dropped and he was at a loss of words for a second at the thought of him losing you. “nononono, baby, c’mon—“ “no farleigh,” you snapped, the tone and sharpness in your voice made his eyes widened a little, not ever seeing you react like this. “you always pick out everything i do, having me under your grasp and forcing me to be all this and all that for you! for fuck’s sake, you don’t even have a true apology! what, “let me show you”? is that your excuse every time?”

farleigh sputtered out excuses, tears filling up his eyes. the guilt and shame burned heavy and deep into his chest. “no—! i’m sorry, please listen…” he started becoming more desperate, trying to hold your hand to feel the comfort you brought to him and also to try and get you to hear him out, but you’ve had enough. “no farleigh. you fucking listen!” he sits down in one of the chairs, trying to tug at your hands as he pouts a little and his eyes become glossy. “baby—“ you immediately cut him off. “don’t fucking call me that farleigh! i’ve had enough of your shit. you know, fuck this. we’re done. get out of my dorm.”

farleigh’s heart immediately broke. as you walked away, he stood up and went after you, a whimper leaving him. “n-no! please, can we just talk about this? i love you—“ you turned and faced him before shooting back. “no you don’t! you would’ve never treated me like this if you loved me farleigh! never!”

you could see in his eyes how his heart just crumbled from your words. he let out a sob, tears slipping down his cheeks. farleigh truly loved you and you knew that. but you knew that this isn’t what you deserved. it was like you trying to save a dying flame but farleigh kept blowing it out.

farleigh held your hand tightly, even though you tried to free yourself. he was scared that you’ll slip out of his grasp and he’ll lose you forever. he couldn’t let that happen. you were the only thing he loved in his life. he needed you. he wouldn’t know how he’d cope without you. he sobbed more, the tears flooding out of his eyes as he choked and coughed on his spit. “i’m sorry! i’m so sorry… i truly love you, i was just scared baby, please believe me…”

“bullshit farleigh! fucking bullshit!” tears filled your waterline, and soon they were slipping out of your eyes. farleigh couldn’t handle seeing you cry, the guilt and regret burning deeper and deeper into his chest. it hurt him to see you like this and the worst part was that he knew he was the whole reason behind it. “baby please… i’m sorry, i love you, i-i can’t lose you…” farleigh was losing it more and more, his tears and sobs becoming louder as he hiccuped and tried to keep you close. he could never commit. past then, he was so scared of you finding someone better or you getting annoyed of his clinginess, so he just kept pushing you away. but you were the thing he loved most. if he reached a low, you were always there and he always said the same thing, “i’m so lucky to have you.”

every moment was replaying in farleigh’s head. every single one. every english period with you, every date, even the arguments. he didn’t care if you were yelling at him, all he wanted was to be around you.

and now he was going to lose that forever. and that thought made him break. he was drowning in all the regret and shame that was weighing him down. he let out a wrecking sob before just shutting down. he couldn’t take it. all he wanted to do was make it up to you, for everything to stop and go back to what it was. every mistake, every time he hurt you, he only wished to take it back because in pure reality, you were genuinely the only person he had and trusted. but because of his stupidness, he wouldn’t have you anymore. he feared this day, and now his whole world was just coming down. you felt the grip on your hand slowly become looser as the crying just took over him. his hands covering his face as he whimpered and cried, trying to hide himself from everything that was happening. it honestly hurt you to see him like that. you’ve never seen him just crumble and that stung your heart.

he let go of your hand, trying to stop crying and find his words. he knew that no matter how much fighting or pleading he did, you would never take him back. he tried to make the last moments, well, last. he grasped out for your touch, just wanting you to hold him and just wanting to feel the warmth and comfort of your touch. “p-please…” he begged. his voice was hoarse and dry as he kept sobbing.

you never wanted more to just give in and hug him. to just forget about everything and only think about his heartbeat in your ear, or the feeling of you all wrapped up with him while you both fell asleep mid movie. but you couldn’t. you couldn’t just keep letting yourself go back to him. this was once and for all.

“no farleigh. leave my dorm now, please.” you could see how all hope drained from his face, but he knew that you’ve made your decision. he let out a quiet cry before whispering, “goodnight. i-i love you.” a small whine leaving his lips as he finished. he took a glimpse of you, just trying to remember you and the love you both once had. after a little, he went to your door and left, the quietness of the door clicking close, rather than all the times he slammed it after leaving your dorm with another argument. the sinking of the door and his presence gone left you with the silence and everything that just happened finally coming to your brain and heart. you just stared, a part of you just hoping he’ll come back and say something once more, just so you could hear him for the last time in a row, but it never came. you two were always and forever, going to be numbingly obsessed with each other.

.. taglist: @fuckshitslover @themoonchildwhofell @khxna @flipsconhelado @nataliesfirefly

[balkanradfem]

So, I felt like sewing today.

I remembered I had a piece of curtain that I intended to turn into a t-shirt, I found it in a thrift store for 50 cents and thought how I would really like a shirt with this pattern! It's a very old, woven piece of fabric, made out of pure cotton, and it's very strong and durable, and not transparent at all, with pretty blue leaves and berries on it.

I looked trough all of the t-shirts I own, and found this purple one had a very interesting collar, and I liked the way it looked on me, so I decided to duplicate that same shirt.

If I was really wanting to make it perfect, I'd make a pattern out of paper, then copy it to the fabric, then cut. But I just went straight to cutting, I feel like I can guesstimate this out.

I've made a pajama shirt once, so I've learned that the hardest thing to make is the collar. I spent some time figuring out how to make a neat-looking collar this time, and it took me a few tries to overlapping this blue fabric on one side and the other before I figured it out. But I think this collar can work! I specifically used some stretchy fabric to make it easier on myself. Here's the recreation of the collar:

I sewed the sides together, which was easy, and now the last, most annoying step, to make the sleeves, and to sew them on. Last time I sewed on the sleeves wrong 3 times in a row, I hope this time to get it right slightly sooner.

I realized at this point that the sleeves would look the best if I put the same collar-type ending on them, and it was soo annoying, I am doing this with needle and thread, and my technique required sewing it twice. So I was annoyed. The sleeves were also slightly poofy in the original, so I made sure to add a slight poof to them here as well. It felt like I spent an hour doing each one, but when they were done, they looked so good, I don't regret putting in the extra effort.

I actually managed to put the sleeves on correctly on the first try, which was a huge relief. And she's done!

I'm actually a bit surprised that it doesn't even look that hand-made, it seems the neat collar makes it look like a real shirt. I can actually wear this outside, and fulfill my dreams of looking like a 90s curtain! It feels so very good on my skin though, it's light-colored so it's great for the sunny weather, it will not easily wear out or fall apart because it's woven! That is an actual non-transparent, durable white shirt, something you can't get that easily anymore. It took me about 7 hours to make by hand.

Also if you're wondering why I couldn't tidy up my bed the whole time I was doing this. Well. I had priorities and also I am being honest on the internet about living in a messy bed. It would have been lying if I had tidied it up :) (And to be extra honest it's just a mattress on the floor, I migrate to the floor sometimes.)

[the-east-art]

Fantail Pigeons and Mourning Doves - Part 3

The Very Long Stitching Up An Injury Scene

Mel watched the RV pull up to the pump. A woman stepped out, shoulders drawn and hands restless at her side. She talked to the driver of the car before closing the door and circling to the other side. He considered her physical countenance - it matched with the body language he had seen time and again at the gas station. Some kind of a mixture of exhaustion from a long haul in car and frustration with the companions they had willingly trapped themselves with. That kind of body language usually meant Mel smiling tightly as people yelled and argued at one another inside the store as he pretended he was no there, or a piece of decor. That kind of yelling and arguing always made his hands shake and his teeth clench, prepared for… something. 

Outside, the woman at the RV yelled something and the RV left to circle the lot for the fourth time. For five solid minutes, Mel had watched this RV attempt to get in the right position to fill its’ tank. A boxy van parked itself next to a pump, first try and everything. The woman - now directing the driver of the RV by waving her arms in wide semi-circles - shot a look at the van. Mel couldn’t make out the expression from his vantage point, but he assumed it was either envious or angry.

Mel cast himself out there alongside the woman, pictured himself waving his arms to help direct the van. He thinks it would look funny - his oversized sleeves would flop all over the place and emphasize the movement. In his projection of the event, he was able to make small-talk with the women and his efforts made it so that the RV did not have to circle the lot another time. In this version of events, he headed the issue off at the pass. With his help, both the woman and the driver were no longer frustrated, and by the time they entered the store, they were smiling and laughing together, along with however many occupants there were in the vehicle. They did not come in and yell at each other, or their kids, or at Mel. 

“Someone busy daydreaming?”

Mel is pulled out of his thought process the way that one plunges into an icy lake in mid-winter. He hadn’t even noticed the man enter the store. Mel forces his attention from the window, and as per usual has to work not to have his head at its’ usual permanent upward tilt. Wrens’ face beams back at him from the counter. 

“Sorry to interrupt - looked like it was a good one.” Wren comments, adjusting his items on the counter. He has a soda - one of the weird ones they carry in a glass bottle - and a bag of extra-sour gummy worms. 

“It wasn’t dreaming.” Mel replies. He contemplates for a moment explaining the projection to Wren. Zephs’ face instead swims forward in his memory, and he reaches for the soda. Wren isn’t wearing his usual get-up - the jacket and t-shirt combo. He’s instead donning a simple grey button-up tucked into his jeans. An iron-on decal over his breast pocket declares that his name is Wren. If he had been wearing this the other night, Mel wouldn’t have had to admit he had forgotten the name. He takes too long looking at Wrens’ appearance, and Wren breaks the silence as Mel hasn’t even rung up one of the two items yet. 

“Yeah I know, not exactly the most fashion-forward look. I have to be presentable though - play the part.” Mel tilts his head to the side without thinking, replaying the sentence over in his head. 

“What part do you have to play?” 

“I work as a handyman.” Wren waves a hand through the air. Mel thinks it makes it look like he’s trying to shoo away the topic of conversation. “Electrical, plumbing, the works. It’s something people need, ya know? But no one likes having a stranger in their house. A uniform, a nametag… helps put people more at ease.” Mel took a beat to imagine that. At the Seminary, there was always a sibling or aunt or uncle that could take care of anything, but at his current place, it was just him. He had never considered what he would do if the lights just suddenly stopped working, and pictured himself trying to sit and read on the mothball couch while someone he didn’t know prowled around the three small rooms. Even the idea made the hair on his arms rise from imaginary tension.

“I see.” Mel nodded to emphasize his understanding. The machine beeped as he rung up the items, and then snatched his hand before it could automatically push purchase to the card reader. Wrens’ face shifted into an easy-to-read smile as he passed over a few bills. 

“You remembered!” Wren said the words enthusiastically. His smile became smaller as he listened to the crisp ba-ling sounds of the register. The hedgehog sounds. Mel wondered what the smaller smile meant, and not for the first time he wished that he could understand those focal movements and body language as intrinsically as everyone else seemed capable of. Most days Mel felt like a foreigner struggling to understand the words of those who were native to the land, catching every fifth word and only halves of sentences. 

“This is long way from town.” Mel made the observation out loud. “Why is a handyman all the way out here?” Wrens’ hands - reaching for the gummy worms - freeze for half a second. He let out a laugh, a sharp staccato sound. Mel attempts to decipher the meaning. 

“I take care of work all over the place.” He waved one of his hands around as if to encompass the entire desert. “Down south, up north, out where the sun rises, out where it sets.”  Wren rocks his head side to side on his shoulders as he talks. “Everyone everywhere needs something taken care of, and shit, I need money.” He shrugs in a way similar to the first time that Mel and Wren had talked, but Mel thinks this one means something different. The conversation continues before he can fully analyze it. “I mean I’m talking someone to who works in a place where ‘middle of nowhere’ is the permanent address. You go where you gotta to make money.” 

