#white clothes = mourning attire

[moonkssd]

She was dressed in white with an equally as pale headband around her head; mourning clothes.

"Hey...so, everything got settled. How are you doing?"

[huaqinger]

🔮🚬 log #12 (eloping at sea edition)

[dwreader]

Quiet Luxury in Dubai

A lot of people have commented on how boring the wardrobes are in the present day interview section and while I think the black is definitely a choice of mourning on Louis's part, the clothes that he wears throughout season 1 are also reflective of the quiet luxury aesthetic, which is very monochromatic and features mostly neutrals, white or black (almost always one palette encompassing the whole outfit). This is a trend that tends to gain popularity among the ultrawealthy during times of economic hardship so as to not appear ostentatious but while the designs and garments themselves are simple, most of these pieces cost hundreds if not thousands of dollars. While it may have inititally started as a way to avoid drawing attention to their wealth, it's now become a way to flex your wealth.

The trend gained further popularity with the show Succession, which features a cast of billionaire characters wearing mostly simple but insanely expensive outfits. Think Kendall's $625 baseball cap. Even though we've only gotten one shot of the real Armand in s2, I believe his wardrobe now that the Rashid mask if off is going to reflect "Succession" chic. Simple corporate attire that probably costs more than your life's savings.

[feelbokkie]

Love Day! Masterlist

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

description: In South Korea, there are monthly, unofficial “love days” for couples and singles to enjoy. How would you and skz celebrate these days?

pairing: skz x reader; skz & reader

pov: 2nd person

warnings: see each season for more info

word count: pending…

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

❤︎ January 14th: Diary Day ❤︎

Couples swap cutesy yearly planners/diaries where they write important dates for each other to remember.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre: fluff headcanon

pov: 2nd person

description: some of the little dates that skz would add to their planner for you

pairing: bf!skz x reader

warnings: none

word count: 1,087

❤︎ February 14th: Valentine’s Day ❤︎

It’s basically the same as Valentine’s around the world, except that in Korea, only women are expected to hand over gifts of chocolate and other romantic paraphernalia to men.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre: fluff headcanon

pov: 2nd person

description: how your best friend will react to getting a love confession in the form of chocolates on valentine's day

pairing: bff!skz x reader (separate)

warnings: none

word count: 1,376

❤︎ March 14th: White Day ❤︎

It’s basically the same as Valentine’s day, except now men are expected to hand over gifts of chocolate and other romantic paraphernalia to women. Traditionally, the gifts are white.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre: fluff headcanon

pov: 2nd person

description: gifts that your either your best friend skz would give you for white day

pairing: bff!skz x gn!reader

warnings: mention of food

word count: 1,605

❤︎ April 14th: Black Day ❤︎

On Black Day, the singles, possibly dressing up from head to toe in black attire, will head down to the local Chinese restaurant to grab a meal of jjajangmyeon, or black noodles and either mourn or celebrate being single.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

word count:

❤︎ May 14th: Yellow Day/ Rose Day ❤︎

Couples dress up in their cutest, probably matching, yellow attire from head to toe, meet up and swap roses because dressing in matchy matchy clothing isn’t enough to make the day special. Singles head to a nearby restaurant to mourn, or rejoice, by eating yellow curry hoping that it may somehow “spice up” their life.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

word count:

❤︎ June 14th: Kiss Day ❤︎

Originally, kiss day was for couples to get together and make out, now singles are taking it over and suggesting "hey, can’t we all just kiss each other?" Some people now purport that you should kiss everyone you meet that day, if in the single state of mind.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

word count:

❤︎ July 14th: Silver Day ❤︎

Today is the day that you swap silver accessories most likely of the couple ring sort.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

word count:

❤︎ August 14th: Green Day ❤︎

Couples meet up and head to a nice green natural outdoor location, relax and enjoy each other’s company. Singles go a completely different route and grab that ubiquitous green soju bottle.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

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❤︎ September 14th: Photo Day ❤︎

Couples find their local photo booth, put on wigs and other accessories and get some pictures together or go legit and head to an actual photo studio to get some professional shots done so that they can share these lovey-dovey photos on all of their social media outlets.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

word count:

❤︎ October 14th: Wine Day ❤︎

A holiday for couples to share a bottle of wine together or for singles to mourn over their relationship status or celebrate their freedom with wine.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

word count:

❤︎ November 14th: Movie Day ❤︎

Couples see a movie together, not ideal for singles unless they want to purposely force a couple to sit separately.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

word count:

❤︎ December 14th: Hug Day ❤︎

Hug Day is when you should wrap your arms around that special someone to keep them warm and the chills away.

headcanon | imagine | smau

genre:

pov: 2nd person

description:

pairing:

warnings:

word count:

—

Buy me a coffee?

[cocoaletta]

realizing i never elaborated on this. so basically i thought reavers color scheme and fable 3 was odd cause white and black is an odd combo for steampunky colors esp if there isn’t a lot of brown. but they’re also too drab to be flamboyant reaver colors and like, it’s just a weird color combo. anyways i fell into a rabbit hole about colors in the victorian era and their common usages and white, black, and purple are all common mourning colors. sure i guess you could argue that these colors on the characters represent wealth and prestige but if i was reaver and the bestie died, id be dramatic as fuck about it too. anyways there’s a lot more under the cut so fuck it

disclaimer I know fable 3 isn’t explicitly set in the Victorian era but it takes a LOT of inspiration from early Victorian/Industrial era Britain, enough so that I feel its fair to interpret through that lens.

Reaver

Men’s wardrobes were often fairly muted with some browns allowed, and colors would differ depending on the period of mourning you were in (black> black and grey> black and white> black/white and purple> normal colors again)

also important to note that the mourning period would change based off of how close you were with the deceased. Mourning could be anywhere from a few months to a few years.

Black silk top hat with a seven inch crepe (the band on the hat) that is either black, grey or beige.

His clothes are all white with black trimmings which would have been common half mourning attire

ALSO his undershirt under his brown vest is black. Which is also just uncommon in the Victorian era and also in fable 3 lmao, no one fucking dresses like him

his cravat is also black which you literally do not wear unless you are in mourning. Its weird

Like sure you can say he wears white cause he’s a factory owner and is able to stay clean cause he’s rich, but who shows off their wealth in the dullest, most drab colors. All the other nobles walk around in the brightest, most vivid, eye assaulting color combinations, why is he different. Here are some examples of black and white half mourning and quarter mourning attire.

Most of the examples are women’s clothes because um, Victorian misogyny and women being expected to mourn longer while men were expected to be breadwinners and provide for their families. But if you read through old magazines and guides from the time you’ll find that men also wore similar clothes made with the same colors and materials, just usually for a shorter period of time.

In conclusion you can interpret this as however you like but personally I like this idea cause his clothes are just so ugly otherwise.

Little bonus to talk about the HOBW and Logan because they both wear purple and you could fairly interpret that as “oh those are royal colors” “purple is meant to be a neutral color opposed to blue or red”. But look.

Purple, specifically purples with white were often worn by the children of the deceased while in mourning as drab colors would raise an ‘unpleasant child’.

[oftenwantedafton]

Vent - Steve Raglan/William Afton/Springtrap x Female Reader

Chapters 7-10

Rating - Explicit

no explicit content in these chapters

Also available on AO3 Chapter 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

Chapter 7 ~ the ride ~

The sedan that pulls into your driveway is a relic from the past: oversized, not fuel efficient, all long lines and sharp angles, noisy engine and abundant exhaust.

You lift the chrome handle, the passenger side door swinging wide to grant you access. The seats are low, deep, a sinking descent that has you leaning to grasp the inside handgrip and tug the door closed. It’s a heavy sound, like a metal jaw closing; like a trap sealing shut.

“Thanks for giving me a ride.”

“I don’t mind.” Steve Raglan grins around the lollipop in his mouth, the white stick tucking into one dimpled corner. The career counselor had offered to pick you up after school, claiming he was on his way to the pizzeria anyway. He’s still dressed in his office attire: a long sleeved windowpane patterned dress shirt, dark tie and matching trousers. You don’t know what to make of your new boss; you’ve barely spoken to him since he’d hired you four months ago.

This afternoon was going to be your first day of orientation, the renovation and construction phase of the restaurant completed. You wonder again about the fate of the yellow rabbit, who, despite his promise, has been nowhere near the premises each time you’d passed by, trying to sneak a peek here and there until the site was firmly off limits. Perhaps he did not enjoy the remodeling process. You cannot imagine his existence outside the costume; cannot fathom why he insists upon wearing it, lurking in that strange abandoned building, a ghost of a memory haunting what remains.

There’s some dated song that sounds like it’s from the eighties playing softly on the radio that the driver hums along with as he reverses the car, some melody with a lot of guitar and synthesizers that you don’t recognize. You fold your hands in your lap and stare at the scenery as you depart your neighborhood, wondering where the man might live; if his house is as dated looking as his office furniture and clothing and car. You wonder if he lives alone. You don’t see a wedding ring on his finger, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s not married.

“You look nervous,” he observes when you reach your first stoplight, glancing over at you. His tongue is stained red from the candy, curling around the crimson orb before he drags it through his lips. You realize you’re staring and you hurriedly look away, but not before you see him smirk. “First day jitters are common. You should try to relax. You’re not going to be doing anything too strenuous today.”

You nod, keeping silent. The engine revs as the light changes to green and the sharp, fast turn makes you lose your balance and lean towards the older man, your shoulder pressing against his upper arm. You reach out to brace yourself, one hand closing over his thigh, trying to push yourself back into place. His head turns, tucking down towards his shoulder, eyes shifting from the road to look at you. The soft smile is back, his pale eyes darkening.

And then he refocuses on the road and you manage to find your way upright and back into your own seat, the moment passed.

The parking lot is empty when you arrive at Freddy’s. Raglan crunches through the last of the candy embedded on the stick and tucks it back into the wrapper with an almost mournful sounding sigh. He shuts the engine off and you feel his eyes on you.

“You ready?”

You swallow and nod, thinking you’re very much not ready at all.

***

“Wow.”

