#'i end up on a tree-lined street / i look up at the gaps of sunlight / i miss you more than anything' him biking to the byers old home n

[jigencaps]

[bylertruther]

hi, friends! if you know me, then you know that i love to spread misery and pain, so please allow me to remind you all that this is a mike missing will and feeling homesick for him and terribly untethered after he moves away song<3

I don't know what to do without you I don't know where to put my hands I've been trying to lay my head down But I'm writing this at 3 a.m I don't need the world to see That I've been the best I can be, but I don't think I could stand to be Where you don't see me On sunny days, I go out walking I end up on a tree-lined street I look up at the gaps of sunlight I miss you more than anything I don't need the world to see That I've been the best I can be, but I don't think I could stand to be Where you don't see me And autumn comes when you're not yet done With the summer passing by, but I don't think I could stand to be Where you don't see me

(for extra angst sprinkled on top, listen to the acoustic version and think abt mike writing and playing a similar song tht he won't ever play for anyone bc it's much too revealing and too honest.)

[hyasinttis]

Aughoufh Francis forever.mp3

[myheroesfading]

x

[apamates]

Felt cooped up today so I went to get a chicha and that fueled my longest walk to date

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [6/...]

— OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

“On sunny days I go out walking, I end up on a tree-lined street. I look up at the gaps of sunlight. I miss you more than anything."

— Mitski, "Francis Forever"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 7

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends.  The crew arrives at the Baratie, and several things go down in a matter of hours. Decisions are made, both stupid and not so stupid. Old and new faces come back into your life, and unable to deal with the events in Orange Town, you handle it in the worst best way possible: through the bottle.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, fem!reader, LA!Verse, slight canon divergence, alcoholic indulgence on a catastrophic scale (drink responsibly ppl), blackouts, morally grey reader, violence, mentions of everyone (marine, fish people, pirates, etc.) having a past beef with Reader/"Cross-Hairs", Buggy POV in the end,

A/N: So, since this chapter was delayed, I think it compensates due to the fact that it is approximately 7k words long. The chapter jumps a little between the events of the Baratie, but there's a reason for that: the reason being that the Reader is shitfaced for most of the time during this chapter. Also, shout out to @ay0nha for putting up with my rambles during this period, really appreciate it XD

It hurts. Everything hurts. That’s the first thing he feels. 

His feet, his back, his torso, but especially his head. It’s like a hamster is running on a wheel inside the bones in his skull, squeaking, chirping, driving him insane from the inside. 

The wheel is pounding, and pounding until all he wants is to chuck that fucking hamster into–

“Hey, he’s waking up!”

Shanks? Why is he in his head? Fuck, he takes it back. The hamster can stay, rent-free, for as long as it fucking wants to, as long as it isn’t fucking Shanks—

“Buggy?”

On second thoughts, that voice doesn’t strike any sense of irritation with him. In fact, he finds it comforting, like the morning sun shining atop the ship deck. He doesn’t mind listening to that.

“Buggy?”

His eyes open, and he thinks he's seeing the sun for the first time. The sun and the moon, in fact, at the same time. Golden, blinding, warm, and cold, but he wants to watch them until his vision turns white and all sense of sight abandons him. 

It’ll suck to be blind, but damn, what a hell of a way to go.

The more he stares, however, the more everything else falls back into place. He realizes it’s not suns he’s staring at, but two sharp eyes and a concerned face that makes him feel just as warm.

He’s in a bed, he finally discovers. There’s a pillow under his head, a fresh sheet up until his midsection which strangely smells of vinegar, inside a room he just now remembers is the Oro Jackson’s de-facto ‘infirmary’ which really is just an old storage space that was refurnished when they first got the ship.

There’s something wrapped around his head, tight but not too tight that it’s squeezing. It’s been done by precise and sturdy hands; a professional, someone who knows what they’re doing.

He blinks once, then twice, and everything around him finally settles. Including everyone perched around the bed.

“Ah, Buggy, my lad!” It’s hard not to recognize the booming voice of his captain, who proceeds to lean over him with his hands pressed around his biceps until the massive mustache trickles his chin. “Thought you were a goner for a moment!”

He kind of wishes he was one because the strength of Gol D. Roger is not to be underestimated. His ribs squeeze and it's hard to breathe, but out of respect for his captain, all that leaves his throat is a guttural groan that he hopes conveys the message clearly enough.

Gol D. promptly removes himself from his poor apprentice with his hands raised, and when he steps back, Shanks takes his place next to the bed. “Gods, Buggy! What were you thinking? You could’ve been killed! Rayleigh said you were lucky it was just a concussion!”

That’s when it dawns on him. Riiight, there was a scuttle. Some asshole pirates trying to ambush them, they picked the wrong fucking targets. Some … guy was flying over him? Did that happen, or was it just a fever dream?