“I like working here.” Mel casts a glance at the lot. The RV rolls into place, and there is much rejoicing from the woman at the pump and the three children that spill out from the doors. They’ll be in the store soon. For some reason that bothers Mel. He doesn’t usually care whether there are or aren’t customers - staring out the window is just as well as observing people in the store. But right now Mel doesn’t want this moment disturbed. In his lapse of attention Wren has changed his expression and posture. Mel is at a loss at what that means.

“No offense, Mel, but I worked retail for two years back when I was in High School and wanted to kill myself every day.” Wren has his items gathered up and should be ready to leave, but he makes no indication that he intends to wind down the conversation. The children have made their mad dash across the black asphalt. 

“I like the quiet.” Mels’ statement is immediately undercut by the yelling of the children, racing each other for the bathroom. Wren glances back in surprise and then turns back to Mel with a smirk on his face, clearly finding the serendipity of the moment funny. Mel takes a crack at a smile too. “I like how it’s quiet most of the time. I like…” Mel casts his thoughts back to the start of the conversation, and unintentionally his chin lifts up slightly. “...I like daydreaming.” 

“Cristopher Andrew put that down. We are not getting powdered doughnuts you’ll get the sugar everywhere.” The woman that had guided the RV has entered the store, her mood soured. She brings a chill air with her, superceding the August warmth that radiates off the nearby window. Wren catches the cold too, shifting uncomfortably, and checks his phone.

“Dangerous to come here - losing track of time chatting it up.” Wren adjusts the ballcap on his head, and when he smiles it makes his eyes thin. “But I guess if I want to see you I know where you are.” 

oOo

Mel doesn’t see Wren again for two weeks. It feels odd, to miss a customer. Mel is used to absence - impossible to grow up with dozens of siblings, share a room with nine other people, and not feel it once that was gone. Mel hates himself, a little, for getting attached to someone. If he needs to leave this place he will now leave a hole himself. He doesn’t like that thought. It leaves the impression that life is walking across paper with glue on his shoes. Wherever he walks he leaves that unseeable gap in reality. 

Wren certainly left an absence. Mel finds himself looking for either of his vehicles -the little green one or the large repair van. 

Like a dark tide, night comes in. That’s what Mel imagines, anyway, he’s never actually seen the ocean. His siblings used to on outings, leaving the Seminary in groups no bigger than a handful, sometimes for weeks at a time. They never told Mel what they did when they left, but they would tell him about where they went. He can still remember the way that Zeph was practically vibrating as he tried to describe what it was like to see the ocean, to stay and what the water creep up the coast, swallowing the sand like the slow prowl of a mountain lion. So really, the analogy went the other way - night is what Mel imagines the dark tide to be like. 

It leaves a strange effect on the gas station. During the day it’s easy to see that the gas station is in the middle of nowhere, but at night… at night lit up by the buzzing yellowed lights surrounded by the dark, the gas station feels like it’s in the middle of nothingness. Like it might be the only thing in the world that exists. Past the lots and pumps is nothingness. Cars and people are formed somewhere in there, crafted by God, and sent to Earth. The only Earth left in the black of space - to the gas station. 

The green car rips through the ocean of darkness. As if physically thrown out from the night it emerges at speed, barreling forward and across the lot. It brings with it a livliness - no - a it brings awareness. A jolt of adrenaline, of wrong. Like when a daring fox breaks the treeline and makes for the sheep. Like sitting in an empty chapel and Raguel busting throught the doors. 

Wren exits the car, slamming the door with force, movements rigid and jerky. His right arm is tightly wrapped around his midsection. He slams through the front door at such a force that Mel flinches. He doesn’t glance at Mel, or wave, or even acknowledge that Mel is in the room. Wren staggers straight through the shelves to the backthroom, and the door bangs closed behind him. 

The air remains charged as Mel stands behind the counter, eyes trained on the tiny hallway that contains the doors to the two bathrooms. Through the window the only two cars in existence are Mels’ and Wrens’, no one is at the pumps. 

Before he can let indicision freeze him in place any longer, Mel moves to the front door and locks it. He turns his back to the glass door. The small walkway to the bathroom suddenly seems infinitely long, stretching out before him. Off-grey tiles, dappled with black and white spots. Mel looks down, and spots of bright crimson look back up at him. One of them is smeared, presumably by Wrens’ stumbling steps. 

Mel is wrenching open the bathroom door before he even consciously thinks about it. Wren, sitting on the bathroom door, looks at Mel like he has been caught stealing something - Mel knows this expression he’s studied it enough times. It’s a mixture of fear, surprise, and shame. He used to see it all the time when he caught his younger siblings taking food from the storage outside of meals. That always carried with it an air of levity, absent in the present moment. Instead the air is weighed down as Mel surveys Wren and the situation he had just thoughtlessly thrust himself in to. 

Wrens’ jacket has been thrown off, tossed halfway across the small room. Wren is frozen in place, staring at Mel, and it leaves one of his hands in the middle of raising the hem of his shirt. There is a dark blotch on his shirt, stained and wet and torn, and it is raised enough that Mel can see the skin dyed red with blood under it and the corner of one of the lacerations. Wrens’ fingertips are already painted.

“Fuck, Mel, sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.” Wren breaks the reverence of the moment with the swear and finished riding up his shirt, fully exposing his abdomen as his other arm sifts through a duffle bag he had brought in with him. “I got this.” 

Mel can’t stop staring at the bleeding wound, Wrens’ stomach smeared with a crimson that shines under the flourescents. It’s a single slice through the skin, deep, a view into a world that is the dark color of clotted blood. Mel recalls, dimly, one time at the Seminary when he cut his food badly, and how Uncle Boaz had described it as ‘sliced into the meat of it’. 

The sight makes Mel want to burn his jacket. 

“What do you have?” 

“Just a knick.” Wren attempts to do his usual hand-waving gestures and inhales sharply through his teeth in pain, aborting the movement. “Nothing you need to worry about.” Mel shakes his head and comes to the ground, forcibly grabbing the duffle with an intensity he doesn’t mean. He feels only half connected to his body right now, like the other half of him is in the stratosphere instead of honing in on the matter at hand. 

Mel pauses in looking at the duffle bag and, this his right hand, harshly slaps himself across the face. 

“Focus focus focus.” He mutters under his breath, a mantra. Wren is staring at him, mouth open. 

“Are you okay?” Wren asks through tense vocal cords and twitching hands. Triumphantly Mel withdraws a smaller bag from the duffel - like a toiletry or make up bag - and opens it to reveal a wide variety of medical supplies. He begins to locate what he knows he’ll need - a spool of synthetic thread kept in it’s own baggie, a needle, small pliers, a pair of tiny sewing scissors. The black lighter from the first time Wren had come into Mel’s life. Mel looks back at the wound. It’s still bleeding - the limping to the bathroom can’t have helped - but not as profusely as it could be. 

“This needs to be cleaned.” Mel says the words out loud, but he hears them through the voice of Aunt Apollonia. Internally Mel flicks through the contents of the store - rags rags rags where are the rags right now. He rises to his feet and tosses the jacket back at Wren. “Put the pressure back on.” And he’s out the door. 

It’s strange to leave the bathroom. The rest of the store doesn’t seem to know what’s going on, ringing as hollow and quiet as it usually does. Through the glass doors Mel can see a car at pump 7. The world is turning on its’ axis everywhere but in that room. Mel snags one of the rags where they sit folded up behind the counter and sheds the maroon jacket, leaving it like a stand-in on his usual stool. 

Wren doesn’t look up when Mel re-enters, braced up against the wall with his eyes squeeze tight, his jacket balled up and tightly pressed against the wound in a grip tight enough to see his tendons and all the muscles in his forearm. Mel returns to kneeling on the ground infront of Mel after wetting the towl at the sink, reaching place one of his hands ontop of Wrens’. Wren inhales sharply at the touch and allows Mel’s light touch to lead his hand away from the clump of bloody cloth. 

“This is going to hurt.” Mel looks at Wren at the admission, as if it’ll be news. Wren sucks in another breath and just nods. As carefully as possible Mel detaches the blood jacket, placing it off to the side to stain the floor, carefully not to disturb the wound too much risk tearing out the clotting blood. With a tender and deft hand Mel begins to dab at the area around the wound, cleaning up the blood enough to get a better view of what he was working with. It would be impossible to fully clean Wren’s stomach with the small piece of cloth, but just getting a feel of the area would help. The places that manage to get cleaned up adequately enough reveal the forms of other scars, long healed. Not Wrens’ first rodeo, then. 

Wren stared at the long cut and bit his lip. The thickly clotted blood was good for keeping Wren from losing more of it, but the wound should also be cleaned of current bacteria. Did the store have anything to disinfect a wound? Did Wren? They never did at the Seminary, but they had also had the watchful eyes of his experienced Aunts and Uncles. Here there was just Mel and Wren.

“You need a hospital.” Mel muttered and looked back at the duffel bag. 

“Kinda far away from one of those right now.” Wren said wryly. Mel withdrew a bottle from the bag, shaking it to get a feel of how full it was. 

“Water?” 

“Lemonade.” Wren replied. Mels’ lip was starting to bleed from fussing at it too much. 

At the sink he rinsed the bottle out, then pumped from hand soap in and rinsed that through a couple times too. Hopefully clean enough, Mel filled it with water from the tap and screwed the lid back on. He squeezed the water over the wound, dislodging coagulated blood and hopefully anything left in the wound from whatever the weapon had been. It ran down Wrens’ abdomen in rivulets, and Mel patted the surrounding area with the towel for want of something else to do. He refilled the bottle two more times and repeated the process. Wren was silent through the ministrations, taking deep breaths through his rose and out his mouth. 

Clenching the needly between his fingers and holding the lighter tightly in his other hand he attempted to disinfect it. At least Wrens’ eyes were closed so he couldn’t see the number of attempts it took for Mel to make the lighter work. He hated these things, they made him feel like a child with fingers too clumsy to get back safety measures. Once he got a steady flame, he held the needle up to it.

“Fuck.” His fingers spasmed apart and dropped the needle onto the definitely not sterile floor. Stupid stupid stupid. Mel echoed the word in his head. Shouldn’t heave been holding it like that anyways. He picked the needle back up and held it with the pliers this time. “Fuck.” He repeated as he fumbled with the lighter. 

Wren let out a small laugh and made a grunt of pain. 

“You don’t look like you swear.” He muttered, voice constrained as he attempted not to use the muscles in his stomach as he spoke. Mel didn’t reply. Zeph and Astrophel had always found it funny when he swore, used to encourage it when he was younger. Uncle Haniel had grabbed the switch when he’d heard him swear like that. 

He put away the lighter, hoping it had done anything to made this more sterile. Slapped his face again, trying to push away the thoughts of the past. He allowed them to come in and out at work, do their damage with their mix of nostalgia and pain and loss, but not here and not now.

“I’m going to start the stitches now.” Mel said and Wren nodded along. 

He instantly wished that the had a curved needle to work on this with. One steadying breath, and Mel pierced the skin. It always put up more resistance than he was expecting. Despite Mel’s attempts to remain int he present, the tactile memory invaded his senses. Sitting a table, hunched over a freshly dead pig from the field, Aunt Apollonia guiding him through the process. 

‘One day’ She would say. ‘Someone will need you to fix them up when they get home.’ Mel would do his best not to look into the pig’s unseeing eyes. 

‘What do they do when they leave?’ She’s smack him across the knuckles for that. 