The owner hadn’t been kidding when he’d said the place was being completely renovated; it looked amazing. The retro look is still very much present, but every surface from the flooring to the tables to the curtained stage is spotlessly clean, the colors vibrant, the textures of tile and wood and carpet restored. Neon lights brighten every wall. Rows of arcade and pinball machines are powered to life, the prize counter fully stocked. The skylights above offer a gentle spill of natural light that must be stunning on evenings when the sky is clear and full of stars.

“You like it?”

You glance over to find Raglan leaning back against the front of the elevated stage, his arms braced on either side. You nod, watching as he makes his way over to one of the prize machines, digging into his pocket for quarters. The coins slot into the receptacle and the handle turns, depositing a gumball into his waiting palm.

“Want one?”

You shake your head, watching the purple globe disappear inside his mouth.

“Why isn’t anyone else here?”

“They’re coming later. You’ll be joining them, watching the orientation video and filling out paperwork. Tedious, necessary tasks. But you’ve got a lot of things to learn, hence you getting some one on one time.” A pale lavender bubble emerges, parting his lips before he snaps it and it retracts back into the recesses of his mouth. Your eyes shift to the velvet curtains, and he notices. “You want to see them?”

Without waiting for a reply he moves to the wall beside the stage, his palm slamming on the comically large red button.

The lighting set in the fixtures above change from stationary white to a rotating display of flashing colors that stretch into bands across the room. The curtains slide back and you have your first glimpse of the main trio of animatronics, the rabbit and chicken bracketing the bear leader. There’s no music loaded yet, but they move as if performing anyway. You watch the pantomime of guitar strumming and crooning into the microphone as Steve ascends the first couple of narrow steps leading to the platform, offering you a hand to help you join him onstage.

The luminaires splash a full rainbow spectrum of color over the pair of you and the robotic animal mascots moving in front of you. You walk around slowly to view them from all angles. There’s wonder in your eyes as you admire the figures; something more obsessive in the older man’s.

“Let’s get started.”

Chapter 8 ~ employees only ~

“If you’ll follow me right this way.”

Steve pushes on one of the Employees Only doors, holding it open for you. You hesitate. There’s something about this that’s familiar, but it’s difficult to discern. Everything is blanketed in fog each time you reach for it, your mind denying you access.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, I…” One foot in front of the other. You’ve reached the threshold. He’d only opened half of the pair of doors. You see the narrow window of the closed partner. An eye, watching you. You feel like you’re being swallowed down when you enter the dimly lit corridor beyond. There is no color here. Everything is gray, raw. Coarse cement and abrasive bricks. The rough draft of a canvas, sketched in and waiting to be finished. The end of the hall divides into two more. It’s a maze you’d get lost in.

Had you been here before? Had you somehow escaped?

Raglan steps away from the door and it seals shut. He’s so tall beside you. You look up and he looks down. Watching. Waiting.

“Follow me,” he says, the rasp echoing as he abruptly begins striding down the hall, Oxfords striking the concrete. You hurry to keep up. You don’t want to be alone back here.

***

The service room is enormous, a vast space filled with steel shelves and workstations. Computers occupy desks and neatly organized tools hang on the walls. A different version of this area flashes in your mind. You’ve seen it before: cluttered and dirty, full of broken equipment and something sharp and dangerous. You hadn’t been alone. You’d been led here.

The owner speaks and the thoughts dissipate, lost to the hidden recesses once again. “This is the heart of Freddy’s. Everything out there is only possible because of what happens in here.” Steve switches on a desk lamp and thumbs the lock of one of the filing cabinets, lifting out a massive binder and setting it on the surface of one of the desks, gesturing for you to come closer. You can faintly detect a hint of grape from the gum he’s still chewing. “You’re going to need to do a lot of studying. Memorizing. Learn every detail.” He flips the cover open and then gathers a handful of the pages within, letting them fan apart until he releases them and they randomly settle. You recognize a diagram of an endoskeleton, the featured arm component meticulously detailed.

“Are you sure I’m the right person for the job? It seems like you’d be better off with someone who actually has a background in this.”

“I’ll teach you. They’re my creations, after all.” He reaches up to remove his glasses. The neat sweep of graying hair has finally succumbed and descended, several strands falling over his forehead. He’d loosened his tie somewhere between the dining area and the service room, exposing the hollow at the base of his throat and teasing the beginnings of some sort of scars. He sees you looking; you think nothing will ever escape this man’s notice. “I saw the way you looked at them. You understand. You are exactly the right person for this job.”

Chapter 9 ~ orientation ~

The new hires filter into the restaurant throughout the rest of the afternoon and early evening, gradually restoring life to the previously unoccupied space. There are tours and actual VHS videos to watch on an older model tv that Steve insists on using, so lodged in that sense of nostalgia, such an odd contrast with the thirst for the newest technology for the animatronics.

You recognize a fair number of the employees as students from your school: people you’ve never spoken to, people who likely don’t know your name and have never bothered to spare you a second glance.

Your new boss does nothing but give you second glances. And third and fourth and beyond. He’s always watching you. He’s doing it right now, seated near the wheeled tv stand, one long leg folded, ankle resting on the opposite knee. You feel dissected beneath his gaze. You can’t determine what exactly his fascination is. You’ve never felt pretty nor interesting, but he looks at you like you’re some brand new discovery. Earlier in the service room he’d been nothing but professional, diluting some of your misgivings. He’d answered your questions and encouraged you to bring some of the materials home to peruse further. You’d handled some of the primary components for one hand joint, let him guide your own real phalanges to slot the pieces together, alloys and cables delicately weaved, the correct pattern slowly realized. And yet, that uneasy feeling had remained. There was still something off about him, as kind and patient and affable as he seemed.

The crowd disperses after the video is finished and you’re alone with Raglan again. The view of the stars through the skylights is every bit as impressive as you’d predicted. You trail after him, watching as he puts everything away, gathering the recently signed orientation packets and tucking them inside a filing cabinet in the manager’s office. He hits a few switches and the main lighting dims, the security system activated. He turns the key to lock the front doors and pauses, the rabbit’s foot keychain swinging gently where it dangles from its ring, looking over at you standing there, the binder he’s leant you clutched tightly to your chest.

Of course he offers you a ride home. Of course you accept.

Chapter 10 ~ the first lesson ~

You settle back inside Steve Raglan’s car, shivering. It’s still that period between late winter and early spring and the nights get cold.

“The heat will be up soon.” He turns the dials so the blower directs the air flow over your upper and lower body. You nod gratefully, the binder now tucked safely on the back seat, next to the white tshirt with the red Freddy Fazbear logo on the left chest that will be your uniform. He’s said any type of black pants are fine to wear. You’ll have to rummage through your drawers and see what you have.

The bearded man makes no move to leave the parking lot, the car now paused at the exit. “Are you hungry, by any chance?” You haven’t eaten since lunch at school. Your stomach growls, churning at the idea of sustenance and Steve chuckles softly. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I didn’t bring any money with me.”

“Don’t worry about it. My treat. Payment for your extra time today, if you’re feeling that guilty about it.” He waves away your frown and the engine rumbles as he pulls away from the pizzeria. “We’ll be getting supplies for the kitchen in the coming weeks and they’ll be options available on site. Until then…oh, here we go.” You feel the sudden heat wafting over you as the temperature elevates and the car distributes it accordingly.

“You don’t have to give me a ride next time.”

He glances at you. “Oh? Is there a problem? You’d prefer walking? This time of night?”

You backpedal quickly. “No. I don’t mean to seem ungrateful Mr. Raglan, I just don’t feel like it’s fair to make you escort me back and forth. That’s not your responsibility. I’ll be buying a car soon.”

“Steve, please. At the very least when we’re alone like this. I can’t abide the formality of the other title. So what’s wrong? You don’t like the indebted feeling? Or…?”

“That, and…I’m not used to it.”

“Not used to what?”

“The attention. The conversation. I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s awkward.”

“You don’t need to say anything to try to impress me. You’ve already been hired.”

You fumble for an explanation. “It’s not that. It’s…I’m so bad at this.” You pluck at a loose thread emerging from the seam of your jacket.

“I disagree. Still, I leave it at your discretion. Accept a ride or don’t.”

The roads become well lit again as you reach the other side of town. Steve pulls into the driveway of a popular fast food franchise, halting along the row of parking spots before actually getting into the line for the drive thru, glancing over at you. He still hasn’t replaced his glasses. You wonder what he needs them for, if seemingly not to drive or perform tasks close up like when you’d been in the workshop. So odd. “What do you want?”

“Oh, um…a cheeseburger, fries, a Coke. Just a medium is fine.”

“Sounds good.”

He eases the car into the line, duplicating your order when he reaches the speaker set before the brightly illuminated menu, the only alteration being a request for a chocolate milkshake instead of soda.

“You have such a sweet tooth,” you murmur as he advances to the window for payment.

He grins at you. “Terrible, isn’t it? Don’t get old, you’re not going to like it. Your body develops strange cravings.” Steve hands over a credit card and then passes the paper bag of food over to you, slotting the two beverages into the cupholder and then finds a spot to park near the rear of the lot lined with trees and hedges.

The older man takes back the bag, dividing up the contents between you. You unwrap your burger while your boss takes a bite of a French fry and sighs contentedly. “Yesss, they’re fresh.”

The burger is too, the heat permeating the wrapper that perches on your thigh, warming the denim clad skin beneath it. You take a bite, chewing and staring as the evening breeze shifts a low hanging branch of the tree in front of the vehicle, the shadows moving across the dashboard.

“Do you do a lot of cooking? At the restaurant or at home or does someone else…” You don’t know why you’re trying so hard to fill the silence.

“I’m not home much, so no. I live alone. There is no ‘someone else.’” The straw parts his lips and he tests the flavor of the shake, sighing again, apparently satisfied. “You can ask me anything you want, you know. You don’t need to be cagey about it.”

“I’m not…” Your voice trails off. “So you’re not married?”

“Not anymore.” Another French fry disappears. He licks the salt from his fingertips. “I wonder if you’d do me the same courtesy and answer some questions. An even trade for each that I respond to. Does that sound fair?”

Your heart quickens. Suddenly the car seems too warm.

“Can you…can you turn down the heat?”

