#they've been putting fire after fire out. like they probably know each other intimately but when is there time to celebrate?

[nymfaia-archive]

Also absolutely struck with the concept that Alta isn't even 100% certain if her nameday IS her nameday. Her mother knew, her tribe knew, and Cirina's mother, the third member of their polycule, absolutely knew - but when she was taken in by the Kha, was that something they learned?

Was that something a traumatized, mostly mute child would have remembered or wanted to even celebrate after everything?

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

@ava-sr said: EE i do apologize that this is late, but maybe a small request because of my moblit-brainrot. which dates he would like to take you on? maybe like one of those guided painting classes? aGh all i know is that man is the absolute sweetest and i love him with all my heart

Types of dates with Moblit pt.1

{ Moblit x reader | tw:none | fluff | modern }

{ "Vanitas Still Life" 1662 by Edwaert Collier c. 1640 - after 1707 London or Leiden }

Ideal dates : these are dates he plans up ahead, makes sure they go smoothly and you're both are having fun. He really looks forward to these dates, they're like an event for him. He saves them up for important occasions like your anniversary, valentine's day, birthday.

I. Cuddling for hours at a time

you have to understand that in Moblit's overworked and stressful life, moments of respite are rare and far. He's so deprived of touch and love that it's a miracle how he has managed to function without even a beep. The thought of having someone to warm his bed, cradle his worries and put them to rest by simply combing through his hair, never crossed his mind despite having a hundred thoughts running through it per minute.

Some days he manages to forget your existence even, not out of some selfish desire or to belittle you, but out of disbelief, after all it's too good to be true.

You're too good to be true to him.

Your tender words pull him back each time he blindly steps closer to the edge, a never-ending spiral of self-destructive work tendencies awaiting him at the bottomless abyss. Your warm embrace shutting out the swarm of nagging voices meant to guilt him out of rest, to act as if the key to curing his sleep deprivation was to not acknowledge its existence, that fatigue symptoms could be erased by his own homemade placebo remedies.

As if your mere touch could turn anything to gold, and in his case, it did. 

It was what made the difference between an anxiety inducing catastrophic day, and a mere rough stepping stone he could easily manoeuvre around leaving his pace steady and undisturbed.

Reminding that it's okay to fail, to give something your best only for it to crumble to dust. It's a process of trial and error, it takes time and patience.

You don't get to choose how well things end up working out, it's not up to you nor is it your place.

And that's why for him, his ideal place in the world is in your arms, to simply let the rise and fall of your chest lull him into comfortable numbness. His features softening as the oxytocin levels rise, courtesy of your warm embrace, soft skin providing just the right pressure against his own.

Laying on your shared bed together, the soft breeze coming from the open windows moves the thin curtains. Moblit is Holding you close as one of his arms sneak around you, fingertips tracing shapes up and down your back. Face buried in your shoulder as yours rests on top of his head, stray hairs almost tickling your nose when you brush against them.

The passing of time does little to his cotton filled mind, occasionally attempting to pull you even more closer as if it's possible. Legs tangled with yours under the heavy blanket despite him hogging most of it.

Every now and then, when a certain amount of time passes, he'd look at you with half-closed eyes, a lidded look of satisfaction before murmuring in his sleepy voice.

"Do you want to get up?" And despite his sincere words and warm tone, his body makes no move to detach itself from your side.

Does he know the soothing effect of the circles he keeps drawing up your back? Or how much him talking with his lips still pressed against your neck makes you melt just a bit.

Whatever it is, Moblit seems confident in his ability to keep you snuggled against him, tucked underneath the warm blanket and fluffy pillows almost muffling your answer.

II. Visiting a music bar

Preferably something with soft yellowish lights, small enough spaces not meant for dancing but to create an intimate atmosphere akin to a music venue.

A jazz club, maybe a brewery.

Dimmed sunlight seeping through the thin curtained window, shadow traces of people smoking outside while making small talk, cushioned bar stools placed around the long bar with a mirrored wall behind it as several aged bottles and fancy glasses with signatures decorate the wooden shelves.

The quiet chatter of people blurring behind the mellow music the band is playing on the nearby stage, smooth movement with relaxed postures as if they've done this a hundred times before, and they probably have.

You're sitting in one of the booths near the window, a private spot where you're far enough for people not to notice yet close enough to still hear the music flowing.

The beat is slow, hypnotising even that the minutes blur together. 

Moblit giving you a smile as he comes back with your drinks, sitting opposite of you before handing you the cold glass, ice cubes clinking against each other as you raise the frosted rim to your lips, sugary sweet filling your senses, the cooling sensation of the drink slides down your throat.

There's a hint of citrus in it.