‘You’re better off not knowing. Do not ask again, Melchior.’

When Mel comes back to the moment, he is already knotting the other side of the first stitch. He snips the thread and starts the second one. It is different than working on a dead pig, the flesh beneath his hands rises and falls gently, occasionally hitching under him when Wren loses his control over his self-imposed calm. Second stitch finished, pinching the skin together. Is this too tight? Is that possible with stitches? Mel can’t recall right now. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wants to know how many cars are currently in the lot. 

“You done this before?” Wren asks. 

“When I’m finished I’m going to need to drive you to a hospital.” Wren talking provides the room for Mel to voice his own thoughts. Wren lets out a grimace sound. The third stitch is tied and snipped. He’s doing the distance between each suture by what he can recall being right, just feeling it out. 

“Aren’t you on shift?” 

“I don’t think you can drive yourself.” Mel responds, and Wren grumbles to himself in an inaudible voice as the fourth, fifth, and sixth place line up like soldiers. 

“You’re going to get yourself in trouble, leaving in the middle of a shift.” Wren finally says. Seven. Eight. Wren is patient. 

“You’re going to get an infection or worse if a professional doesn’t look at this. You’ve clearly been hurt before, you should know that.” Mel glances back at the scars for a moment and flexes his hands. He forgot how sticky blood was. It’s unpleasant. Has never liked his hands having anything on them. Nine. Ten. 

“Comes with the job?” Wren doesn’t even attempt to make the statement pass inspection, turning it to a question at the end like he’s asking if Mel would buy that excuse. Eleven. Mel doesn’t want to keep counting these, he’s only about halfway. Twelve. 

“You aren’t in uniform.” Mel replies. “And you drove your regular car, not your van.” Thirteen.

“You’re observant.” Wren seems to pick his words for stitches fourteen and fifteen. “I was taking care of different business. My, uh, my hobby I guess. Or passion project.” Sixteen. “Uh, don’t ask more details. I’m not good at lying about this shit, and I don’t think the blood loss is doing me any favors here.” Seventeen. His words, despite being distinct, still ring of Aunt Apollonia’s statement. 

“No one tell me shit.” Mel grits out around stitch eighteen. “I needed to be observant to glean anything worthwhile.” Suffocating silence follows his statement. Nineteen. Twenty. 

Mel sighs and rocks back on his heels, flexing his hands, blinks his eyes several times. His fingers are tired and sticky. He needs to wash them, but Mel doesn’t really feel like standing up. When he glances up it’s to see Wren checking over the work. His facial muscles are pinched, and whether it is in an emotion or in pain Mel can’t tell. Frankly he’s too exhausted to try and guess. 

“Twenty exactly.” Wren says, and tugs his blood stained shirt back down, making some kind of an expression as he reaches for his jacket. Mel stays crouched, looking at his hands. They’re red and orange and sticky. Different than the blood of an animal, somehow. Memories flash through his mind - snippets of words and images. Behind him, the sink runs for a moment - Wren stood up at some point on his own. Mels’ never been hurt like that, but considering how he’d been acting, Mel knows he shoudl be surprised that Wren managed it. The bloods under his fingernails. He rubs his hand against the palm of his hand until the dirrt and crime and viscera stands to roll together in clumps. 

Mels’ view of his hands is abruptly cut off as a wet rag lands ontop of his hands, still dripping water. 

“Thank you.” Wren says from above him. He has his duffle swung over his shoulder - must have gathered up the materials while Mel was distracted. Without thinking, Mel starts to use the rag to wipe down his hands. The rag itself is still dirty despite Wrens’ attempts to rinse it. Mel doesn’t look at his hands and rises to his feet. “Now you were gonna put your job in danger and get me to a hospital, right?” Wren starts to head out the bathroom without waiting.

Mel washes his hands. 

[icancdramahanfu]

Finishing the aoqun

After getting the main panels of the garment together, I went to my local fabric store to get some different pieces for the collar and cuffs. I bought 1/3 of a yard of each, even if I didn't need that much but asking the staff to cut anything smaller is silly. Plus, I never quite know what the size of the bolt will be selvage to selvage.

I washed all the fabric and ironed it out. I started with the cuffs, the circumference of the cuffs was 12" so I made a rectangle that was 13" long, folded and pressed the edges, sewed it down to remove all the raw edges. Right sides to right sides, I sewed the length of the cuff to the actual sleeve cuff, pressed it down and then tucked the rough edges after the seam into the sleeve. I removed the flat part of my machine to have the free arm and then top stitched all the way around to attach the inside of the cuff to the inside of the sleeve. For the collar/placket I started with the long dark green strip. It was to be 52" long so added extra on each end, pressed down all the edges, sewed them down securely and then did the exact same thing as with the cuffs. Do right side to right side on the garment for the outside seam, fold over add in interfacing if you want, press and then sew down underneath. For the lighter strip, I made a tube sewn right sides together, used a safety pin to pull it out, pressed with my iron and then sewed it on top. I debated sewing both before attaching them but I wanted the ratio to look decent.

If you want to see what I did, look back at my WKX posts where I do the collars for each layer.

This time, I put a lot of effort into figuring out where exactly to put the ties, I'd estimated I futzed around with the ties for about 2 hours, sewing them in, using the seam ripper, putting the ties back in etc.

Here are a few more pictures of what the aoqun looks like in more natural light.

Here is it laid out.

All that I need to do is hem the skirt and I will pretty much be done. I'm still debating it I want to make a tank top for the white undershirt. We know that Maomao doesn't have another long sleeve shirt under her aoqun and I also need to have some white fabric for her arm.

[helianskies]

'it's just a little something' - for nedspa? :)

nedspa, eh? 8)

Present

They are taking a break from a social event, catching their breath in the fresh air of a smoking area at the rear of the house they’re visiting, when Abel makes the most of the opportunity he has; now that they are alone, he pulls a small Christmas-coloured cube from his pocket, before he presents it to Antonio in the palm of his hand.

“Here,” he says. “For you.”

Antonio is stunned. He has nothing he can offer in return other than a cigarette, but Abel has his own, and, well… He takes the present with a quiet ‘thank you’, puts his cigarette out on the ashtray on the patio table behind them, and adds, “You didn’t have to get me anything…”

“I know,” Abel replies. 

“I mean, I appreciate it, of course! It’s very kind—”

“It’s fine. It’s just a little something,” Abel dismisses as his focus returns to the wintery garden before them. 

Antonio stares at him for a moment, a faint smile on his face. “Can I open it now?” he asks. “Or am I meant to wait until I’m home?”

“Up to you,” the other replies. “I… I don’t mind.”

If that is the case, Antonio decides, then waiting is something he doesn’t want to do. He looks at the wrapped present in his hand and begins to carefully try and tear away the paper. Though, he soon discovers that Abel is so good at wrapping (and sellotaping) that he might as well have been trying to break into a bank! 

“You,” he says, teasing, “don’t like making things easy, do you?”

“Oh— Do you need some help?” Abel asks. He seems embarrassed as he glances down, a slight pink to his cheek (or is that just the cold?), and goes to reach for the item as he says, “Sorry. I can try to—”

“No, no, I can do it,” Antonio insists with a laugh, however. He turns the little box-shaped gift around and tried to pull up the corner of a different piece of tape. “No pain, no gain, right?”

Abel stares at him quizzically. “Pain shouldn’t come into it.”

“You know what I mean!”

He receives a gentle scoff. Again, Abel offers his help (though it seems his sense of embarrassment has waned a bit) but Antonio once more refuses. He can handle a bit of tape! 

Or, at least, that’s what he wants to believe. But the more he turns the gift around and tries to pick at other pieces of paper or tape, the more frustrated he slowly becomes. The paper doesn’t want to tear, the tape must be extra-sticky, and— well, Antonio’s patience knows many bounds! He wants to be appreciative—he’s conscious Abel is right there and has made a sweet effort for him—but—God!

“Here, let me—”

“But I can—!”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry,” Abel says nonetheless, prying the present from Antonio’s grasp and taking over. 

Antonio feels bad the moment it leaves his hand. It seems the embarrassment has become his own. He even mumbles an apology, which Abel apologises for in turn (he feels it’s his fault they’re both struggling!) and then— the sound of a small tear.

His ability to breathe comes back to him. Now they must both have pink faces.

“We’ll try again,” Abel says, the suggestion of a smile on his face. He holds out the gift to Antonio in the same way he had initially presented it, and repeats the words: “It’s just a little something. I know Christmas has passed, but…”

“…it still means a lot,” Antonio assures him.

Now that the way has been paved for him, he finds that piece of paper that the other was able to rip and continues to pull away the wrapping. It is much easier this time. The tape proves to a little tough in areas, but… once he gets enough of the present inside uncovered, he pulls away what remains like a sleeve and—

“Oh…”

He nearly laughs. For a second, he feels himself brimming with emotion (or maybe it’s just the cold winter air). Then, he runs his fingers over the fluffy socks, the little face of a penguin poking out of the hole in the cardboard packaging, and his smile widens.

He may not have anything material he can give to Abel in return for this gesture (a simple gesture, but a meaningful one, when you consider that the one thing Antonio had mentioned he’d wished he’d had for the holidays had been a pair of bed socks!). But he does have something equally simple, equally meaningful (so he hopes).

So he steps on his tip-toes and gives Abel a peck on the cheek. And then, because the other loses his poor cigarette to his stupor, he offers him a fresh one to make up for it. It’s the least he can do. 

The mutual pink cheeks make a reappearance.

Neither of them mind.

[ ficlet collection is over on ao3! ]

[itsclydebitches]

RWBY: Something that will forever bother me is that I thought they would change their outfits. I dont like v7 outfits too much so wehn I saw they might be on a beach. I thought, 'Cool. Maybe they'll remove some layers of theit WINTER outfits and they might look better.' BUT NO. I thought weiss and blake would lose their jackets, yang gets a ponytail, im not sure about ruby, shes fine ig. But still pretty unhappy. oh well

Yang in a ponytail, my beloved. So near and yet so far 😭

I get that it takes more time, effort, and of course money to create the new models (even overlooking the fact that RT is no longer the struggling startup it once was...) but for me, missing details like that really hinder my sense of immersion. They don't actively take me out of the story, but they don't help me stay tethered to it either, which is much more of a problem when the writing is struggling like RWBY's is.

As I mentioned in another post, I've started Demon Slayer (which is excellent) and little moments with clothing really help the storyworld to feel real. Why doesn't Tanjiro's uniform tear during all those intense battles? Oh look, here's a scene with his mentor explaining precisely how that's possible. Why doesn't Inosuke's mask fall off? It does after a particularly vicious headbutt, finally revealing his face. Here two of the characters are removing their outer layers to give someone a pillow and blanket. Here they are changing into a new set of clothes while their uniforms are washed. Zenitsu hangs onto others' robes when he's particularly scared, pulling them askew. Inosuke wears or doesn't wear a shirt depending on the situation. People comment on the bamboo in Nezuko's mouth. Tanjiro's earrings are slowly being revealed as significant... Clothing is a part of the characters and the story actually treats it as such.

In contrast, RWBY has lost almost all of that work despite starting out as a series built around the thematic significance of outfit colors. Not even their weapons, tools through which the ENTIRE conflict is built around, are given any true acknowledgement anymore, not when Weiss finds hers in a heartbeat offscreen, getting Blake's back becomes fodder for jokes, Ruby shows no inclination to get Crescent Rose back (with, more significantly, her teammates ignoring that uncharacteristic passivity), and Jaune apparently has never tried to mend his sword. Only stealing Yang's arm is even somewhat significant and likewise treated in a jokey, ultimately-unimportant-to-her-development manner.