He switches the engine off and cracks his window open. You inhale deeply, grateful for the fresh air.

“You still haven’t accepted my terms.”

“I…I guess it’s fair.” You take another hurried bite of your sandwich and wash it down with a sip of cola.

“Have you ever had a boyfriend?”

“No.”

He nods. “Gone out on a date, anything?”

“Never.”

“Have you ever been kissed?”

Your hand freezes mid rummage through the box of French fries. “That’s three questions. I only asked you two.”

He smirks, cracking the lid of the milkshake to remove the straw, using it to spoon more of the chilled dairy treat on his tongue. “Clever. So ask me something else and then answer mine.”

“What are the scars from?”

“How did you…ah. Open shirt collar.” The pizzeria owner shoves the straw back inside the cup, still clutched by the lid settled loosely on top. He unbuttons the cuff of his right sleeve, folding it up neatly until it’s tucked by his elbow.

More scars tattoo his skin, lines and circles, dots and dashes, they begin at the wrist, marking front and back, his arm swiveling slowly to display them. There seems to be no end to them, but it’s impossible to tell as the shirt hides the rest of him.

“What happened?”

“That’s another answer you owe me. They’re from the springlocks. They’re what separates someone from the dangerous parts inside of the mascot suits.”

“They failed.”

“Yes. I’ll be generous and count that last one as more of a statement than a question. Now answer mine.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze. “No, I’ve never been kissed.”

“Would you like to try it?”

Your stomach somersaults. “What?”

“I can teach you about a lot more than just the animatronics.”

You feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Such a pretty color.” He hums appreciatively at the blooming pink tinge. “What do you think? Entirely at your discretion, again. You’re under no obligation. We can keep things strictly professional.”

You stare in disbelief at your new boss’s smirking mouth. He actually wanted to…it’s wrong, isn’t it? Inappropriate on so many levels. He’s so strange. That disarming, off putting feeling is still present, but there’s something else as well. You’re so used to being ignored, unwanted, disregarded. But this man, virtual stranger that he is, he seems to actually desire you. The sensation warms you further. You want more of it. He intrigues you.

“Okay,” you agree softly.

“Okay what? Okay you want to keep things professional, or okay you want me to kiss you? You have to say it.”

“I want you to kiss me.” Just saying the words sends a thrill through your body, stirring a warmer desire within.

One hand settles against your face, palm warm, the fingertips calloused. His thumb strokes across your cheek, underlines your lower lip. “You’re tense. Relax.”

“I’m trying.”

“Close your eyes.”

You obey, feeling your lashes trembling with the effort it takes to hold them there, restrained. You want to see what the older man is doing. You hear the seat creak as he leans closer to you, feel his breath against your forehead and cheeks and neck, saving the ultimate goal of your mouth for last.

His lips are gentle against your tentative ones. You’d half expected his beard to be scratchy but it’s oddly smooth. His mouth touches yours again and you feel wetness now, his lips parting and your own reflexively open. This isn’t as scary as you’d imagined it would be. It feels good. Really good. The hand against your cheek slides down to your neck. You’re not sure where to put your own hands, finally resting one on his bare forearm, stroking along the patterns of his scars.

He moans into your mouth, seat creaking again when his pelvis shifts. His tongue presses against yours and oh, does that do something to your insides; forget the somersault, this is an absolute roller coaster at its apex plunge. It spirals around your own, caressing, stroking, pushing. You absently realize you’re no longer caressing his arm, your nails digging into flesh instead.

He sucks your bottom lip briefly before breaking away, easing back into his seat while your eyes slide open. You’re both a little breathless, panting for air, watching each other before he recovers enough to speak. “Well you are a fast learner, aren’t you? Such a good protégé. I’d ask you if you enjoyed it but the answer is quite apparent.” He gently pries your fingers loose from their vice grip.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t apologize. I liked it. A lot.”

You wonder if he’ll kiss you again, somewhat disappointed when he doesn’t. The cold remains of your dinner are tossed and he restarts the engine. Another twenty minutes and the route to your house will be completed. You don’t think you’re going to sleep a wink tonight.

You’re at that stoplight again, the one with the sharp ninety degree turn that he’d taken too fast.

“Did you do that on purpose earlier?”

“Hmmm?” It’s the first time you’ve spoken to each other since the parking lot of the fast food joint.

“When you took the corner too fast.”

He chuckles softly. “Accidental. Intentional. A pity we can’t try it again from this direction to decide which it is.” He pauses. “We could try it again tomorrow, though. If I’m still picking you up. Or are you still insistent that walking is more proper?”

“You can pick me up.” The light turns green but he doesn’t move. There are no other cars around. “Why did you stop kissing me?”

His thumb strokes over the grips of the steering wheel. “Because that was the end of the lesson.” The car turns gently. Your destination is close now. You wish it wasn’t.

Your parents’ cars are in the driveway and the reality of your unpleasant home life comes crashing down around you. You'd actually managed to forget all about it for once. Excited about your new job. Feeling like you might belong somewhere after all. Wanted by your new employer. No longer so lonely.

Steve reaches into the back seat, retrieving your things and handing them to you. You hesitate, one hand resting on the handle of the door.

“Tomorrow,” he promises.

[ninjakk]

Our first glimpse at how deep WWXs feelings for LWJ truly were

I just adore the archery competition flashback, where WWX meets LWJ a year after his short-lived stay at the CR. When I first read this scene, my heart ached a little at WWX's subconscious pining for LWJ and the cold shoulder he seemingly received. Obviously, poor LWJ doesn't mean to be so cold with him, he just doesn't know how to express, or even comprehend his own feelings for WWX at that moment in time. I think this scene really shows the reader how deep WWX's latent feelings truly are. It also gives quite an interesting insight into WWXs psyche, as he lies to himself about his own feelings and tries to downplay his affection for LWJ.

Chapter 45

Yawning as he walked toward the hunting grounds, he suddenly caught sight of a handsome boy with a fair face and a cold demeanor to the side of him. He wore a red round-collar robe with sleeves that had tight openings and a belt of nine golden rings. This was the uniform attire of all of the juniors who came to the Qishan Discussion Conference. On him, it looked exceptionally good. He had a dash of elegance, a few traces of vigour, but a whole lot of good looks. One couldn’t help but brighten up at the sight of such a boy. The boy was in the middle of trying out his bow, carrying a bundle of arrows with white-feathered fletchings. Brushing past the bowstring, his slender fingers made it sound as though it were a guqin string, strong yet beautiful. To Wei WuXian, the boy felt a bit familiar. After he thought for a while, he finally remembered and greeted the boy with enthusiasm, “Hey! WangJi-xiong, it’s you!”

WWX is momentarily blinded by LWJs beauty. He then goes on to lie to himself about taking a 'while' to realise who he was. WWX has already hinted that he knew exactly who he was when he mentioned a guqin string - which is what LWJ plays. Not to mention, 'handsome', 'fair face' and 'cold demeanor' is literally a description of LWJ! He's trying to downplay his excitement at meeting him again, especially as he was so entranced at seeing him and very clearly extremely physically attracted to him.

At the time, it had already been a year since Wei WuXian studied at Gusu and was sent back to Yunmeng. After he arrived at Yunmeng, he told the people there all about what he had seen in Gusu, especially things such as how although Lan WangJi’s face looked nice he was so stiff as to do this, so boring as to do that. Not long afterward, he had forgotten all about his days at Gusu and continued to fool around in the lakes and mountains. In the past, he had only seen Lan WangJi in the plain “mourning clothes” of the GusuLan Sect’s uniform, never in such a bright, eye-catching outfit. Along with that overly-pretty face of Lan WangJi’s, now that they met again, Wei WuXian’s eyes had momentarily been blinded by his looks, failing to immediately recognize him. On the other hand, as soon as Lan WangJi finished testing his bow, he walked away at once. Awkwardly, Wei WuXian turned to Jiang Cheng, “He ignored me again. Huh.” Jiang Cheng glanced at him with indifference, also deciding to ignore him.

Here WWX is trying very hard to reason with himself for the emotions and attraction he just felt. It's rather like: "Well I haven't seen him in such a long time and I had almost forgotten all about him... So of course I was staring at him. I was so used to seeing him in the 'mourning clothes', he just attracted my attention for a moment because of the vivid colour (that everyone else is wearing!) I should go say hi.."

He's trying to justify his excitement at seeing him. At first, WWX acknowledged he did indeed talk about LWJ... Quite a lot when he first got back, from the sounds of it! He then goes on to contradict what he just claimed earlier about him taking a while to remember who LWJ was. It seems that under the surface, he's actually quite flustered at seeing him again after so long. His thoughts are all over the place! Again his mind wanders towards how good looking LWJ is once more - he's got it bad bless him. His reaction and his contradictory thoughts are enough of a hint to the reader not to take WWXs claims he 'forgot all about his days in Gusu' as the truth. There's so much internal conflict about his feelings for LWJ and the heteronormativity that was embedded in him from a young age, that his thoughts are a little erratic. Simultaneously admiring LWJ and trying to justify his wandering thoughts about him at the same time.

It isn't until the Lotus Seed Pod extra that we actually see the true extent of WWX's lie to himself back at the archery competition. This extra chapter is one of the sweetest. It shows WWX, and later LWJ, essentially pining for each other around the same time (possibly the exact same day). In the extra, it's been a year since they've seen each other, but WWX is still bringing him up in conversation and thinking about him back at Lotus Pier. So we can safely assume that the Lotus Seed Pod extra is set just before the archery competition, as both are a year later from when he left the CR.

There were more than twenty entrances to the shooting range; each sect was different. As Lan WangJi walked toward the entrance of the GusuLan Sect, Wei WuXian sneaked over before he could. Lan WangJi shifted to the one side, and he shifted to the side as well; Lan WangJi moved to the other side, and he moved to the other side as well. In short, he simply refused to let Lan WangJi pass. In the end, standing where he was, Lan WangJi raised his chin slightly. In a serious tone, he spoke, “Excuse me.”

LWJ tries his best to ignore him, possibly due to his reluctance to face his feelings and because it seems he finds it hard to communicate with his crush. But, WWX just wants his attention and will do anything to get it! Which is exactly what he does next, the little minx!