He remembers kicking someone in the balls, and then … and then …

Lightning. Making its way for him as the darkness embraced his vision. A line of gold, straight as a sword, narrowing in on him.

Did it catch him before the darkness did? 

He hopes so.

“Lay off me, will ‘ya!” he shouts at his friend, trying to get up. However, the fucking hamster wheel in his head keeps spinning until he settles back down against the pillow. “I was doing good!”

“Yeah, until you weren’t!” Shanks disputes and grabs his fellow apprentice by the collar of his sleeve. “I told you to fucking move, but it’s like you spaced out! She had to carry you all the way back here with your head all bleeding!”

Carry him?

He glances at you, finally. You’re sitting there, hunched slightly over the bed with those eyes looking at him, and he’s thinking you fucking carried him? It’s not that he’s ashamed, not at all, but if anything, he was always hoping the roles were switched. 

He’d be the one carrying you. With your strength, he imagined it would be quite the weight to uphold, but he would do it. For you, he would move the seas if he could, Devil Fruit or not.

“Buggy, are you alright?” 

You’re the one talking this time. Not the captain, nor Shanks, just you. The lighting is here, and he feels his skin prick. It’s electric. Cold. Warm. All and nothing combined. He could listen to it – feel it – for hours, days, maybe even years without ever growing weary of it.

He puts on his best brave face and scoffs, forcing his arms to cross themselves despite the surge of aches that rush through his body doing so. “Of course I’m alright! I’m Buggy! I bounce back, always!”

“Still,” your hands fall on top of his, and he feels his body freeze. “I was worried.”

“’Worried’?” Shanks cackles and gestures to you with his thumb over his shoulder. “You should’ve seen the damage she left behind. The entire place was smithereens, I tell you, Buggy! She knocked over those assholes like frickin’ chessboard pieces!”

“What did I always tell you?” Gol D. slams a hand on top of your shoulder, knocking you slightly forward. “She’s got eyes sharp enough to cut through steel, and pirates too, apparently.”

You laugh awkwardly. “I didn’t cut through them, really. I just … knocked them a little over.”

Shanks cackles. “Don’t be humble. You should’ve seen the guy who knocked you out. I swear, none of his bones were where they were supposed to be. He won’t be walking, or doing much of anything, ever again.”

Buggy can imagine it, but also not. He looks at you now, and he sees his concerned friend with those kind eyes that contain both the sun and the moon. He’s always known you’re strong – the strongest person he knows of save for his captain, but not unkind. Not cruel. Not sadistic.

Yet, if what Shanks just said carries any weight, it confirms what he’s always known. 

You’re a beast, and beasts only follow their prime instincts. They don’t allow others to harm what or who they consider theirs.

And it means that you consider him yours. 

Maybe in a different way than he’d prefer, maybe in a way that’s different from the kind he harbors towards you, but it still confirms he’s yours. 

He will never want to find himself on the opposite side of that. Of you. Never you.

When he looks at you again, looks down at where your hand is pressed on top of his, he takes it in his own. 

“I’m fine,” he finally says, his lip tugging in what is supposed to be a smile. “Remind me not to get on your bad side, though.”

You chuckle softly, and he smiles. Fuck, how can he not? He remembers it all so clearly. The way your dimples are shaped, the length of your hair, the soft tint of your lips.

“You? Never.” You finally say. “Never you”

---

You reflect on how it's weird that some things change whereas others don't. 

Flowers prosper and bloom and die. The sun ascends, stays up for a few hours, then descends back into the horizon. 

Friendships grow strong, stay strong, then they aren't.

Some things change, some don't. 

Baratie being among the latter.

It's bright enough inside to momentarily blind you, just like it was a little over ten years ago. Save for new faces with the employees and some design choices, the overall place has stayed the same. 

There are people there of prestigious backgrounds - both pirate and not - and you think of how receptive the restaurant must've been to make both parts come together without any regular scuttles. 

A neutral ground for all to come and enjoy the feast. Well, that is the principle, but not everyone abides by it.

It’s been a while since you last visited the establishment, and last time, you were banned for life. 

Frankly, you don’t recall much of the events; too drunk on rum at the time.

What you do remember is that it involved a few broken bottles of Baratie’s finest wine, some mashed-up furniture, and cutlery, a rival captain who wouldn’t take a “fucking get lost” for a “no”, and it ended with you standing surrounded by a bunch of broken bodies of your own making.

Needless to say, Zeff was pissed. 

More than pissed, actually. He was fuming.

He probably still is.He has a thing for grudges if he’s still alive.

Maybe … Just maybe the old man’s chewed off something more than his leg and kicked the bucket? That’d be a sight to see considering he only has one remaining foot.

"My name is Sanji. What can I get for you?"

The waiter - Sanji - is fine, not going to lie. A good fighter, too, if his little display seconds ago is a testament to that. A bit too young for your preference, with a nose too small, and hair too bright and blonde. Not quite blue colorful enough.