Now take into consideration everything they DON'T do, including reacting to the tropical nature of the Ever After. Give me scenes where Yang puts up her hair, Blake takes her stockings off, Ruby tears the sleeves off her shirt, Weiss cuts her skirt to make it shorter, and she and Yang both loose their jackets because holy shit it's hot here. Also we're literally lost in a parallel fantasy world, maybe dead, who gives a crap how we look or if we need to buy new clothes later?? Give me the girls pulling off extra layers to cushion Ruby's head after her faint. Let them tear off a strip to bind a wound. Who's going to trade something like their jewelry to gain what they need? (Something we did get with Ruby's rose pendant, but it happened so fast and with no emotional punch it was just frustrating. Great idea, terrible execution.) Who's going to pick up new pieces while traipsing across the Ever After, perhaps visually signifying their acceptance of the place (something we could have gotten with Ren in Atlas)? Who's outfit gets scorched or torn or soiled because unlike Demon Slayer, there's no canonical reason for why these clothes should still be looking pristine after all they've been through?

Obviously RWBY doesn't have to do all of this, but it should do something to sell the idea that these are real people post-battle, traveling a hostile, tropical-esque land after they've been prepped for the ARCTIC. Keeping them exactly the same doesn't help me fall into the fantasy of watching RWBY, it just makes me go, "Oh, they probably want new outfits for Volume 10, so they're not bothering to change anything now :/" The viewer is already well aware that Volume 9 is a filler season that's struggling to be significant in the grand scheme of things. You don't want anything that's going to add to that feeling.

To use an old meme:

[softievante]

a request, if you're interested!

BIG mingyu finds a box of clothes that wonwoo is planning to give away. He gets curious and tries to try on one of wonwoo's shirts and its really tight on him(barely goes past his moobs). when he tries to get it off, he finds that he can't and wonwoo comes home to an embarrassed mingyu who is struggling to get it off

ANON THIS WAS SO VISIONARY OF YOU… i must confess i’m a bit vanilla when it comes to my own common writing about size, but i like to challenge myself + your req was like 🤌 hope i’ve met your expectations :3 i’ve also used it to test this try at writing about bigger boys :)

cw: (light?) humiliation (it’s consensual ok)

“the curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought him back” says an ancient proverb that’s more well-known for its first part. the second one usually comes as a surprise for most people, and sure gives a new perspective to the saying. curiosity wasn’t supposed to be a bad thing, nor something worth of negative consequences. knowledge should be celebrated, after all.

to change the animal in question, though, would it make a difference? let’s say, a puppy. a very curious, nosy puppy boy who was all on his fours (not for the reasons he commonly got into that position), grunting and sighing as he didn’t find what he was looking for. would he end up in trouble for such eagerness to find out about everything and anything?

mingyu was, beyond all, impatient. and it seemed the bigger he’d gotten, the more impatient he’d grew, too, always whining and demanding and pouting when he didn’t get what he wanted. right now, the small noises of frustration came from the mystery of where had his boyfriend put his new pair of jeans, bought last week when mingyu decided his then current ones were getting too snug. all clothes seem too snug when you reach third digit lbs, you know. especially when you surpass the first hundred.

so there mingyu was, on all fours, belly touching the ground as he sweated due to the effort to keep supporting his own weight. the closet wasn’t the coolest place in their apartment, which only made him more miserable.

“where the fuck is this…” he paused in the middle of cursing when he found a cardboard box where ‘DONATION’ was written. “oh.”

he pulled the box out of its place, suddenly forgotten about his pants.

it wasn’t supposed to be anything interesting, nor surprising since the purpose of those clothes being there were literally stamped on the cardboard, but somehow mingyu started to grab and inspect piece by piece, laughing at some weird t-shirts and gasping at others that he considered too cute to be thrown away.

in the process of rummaging through them, however, an idea lit up in his mind. some of them were pretty. pretty enough for mingyu to take his time examining the fabric, the striped pattern. obsessing with how small wonwoo was in comparison to him.

if he took just an instant to think about it further, he wouldn’t do it. mingyu is not the type to ponder, though, so before he can understand how disastrous his actions can be, his torso is already naked, hands gabbing excited at wonwoo’s t-shirt to pull over his head.

it looks like a crop top. and that’s being gentle. the fabric got stretched, the effort to make it enlarged enough for mingyu’s width turning it into a second skin, almost. it barely covers his fat breasts, the sleeves are suffocating his swollen arms.

curiosity gets the cat killed, and the puppy… the puppy gets stuck, breathing hard when he notices it’s tight, tight, not the common tight of his clothes. the collar hugged his neck, making him realize how extra he got everywhere.

a voice sounds from the room, “mingyu-ya?”

mingyu froze. he knew what was coming for him, and it was not flowers and chocolate.

“hey, why are you…” wonwoo stopped mid-sentence when he saw the scene in front of him. “woah.”

“i think i stretched it,” mingyu spat out like it wasn’t obvious that he had completely ruined his boyfriend’s t-shirt.

“stretched it? baby, you’re about to rip it,” wonwoo chuckled, biting the inside of his cheek as he drinks in the sight of mingyu’s enormous frame displayed like that. his belly hung over his sweatpants, full of rolls and stretch marks, his navel deep and begging for a finger inside. “how did you find these? and why were you trying them on? there’s no way they’d fit you,” wonwoo makes sure to point it out, putting his hands over the soft skin.

“i was looking for my new pants and found the box,” mingyu explained, sighing when he feels his boyfriend caressing the large area of his gut. “and i just thought it’d be fun but… but now i’m…” the words struggled to be out, until he expelled them in a sigh, “i can’t get it off.”

wonwoo’s eyes glistened in both desire and malice.

“got so fat you can’t lift your arms?”

“t-that’s not it! i can lift them alright!” mingyu raised them in retaliation, which only made things worse. everything jiggled, in a way that was almost ridiculous.

“ooh, poor thing, need help from his boyfriend to get out from the tiny, tiny shirt you stole from him?” wonwoo mocked, pinching his boyfriend’s double chin. “god, it doesn’t even cover your tits.”

mingyu flushed. there was something terribly arousing about having his overgrown, fat chest called tits. especially when said tits were being squeezed by his lover’s slender hands with no mercy.

“w-wonwoo, please…”

“please what, baby?” wonwoo teased, holding the two breasts under the tight shirt. his cold hands provoked a shiver on mingyu’s skin.

“help me… h-help me take it off,” mingyu whimpered, face violently red from embarrassment.

“what if i don’t want to?”

“p-please.”

“alright, let me just have this for a moment.”

maybe there was a time wonwoo was less shameless. currently it was not the case, so he made no ceremony before putting his mouth over mingyu’s left nipple, sucking on it like it was a very sweet source of pleasure. he did the same with the right one, encouraged by the moans his boyfriend slipped, fingers entertained between wonwoo’s hair strands.

“already worked up, big guy?” wonwoo mocked when he let go of the right tit, a sly smile on his face while he gazed at mingyu’s wrecked face, lips circled in an ‘o’ and forehead painted by a thin layer of sweat. “can’t even stand up for a few minutes to have your boyfriend suck on you?” the only response he got was a mere whine. “alright, arms up,” wonwoo commanded, finally kind enough to help mingyu out of the t-shirt.

after some struggle, they managed to roll it up and pull it off, a fit of giggles elicited from wonwoo in the process as well as cries of protest from mingyu.

wonwoo folds the t-shirt neatly, like it isn’t all funny-looking after mingyu’s try-on.

“gonna keep this in case a good opportunity to make you use it comes at hand.”

mingyu smacked his arm.

“i’m not gonna wear it again. ever.”

“we’ll see about that.”

[sky-neverending]

(i don’t know anything about spiderman so sorry if this is inaccurate lol)

how i think each of the crows spidersona-suit-things would look like

Kaz: His suit would be all black, the top sort of a vest shape with the spiderwebs in gray. his pants and shoes would just be formal dress, but still something he could move around in. his mask would be black with gold detailing, and a sort of shape that mimics a beak at the front. the back of his suit would have spiderwebs in the shape of wings. his cane would have webs in it as well has his body, so he would use it to get around. it would be lightweight, thin and sleek, but still have the crow on top. his gloves would be a key element, tipped with special technology to help his webs go further and be stronger.

Inej: Inej would go for a one piece suit that was strechy, and put a cropped, hooded cloak type thing on top. her details would be in a deep purple, and her main thing would be sneaking around. her suit would have extra ability to stick to different materials, making it easier for her to climb walls. her knives would all have web detailing on the handles. her webs would be near invisible.

Wylan: ok so fashion over function on this one but fuck it. Big yellow sweater over his off-white-almost-orangey suit. Thin belt on his waistline to tuck away his chemicals. mask is off white with bright orange eye hole things. webs are laced with chemicals that make certain ones explode when he wants them to. (is that possible? it is now. it’s my show bitches.) converse with his suit cause he’s just like that.

jesper: dark green, almost black in color. flashes and sparkles lightly in the sun. has a long coat on over it, one that is embroidered with the web design and holds his guns. hat on top of his mask, one that never falls off even though it probably should. he has a special gun that shoots webs. honestly that’s all that comes to mind

nina: big red skirt with leggings underneath. deep red in color. big poofy sleeves. web design in the shape of hearts on her suit. white mask with red hearts around the eyes. big red and white boots that she fucking kicks people with idk.

matthias: i honestly don’t have much of an idea for him. just a normal suit but in white and blue? maybe with some wolf elements on it? idk how that would work tbh.

can you guys tell which ones i put the most effort into lmao?

also if anyone wants to draw these feel free!!

[hazelnut-u-out]

here you go, anon! this is a continuation of this fic i wrote for a request from @thesoftboiledegg !

this is getting interesting to me and i think i'll probably keep revisiting it for a bit, honestly. i've been desperate for an angsty confrontation between rick and beth for a while, and this was the perfect excuse to blurb that out.

(these are really just oneshots, even though they're serialized, so i'm definitely going to use them as drafts and write a finished series with a similar plot. it's just so fun to write these prompts without taking them too seriously, haha.)

this one's rather short for me, but i've got some papers to write so oh well :p

-angst, blood, mentions of major character death

-1668 words

------

Rick was frantic. The old man could feel the pounding of his heart in the shells of his ears, the tips of his fingers going numb with panic as he shakily pushed himself up from the ground and wiped some of the bloody drool trailing down his chin on the white sleeves of his lab coat.

He lingered for an instant, drinking in the sight of the gaming console sitting on the floor to his left- kindling a fire roiling deep within his belly.

He didn’t take an extra moment to assess his injuries- to bother locating one of his healing rays again or pausing to take note of the quality of gore that stained his cuffs. Instead, he whirred over to the cabinets behind him, pulling out a canvas bag and shoving as many weapons as the dingy old compartments held into it. Then, he stood, smacking his hand down on a specific part of the work table and waiting for the dim blue flickering of the lights behind his heavy-duty collection before filling the bag with even more firearms, laser guns, extendable blades, and the like.

He made his way over to the shelf of boxes on the other side, his chest blistering with the effort it took to inhale, cursing and rummaging through dusty boxes. Rick sheathed himself in weapon holsters- two leather straps hung from each of his shoulders and crossed over the center of his abdomen. He stuck his hand down low into the bag at his side and lined each side of his chest with four of the small laser pistols.

He stuffed two more of the straps, shuddering at their smaller size, into the bag and unsteadily stumbled his way out of the garage and into the Smith kitchen.

The house was eerily… normal.

The static hum of the television was a steady murmur over the evening lighting of the home, and he could see Summer and Beth sitting together at the dining room table- the back of his daughter’s head a flaxen beacon marking his destination.

He wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but that other Rick had managed to keep the events moments before a secret from the rest of the home.

Rick didn’t take the time to evaluate what his family was doing. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if his feet even moved or if his desperation was so palpable that he teleported to the edge of the table to Beth’s right.

He tossed the bag onto the table and it landed in front of Summer with a significant clatter, startling both of his girls.

“Dad! What the-“

“Put it on. Get whatever shit you can’t live without and meet me in- get in the fucking garage,” Rick cut Beth off, his stare boring into Summer’s own. Her eyes were wide and frenzied, scanning Rick swiftly- obviously taking note of his state and attempting to piece together what happened. She sat down her phone with a distinct ‘clack,’ shifting the attention of her trembling grasp to the bag and standing up obediently.

Rick was confused for a moment, unable to discern why Summer looked so… concerned. Then, a tug on his sleeve slid through the veil drowning out his surroundings just enough to ground him for a split second.

“Dad?” His daughter inquired gently. “Why are you crying?”

Then it hit him- the stinging of his withered cheeks; the heat on the end of his nose; the thrumming pressure of his swollen lips.

It was interesting that Beth chose to ask about the tears that flowed freely down her father’s face instead of the blood. A certain level of gore or mayhem could be expected from Rick at this point. He was never intact- cracks and chips littered his exterior to the point that it was more than commonplace.

It was more unsettling to see him cry than it was to see him bleed.

Without breaking Summer’s gaze, he just croaked out a stiff expression. “He got him.”

Summer’s eyes widened a bit for a brief moment before she nodded curtly and pulled the leather straps from the bag. Rick envied her ability to be stoic.

“We’ll start with the locations we discussed. Just get the keys, Grandpa,” she said coolly, slipping the straps over each of her shoulders and snapping the weapons of her choice into place. “I’ll grab my protocol folder. Food?”

“We’ve got enough for three months on the sh-ship, if we ration,” Rick replied gruffly, turning on his heel to follow Summer into the kitchen.

“Now, hold on a second,” Beth’s voice emanated from behind them. Summer ignored her, carrying on her path to retrieve the folder in the kitchen, but Rick paused. There was the grating sound of a chair squeaking along the hard wood and he whirled around to face her. “I don’t know who got who, or what’s going on, but you can’t just whisk her away for these kind of- kind of… errands whenever you want! She has grades!”

She was waving her hands around in the air as she spoke, her tone deep and stern.

“So does Morty,” he spat pointedly. Rarely was he rude to Beth, but he didn’t have time for this. He sighed, running his hands through his hair and pulling- hard. “Listen. The guy who’s got Morty is- is… He’s a bad guy. I don’t know how long he’s got, but I’m not screwing him over because you want- you think it’s the time to pick some hypocritical bullshit argument, okay?!”

Rick sucked a hiss of air through his teeth as Beth froze, blinking up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’ve never cared about this shit before. You-You’re free to come if you want, but if not, we have to go-“

“Grandpa! C’mon!” Summer’s voice boomed overhead, and Rick turned again. He got two steps towards the kitchen before Beth’s grasp closed around his bloody forearm and yanked him back.

“I’m not letting you kill both of my kids in one night!”

“This isn’t just on me, Beth!” Rick roared, spinning around and gripping his daughter by the shoulders. She shrunk back, trying to pull away and turning her face to the side, but Rick held her steady. A clatter from the other room sounded, and a flash of brown told him Jerry now stood in the doorway of the kitchen. He didn’t care. “This-This is on you, too! This is on all of us!”

Beth tensed up, standing up straighter suddenly and jutting a finger painfully into her father’s chest.

“Well, I don’t see why you get to lecture me on neglectful parenting!” She cried. “It would have been nice to see you do something like this for me-“

“You don’t get to say what I wouldn’t do for you!” Blood splattered along Beth’s cheeks, like little freckles of crimson, as he barked in her face- his sour breath mixing with her own wine-coated pants. “You have no idea what I did for you! Or what I’m about to do for him,” Rick pointed to the photo of Morty he knew hung to his left emphatically to aid his point. “Do-Do you think I would have ever pulled the shit you pull? Hmm?!”

“Rick-“ Jerry tried weakly, but he went ignored as Rick’s onslaught of shouting continued.

“Do you think I would’ve let my own issues get in the way of keeping my little girl safe?! Never- not in a million years- would I have left you to fend for yourself with someone- someone like me, Beth! Y-You don’t have to earn a kid’s trust- they just- they just automatically love you because they don’t know any better!”

A soft hand landed on his shoulder, and he dropped his own searing grasp from Beth’s arms. She looked like a wounded dog, and the grip drew him back gently. His gasps for air filled the room.

“C’mon,” Summer whispered softly, and he let her drag him back a few feet.

Then, Beth’s voice wobbled as she opened her mouth to speak again.

“You think I don’t know that, Dad?! Why the fuck do you think you’re still here? You think you earned that?” She spat, tears slipping down her cheeks and soaking into the front of her blouse. “Oh, wait! I forgot!” A venomous, cold laugh- devoid of humor- bounced off the walls of the dining room, and Rick winced. He had had far more than his fill of hollow laughter for the evening. “It would have been nice if my real dad had been half as present as you claim to have been.”

“We don’t have time for this!” Summer shrieked, stalking around Rick’s willowy frame and baring her teeth in her mother’s face. Beth blinked and reeled backward slightly, as if shocked that Summer would dare to choose the side she wasn’t on. “My brother is in danger. Are you two with us, or are you not?”

A heavy silence engulfed the room, and it was a long moment before anyone dared to move and crack the tension blooming in the absence of words. Finally, Beth’s shoulders sagged forward, and she looked… guilty as she shifted her gaze to Jerry and then to the floor.

Another breath. Neither of them moved.

“Typical!” Rick yelled, spinning and stomping into the kitchen, Summer on his heels. “Stab him in the back again! And to think- I thought you were my daughter.”

One quick flick of his wrist over the key rack, and both Rick and Summer stood in the garage.

A hushed look at one another simmered before they clambered shakily into the ship.

“You got it?” Summer whispered as Rick turned the key.

Once the engine rumbled to life, Rick reached into the inner pocket of his lab coat and retrieved the slick metal body of his portal gun. The green glow hummed against their skin in the dim light of the garage as Summer nodded.

“Let’s go.”

------

[littleperilstories]

TPOT: Promise Me I Can Trust You

You can also read on Ao3!

Warnings: migraine, worry for a loved one, poverty

Previous | Masterpost | Next

Word count: 2108 ||| Approx reading time: 8 mins

Promise Me I Can Trust You

Teaser: This morning, it’s my head; there’s a pounding in my skull powerful enough to shatter it into pieces. The pain radiates from my temple, right through my neck, arraying outward to every other part of my body and hitting me immediately as I wake up.

Jamie

It isn’t often that something knocks me on my ass. But when it does, it really does.

This morning, it’s my head; there’s a pounding in my skull powerful enough to shatter it into pieces. The pain radiates from my temple, right through my neck, arraying outward to every other part of my body and hitting me immediately as I wake up. I take one look at the light sneaking through a hole in the torn curtain at the window, and I nearly vomit.

“What’s wrong with Wolf?” Squeezing my eyes closed, I burrow as much as I can into my lumpy, threadbare mattress as if that could somehow block out the sound of my brother’s voice. Goddamn Will. Always loud, boisterous, fucking annoying as fuck. I love him, but…

“One of them nasty headaches,” I hear Geoff say. Even the low timbre of his voice, which is usually so calming and comforting, feels like a pickaxe to the face.

“Oh.” Will’s voice lowers—not much, but I can tell he’s making an effort. Even though it hurts to do so, I smile into my rock-hard pillow. That’s one thing you can say about Will. He always tries.

“So if you’re going in, just keep your—”

“Keep my voice down. Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

He doesn’t come in right away, though. It isn’t until a few minutes later that he slips in with a cup of tea. A welcome contrast from how he usually barrels through any door with heavy, stomping footfalls and always a bit too much vigour.

“I should’ve known something was wrong when I got out of bed before you,” he says. “You all right?” When he sets the tea down next to me, even the dull thud of clay on wood makes me wince. “Guess not.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say, starting to sit up, partially to drink the tea he’s prepared, despite being certain it will be weak and disgusting—no one should ever trust William Wardrew with making any food or drink—but also because I suddenly remember the meeting I’m supposed to have today. “Just needed some extra rest. I’ll get up in a minute.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Will says, uncharacteristic sternness crossing his features. He has eyes like our dad did, brown-and-green mixed, and right now they’re looking at me with disgust. “I can tell you’re not right.”

I shake my head, and the rattling pain of my headache makes me dizzy. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” He crosses his arms. “You look like you’re on the verge of death.”

Ugh. The problem with brothers is that they know each other too well. “Thanks a lot, Will.”

“I’m only telling the truth.”

He hands me the drink, and after a sip, my grimace isn’t just because of my headache. He snorts—he knows he’s a terrible cook who can’t even get a cup of tea quite right. “Sorry. I tried.”

“I know.” I down the rest of it despite the scalding temperature and horrid taste, just to get rid of it. There’s a candle stub with a wilting flame on the table, and looking at the flickering light as I put the cup back down makes my stomach turn.

“Let just me and Spider  go. Hare stays here on watch. It’ll be fine.

The false names we picked for ourselves come easily to us after all these years, even when we’re just talking to each other. Safer that way—less likely to slip up when we’re with the runners.

“Spider can’t go,” I say, gritting my teeth. “She has runners to meet. Two new potential jobs, some rich important family that requires a delicate touch. Needs time and prep.”

Will reaches up to absently scratch his head. A faded red patch stares at me from the elbow of his sleeve. The colour hurts to look at, but it jogs an ancient memory. I sewed that patch on for him years ago. That it hasn’t fallen off yet is nothing short of a miracle. “I can meet the runners, then, and she goes for you?”

I groan. None of this is making my head feel any better. Too many finicky details, too many decisions. “They’re expecting her, and she knows which ones we’re sending on the job. And…I’d rather you didn’t go to the runners. She's better at managing them, and honestly? You’re too risky. Some of them know your face. It’s best you stay away.

He’s quiet for a minute or so. “I’ll go to the meeting for you, then.”

He knows I’m not in any shape to meet our ally myself, and that quiet, inarticulate Geoff is at least as poor a choice as he is when it comes to meetings. More than that, he must also know Geoff will never be convinced to leave me behind in Will’s mediocre-at-the-best-of-times care. Not in the state I’m currently in, anyway.

Sending my brother is not a great idea, but it’ll have to do. “Please, for the love of god, Will, don’t fuck it up.” The drumming in my head makes me slip up and utter his name. Even with my family, my blood, I try not to say it out loud. “Don’t draw attention to yourself and don’t piss anyone off.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

With a sigh, I nod, even though it hurts. I believe him.

“And wear something warm over that shirt,” I mumble. “It’s old and full of holes and it’s getting colder every day.”

Will rolls his eyes and start for the door. “Good God, Jamie. Go back to sleep.”

He’s an idiot, my brother, but he’s a good kid.  I remind myself of this as he disappears through the doorway. I can trust him.

The door snicks shut, and my eyes start to drift closed again. Him and Colette and Geoff, Fox and Spider and Hare. My inner circle. I can trust them. Everything’s going to be fine.

After Will and Colette leave for the day, I fall into an uneasy sleep, full of dreams and worries. We don’t usually let Will go on solo meetings. Jobs? Sure. He’s smart and quick. But he’s got a sharp, quick tongue, and that doesn’t always bode well for him. If he comes to any meetings, it’s usually at my side, or Colette’s. But it’s too late to change my mind now, and eventually the pain in my head drags me into a deep sleep.