Wei WuXian, “You’re finally gonna talk to me? Were you pretending that you didn’t know me or that you didn’t hear me?” Not far away, the boys from other sects all stared at them. Some laughed, some exclaimed. Jiang Cheng clicked his tongue impatiently. With arrows on his back, he walked toward another entrance. Lan WangJi raised his eyes coldly and repeated, “Excuse me.” A faint smile by his lips, Wei WuXian raised his brows and turned to the side. The arch door of the entrance was rather narrow. Lan WangJi could only brush by him as he walked in. After he entered, Wei WuXian shouted from behind him, “Lan Zhan, your forehead ribbon is crooked.” All disciples from prominent sects took great care to maintain their appearances, especially those from the GusuLan Sect. Hearing this, Lan WangJi reached to adjust it without a second thought. Yet, the forehead ribbon was clearly as proper as always. Turning around, he cast an annoyed look at Wei WuXian. The latter only laughed as he turned to the YunmengJiang Sect’s entrance.

So as usual, WWX resorts to his 'teasing' in order to get LWJ to look at him. WWX even blocks the GusuLan Sect's entrance LWJ has to use, and only moves once LWJ has finally looked at him. Succeeding in getting LWJ to look at him, he turns to the side, allowing him access through the arch - but only if he brushes past him. It's such a small moment, but it's so cute how much WWX can't stand to be ignored by him. The sexual tension in this scene, just screams off the page to me. I think you can really feel all those hormones raging - especially once you read the LPS extra as well. It's his little smile and the way he raises his eyebrows as he makes LWJ brush up against him. He's just such a flirt with him! He knows LWJ doesn't like physical contact with others, but he does this anyway. He hasn't seen LWJ in quite a while and must get some form of interaction with him however he can.

I love how WWX only laughs when he's walking back to his Sect entrance where JC and the others are waiting. To me, this small and simple sentence is very telling. It helps the reader understand WWX's feelings, probably better than he did at the time. WWX didn't laugh in LWJ's face - in the past he has, but this time he doesn't. He didn't do it for entertainment, he didn't do it to amuse himself or others. From the text, it seems he didn't smirk or grin either. He stood in the archway without any of his usual cheeky expressions when teasing LWJ. In fact, he seemed pretty flat - not the usual vivacious WWX we all know and love. He just stood there taking it all in, watching LWJ walk away, before shouting to him and waiting for a reaction. It almost feels like he wound him up, not only to get a reaction, but because he felt dejected and was slightly hurt. This tiny moment has such a delicate hint of melancholy to it, and it makes my heart hurt a little every time I read it.

It's obvious from the above text, WWX has actually made a little bit of a scene! Other disciples were watching from afar, some amused and some surprised by the commotion in front of them. But he was so desperate for LWJs attention, he didn't even care at that exact moment. WWX only laughs once he heads over to his own Sects entrance. As if he has to cover up what he just did with bravado. Making it out he was just being a 'lad' and winding LWJ up... WWX didn't get upset LWJ wouldn't give him attention, forcing him to brush up against him and then teasing him to get one last reaction and a look from those cold sexy eyes of his before he left... Noooo, that's not what just happened at all. Just bros, being bros here... He definitely wasn't fawning over the second most handsome young master of the cultivation world. Nope.

The subtext in this scene actually escapes some people and they don't see the chemistry or absolute flirtatious tension between them - especially on WWX's behalf. They just see him winding LWJ up. But I pose this to those that don't see WWX's actions as flirting - would you think the above scene was WWX flirting, if LWJ was a girl instead? If he was paying the same attention to a girl, forcing 'her' to brush against him - would you not think he liked 'her'? Of course you bloody would! You'd think he had a mad crush on them!

A little while later during the archery competition, WWXs encounters LWJ once more.

Just as he was thinking about what would happen if he shot with his other hand, suddenly, something drifted to his face. Softer than even the touch of catkin blossoms carried by the wind; the object made Wei WuXian’s cheek itch. Turning around, he saw that Lan WangJi had somehow already walked near him. With his back facing Wei WuXian and front to a paper mannequin, he was in the process of drawing his bow. The ends of his forehead ribbon danced in the breeze, gently brushing against Wei WuXian’s face. He squinted, “WangJi-xiong!” With his bow already in the shape of a full moon, Lan WangJi still responded after a short moment of hesitation, “What?” Wei WuXian, “Your forehead ribbon is crooked.” This time, Lan WangJi refused to believe him again. As he released his arrow, he replied without even turning around, “Ridiculous.” Wei WuXian, “It’s true this time! It really is crooked. Just watch if you don’t believe me. Let me straighten it up for you.” He proceeded as he spoke, grabbing the ribbon tail that kept on fluttering in front of his eyes. Alas, however, his hands were simply too unruly. In the past, he made a habit of pulling on the Yunmeng girls’ braids. Whenever he touched a strip-like object, he’d have the urge to tug it. Thus, without a second thought, he tugged it this time as well. However, since the forehead ribbon was already slightly askew, a bit loose, now that he pulled on it, it fell from Lan WangJi’s forehead at once. The hand that Lan WangJi held the bow with immediately gave out a shiver. He only managed to turn around after quite a long while. Slowly, his eyes finally locked into Wei WuXian’s. Wei WuXian was still holding the soft ribbon in his hand, “I’m sorry. It wasn’t on purpose. Here, you can tie it up again.” Lan WangJi’s expression was darker than ever.

So WWX is claiming it was an accident.. but this is obviously not the case. Just before this all happened, he hinted to us he was getting rather bored of the competition. He started to think about using his other hand, because he wanted to find it more of a challenge. Then he notices the tall glass of ice cold water that is LWJ was just behind him... WWX goes on to tell LWJ his forehead ribbon is crooked once more and offers to straighten it for him. Apparently it was, but that's not the point here. He literally pulls at it! Then he pretends it was an accident! But his thought process at this point is rather telling as he states he got into the habit of pulling girls pigtails when he was younger. Why would he think such things and pull on LWJ's forehead ribbon if it wasn't intentional at least on a subconscious level. So to some extent he definitely knew what he was doing and it wasn't an accident. Again, I think this is partly because he just needs LWJ's attention. It's also show how he truly think of LWJ once more. The classic pulling on pigtails, a favourite pastime of young boys who like to tease girls. WWX is around 16 now I think, yet he's treating LWJ like a little girl who has hurt the ego of the little boy that still resides inside him. It's quite sweet really.

Also, let's not forget the fact he has admitted elsewhere in the novel, that he still remembers many of the CR sect rules after copying them so many times. But funnily enough, he's managed to forget this one... * Exaggerated eye roll * Suuure...

I just love how MXTX adds layers of meaning to past chapters, by leaving tiny breadcrumbs throughout the book for her readers. I think this might be my favourite one to be honest. We don't fully understand how truly head over heels they both actually are for each other at the above point in time, until the LP extra hits us in the face with such a touching revelation and we piece it all together ourselves.

I also wrote a post as to why LWJ might be acting so cold towards WWX in the above scene. For anyone who is interested it's here.

[sorry-moots]

Inversion of Genesis But I Changed It

i literally only got back to this cuz i was bored yall, merry fucking chrysler also my beta reader flaked on me so no beta we die like... whoever the fuck idek characters featured: scaramouche, dottore, yvette 💖 cws: dottore is a bit creepy but when isn't he wc: 1,669

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Chapter Eight

The wool stockings, the starched blouse, the dense jacquard skirt, the layers of petticoats, everything you had been wearing lay cast aside on a loveseat. There was a sheen of sweat covering your body, but you felt too good to care. As you stared at yourself in the mirror, chest heaving and all, you could only think one thing…

Damn, I look good.

Before leaving Snezhnaya, you had tried to find something more suitable for the Sumeru’s tropical weather with no luck. There was no such thing as summer in Snezhnaya, so there was no reason to make or stock summer clothes.

Unfortunately, that meant walking around Port Ormos in clothes designed to brave the harshest winters in all of Teyvat. The stuffiness of your clothes combined with Sumeru’s humidity had had you fanning yourself as hot tears streamed down your face. It was a miracle that you had been able to spot the seamstress’s shop with your bleary eyes.

“Lord Scaramouche,” you had called out, panting. “We need to stop. The heat is too much.”

Now, a week later, you stood before the seamstress’s mirror in an entirely new outfit. You had worked up a sweat on the way there, but the new clothes were light and breathable and already cooling you down. You turn left and right to study the black leather pants– lambskin so you don’t develop bog bottom. The rest of the uniform consisted of a breezy white blouse overlaid with a black corset with purple laces. You had even changed your hair ribbons and the laces on your boots to match.

When you finally finish admiring yourself, you leave the dressing room only to be met with Scaramouche’s scowl.

He scoffs when he meets your eyes. “How much money did you waste on this?”

You’re still obsessing over the contrast between your boots and the new laces. “It wasn’t much compared to the cost of my usual attire.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he snarks. “Dottore never skimps on his favorites.”

Ignoring his foul mood, you think aloud. “It’s a shame I can’t wear it in this heat. It fits perfectly, like it was tailored just for me. Wait a minute…”

Just as you’re about to toss yourself down that rabbit hole, Scaramouche diverts your attention with another retort. “Well if you want to wear it and suffocate, be my guest. At least you’ll die in the right colors. How come the accents are purple anyway? Are you color blind?” he asks with a smirk.

“Oh, I chose them because they match the colors you wear,” you respond, grinning widely.

The harbinger’s eyes widen and he quickly blurts out, “I wear red, too!” He then hides his face with his jingasa, not wanting you to realize it matches the color of the fabric.

*****

After dropping your clothes off at the hotel, you and Scaramouche rendezvoused with the other agents at the new office. It took about three hours to set up even with the lower ranked soldiers moving furniture. Every time Scaramouche asked for your opinion on the positioning of the cabinets and such, you told him they looked fine. The soldiers sighed in relief, especially when they were moving heavier items.

When everything is in place and your documents are sorted, Scaramouche announces, “Alright everything’s in order, we can go back to the hotel.”