You've learned to trust Moblit's choice in drinks after being together for so long, he just knows what's going to taste good and which kind of drink you seem to need without having to say a word.

He seems comfortable here, even referring to the bartender by his name like they've been friends for a while, and maybe they have judging by the out-of-script welcoming he gave Moblit.

One conversation starts another and both of you find it so easy to talk to each other without boundaries or second thoughts, the smiles and occasional chuckles almost never leaving your features while nursing on your drinks.

He tells you stories from his work and about his co-workers. You find yourself entranced by his seemingly abusered line of work and the amount of chuckle worthy instances a single work day can offer.

That one time Hange knocked the liquid incense oils that someone Levi brought to freshen the place, well to their luck the oils fell directly on an open flame from the nearby scented candle which resulted in the fire spreading through the liquid alcohol between the broken glass.

And despite the feeling of dread, from seeing his files catch on fire this story brings him, the sound of your chocked laughter as you almost spilled your drink over your clothes, made it all worth it for him.

III. Antique shop

There was something to be said about Moblit's yearning for especially old looking things, trinkets, crumpled maps, tea stained letters and silvered mirrors.

You can't miss the gleam in his eyes as he opens the antique store door open for you the chime of the door bells following after. The smell of burning incense lingering in the air alongside the slow ticking of an old wooden clock.

The look on his face is of pure fascination, his eyes following the trail of the objects lined on the tables, from the old oil paintings with hand carved frames to the crystals reflecting sunlight next to the colourful stones. Observing as he carefully walks behind you through the narrow spaces between the tables and shelves. 

Pulling your attention whenever he finds a particular curious thing to show you as if it's an offering, it can range from music boxes with a really familiar melody that you can't quite remember or a beautifully shaped rose quartz stone that feels cool against your palm.

Whatever he brings, it often manages to intrigue you in some way. Moblit could always notice things other people would skip over otherwise, scanning the tables was like a small treasure hunt.

He'd always pick one or two leather journals, almost filled to the brim with ink scribbled pages and tea stained spots, personal diaries dating back to the 90's and if he's lucky they might edge towards the 80'. He likes to read them, live in someone else's shoes even for a split second, puzzle pieces falling in place as he figures out what kind of person the author was.

Of course sharing his discoveries with you while having lunch later, not out of pride nor to show off, but out of genuine respect to other people's lives and their dedication for leaving behind a piece of their soul.

IX. Roadtrip 

It's something he plans months ahead in advance, he genuinely wants to make the best out of the few weeks off both of you got to spend together. Making sure to plan a set of destinations, preparing snacks and food, packing your essentials and renting a big enough van.

A small getaway even, to completely leave everything behind and set out on a carefully planned adventure with the one he loves most, you.

Enjoying the fresh weather, the high sun and fast wind as both of you roll down the windows, fields of green and yellow meet you alongside the road the further away you move from the city.

Although be careful; the Moblit behind the wheel is a much much more different than the one you know, he's using all what remains of his self-restraint not to speed down the highway and swirl, the thought crosses his mind every hour or so and he's visibly agitated when you're forced to drive behind a particularly slow driver.

You might even have to remind him of the speed limit occasionally just so you don't end up with a pile of speeding tickets at the end of the trip.

It's like all his usually cautious and calculating demner evaporates into mist the second he touches the steering wheel, Temptations of just flooring it while high on adrenaline still linger in the back of his mind.

Beside that, the trip is a relatively calm one as you get to bask in all the new and different places you'll get to visit. Try new food and walk through different city streets, just the experience of something out of the usual is enough to satisfy Mobilt. Not to mention the fact he gets to experience it with you and just wander around without a purpose or care as long as you're together.

He'll definitely keep in mind what sort of things you seem to like, what intrigues you and the kind of reactions you show. He even started an album filled with mostly your pictures and the things you've seen.

It's most relaxing and filled with low stakes, nothing too fancy but nothing too boring either. Walking the thin line perfectly.

X. Visiting a museum

But not just any museum you see, one centred around natural history. Displaying everything from ancient fossils to full on skeleton displays of a 122 foot titanosaur, depictions of distant relatives of homosapiens and modern evolution trees of the current animals.

Moblit guiding you through the shiny tile floor and between the exhibits while holding your hand, eyes gleaming with passion as he goes on and on about each thing you glance at. Making all the trivial facts seem more fascinating than they have any right to be.

The squeaking sound of footsteps echoing on the too clean floors as four children pass you by, racing each other towards the iron suits of armour on display. They almost fall over the red ropes from leaning too close in, their caregiver seemingly busy talking with a security guard over the 'smoking not allowed' sign. 