It’s Colette  I’m thinking about when I wake, maybe because of some forgotten dream, or maybe because she’s back and standing over me, her curls swung over her shoulder like a cloak.

“How are you feeling?” She looks over me with a sharp, clinical eye. It must be chilly outside—her cheeks are wind-chapped and she hasn’t taken off her grey-and-blue plaid shawl. I’m glad I told Will to dress warmly. “You still look like death.”

“Will said something similar.” The words come out in a grunt. Geoff disappears from the doorway, and I know he’ll be back in a minute with a tin of water. “How’d it go?”

“Smoothly.” She tosses her hair. “They’re all too afraid of me to argue much. They took their assignments and scarpered. I just picked one for the Smith house, sent two over to the Palmerstons. Those Smiths are paranoid already. One new face won’t draw as much attention.”

“Which one?”

“Uh, one of the girls. Long hair. Pretty face, talks a bit like she’s highborn but not enough to seem out of place. They’ll hire her for sure. She’s going to work in the house for a few weeks before she makes her move. I told her to just take it slow. I gave her Robin this time around.”

Runners—the street kids and pickpockets who run jobs for us—don’t get to keep their false names. They change with every job. Once again…safer that way.

I have no idea which runner she means, but I’m sure the job will go smoothly if Colette is in charge. She, out of everyone I know—Will included—is the person I trust the most. I’d die for every single member of my inner circle, but if I were gone, I’d want my role to fall to the Spider of our team—and she’d probably do a better job than me. No idea what I did to deserve her, honestly. Every once in a while, she waxes poetic about what she could have done with her life if she hadn’t joined IA, then giggles to herself like she’s just joking. But she knows it’s true. And so do we.

Geoff slips in with the tin cup, brimming with clean water. Colette pretends not to notice, though she’s smiling to herself, when he sneaks the tiniest brush of his lips behind my ear as he sets it down. “Feeling better?”

“Yeah.” I squeeze his fingers for an instant before we both let go. “Thanks.”

“Still look like shit, though,” Colette says. “Drink your water and go back to sleep so I don’t have to look at the spectre of death in your face anymore.”

“It’s always a pleasure talking to you, Spider.”

“I just tell it like it is, Alpha.”

She’s the only one who calls me that, and in four years I haven’t told her I don’t know what it means. I figure it’s something to do with my false name, Wolf, but I’m not sure. Out of all of us, Colette’s definitely the smartest. Me and Will, we never finished school, and I’m not sure Geoff ever went at all. She did, though, before she fell into IA. What brought her to us is something she never talks about, and I don’t dare ask.

“I’ll go make care packages while I wait for Fox to come back,” she says. A fresh wave of gratitude washes over me. She’s volunteering to spend the rest of the afternoon putting together the neat parcels of money lifted from the mansions we rob, to redistribute to people who actually need it.

“Thank you.” I keep my voice quiet. I wonder if she knows how much I appreciate her. Will’s my brother, and Geoff, well, I need him in different ways. But Colette is the solid rock beneath our feet. The heart of our team. The thread that binds us together.

The headache is gone when I wake, but there’s something in the air.

It’s not smoke—if it were, I’d just assume Will was trying to cook something. No, it’s different. Thick. Tense. My sleep-addled brain can’t quite figure out what it is.

Geoff must have brought another tin of water while I slept, and I gulp it down before I rise from the bed. My eyes linger on the cot across the room. Will’s. It’s a disaster, as usual—pillow on the floor, faded brown blanket crumpled into a ball. I sigh. He hasn’t changed at all since he was a kid. I love him for it in some ways, but I wonder what it’s going to take for him to grow up.

He loves the outlaw life, I think. The thrill of the job, the taste of danger every time he has to run from the constables. He craves it. Sure, he likes the after moments too—the smile on a mother’s face when she realizes she can still feed her children, the relief washing over an elderly couple at the gift of rent for another week. For me, that alone is enough. I don’t know about him.

In the other room, the feeling hits me like a punch to the gut, and suddenly, I can taste what’s in the air. Colette is pacing, something I have rarely seen her do, and Geoff is pale.

Fear.

My stomach drops as I scan the room again, but I am not mistaken. There is no one else with them.

“What’s wrong?” I look between them, feel shivers run up and down my spine at the realization of who is missing. Who’s not there for me to glare at.

Colette stops, exchanges a glance with Geoff. Neither seems to want to speak, but she’s the one who breaks the silence. As she does, her face drains of colour.

“Wolf…” She sucks in a deep breath. “It’s Fox.”

No, Colette, don’t say it. For the love of god, don’t fucking say it.

“Something must have happened, but I—I don’t know—” She blinks rapidly, and I realize that she’s fighting back tears—something I’ve never seen her do. “Jamie.”

She called me by my name.

“Jamie, Will didn’t come back.”

Previous | Masterpost | Next

[clergynurselucy]

Fully Confirmed Sister Sebon

Fund a new way to color skin and clothes and decided to finalize some stuff. Here is Sister Lucy Sebon. Fully confirmed Sibling of Sin, Licensed Vocational Nurse, Expat, and Resident Ghoul Medicine Expert. I had been tossing some ideas around for her Habit, and was having a great deal of trouble. I’ll ramble a bit, but Lucy’s (typical) story is one of self-worth and is representative of Greed. Her entire outfit is non-traditional- but entirely symbolic.

So Lucy, though smart and ultimately welcomed by the Clergy, very much so doesn’t fit in.

Lucy’s slept with one person, and was entirely loyal to him and her profession until they broke off their engagement. She’s thrifty, is willing to turn a cheek to most wrongs done to her, wouldn’t hurt a fly willingly, and in general teeters on being... Almost too squeaky clean for the Anti-Church. Her entire first outfit is meant to represent this. The short blue Nurse dress and matching white apron are indicative of the 1950′s, and vaguely child-ish. The dress may be just above knee length, but Lucy wears dark tights and has nary a scandalous curve on her. Her short, straight bob is functional, but nothing to write home about. Her colors are blue, representing the Papa in charge at the time she became an initiate at the church (Papa IV), but also to make her stand out outside- but completely vanish outside in the courtyard. Blue is the most abundant color in nature, and her apron and hat are starch white, indicating that she’s “pure”, in a way. To make matters worse- she doesn’t wear make up and doesn’t go out of her way to accessorize- indicating that she’s there to do her job and nothing more... At least at first.

Then she actually meets the people of the Abbey, far from home, and realizes that she can feel safe. She doesn’t have to hide like she had to back at her home Abbey in Texas, which was trying to bully her out of the Clergy to steal her inheritance from the Papa Sebon before he died. She poured all of her effort outside of her studies into Studying Ghoul Diseases, getting to know them, slowly welcoming the temptations they’d offer her. Now that she’s safe, among friends, and with some extra cash she learns to indulge a bit.

Over time, Lucy would experiment with designer accessories and fashion. She’s spoiled for choice in Italy- but ultimately finds her tastes fitting squarely into Dior, which keep clean, classic lines. The patterns, and cinched waist of Dior show off her hips and look fashionable- but still incredibly functional for her job (while also contrasting the rope belts that symbolize poverty in some Catholic Nun Orders). Although she’s far from the only sibling who wears lipstick- she’s taken to signing off on medical reports with a lipstick mark. And yes, she uses Dior’s Classic Rouge.

Lucy may still wear white- but only on her shirt and her lab-coat, ditching the maidenly appearance in favor of someone who looks more professional and sterile. Her lab-coat is also a custom piece, lined with a red velvet for maximum warmth, and fitted with loose, sweater like sleeves. Red to match a red cross. Red to match blood, and rubies.

Lucy cuts her hair shorter- but over-all styles it far better than she did before. She’s still attached to the symbolism of her nurse cap- but swaps it out for one with longer wings. She uses that as a coif and opts for a turtle neck, giving her a slightly horned look- which compliments the masque of Papa Sebon (her benefactor) perfectly- as his mask is based off of a bull’s skull.

She would totally be down to be a Prime Mover... Assuming whoever is proposing puts in the effort to date her first, and deal with her hectic, globe-trotting ways. (Normally, that’s a deal-breaker.)

[kreiitsuuuu]

💮 KNY CHARACTERS WITH A GN! READER THAT DRAWS [PART 2]

➡ [PART 1]

ft. Giyuu, Shinobu, Kyojuro, Sanemi, Muichiro, Mitsuri

☆ warnings: slight swearing

Giyuu Tomioka

Is not surprised by the slightest. I mean, with all of the art materials you keep with yourself? Yeah he already figured it out.

Though, he is intrigued, and curious about your thought process as you draw complex lines and figures.

Like a gentle pour of rain, you were delicate with your movements. He saw you as a quiet stream of water, as you continuously flow with ease around the rough edges of nearby rocks.

Hell, he could even go far and say that you're a work of art.

Likes that you have a peaceful hobby to do rather than train yourself to the bone all the time.

When you first drew him, he didn't quite expect it since Tomioka didn't saw himself as the potential subject to your artworks.

Don't get him wrong — he absolutely loves it, and it was first for him.

After you finish up adding the extra details to your work, and fixing up your materials, Giyuu would give you a little headpat — and a small gentle smile, as his cheeks were tinted pink.

" This was quite unexpected.. but welcome anytime. Thank you. "

Shinobu Kocho

Like Tomioka — she isn't surprised in the slightest!

Would be thrilled if you openly show your works to her, after all, she does see you put a lot of effort into your works.

It isn't Shinobu if she doesn't teases you a bit!

Will ask a lot of questions about your hobby, it's only fair because before then, you had asked her about the poisons and medicines she brews.

Loves how subtle and quiet you work. Sometimes, she'll scoot on over near your desk and lean her head on your shoulder as you draw.

If you were illustrating in her lab while she does her work as well, the both of you will enjoy the comfortable silence that you two shared.

Automatic mood up if you decided to illustrate her! (⸝⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝⸝)❀

She'd definitely pepper your face with kisses after you've finished while she cups your face with her hands.

" My my! You're so productive today, Y/n! Are you sure this isn't some sort of trick of your sleeve to put me in a good mood? " She teased.

" No, no! I promise this was just a project for fun! Plus.. I thought you looked beautiful so I had no choice but to illustrate your stunning looks.. "

The two of you ended up with pink tinted cheeks, which lead to Shinobu giggling softly as she pulled you into a hug, intertwining your hands together with hers.

Kyojuro Rengoku

Hear me out, alright?

Immediately fucking shows your work to the other Hashira and would boast about everything you had made.

Oh you made this little doodle for fun? FRAME IT. NO BUTS.

He loves you, the effort you put into it, and just generally loves you and everything that you do!

Compliments. Every. Fucking. Thing. NO EXCEPTIONS >:(

If you were his flame, he was definitely your blazing sun that lit up even the darkest corners of the world.

WOULD ABSOLUTELY BE IN JOY IF YOU DREW HIM :'')

Before you could even show him the finished project, you're already in his arms, in a warm hug.

" WOW! AMAZING! You illustrated me! This is such a magnificent piece of art, little flame!!! "

Kyojuro would not hesitate to frame the drawing you made of him. And every other illustration you've made.

You are the flame that keeps his heart burning, and something as simple as you illustration of him — burns the fire inside of him even more. Set your heart ablaze!

Sanemi Shinazugawa

So THAT'S why you were gazing upon the Wisteria, you were sketching them out.

Though, will immediately think that it's a waste of time, and is better to spend that time training alone.

This doesn't bother you in the slightest, as you only continued quietly stroking your pencil onto the paper you held.

Will take him a minute or so to cool down to actually see what you're doing.

It's actually very tranquil to catch the sight of you illustrating as a small smile was present on your face. Reminds him of a particular someone in the back of his mind, burried.

wait

Ok, Sanemi takes it back, this whole drawing thing actually looks pretty interesting.