The other agents start making their way to the exit, but you tell your boss to hold on as you go through your things. You produce a delicate ceramic pot with a single mourning flower, which you set on his desk.

You look back and flash him a smile. “Now, everything’s in order!"

While you pack up your things, he sits at his desk and admires the petals on the vibrant flower. There’s a funny feeling in his chest, probably from the humidity.

“Are you coming, sir?” you called out to him. 

There’s a resemblance for a split second. Both you and the flower are full of life, persistent even in the harshest conditions, and breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

*****

The silence of your room rings in your ears. You can think of a few ways to wind down before you go to sleep but you don’t feel like doing any of them. You haven’t even showered or put on your sleep clothes. You’ve just been staring at the ceiling thinking about Scaramouche.

Thinking about how he disappeared with her.

Yvette didn’t have much to do during the journey overseas. You had seen so little of her that you had forgotten she was even part of the harbinger’s retinue. Still, you don’t understand why she's staying in Scaramouche’s suite.

Are they an item..?

Before you can entertain that line of thinking, a frantic knocking comes from your door. You get up to answer it and silently admonish your guest for rapping their knuckles on the door again without waiting.

You’re met with a distressed Yvette. She’s signing at light speed, miming, and pointing but you can’t figure out what she wants. Suddenly, she brushes past you and grabs a pen.

You search your desk for something to write on but she grabs the first thing she sees, the book you’re currently reading.

“No!” you shout, your voice fraught with dismay. She doesn’t hear you. She’s deaf, she can’t hear anything.

The resignation sets in quickly. What’s done is done and, at the end of the day, it’s just a book. Not even your favorite book.

When she finishes writing, she tosses the pen on the desk and holds the book at eye level. The inside of the cover now reads:

Please come

Harbinger mad !!

With a grim look, you move the book so it’s no longer obstructing her view of your face and say, “Take me to him.”

She leads you through the corridors until you reach his room. You could hear his shouting all throughout the halls, but you were still jarred when Yvette opened the door.

Before you transferred, you had heard rumors of the Balladeer’s violence, but you had never bore witness to it firsthand. He stood in the center of the room with a Fatuus suspended in his grasp, his other hand balled into a fist.

“I told you to take your needles and fuck off!”

So, that’s what this is about. Though the man was too proud to admit it, you knew that the tests that Il Dottore administered took a great toll on his body. He was always pushing Scaramouche to his limits, seeing how much he could take before he gave out. It was only a matter of time before something like this happened.

You were frozen in thought, not sure what to do, when a familiar fragrance wafted in the air. Everything seemed to slow down as you realized what you needed to do. The soldier’s begging and pleading faded into the background as you made your way into the room. The only sound was your heart beating in time with your footfalls.

Your gaze travels from his sandals to the veil on his jingasa to his arm. Your eyes stay trained on his fist as your own hand moves towards it. Barely conscious of what you’re doing, you grab his hand and hold it to your chest.

“Your tea is getting cold, sir.”

All of the noise in the room comes back. The whimpers of the agent in Scaramouche’s grasp. The worried shushing of the Fatui in the room. Yvette nervously shifting her weight. Your steady breathing.

Every muscle in his body tensed before relaxing. A second later, the Fatuus was on the ground, hyperventilating but unscathed. You let go of his hand.

“Everyone out.”

You straightened and composed yourself, ready to take your leave as well when added, “Not you.”

Once the other operatives had scurried out, he seated himself and turned to you expectantly. It took a second, but you were able to deduce what he wanted. Soon, the two of you sat drinking tea in the silence, as if he hadn’t been about to kill a person just moments before.

He didn’t need to dismiss you. You knew once the tea ran out, he would have no further need for you.

The tea set wobbled on the tray as you made your exit, but only started to clatter when a new presence was made known.

“Thank you, my dear [Y/n],” the doctor patronized as he sidled up to you with a bemused smile. “You seem to have quite the hold on our Balladeer. I can’t imagine what would have happened to poor Henry had you not stepped in.”

You draw in a shaky breath to respond. “It is my pleasure to contribute to the Fatui’s cause.”

“Is that so? With your new attire, I would have thought you were trying to distance yourself from the organization,” Dottore remarked, his smile turning into a grin. “Not that it looks bad… Though, they did get your corset size off by a couple centimeters.”

As your earlier suspicions are confirmed, the lights flicker. You can’t know for certain, but your instincts tell you that you’ll be safe, like someone’s watching out for you.

Squaring your shoulders, you looked Dottore directly in his eyes. Or where they would be. “Thank you for bringing it to my attention, my lord. I will visit the tailor first thing in the morning and request that they alter it,” you responded evenly. “That said, I’ll need to retire early so I can do that without impeding my work. If there’s nothing else, I must bid you goodnight.”

Even in Sumeru’s warm weather, Dottore’s chuckle sends shivers down your spine. “I could think of a thing or two…” he starts and the lights flicker again. “...but I suppose I can wait.” 

With that, the light fixtures around him finally fizzled out and you went your separate ways. Once you were far enough, you let out a sigh of relief, thanking the Archons for watching over you.

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tags: @lacunaanonymoused, @dollpoetwriting

[zhongrin]

OKAY so,, this is sorta kinda a little thing I thought of after Fontaine's whole quest and having experienced Neuvillette SLOWLY.

Like I said, the Iudex is a man of lonesome, mysterious and yet attractive allure. So it's inevitable to find your gaze quickly catching onto the form drenched in the pouring rain outside- no doubt just the bad weather that's been tormenting Fontaine every now and then after Furina's descent as the God of Hydro. Perhaps it was due to the mourning the loss of a God, though you know not of the forces behind the rain.

In any case, the form of the man glowed but not particularly in an alienlike way, no. Instead, it was due to the man's white hair that stood out in the grey atmosphere... and also the fact that he was wearing formal attire out in the heavy storm. You noticed many passerbys - Melusines and people - simply turned a blind eye to this strange phenomenon.

Hey, haven't you heard of this same scenario from Wriothesley?

The chill of the rain snuck up onto you, so without pondering for much longer, you rushed out with another umbrella, hoping to shield Fontaine's Chief of Justice from the unforgiving torrent. He was pleasantly surprised, you think, judging from the raise of his brows and the refocusing of his pupils, but who were you to decipher each and every twitch of his facial expressions?

"Monsieur, it would be bad if our one and only judge were to fall ill in this rain," you said, softly, kindly- you wondered if your voice was a lot louder than the crying of the skies, for the injustice that you did not know yourself. "Please accept this umbrella. If not for yourself, then for the Melusines that handed me this. They worry for you much like the staff in the Palais."

At first, you thought that the revered judge of Fontaine had turned to stone, or something like that. His eyes fell to your hands - if they were trembling from either the cold or just the nerves from speaking to him, he couldn't tell. But you were only human, unable to withstand the freezing temperature from both the rain that stuck to your clothes and the heat loss that comes from the adrenaline. For that, he removed the thoughts that were unnecessary - it is because you are human that you care for another, even if he was immune to the cold, and bowed his head wordlessly, politely so.

"Thank you," apologetic, his words voiced. For being the reason that you had to brave the storm just to save him from his troubles that rained down and weighed his clothes. Yet it is the very same downpour that soothed his being, bringing him back to his element. His eyes tracked back to your face as he retrieved the opened umbrella from you, as if searching for an answer that satisfied a lonely part of him.

Flustered, for what you didn't know, you smiled crookedly. "Monsieur, if you'd like to stay out for a little longer... If that's what you want, don't let me stop you." And perhaps that was the first time he heard that, because he reacted as if it was the first time it was said in his company. You continued, "the rain washes away my worries, even though my concerns are trivial and minor compared to those of higher ranks. Perhaps all you need is something- someone out there to carry your burdens for you. Y'know, let every droplet take your burdens away and cleanse your mind."

He needed no more convincing, and so stay in the rain a little longer, he did.

SCREAMING CRYING YELLING IM TOTALLY SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS IM NOT SIMPING AT ALL IM NOT ENDEARED IM SO NORMAL

es why are you giving me a five-course meal out of the blue like this what do i do with this where do i pay i don't deserve this masterpiece haugsdlfjlajsdulalskd AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[marztheincredible]

Meet: Rehan

Without further ado lets meet our resident Spirit from TB! Rehan!

Rehan was born and raised on the Pelvis of The Titan before he moved to The Right Humerus. It is a region of mystery and intrigue, for many do not know or have forgotten what goes on below the mountains in the modern day.

But here's what we do know! Witches who reside within the depths of The Pelvis have a slightly different physiology as seen by Rehan! The most defining feature of a Pelvis Witch is their black sclera, evolving their eyesight to easily see in dim lighting and protecting them from the heat of churning magma. Their hearing is also more pronounced than your average Witch, keen on picking up the slightest reverberation that bounces across crafted stone.

Rehan's attire is standard for a Pelvis Witch. They adorn their bodies and clothing with metal, piercings, and jewelry of all sorts, from gold to silver and bronze to iron. It is to show off craftsmanship but can also be an indicator of who is near when no light is present. The sounds of metal clinking together being a warning or a comforting white noise.

If sound is not a viable option, or a Witch has considerably less metal adornments, face and body paint made from the native bioluminescent plants are applied. A special glowing silk is also weaved within their dark clothing. Different patterns of facial markings apply to the different clans a Witch or Demon hails from within the caves, but there are also markings that can show someone's state of being. Such as mourning, achievement, or vengeance.

Rehan is a kind and exuberant soul. He dreamed of becoming a Smith specialized in jewelry when he was older. Unfortunately that did not come to fruition.

As his spirit was bound, his cultural adornments became a prison. Chaining him to the the earthly plane, confused and scared. The warmth he knew is non-existent, replaced by the bitter cold of despair as the years moved on...

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Maggie, my beloved 🥰🥰🥰

I gave you *checks calendar* 56 hours. Here comes the only question I have left, because you answered the rest before I could ask.

In ASOIAF stories, members of the families tend to use the same colors of their house. I don’t know if it’s for convenience sake (GRRM’s way of giving you an idea of who’s who before you Know) or actual “the environment affects the dyes found on each area” or what. Anyways, all of that said, why did you choose to have Angel changing the colors of her dresses and what was your thought process? Like, green when she was feeling more aligned with Aegon, blue when she was thinking of Aemond, etc?