You spare them a final glance before following Moblit through the corridor leading to the world history & old inventions section. Soon enough he steals your attention again as he begins talking about the first airplane prototype that you can't help but be enamoured by.

Despite there being a sign framed on the wall that sums up the jest of Moblit's lecture, he manages to make it not only less boring but add his own twist and uncommon known facts to it that it feels less of a history trip and of an interesting conversation.

He has so much knowledge that he's so eager not to only share but hear your own opinion and take on it, valuing your view no matter what amount of knowledge you have over the subject.

XI. Painting together

It's an idea that you offhandedly suggested after your museum visit, after all spending an hour in the Impressionism era gallery did leave an impression on you. And so the suggestion of checking out an art store for some acrylics and a couple brushes left your lips on the way home without a second thought.

Well little did you know that the small suggestion managed to latch into Moblit's brain for weeks after, making him spend his free time searching and gaining information on painting and how to start, he even managed to find some really good classes having a limited time course sale

That's how both of you end up in a guided painting class, seated next to each other with aprons on and a pallet to mix paint tubes in. You'll find out how much of a fast learner Moblit is, so much that most of the class he spends guiding your hand through the steps and offering his help whenever possible, although he still remembers not to be overbearing and still gives you space.

Both of you are in your own bubble from the class, being with him makes you feel easy and more reassured. He's like your very own comfort corner that you seek in every party, except that he can walk around with you and always looks out for you.

And whatever you end up putting on that canvas, Moblit will cherish more than any renaissance painting, will even insist on hanging it somewhere in the apartment.

[mementofloreo-archived]

@sorrowmarked​: His first response startles her, she’s about to object when he apologizes for saying it. A frown still tugs at her lips. Not because of his reaction to her confession, but because his first impulse was to assume he wasn’t good enough for her. Her brows pinched together, “Hey, it’s okay,” she said, reaching over to comfort him, her fingers brushing his knuckles. “And that’s not true." Most days she didn’t feel she she was good enough for him, but love wasn’t about worth. Love was about loving. It was a verb. It was an action. It was a choice. She loved him. She chose to. Maybe if she was lucky he would choose to love her back. And she would do her best to respect him, and treat him with kindness, and trust him, and support him, and be his biggest cheerleader. But worth didn’t factor into it. It was all … just action, and choice. What she decided to do, for the person she loved. Now that she had said it, now that she had done it, she didn’t feel so nervous now. There was no worry hanging over her head. There was just this. The after, the what came next. He’d tell her he returned his feelings, or he he would tell her he didn’t. Suddenly all that worry felt so … silly. Of course, they’d still be friends after this. Of course. Because that’s how they worked. They’d always be best friends. But then he was smiling at her and his eyes were watery, and she knew. Knew where this was going. Should have just told him ages ago. I worry too much over nothing. He pulled her in close and her arms wrapped around him, her cheek against his chest. There’s never been anybody but you, she didn’t know if she felt guilty or elated. Both, she guessed. Her hands tightened on the back of his shirt, bunching in the fabric. "I wasn’t as quick on the uptake,” she said, voice soft, and warm, smile bleeding into her words. “I just needed the time to realize that I loved you,” she said. She paused, “That’s not right, I’ve always loved you,” she said, which he should know. “I just needed to realize I was in love with you." Closing her eyes she paused a moment, listening to the way his heart was pounding in his chest. "You’re my best friend Daisuke,” she whispered. “My life has always been better, my days have always been better, because I have you. I remember how lonely it was before I met you,” two little kids, prone to illness, unable to run and play like they wanted to. He’d become her best friend fast. Stayed her best friend. “You’re my best friend, and the guy I love, I think both can be true,” she whispered. Her arms tightened around him. “Both probably should be true, and I am proud that you’re my best friend. I’m proud you’re the guy I love. I sometimes … god I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. Because if you could you’d know there was no one better than you. No one else with your heart, and your kindness, and your compassion, and your optimism. You amaze me every single day.”

[I put this under a cut because it's SO FUCKING LONG????? Have fun reading the extended lotr script I guess LMAO??? Daisuke is extremely smooth here tho tbh]

"...In your defense, I probably didn't make it an easy conclusion to reach," Daisuke says on the tail end of a chuckle rumbling through his chest. The sensation brings with it the odd realization that it's actually been quite some time since he really hugged her, and the last time he did his voice was still only just starting to change.

It'll probably still deepen a little more before he finishes growing, but what used to be a cracking, faltering high tenor is now balanced and smooth and almost baritone. Limbs that were wiry and angular are lean and strong and growing stronger by the day. And he was babyfaced even into his third year of middle school, but when he looks in the mirror now his face is stronger, sharper, almost a little rugged- especially since he's started needing to shave every few days.