Asks about how you manage to make figures with ease

Will be very confused if you explain it to him, but does not mind!

Would be a bit surprised if you suddenly started stealing glances from him, only to see you were already illustrating him.

" You're.. you're drawing me? ...That's fucking cool I guess. "

" Really?! You like it, Nemi?? "

OF COURSE HE DOES DJFJENJG HE LOVES IT SO MUCH BUT HE WILL NEVER ADMIT IT OUT LOUD

After you've finished it off, he'd let out a little sigh and unexpectedly pulls you in a quick kiss on the lips and immediately dashes off with the drawing in his hands. Making you two play a little game of tag.

" Nemi! Give it back, hey! No fair! "

" Finders keepers, dipshit! "

Muichiro Tokitou

Cool.

LITERALLY NOT MUCH OF A REACTION FROM THIS BOY 💀

It's just.. yeah.

You draw

Keeps his usual, neutral face on as he flips around your sketchbook.

He might not show it, but he takes note of every single little detail that you put into these drawings. He might forget them, but will try hard to remember and keep them in mind.

His fingers traces the outlines, and shapes of your illustrations. All the colors were blended neatly, and cleanly, much to Muichiro's liking. Like a field of clouds up in the blue sky, on a great day.

Would be dazed if he suddenly saw his face getting sketched.

Oh. You were drawing him. The thought had just recently hit the Mist Pillar's head.

Quietly stares at you working, taking note of every little thing you do.

" Hey. Can I keep that? " Muichiro suddenly asked. You nodded in response as you handed him the illustration.

A smile was present in his face as he took your hand, leading the both you to his favourite spot on where he usually gazes upon the sky. " Thanks. "

Mitsuri Kanroji

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Like Kyojuro, absolutely loves everything! Starting from the most complex illustrations and down to the quick, silly, and low quality doodles.

Will definitely show your work around the Hashira's as well!

Do you need more art supplies? On it! She'll swipe up everything that you want / need!

Not necessary to buy that many? TOO BAD! She's already buying them!

Squeals if you like,, show and share your latest artwork to her, she just adores it all!

WOULD ABSOLUTELY CRY IF YOU DREW HER

Trust me, the first initial reaction you'd get is HSJDJGBSHHFS??????????

" WAAAAHHHHH Y/NNNN!!! "

" Wah! Mitsuri, did I do something wrong? "

" NO BUT WAAAHHHH YOU'RE— YOU'RE DRAWING MEEEEEE :( THAT'S SO SWEET!!!! "

After that initial reaction, of course you'd let her keep the finished product!

Pulling you into her loving embrace, she peppers your face with kisses and hugs you tightly in her arms.

Oh you bet she's treating you out for dinner later, no way is she letting you give her your drawing for free!

💮 MASTERLIST [#1] | MASTERLIST [#2]

[trulylino]

=> Shopping With Them - BTS

Pairing: bts x gn!reader

Genre: fluff, suggestive in Jimin's ig, headcannons with story

Summary: what going out for a day of shopping would be like with the tannies

Warnings: slight suggestive in Jimin's section, kissing

A/N: thank you so much for 500 followers I can't believe it thank yousnshajwj

Masterlist

Jin

If you're going shopping it's for him. HE needs a new shirt or HE needs a new pair of shoes. I mean sure you may be trying on some stuff as well but he is the main focus of the day. You don't mind because he's so hilarious with his comments as you walk round the shops that you're laughing every five minutes (and groaning at his dad jokes just as often). He likes it when you suggest things he should try on and feed his ego by telling him that he would look good in it. He agrees, naturally, because he looks good in everything, however it feels extra special coming from you as you're the only person other than himself who he values the opinion of.

Yoongi

He's definitely not as excited about this day out as you are. He'd much rather be doing something else than trail around the shops on a Friday afternoon. Still, he doesn't want to rain on your parade and tries his best to be positive about the whole thing. He brightens up, however, when you spot a corner of the shop which sports hats and necklaces with a cat theme and he can't help but be intrigued. Next thing he knows he's got a beanie with cat ears on it on his head and you're wearing a hoodie with painted paws on the sleeve. He decides that maybe shopping isn't so bad after all. Other than his initial disinterest he's a surprisingly good shopping partner.

Hobi

Your ultimate hype man. As expected. Whatever you try on he's got a new way to compliment you. You sometimes wonder how he comes up with so many original things to say about a few t-shirts but you accept the praise gratefully. It's not everyday that your favourite person in the world sits and tells you how amazing you look for several hours straight (actually, it's most days). You manage to convince him to try on some items too and your jaw almost drops when you see him in the black leather with his hair pushed back like you told him to do. You were about ready to combust on the spot when he bursts into a smile asking if you like it. You liked it for sure.

Namjoon

He is strangely knowledgeable about most types of clothes. You assume he's read it in a book but when you're walking around and he starts talking about seam length and hems and material you can only look at him in confusion. He explains that before you came out he did a bit of research so you could get clothes which fit you well and you felt comfortable in and in that moment your heart swells a bit because he's put in so much effort just for you. He shrugs it off like it's no big deal but inside he's smiling so much because he just wants to make sure that you know how much he loves you and this is his way of showing it.

Jimin

Going out shopping with him involves a lot of time in the fitting rooms. Not exactly trying on clothes either. He gives up on pretending that he cares about whether you look nicer in the blue jeans or the navy and begins kissing you against the mirror. He thinks you look prettiest like that anyway. You nearly get kicked out by the staff when they find you but somehow Jimin manages to sweet talk his way out of it and the two of you are leaving, bags over your arms and a bill on your credit cards. When you get home you have a fashion show and you do a repeat of the changing rooms half way through because how is Jimin meant to control himself when you're wearing all these pretty new clothes?

Taehyung

Forever the fashionista, be prepared to be critiqued to perfection on every single thing you try on. You can stand there in an item of clothing for fifteen minutes whilst he discusses ways which you could style the piece you're wearing until he ultimately decides that it's not worth it and tells you to try the next item. Money isn't exactly a problem but he doesn't see the point in wasting it on something which you aren't 100% on. Sometimes you'll purposefully choose to try on something so incredibly ugly just to see his face as he tries to figure out what on earth is going on and how he can save it. In the end he gives up and you laugh and he decides that the only way to make the horrible clothes work is by giving you a kiss. For science.

Jungkook

He's really big on couples outfits. If you're getting new clothes then he needs an equivalent item or he'll be pouty the whole day until you suggest getting icecream. It's strange because you know he'd cringe if he saw anyone else do a couple costume more intricate than just matching rings but he's really into it. Even as you're walking down the street you're both decked out in the same colour shirt with matching trousers, your accessories perfectly complimenting each other. You always take loads of pictures too, those aesthetic ones which you would always see on Instagram. You wouldn't post them of course but when you got home you would gush over them and agree that you were both cooler than everyone else.

Taglist: @dreamescapeswriting @sparkyprotectionsquad @bang-me-chan

Credit: Header by @dolzyeri

[kodzukyan]

better with you (until it kills me)

notes: it's always missing baji hours here </3 fluff, angst; alternative ending: always, always you

summary: four times you think you are in love with baji keisuke, and the one time you tell him.

wc: 3.7k

You're reasonably sure the only reason he chooses you to pair up with for the Japanese literature project is that you sit next to him, but it surprises you all the same. You don't think you have much of a presence in class, but you don't think you can say the same about your new partner, Baji Keisuke.

His slicked-back ponytail and thick frames make his presence seem like a poindexter, but there's something about his bruised knuckles and his fierce aura that makes him feel ferocious. You've noticed him hang out with the school delinquent on multiple occasions. You also think you've seen him laugh wildly as he beats up some of the local thugs who crowded around the said delinquent he's friends with.

He isn't who you expect him to be at first glance, and that intrigues you more than you like to admit. You're too nervous to openly ask, so you settle for stealing glances at him from the corner of your eyes.

So, when he really decides on you and submits the partner form, you don't know what to think.

In the time that you two are partners, you've discovered a couple of things about him. First, his handwriting and kanji absolutely suck. Despite that, he writes a letter addressed to someone named Kazutora every week without fail. As if that isn't endearing enough, it gets even more so when he pouts at the complex characters that he often gets wrong and the inevitable smile that breaks out whenever you show him how to write them correctly.

("Oh, thanks! I would probably fail my kanji tests without you and Chifuyu. Kazutora probably can't even understand what I'm saying," he laughs rambunctiously.)

Second, he's genuinely an unexpectedly good partner in terms of being punctual about meeting up. However, despite being on time, there is little progress on the project. Your work times often end up in discussions about random life topics rather than the project itself.

(“Do you like cats?” he asks out of the blue one day, head on the table and books already forgotten.

“Uh, yeah, I guess so,” you humor him because you’re also tired of researching Japanese literature.

“Wanna see my cats? They’re all strays,” he sits up suddenly, eyes lit and smile bright.

You nod, and he proceeds to take out his phone to show you pictures of his cats. You note his lock-screen is a picture of all his cats, and his camera roll is just full of his friends and mom, motorcycles, and the said cats. With shining eyes full of excitement, he tells you their names and their personalities in detail.

"Do you think cats recognize their names but choose to ignore us whenever we call them?" he resumes the conversation after he finishes showing you his gallery. He leans back as he balances his pencil on top of his pursed lips.

"Maybe. Depends on the cat? Maybe they just hate you?" you mimic his pose. You suppose thirty minutes of work is enough progress for the day.

"Ouch," he grimaces as if it shatters him directly in the heart.)

Third, sometimes he comes with his hair down and without his glances, with stains on his clothes that he claims are ketchup, despite it not smelling like that at all.

("Uh, hey, sorry I'm late today," he offers sheepishly as he runs a hand through his unbound hair.

"Oh, it's okay," you finally say after you take in his shaggy appearance. You try not to think about how handsome he is despite the bruises forming on his face. "Are you… okay?"

"All good! The ketchup bottle just randomly exploded," he laughs nervously and awkwardly. "Anyways!! The project!!"

You stare at him dubiously but nod anyway. "Okay, if you say so…")

Fourth, he has an extremely charming smile, especially when his fangs are in full display. To some, it may look fierce and menacing; to you, it looks cute, especially when his eyes are always brimming with life and his laugh is full of vitality.

More often than not you catch yourself staring at him because he's just so intriguing.

You try to ignore your racing heart when your stolen glances become shared ones, and he flashes you a grin softer than the smiles you've seen.

-----

“Uh, hi.” You say shyly as you enter through Baji’s window. It’s not frequently you seek out Baji at his own home, especially through the window he keeps open almost exclusively for stray cats to seek shelter.

“What the fuck?” Baji drops the stray cat he's cuddling as you give a slight wave, causing the cat to meow loudly at the sudden change in demeanor.

“Sorry to drop by unannounced. I, uh, just wanted some company.”

You feel vanishingly small as you awkwardly laugh and piece together some words that make sense. Home is supposed to be full of warmth, but your home is more of a house with people than a home with love. It’s a truth you’ve long accepted, but some days, it feels a little extra cold.

Therefore, you run, and somehow you end up here, in the comforts of Baji’s room.

Maybe you are currently a stray cat, feeling a little more lost than found. Maybe you find that he’s the sort of comfort that warms you a little when your heart feels heavy. Maybe you are just a little bit in like with him, and he is the first person you want to see whenever you’re feeling down.

The room is silent aside from the soft paps of cats moving around and the periodic meow. Then, he pats the spot next to him, and you make your way there. As soon as you sit down, he hands you a cat.

“Here, hold her. She’s nice,” he comments as he places the calico cat he dropped earlier in your lap, petting her as she adjusts to her new position on you.