This is an amazing question!!! 😍 I looooove color-related symbolism and use it in every fic and I almost never get to talk about it!!! So thank you for asking 🥰

At the beginning of the series, Angel wears neutral colors like grey, cream, or pale pink or blues, which corresponds with her relative neutrality in the war. She is technically a Black (since she's from House Celtigar and her father chose to support Rhaenyra), but she never seems to have any sort of heartfelt commitment to that side, even if she has been exposed to plenty of anti-Green propaganda. She tends to wounded soldiers regardless of their affiliation. And of course, Angel's enthusiasm for the Blacks is somewhat dampened by the fact that she knows as soon as they win, Wolfman will arrive to take her away and marry her.

When Angel is found/recruited/kidnapped by the Greens to treat Aegon's burns, this liminality in terms of her allegiance continues. She is a Black who's pretending to be a Green, but she's also falling in love with Aegon, and furthermore is more distressed by the brutality of the war itself than by either side's right to possess the throne. (Angel wears maroon and lavender at the brothel, but those aren't really her choices. Still, they are transitional, not neutral colors but not super bold either.) Angel does wear black after Aegon flees to Dragonstone, both to better fit in with her Black-affiliated family and also to mourn Aegon's departure (our girl was going through it! 😭).

Even on Dragonstone, Angel wears neutral colors until Aegon shatters his legs and his health rapidly deteriorates. Thereafter, Angel's gowns go straight to vivid jewel tones, symbolizing her abrupt all-in attitude. She's a ride or die Green because Aegon is the Greens' king, and he has no chance of survival if his side doesn't win; but also, for the first time, Angel wants vengeance. She wears varyingly emerald green (allegiance to the Greens), sapphire blue (an unconventional but strong bond with Aemond), and ruby red (fury, violence, crabs/resurrection). They don't necessarily correspond to the events of specific scenes, but more to her overall shift in mindset. She really does start to lose it mentally after it's clear Aegon is in serious trouble. Angel also wears black on occasion, but typically only when things are really bleak (ex. that one night with Aemond "There Are Other Targaryens" Targaryen and the day of Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing).

Side note: Throughout the series, Aegon mostly wears a. white bandages and simple cotton sleeping clothes OR b. black battle attire. The white represents purity (perhaps an unorthodox choice for Aegon, but his relationship with Angel is pure in the sense that he loves her honorably and selflessly) and rebirth as a new person following Rook's Rest (there's that resurrection theme again!). The black is of course foreshadowing his inevitable death.

[audreydoeskaren]

Hi! First off, I love your work, thanks for being here!

I’m not sure if you’ve done this before, but could you give us a rundown on Chinese funeral attire? (Particularly during the Qing dynasty if you can? I’m sorry I know that’s a huge time period) I’m always curious about funeral/mourning practices since they are so variable from culture to culture.

Hi! Broadly speaking people wore plain white clothes of coarse fabrics to funerals, and white in general was the color of mourning. There may have been some specific garments associated with mourning but any type of regulated clothing really isn't my area of knowledge, sorry that I can't go into much detail. I assume that during the Qing, clothes for mourning were the same garments/silhouettes as whatever was fashionable, but were just made in white linen or hemp cloth. @guzhuangheaven has a post about mourning rituals in the Qing which may be of interest.

Illustrations from the late 18th century French book Les Rues de Pekin showing people from Beijing in mourning attire. It can be seen that some of them also wore a white cloth belt which wouldn't otherwise be worn in everyday fashion. The cut and design are identical to fashionable clothes (though the last lady is wearing a floor length robe, as opposed to the common mid calf).

[scorchieart]

Characters: Clavis Lelouch x F!Reader

POV: 1st person Genre: Fluff

Prompt #9: “Why would I be worried? I’m with you.”

Wordcount: 1648

A/N: And here's that 2nd part of @venulus's request, as narrated by Clavis. Thanks for being patient with it, I went over the word limit because this is a bonus, so it doesn't apply by the rules of the challenge, the rules that I made up myself so they're completely arbitrary, I don't have to explain myself, I own a Clavis in a bottle and I'm not afraid to use him, here's the first part with the reader's POV, okay bye... 

Warning: ***Spoilers for Clavis Romantic route end***

“Tell me, Cyran. Do they miss me back in Ye Olde Rhodolite?”

I slipped my arms through wide, snowy sleeves to join the rest of the robes on my body. This piece came from the hands of a renowned seamstress in the south of Jade, known for her nimble hands and elegant embroidery. The pearlescent details reflected nicely against the white canvas underneath, and I softly ran my fingers over the stitchwork as I waited for the answer.

“Unquestionably so,” Cyran called. “Not a day goes by without someone mourning the loss of their beloved third prince. I hear the gardeners are in a fit about lack of exercise, what with no trap-laying miscreants to chase out of trees and no spontaneous holes to fill.” 

“How delightful,” I said. Though I was wearing more clothes than I did even in the deepest depths of winter, I had never felt so light. I thought of Yves and his amusing philosophy on the application of dress to not only cover but express one’s ambition to the world; a sword and a shield. And in my many years as a mediator and envoy for peoples across the continent, this was how I wanted to present myself today. Each layer I donned was a memento of all the places I have been. The places that made me the man I am today. Rhodolite, Benitoite, Jade, even Obsidian; those and more conquests under my belt. A universal love letter to those I’ve met along my journey.

“No,” said Cyran simply when I exited the closet.

“Why not?” I protested as he began removing my outer layers. It hurt that my attempt at symbolism was overlooked, but doubly so by my first conquest. “Do they not make me look illustrious and venerable? A flawless masterpiece to be shared with the world? Righteous and chaste and virtuous? The most distinguished gentleman of our time?”

“You got that last part right,” grumbled Cyran, moving to unbuckle my belts. I hoped he wouldn't open the pouches I’d attached to them, otherwise he’d be met with a facefull of Lelouch Trap Series galore. I harrumphed and turned to the bed.

“And what do you think, my dear?”

She sat with her legs outstretched, surrounded by piles of leaflets and documents, her eyes glued to a paper in her hands. “Rhodolite must go to bed every night with tears in her eyes knowing her most enthusiastic wakeup call is miles away,” she said.

“Ah, not that, darling. Though you are correct. No, I am referring to my extraordinarily extravagant ensemble!” I said, spreading my arms as much as Cyran would allow. Goodness, he worked fast.

“You look great,” she said.

“You didn’t even look at me,” I frowned.

She tore her gaze away from her paper and looked at me unamused. Too late. Cyran had stripped me entirely of my perfectly-crafted symbolic attire and left me in a pitiful base layer. 

“You look great,” she said.

“He does now,” said Cyran, stepping into the closet, a mountain of heavy discarded robes overflowing from his arms. I ran my hand through my hair to avoid his peevish glare as I approached the bed.

“What ever could be so important that you’d miss my grand entrance, my love?” I said. 

“Your real grand entrance,” she said, pushing the document she had been reviewing toward me. “The courtyard can only hold about five-thousand people maximum. I think we miscalculated.”

I took the sheet without looking at it, folded it, and set it on the stack with the others. “There is no mistake.” None that she has to know about, anyway.

“No mistake? Clavis, that document says we sent out ten-thousand invitations!” she said, reaching for the sheet again. I grabbed her hand and threaded my fingers through it. Her palms grew sweatier by the second.

“No mistake,” I repeated. “We can have two identical ceremonies if needed, so the latecomers can catch the second.”

She closed her eyes and let out a long nasally breath. “And did you account for the possibility that they all decided to attend the first?”

“The more the merrier, then!” I said, smiling as widely as I could to hide my dishonesty. It was only a little white lie, a publicity stunt. I don’t even know ten-thousand people. But I do know Chevalier’s coronation had five-thousand. 

And she glowered in a way I knew meant she could tell I was hiding something.

“Now, don’t give me that look, my sweet,” I crooned. “Does the idea of so many people at our doorstep frighten you? No need to worry, your charming Clavis will be by your side the entire—”

“The idea that we won’t be able to accommodate them all worries me, Clavis!” she yelled, pulling out of my grasp. “How will it look when we have to tell half our guests they’ll be sleeping on the floor?”

“You worry too much. I’m sure it will all work out, because what fun we’ll have today,” I said, reaching under her arms and lifting her into the air. This time she grabbed on to me, holding my shoulders as I spun us around in the buttercream light from the windows.

“Cakes and cookies and music and suits and gowns and dancing and lights and roses…” 

I twirled faster and faster, listing the first things that popped into my head, hoping she’d latch on to one of them and forget everything else. 

“....And magic and joy and ladies and gentlemen and friends and family and—”

“What would your family say if they saw you mess up this badly today?” she cried, and everything stopped. Dizziness caught up to me as we stared at each other, and though I could see three of her floating around my view, I knew all of them had unlocked me. 

“Ahem!”

Cyran only “Ahem!”ed whenever I pulled a prank in front of his eyes. Or did something he disapproved of. This one sounded like both.

“We’re running late. I’ll head downstairs to greet our guests. Please help him finish getting ready, my lady,” he said, shooting me a sharp look that sobered my vision instantly. He shut the door and I was left holding my beloved in the most guilty position I could imagine.

As soon as her feet touched the ground again, I embraced her, burying my face in her hair. Today of all days, I did not want her to see me fall apart.

“They’ll be here. All of them,” she said. “As if they could stay away.” 

She patted my back gently, and against her palms I could feel how erratic my heart was beating. How did she unravel me as simply as she took in breath? How did she manage to stand by my side without giving up like all the others? How did she know the person I wanted most in attendance today was the only one who stayed away? 

“And what if they think it’s all a big joke?” I croaked, forcing my jaw to stop trembling. “How could you choose me as king? Me?”

“If they thought it was a joke, they wouldn’t have bothered sending their RSVPs,” she said, cupping my cheeks and forcing our eyes to meet. “And what an honor to attend the coronation of the first king of Lelouch. The illustrious and venerable. The righteous, chaste, and virtuous King Clavis.”