In fact, until near the end of third grade, Hikari was taller than him.

They're on the edge of their second year of high school now. Then it'll be their third and final year, they'll graduate...he winces internally at the prospect of having to fill out career plan forms, but what really has his focus is just how long it's been and how much has changed.

They've known each other since before they could string together proper sentences. Since a time when Daisuke was even more timid and prone to crying than her.

He hasn't recalled in a very long time that the reason he first started working so hard to be more assertive and outgoing- to be stronger, tougher, braver- was all because he wanted to be someone who could protect and support her. Not because she needed him, but because she was a source of incredible fortitude for him. Someone who shone brighter than the white hot light of a summer sun.

He'd worked hard to be strong and brave all because Hikari had been his hero. On a bigger level than even Taichi ever was. Taichi was and still is a mentor, a role model, a brother to him. But he knows that if not for meeting Hikari, if not for her friendship, he never would have dared to break out of that timid, isolated little shell. Everything that makes him strong ultimately stems from her, even though he's never told her that.

A hazy, old memory comes to him, and he finds himself recounting it to her out loud without really thinking about it. "...You know, the first thing I ever learned to 'cook'- putting it loosely...it was instant ramen. The kind you cook in a pot, yknow? We were probably in first grade, I think?"

He's holding her more loose and relaxed now, chin nestled atop her head. "You'd been in bed with a fever for a couple of days, and I think at first I was just there to drop off some handouts from school that you needed to catch up on. Neither of us had very many other friends yet."

"Taichi was probably out with friends or something, and your mom was leaving on an errand just as I was arriving and let me in...and you were just waking up when I let myself into your room to check on you."

A quiet laugh bubbles out of him, "...I couldn't even get a word out before you mumbled about being hungry 'for the first time in forever'. 'Course, I knew just how hard a fever could hit your appetite and how much of a pain in the neck it was once it finally came back. I think I stood there all of two seconds before I dropped the handouts and my stuff and turned right around to let myself into the kitchen."

"I don't know how I managed to get everything together but I remember dragging a chair from the dining room so I could reach the cabinets and the stove, opening about a million drawers before I found any measuring cups for the water...I at least knew roughly how much heat I needed for boiling water- probably wouldn't have tried to mess with the stove otherwise, I think."

"...Anyway, I think I undercooked it just a little, but your mom commented all dry and deadpan that she was just thankful I didn't start a fire, once she got back. I ladled out bowls for both of us and I couldn't find a tray or anything so my goofy ass just scrambled to your room as fast as I could without spilling and set them on the kotatsu. While making a noise that probably sounded like a teakettle all heated up."

He snorts at that, "That particular strain of brainlessness has always been a hallmark of me, I guess. Still. You looked so relieved, seemed so glad that I'd thought to make something that would be light on the stomach. Most of all, though..."

He pulls away, dropping his hands to his lap. "I'd never seen you anywhere near that happy because of anything I'd done. It was the first time I'd ever felt like I'd actually done something worthwhile for you, at a time when you were still the only friend I had. I felt so powerful in that moment, more powerful than I ever have since."

Shyly, gingerly, he lifts a hand and brushes some hair out of her face. "I stared up at the clouds all the way home that day and I clung to that feeling for as long as I could, and I knew. I knew then that if it was for you I could become anything in the world, do the most impossible things, carry the heaviest weights. I didn't have the words then, of course. I was six and barely reading. But I felt it. And god, I understood that feeling more intimately than anything else the world had ever taught me."

He knows he's probably pink up to his hairline at this point, but isn't it about time he actually told her how significant she's been? In completely frank and honest terms, without the joking or the melodrama?

"You said that you wish I could see in me what you see in me." His fingers trace down her cheek, "But sometimes I think I do. All I have to do is look at you, and I see myself. Everything I've been, everything I want to be, everything that drives me forward and compels that compassion you're talking about, none of it could ever have sprouted or grown if I hadn't met you."

"I could never have stood and taken my first steps outside of myself if you hadn't been holding my hand." he continues, "And every step forward I've taken since then, I've taken it hoping beyond anything else that I could give you even an ounce of what you've given me."

His hands are shaking when he takes her face more firmly, and his eyes are a little misty again. "I didn't always know I was in love with you, Hikari. But since the moment we met you've been something even stronger than the sun for me. You're the gravity that keeps me grounded so I can run. And what is there to make us fall if not gravity, right?"

It's a horrible, corny line to end on and it has him smiling awkwardly. But even so he leans in, and he presses a firm kiss to the center of her forehead, holding it there for a long moment, only to rest his own against hers when he pulls away. "There's nobody I'd rather have as my core."