She narrows her eyes and softly purrs in your lap as Baji pets her, and this makes you feel more in the moment than in your head like you’ve been. Your initial baffle turns into a smile as she purrs louder when you pet her, and just like that, you feel a little more found than lost.

You lean on his shoulder as you continue petting the calico cat in your lap. You keep your eyes on her as she climbs onto his lap and nuzzles him in an attempt to hide your burning cheeks and your drumming heart from your proximity.

“Thanks for giving me a home when I don’t want to be in my own,” you tell him softly, airly, almost as if you’re letting him in on a secret.

He stops playing with the cats for a moment and pauses. Feeling his intense stare, you peek through your lashes up at him. His broad grin and sharp canines are in full display, and his smile looks a little more boyish than wild. He tousles your hair as he laughs aloud boisterously before he props his head on top of yours.

“You’ll always have a home here.”

-----

It all started when a group of thugs looked at you inappropriately and made some comments that made you uncomfortable. You grip the ends of his sleeve just a little harder and press yourself behind him, trying to make yourself impossibly small. Baji, seeing your small form and downcast eyes, removes your hand from his sleeve and places it in his hand. Knowing Baji and him knowing you and your every mood, he does not stand for it. He simply flashes you a reassuring grin before he squeezes your hand and runs straight at them.

He throws the first punch, and you could just stand there in shock as he pummels through them and beats them up. He has cuts and bruises everywhere, and you’re certain he’s taken on a few nasty hits on his ribs. Though you’re equally confident that these thugs are absolutely 100% in worse shape than he is.

“Oh my god,” you sob frantically as Baji wobbles back to you, ferocious smile on his face softens as he sees you. He pats your head when he notes your teary eyes. You’re not even sure when you start crying, but the tears just don’t seem to stop. “Are you okay? Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you -”

He clutches your tear-stained face in his hands, “Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his, but you can barely see him over your tears as you continue your incoherent rambling.

“Hey,” he tries once more, voice more frantic as he struggles to find words. He finally just squishes your cheeks and yells, “Do you think I care about anything else but you right now?”

Your eyes widen, and the tears forming fall freely onto his hands. Oh, oh, oh, you think to yourself as your beating heart rapidly thumps at an exponential speed, maybe he’s also falling. When you meet his steady gray eyes, the shocking realization that maybe you’re not the only one dumb and possibly in love stops your tears.

He sighs in relief when your tears gradually stop, and as if all the tiredness accumulated in his body hit him all at once, he falls down onto the ground.

You try to catch him as best as you can, and with the combined effort of mostly himself and partially you, he breaks his fall. He lays sprawled out on the ground. After you check for wounds and find none too serious, you sit with your knees tucked under you by where he lays and moves his head onto your lap.

All around you are the battered bodies of the thugs you’ve encountered, but all you can see at the moment is him and his gray eyes that disappear into crescent moons as he flashes you a grin. He’s too tired to move, but he raises a fist up into the air in victory anyway.

“I got you.”

-----

"Wanna go on a ride?" he texts you.

It’s almost midnight when he texts you, and it’s probably way past when you should stay up. But your heart flutters at the thought of adventure, at the thought of him, so you quickly respond, “Okay, but be quiet! Don't wake my parents up again, stinky!!!”

You can already imagine his sheepish smile when he sends you a "that was once!!! my bad" back.

After sending him a quick ":p", you silently put on some clothes more fitting to go out than your pajamas. The sound of his motorcycle announces his greater-than-life presence long before his text does. Grabbing two scrunchies, you sneak out your window.

He only greets you with a goofy smile and a wave, hair free-flowing in the wind. Under the moonlight, his gray eyes twinkle with vigor and youth. It knocks the air out of your lungs as you glance at him because he's beautiful, ethereal, and alive. He smiles smugly when he catches your stare, but he holds his hand out for you to take.

"Hi," you whisper under the twinkling stars as you put your hand in his.

"Hey," he whispers back as he curls his fingers around your hand before adjusting to interlace your fingers together.

The quietness and intimacy of this moment drown out the world - the sound of cars driving by, of cicadas flying, of the world standing still. The only thing keeping you from floating is his hand and the sound of your heartbeat.

"I got you a hair tie." You offer softly with an equally soft smile, eyes pointing to the scrunchies on your wrist.

"I got you a hoodie," he responds as he nods to his motorcycle. "Because I knew your dumb ass would, once again, forget to dress for the winds."

"I'm dressed decently enough. You, though… please tie your hair… It hurts like hell when it whips in my face," you laugh lightly.

He rolls his eyes. "That's also what you said last time before you ended up stealing my hoodie, and I ended up being cold!" he complains, but there's a certain fondness in his voice.

You only stick your tongue out childishly at him. You would rather bite your tongue than admit that you are always slightly underdressed for the occasion so he would keep giving you his hoodies.

He tugs your interlaced hand and pulls you closer, and as you stand so close to him, you think close isn't quite close enough. The two of you linger in that position for longer than what should be appropriate for friends, but you think you have been tiptoeing around that line for a while now. Your heart races, and you're sure your erratic heart is beating fast enough to generate heat to keep you warm against the cold winds.

He pulls away first, moving to grab his hoodie before he roughly puts it on you. He laughs when you complain about your ruffled hair, but as his hoodie and scent engulf you, you could only shyly smile. He takes a scrunchie despite complaining about how poofy it is. As he settles in his bike and you settle in behind him, arms tight around his waist, you think this is probably what holding the universe in your arms feels like.

He rives his bike loudly despite your warning, but you find that you could care less right now as he takes off. You are young and dumb, but the wind is running through your hair as the two of you are chasing the moon, and it makes you feel so alive. Neon lights and starlit skies blur together as he speeds through familiar roads, and the brisk winds drown out your loud laughter. It feels like you're feeling everything at once, but your head is so clear.

You think you can understand why he loves riding so much because the only thing that you can hear is your loud heartbeat, and the only thing that matters is you're living.

He finally stops at a local 24-hour diner. The moonlight shines through the window by your table. You are still feeling the wild wind in your hair, cold air on your face, and the warmth of Baji’s back on your arms. It's way past midnight now, and the yellow lights of the diner feel a little more homey than dingy. He’s munching on some fries, occasionally waving one in your face whenever he’s trying to make a point about something. As you watch the various expressions on his face, a smile makes its way to your face.

“Hey Keisuke,” you grab a fry and jab it at him in the middle of his sentence. He stops his mid-word as he stares at you, head tilting slightly and mouth still gaping. There is a particular word that you keep thinking of whenever you think of Baji, a feeling that lingers and fills your heart up. You know what it is. You think you know at least, and in moments like these when you’re just watching his goofy self munching on fries while boisterously laughing at something dumb, all you can think of is those four letters.

“You’re my best friend,” you whisper before you eat your fry. Best friend, you think, encompasses a lot of things and feelings as you stare at his childlike grin, heart fluttering and mind blanking because all you see is him. You hope he knows, hope he gets that best friend is a loose term because he is so much more.

When he meets your eyes and his gray eyes crinkle in mirth and laughter rolls off his lips, you think he does.

“I know,” he smugly nods before he drops another fry into his mouth. “I guess you’re pretty cool too.”

You stick your tongue out at him and feel a warmth in your heart that matches the pinks of his cheeks. Maybe it’s adrenaline still in your blood, maybe it’s the moment, but it makes you devious, brave even, as you lean over and chomp down on the fry he's holding.

He stares at you with his mouth wide open, looking absolutely flabbergasted and offended. “Hello? That was my last fry!”

“Sorry,” you giggle, not feeling all that sorry at all. You know he’s not truly that offended because he has that stupid grin on his face, because he’s always soft with you. A part of you does feel a little sorry when you see the small pout that arises on his face. “I’ll treat you to yakisoba later?”

He turns away from you, face still slightly sulky as he huffs silently.

“No? You don’t want yakisoba?” you ask. You still find it amusing that Baji Keisuke, the first division captain of the Toman Gang who would punch someone on the streets for no reason other than just because he feels like it, is pouting because you stole his last fry. If anyone from any rival gangs sees Baji Keisuke now, they probably wouldn’t believe this is the same person.

“Fine,” he huffs softly, “But don’t think one yakisoba is enough.”

“Then,” you begin, your heart pounding loudly in your chest as you work up the courage, “What about this?”

He turns to you in confusion, and before your courage runs out on you, you crash your lips onto his before you pull away.

“Repayment,” you mutter meekly, eyes avoiding his because you’re sure he can feel the heat radiating off your cheeks from where he’s sitting.

“Hey,” he tugs on your hand under the table. When you finally look at him, he continues, “Just one isn’t enough.”

He kisses you again.

-----

Home is supposed to be the place you come from, but you think it's more like a place you find, pieced together from scattered bits of feelings, emotions, people along the way. Somewhere along the lines, home becomes less of a place and more of a person. Your home becomes the boy with the sharp canines and long hair that gets tangled by the stray cats he keeps, the "I love you" declared loudly with kisses and the longing looks in between, the comfortable warmth of his body next to yours as you chase sunsets and live in your own infinity. Your home is Baji Keisuke and the constant image of him in your mind and the infinite pieces of him in your heart.

Infinity, though, is awfully short, you think, as you see him lay surrounded by bouquets, eyes closed in eternal slumber. He's always looked good in white, but when his tan complexion is nearly as pale as the white roses surrounding him, you think white is an awful color on him. His eyes always shine with possibilities and promises, and while you've always joked that his sleeping face is cute because he always looks so innocent, adorable even, all you want now is to see him awake.

His heroism and love for his friends are always something that you love about him, but in turn, it feels so incredibly cruel to you now. For as short as he has been in your life, he becomes pieces embedded so deeply in it that it makes you whole. You cannot imagine a world where there is no Baij, where he isn’t there to punch a hooligan on the streets or feed stray cats at night or hold you when your world is crashing. You cannot imagine a life where he isn’t here to shine a bright light in your life without his laughter and goofy personality. Suddenly the world blurs around you, and you can't breathe as droplets of water hit your clenched hands on your lap.

You hold his hands. Cold, cold, cold, when they used to be warm enough to light a fire in you. There are so many things you want to tell him, say to him, but the speech you prepare in your head drowns in silence as your voice gives out on you. All the words in your head just come out as broken sobs. You feel the sympathetic and equally broken glance of his mom as she embraces you, but all you can think about is that he won’t open his eyes.

Baji Keisuke has always been bigger than life, you think, because he becomes a part of everything in your life. There are traces of him everywhere - him with his cats on your lock-screen, the random memes he sends you at night, the little notes he leaves you written in his ugly penmanship with love. When you think of these things, you feel like your heart is breaking all over again.

People tell you to be strong, and while you want to retort because how can you when he’s gone?, you find that you cannot say a word without crying. You’re tired of crying too because your eyes are already so, so raw, but it seems like all you can do is cry. When you think you've finally run out of tears and your tears finally stop, a new batch takes over even at the slightest things that remind you of him. You feel so pathetic because you can't do anything without water leaking from your eyes, and you hate yourself for being so weak.

You tune out the somber tone of his friends and the broken tone of his mom because you don't want to accept a reality where he isn't here. But luck is never on your side because he never opens his eyes again, and you never get to tell him how much you love him. All you get are flashbacks and memories of him and emptiness in your heart and soul. You tell yourself you have to be strong and smile and live for the both of you, but you can't. Not when he isn't here, not when he isn't with you anymore. Every time you think about that fact, your heart breaks again.

"Hey, stupid," your broken sobs ring loudly in the deafening silence, "I love you."

The words you’ve wanted to tell him for so long are finally in the open, but there is no answer.