I coughed out a laugh and pressed our foreheads together. She lightly rubbed the tip of her nose against mine, whispering more compliments in the tiny space between us. And how did she always know how to best cheer me up?

When I could breathe normally again, I gave her a final squeeze and pulled back. She courteously left me to finish composing myself as I turned toward the window. The cheery sun blinded me, and I rubbed my puffy eyes until I could make out the steady stream of horses and carriages arriving at the gates. I’m sure my mother would scold me for such an unseemly display, her little gentleman bawling on the morn of his coronation, but like my love she would hold me close and not let go until I was alright. I suppose that was the unspoken territory that came with family, and it thrilled me more than receiving the crown to add one more member to call my own. Even if it came at the cost of moving away from the rest.

Movement outside caught my attention, and I saw two horses trotting along awkwardly through the courtyard, their riders engaged in what looked like a heated argument. Cyran rushed out from the main doors just as one rider, a young man in the frilliest pink cloak, nearly slipped off his horse in his attempt to grab the tail of the second rider’s, his snickering silver-haired brother, flowing coat. More familiar faces entered view, each one looking more jovial than the last under the glittering sun, ending with a final stoic face quieting the scene. 

“Look look! It’s Chevalier!” I gasped, unable to restrain myself from jumping up and down. “And Leon and Jin and the others! Darling, they came! They actually came!”

“Does that mean you’re not worried anymore?” my darling said, reappearing at my side with my ceremonial sword, desperately trying to catch my last belt to fasten it to. Yet again I was reminded of my mother and her countless attempts to contain my unbridled glee in my youth. Is there a rule that a king cannot celebrate like a child when he experiences pure, unadulterated joy?

“Worried?” I said, stopping to let her complete her task. As badly as I wanted to run down the stairs to greet my brothers, I wouldn’t mind staying right here until the ceremony began. “Why would I be worried? I’m with you.”

This is the second time I've written 1st POV Clavis. Both times he was crying. If we follow Chevalier's accounts, he did that a lot as a kid, and you know it's not like adults are immune to having a good cry, too.

Tagging:@atelieredux @queengiuliettafirstlady @violettduchess @venulus @thewitchofbooks @leonscape @rhodolitesrose @venti-tangents @dear-sciaphilia @ikesenwritings @myonlyjknight @ladyofcrowsx

If you would like to be added or removed from my tag list, please send me an ask or a message.

[yallemagne]

I’m sorry guys, I had to give White-haired Jonathan long hair, it was important to me. He’s kept up with his diligent shaving routine, but with all the drama, he hasn’t visited a barber since... well, before May. 

No adorable Jonathan smiles today :,0

He might look... like, too rich, I dunno. The cravat makes him look rich. And the waistcoat... 

I just wanted to dress him in something different and his original outfit was pretty plain already. The in-story explanation could be that he’s just got a snazzy looking waistcoat as part of his mourning attire or Judge Moneybags himself decided to buy the whole Crew new murder clothes. 

That corner could have been where I drew the kukri blade, but I didn’t want to look up reference, so congratulations: you get ponytail Jonathan scowling at you.

[bramble-scramble]

Of Verses and Curses: Chapter Three

Heyo friends! I’m gonna try and speed up the update schedule on this as much as I’m able, or I’m still gonna be working on this into late March lol. So here you go, the long-awaited part three, in which the object of affection finally arrives, and all the setup is finally in place! Now we can start getting to... the good stuff. Content warnings: Nothing! This part is just nice and light and fun. Headcanon/fanon notes are gonna be at the end this time because it makes more sense that way!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three - Arrival

The Phantom puffed out a sigh as he looked at himself in the mirror. He had powdered his face, powdered his hair; no amount of powder was enough. He preened his ears, he waxed his mustache, he brushed his fur with a tiny comb, he adjusted his cravat, all with an anxious rapidity that would have been astonishing to behold. But he felt nothing could hide the slight bags under his bulging eyes, the fact that he looked a little worn out, a little dead, which he SHOULDN’T! -Despite the whole ghost thing. No one looked their best after a long flight, but especially not him… not with what he’d been through lately.

“Something the matter, sir?” His driver and personal assistant, a little grey-cloaked Shy Guy, was looking backwards out of the cockpit towards the rear of the space-trailer. After all, they were on auto-pilot to Palette Prime right now, the stars streaking by them through hyperspace, and there wasn’t much he needed to do.

“Oh, YOU know, Gerald,” Phantom groaned, pivoting his head toward his driver dramatically, his ears flopping so pathetically low they almost covered his eyes. “I’m about to make myself known to a whole new swathe of people, and I have to do it looking like this!” 

“I think you look fine, sir,” said Gerald matter-of-factly. “This is some backwoodsy planet, right? A real nowheresville? I think you’re gonna be the prettiest and fanciest Rabbid the yokels in this place have ever seen, by far.”

“No doubt about that,” he rejoined. "And yet, it is not enough to be the best they have seen. I must be THE best! The best I can be!”

“Well, we can turn around, sir, if you’re not feeling up to it-”

“No, no!” he said, with a shake of his head and a wave of his arm. “Let us continue as planned.” He turned back to the mirror, laid his elbow on the desk of the vanity and his face in his paw, and sighed again.

At least his clothes were impeccably sharp - when he had lost his voice, so too had he largely given up his former attire. Gone into mourning, as it were, these days he was largely wearing black cloaks, although he kept his panache with vests of various colors underneath. Today, his pure white cravat was tucked into a gold vest with polished silver buttons. His black coat on top, also bedecked with shining silver buttons and trim, split into two long tails, one on either side of his own tail.

In about thirty minutes the ship was in orbit above the planet itself. Phantom stared out of his window, down at the orb floating in the starry cosmos below him, orange and red and earthy-brown. The sight was almost enough to dispel his woes. It was… beautiful, he had to admit. Just like he had read about. His hand went to something tucked in an inner breast-pocket of his coat, and he was about to withdraw it, when Gerald’s voice rang out, “Okay, sir, I’ve located the landing spot. We’re making our descent.” Phantom decided to leave it for now, looking back in the mirror to make his final preparations.

Gerald, who had once been a master pilot in Bowser’s airship forces and taken quickly to space travel, could pilot Phantom’s luxury trailer with absolute finesse; there was no one the singer trusted more. Before long, he felt a smooth deceleration as the ship’s nose pulled up slightly, and then an ever-so-small jolt as it settled into place on the ground. Phantom pulled himself together as the Shy Guy disembarked to make sure all was ready for his employer’s arrival. After a few minutes, he re-entered the craft and called out to his boss, “Right, sir. They’re waiting for you.”

While Gerald had entered and left by his smaller pilot’s door, Phantom now pressed a button inside the ship, and with a hiss and a click, a large hydraulic entrance opened upwards from the side of the hull, and a small ramp slid down into the grass. He did not, of course, need the ramp. But it was a show of luxury all the same. With that, the star floated out of his ship and into the gentle sunlight of Palette Prime.

He looked about him; they had landed in a large field, in which a moderate crowd of Rabbids had gathered; many of them were in overalls, or plaid flannel, and hats; most were small common Rabbids, although there were some larger ones who looked like they had probably found themselves employment as lumberjacks; some were still carrying their farming or logging tools. Several children gathered about him and bwaahed excitedly, always happy for when a real celebrity came into their midst, whether or not they had any clue who the visitor was supposed to be. Phantom greeted the crowd as cheerfully as he could muster, letting them all know how pleased he was to be there, and that he would be holding an album signing TOMORROW, and that today was for resting and getting to know their fine planet-

It was then that he saw, standing in the back of the crowd and a little apart from the rest, an odd trio. One was seemingly a woodsman, nothing too remarkable around here except for having some kind of living animal on his head. On his right side was… what WAS that? An ethereal floating nymph, with a strained smile but looking like she really didn’t want to be there. And on the other… a tall, morose figure, standing almost as still as a statue; the only movement associated with him coming from the turbulent roiling of a small cloud which hovered above his head, occasionally spattering rain onto the umbrella he held. Phantom looked the figure directly in the eyes- or rather, he assumed he must be doing so; it was hard to tell behind those glasses. It seemed to him that the figure clutched his umbrella just a bit tighter, and that his ears, frazzled and blackened at the tips, twitched ever so slightly.

Having satisfied the rest of the crowd and answered their questions, Phantom made his way to the trio at the back. “Bonjour!” he said grandly, spreading his arms. “You must be the warden here. Monsieur Woodrow?”

The tall, thin Rabbid gave a nervous nod, and then a bow, extending one arm to his side while keeping the other on his umbrella. “Yes! Guilty as charged, Mr. Phantom. Ah- Monsieur Phantom-”

“Mister does just fine,” said the ghost, amused.

“And these are my most cherished companions,” said the warden, motioning to the two beside him, “Sweetlopek the lumberjack, and Dryad the- er-”

“The dryad,” she said coyly, extending her hand with a smile towards the Phantom. He shook her tiny paw in his own large one. Sweetlopek also shook his hand, with a gruff “Hullo.” Phantom then turned back to the warden, expectantly.

Woodrow’s eyes widened behind his glasses as he suddenly realized what was expected of him. He extended his hand, and Phantom gripped it in his own. Tightly. Or was Woodrow just imagining that due to his own tension? With how nervous he was- he was already making a fool of himself. He couldn’t… he couldn’t deal with words right now. He needed poems to speak for him; he was a fool with his own tongue otherwise, he couldn’t WORDS-

And yet, something occurred to him, which distracted him anew: one of the questions, the curiosities, he’d been harboring toward the Phantom was now answered- his spectrality did not grant his form an overall chill. His hand was warm, and there was… comfort in that. Startling, fascinating comfort.

“So,” said the Phantom, withdrawing his hand after what seemed a very long moment. “Will you, Sir Warden, be guiding me to my ‘otel?”

“Ah,” said Woodrow, “yes! Yes, I shall.”

“I have a number of suitcases and other items to transfer there,” said the singer with a gesture to his vessel. “I believe my assistant will need to make several trips, unless there is someone else who may assist…” His eyes made a sly dart to the burly lumberjack standing in their vicinity.

“Yeh, I’ll do it,” grunted Sweetlopek, though he was eyeing the newcomer warily.

Soon the five of them made a little parade through Paletteville: Sweetlopek laden with bags like a pack-mule, Gerald the Shy Guy rolling a couple suitcases along, Woodrow carrying a bag in his non-umbrella hand, and even Dryad floating with a couple little stacked hatboxes. Phantom himself was the only person carrying not a single thing.

It wasn’t long before they reached the Portly Pumpkin, the village’s highest-rated bed and breakfast. Once the luggage had all been transferred to the inn’s bellhop for moving to Phantom’s room, Gerald gave his employer a little nod.

“Well, see you, sir,” he said. While the Phantom was tending to his health on Palette Prime, the Shy Guy would be taking some time off of his own, to visit family in the Mushroom Kingdom. “Enjoy yourself, and keep me posted. Just shoot me an email when you’ve had enough of this place- that is, whenever you’re ready to leave. I can be here in a jiff.”

“Enjoy your break as well, Geri,” said the Phantom with a grand wave, as his assistant waddled off back towards the ship.

“So, uh, we’ll be off too then,” said Sweetlopek quickly, taking Dryad’s hand, and looking askance at the singer and the poet. “We’ve got things to get back to. See ya ‘round!” Before either of the others could say a word, they had dashed off, hand in hand, leaving a flurry of orange leaves behind them.

Standing outside the inn, Woodrow found himself suddenly alone with a celebrity. He gave, once more, a nervous little bow. “I suppose you will want to rest and refresh yourself,” he said. “But I am ever at your service while you’re here. My home is the one-” with the cloud… and the leaks… and the disrepair… oh no. Oh no, he did NOT want the Phantom to see his house. “Well! Actually, just send for me. That shall be easier; everyone here knows where I live. I shall be at your side as quick as I can.”

“As a matter of fact,” said the Phantom, “I wish you might stay with me now, if it’s not too much trouble. I do want to freshen myself up, but if you would not mind waiting here, say, fifteen minutes? I should very much like to begin my time here with a tour of the area, from the planet’s very own warden.”

“Oh!” said Woodrow, surprised. “Well, certainly, I shall do my best.” Then something occurred to him- “Unless you would rather find a tour guide that won’t occasionally get you wet.” He pointed upward sheepishly at his own umbrella, and the little cloud that floated above it.

The singer laughed. “Oui, I did not know how to ask, but- is this a regular occurrence, for you?”

“More than regular. Quite constant,” the warden answered. “I am afraid you will have to get used to her, in my presence.”

“Her?”

“Ah! Well, yes… she seems to like being referred to that way, although ‘it’ is fine too. Her name is Jinx- she likes that as well.” He put out his paw, and the cloud drifted down to it, enwrapping it in vapor. “She only rains on me, most of the time, but still - you might bring your own umbrella, just in case.”

“Quite charming,” said Phantom, and he meant it. “I have never seen such a pet in my life!” He put out his own paw, and to Woodrow’s astonishment, the cloud drifted over to it, and sat in it instead.

Clingy and protective of her companion, Jinx did not usually take to others, at least not so quickly; and the warden, thankful for how much his glasses concealed the expression of his eyes, tried to swallow the mix of joy and dismay that flooded him. What did this mean? If the Phantom knew what she really was - a manifestation of bad luck, a symbol of the curse to which the universe had bound Woodrow’s life - perhaps he would not regard her with such delight.

[Next time: Woodrow gives his guest a tour of a perfectly idyllic planet with nothing out of the ordinary and HEY IS THAT A MOON ON THE GROUND OVER THERE-

Headcanon/fanon notes: I feel like the Phantom would have a personal assistant, and my idea was that they’d be a non-rabbid Mushroom Kingdom resident. After all, Phantom was the only rabbid in the Kingdom who could talk for a long time, so I figure it would be someone he’d come to know during that time when he still felt pretty isolated from the rest of his species.

The idea that the cloud is named Jinx I thiiiink came from @randomrabbidramblings originally and has been fleshed out by several other people. I originally didn’t want to wade into fanon on that in order to keep this story as universally approachable as possible, but I figured it’s too big a part of Woodrow’s existence to not commit hard to an idea for, especially since I like personifying her anyway.]

[svfttachi]

𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄 | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

SYNOPSIS: Time has passed since the relationship was broken, and like usual, Satoru visits the graveyard to deliver some sweet words to his deceased lover as a way to cope with the sudden loss of warmth and comfort all while relishing in how his lover had completely changed him into the dependable man he is today.

PAIRING: Gojo Satoru x GN!reader

WARNING(S): Death, Mourning

TYPE: Angst

WORD COUNT: 1197

NOTES: I don't know why or how, but Gojo decided to take up my mind today which brought rise to this small and short oneshot. I have a feeling I'm going to want to start the manga for JJK just because I miss the characters and the story, but at the same time, I wanna experience the anime for the first time, especially when season two comes out but... who knows. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!

RAINDROPS rolled down the windshield of Gojo Satoru’s car as he drove down a busy, main street in Tokyo. The weather was unpredictable since the forecasters told the citizens, and Satoru, that it would be bright and sunny outside for the whole day. His mood wasn’t already at its best, and the sudden crash of thunder with its best friend lightning striking wasn’t making it any better. Traffic kept Satoru stuck in the streets for way too long, long enough for the sky to darken as nightfall came to settle with the full moon hiding behind the storm clouds.

Casting his Infinity, Satoru stepped out of his parked car and slammed the door shut behind him. Contrasting with his normal attire of his teaching and working uniform, he was clad in a black bomber jacket hiding a dark gray t-shirt underneath and paired with light gray jeans. The binding cloth he usually wore around his head to shield his unique, powerful, blue eyes from the rest of the world was discarded and replaced with a pair of thin, purple tinted sunglasses. Satoru held a bouquet of flowers in his hand along with a written note that was folded into fours. With the rain bouncing off of the invisible forcefield he had shrouded around his figure, he walked into the muddy grass, passing multiple gravestones with lovely engravings settled into the stone of each one. His eyes focused primarily on the way to a specific gravestone he was searching for, and in a matter of minutes, he stopped walking.

His muddy shoes planted themselves directly in front of the rather small and simple gravestone. Kneeling down, Satoru gently placed the flower on the grass directly in front of the stone and took off his sunglasses, pocketing them in his jacket. A shaky breath left his lips, and with a snap of his fingers, raindrops began to seep into his clothes and run down his pale face, mixing in with the fresh, salty tears that collected in his exposed eyes. His flawless locks of white hair soaked up the rainwater that fell from the dark sky and forced them to stick to his pale and tear stained face. Bringing the folded note into view, Satoru opened it up and sat down more properly in the grass. He looked between the note and the gravestone in front of him, attempting to enunciate the words he had written on the soaked sheet of paper. Yet, any try at speaking up caused him to choke on his own saliva as the sobs collected and released from his mouth.

Satoru sighed once more and crushed the piece of paper in his hand. His hands tightened around the ball of paper, and his head hung low as the tears continued to fall from his tightly squeezed eyes. Memories… memories of the time he spent with the deceased friend of his roamed his mind in an act to help him with the sadness that took over his mind, however those moments weren’t enough to bring back the one he loved so dearly and held so close to his heart. A burning sensation scorched his chest, right where his heart rested beating incredibly fast due to the anxious feeling rushing through his bloodstream. Satoru’s hand clenched the fabric of his jacket and t-shirt in an attempt to calm himself down, but every smile he had ever had the experience of seeing coming from his lover continued to fuel the flame that encased his chest. Deep breaths were taken, and minutes had to pass for him to relax his breathing and the incline of his heart’s rhythm.

“Y—You still… have an effect on me, after all these years,” Satoru joked with a light chuckle escaping his shaky lips. He unclenched his chest and fisted his hand instead, watching as the paper ball grew soiled by the continuously pouring rain. Clearing his throat, Satoru brushed the damp locks of his hair back to stick to the top of his head, allowing his entire face to show and give him a clearer look at the gravestone stuck in the grass before him, “I wrote a note for you, Y/N, but… I guess I don’t have the strength to reread everything I said. Instead, I’ll just say it out loud to you.”

Satoru took another deep breath to calm the anxious feeling that was beginning to climb once again before speaking up once more.

“You were loved… by a lot of people, Y/N, and you leaving has put a permanent scar on everyone. Ever since that day… that fight, I’ve questioned myself on how it could have gone better, and I began to doubt myself and my abilities. But, Y/N, you were the one that always pushed me to be the best, and you knew of my strengths that I couldn’t drill through in my head, no matter how many times I tried to tell myself that I’m a good teacher… a good fighter. I thank you for that, Y/N. It has helped me grow stronger as a person, and now, I trust myself more, especially with my new students. It’s okay that you are gone, Y/N, because I have all these new people in my life that I didn’t have before who have helped me see the brighter side of life that I didn’t have the ability to see before. Everyday is a new struggle because everyday is another day where I don’t get to wake up to your adorable face, but when I remember all that you have done for me, I feel a whole lot better. Without you, Y/N, my life wouldn’t be as good as it is right now, but… I still miss you, everyday, and wish you were here to see this new side of me. I just know that you would be pleased to see how much I have changed from the foolish boy you grew up with. I love you, Y/N, and I always will love you.”

Satoru swallowed the lump that formed in his throat at the end of his peaceful speech. Tears still welled up in his eyes, but speaking of those beautiful words that reminded him of all the good you had done for him was enough to suppress the need to let them fall. Satoru wiped his eyes clean and got up from the muddy, wet grass, completely careless to the damage the substance did to his pants.

“I’m sorry for not protecting you during that fight, Y/N… I hope I don’t put my students in the same position as you. But… I’m glad I got to spend my life with you up until the end,” Satoru whispered.

Turning on his heels, Satoru walked through the grass with you still stuck in his mind. Anytime you flash in his mind, he is reminded of what a lovely person you were to him and how much of an impact you had on his life, today. It was a beautiful relationship, for sure, and now that it's been broken, Satoru cherishes the memories since they are all that he has left of you.

JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST

WRITING MASTERLIST

NAVIGATION