All in all, not a bad look at all. Just for the aesthetics, though. A solid 7/10, you conclude.

"One of everything, please!" Luffy requests enthusiastically.

For whatever reason, Sanji does not seem to share your general affinity for the restaurant. That’s odd. Most people who work here tend to boast about their occupation in the famed restaurant.

Though, if you have to make a guess, Zeff is likely a contributing factor behind that disdain. He’s tough on people, even tougher if he likes someone.

As discontented as Sanji seems, however, it does not keep him from trying to withhold his flirtatious demeanor with Nami. A Casanova, it looks like. Funny.

"Waiter, can I get a beer and something for my friends?" Zoro asks, fed up with the one-sided dalliance going on between your shipmate and the waiter.

"Two beers!” Usopp promptly adds. “though, I usually have three."

"And one milk!" Luffy chimes in.

"Three beers and a milk," Sanji notes. His eyes land on you, and that signature smile falls to his lips. "And for the ladies?"

You’re already here, you think to yourself. Why not make the most of it? For nostalgia’s sake.

"A bottle of Baratie's Finest," you request, your chin resting in your palm. "Not the kind you keep for customers, though. Pick one from Zeff's private stash, if you can afford to smuggle it past his bushy nose?"

"A classy beverage for a classy lady, I see." A mischievous glimmer shines in his eyes and smile. "Although that stash is off-limits, what kind of a man would I be if I refused a lady her desired beverage?”

You tilt your head a fraction to the side. "I'm sure he won't mind. At his age, he needs to watch his liver."

"That is true,"

Quite frankly, everything else evades your attention the second the waiter arrives with your order. Sanji brings you your meals, and your pricey bottle of Baratie's Finest, and it’s the Red Apple edition.

Perfect.

You eat, and eat, and drink, and then drink some more, not even stopping to concern yourself with the price tag. 

The food at the Baratie's has not been in decline when it comes to quality above all else. It's delicious, and not a lot of places have earned that kind of claim in your life.

The food is good, but the drinks are ethereal. 

One glass turns into two, and two promptly becomes three. So forth, and so forth. Anything to dull the tightness lodged in your chest. 

A tightness that has not left you alone in the past couple of weeks.

You've developed a pretty good tolerance over the years, and after several more units, you begin to feel the tickle on the edge of your hands. Baratie’s Finest indeed.

After five, the feeling settles on the tip of your spine.

After seven, you start to wonder what went wrong. It's a dangerous area to indulge in, especially if liquor is involved, but you don’t stop.

What went wrong?

What did you do wrong?

In another life, you would've traveled the world with them, doing nothing but drinking, fighting, exploring together.

Instead, you’re here, drinking with a crew yet still feeling like the loneliest asshole in the world. It’s not your crew.

You lose a smidgen of focus, and in the grand specter of things, focus is something you could do well with less off. 

You can afford to think less, feel less, and know less. Life has been full of ups and downs, and quite frankly, you've grown weary of it all.

Fuck, maybe Luffy’s onto something? Maybe you are sad?

… Nah.

Once Zoro orders another beer, you go as far as to share your bottle with him. His face scrunches at the taste and he coughs several times, but he admits that it’s good.

As you sit there on the edge of the couch, sipping your beverage and tasting your food, Sanji arrives to collect the bill. You know Luffy doesn’t have a berry to his name yet, and so you wonder how long it'll take before Zeff notices.

More specifically, how long it’ll take him before he realizes he's missing something from his private collection?

“Who the hell is Monkey D. Luffy?!”

Speak of the Chief… and he shall appear.

This time, you do not interfere when Luffy attempts to bargain for his lack of cash. You simply sit back and observe. 

As much as Luffy tries, he does not have the words or mind suited for this kind of business yet. It’s Capitalism at its finest. 

“You eat, you pay!”

Thoughts and dreams can only get you so far in life, but at the Baratie, it’s coin.

When Zeff grabs Luffy by the front of his shirt, the chief's eyes turn to you, and holy hell, is he furious. 

“And what in the blazing hell are you doing here?!"

“Zeff,” You greet him and raise your beverage his way, a tilted smirk on your face. "It’s been too long."

"Not long enough! I thought I told you to get fucking lost last time? The damages you did cost a fortune!"

“In my defense, it was the other guys that started it.”

He gives you such a dirty look that his jaws clench. “Don’t give a shit. Why are you here?”

You twirl the bottle around in your hand. "Just enjoying the ambiance, as always. I was in the area, and so how could I pass up the chance to try your scrumptious meals again? Or drinks, for that matter?" 

On cue, you raise your - or rather his - bottle closer up to him. 

It’s stupid, the rational part of your brain argues. One does not fuck around with the Chief of the Baratie, but among the few joys you have left in life, this remains one of them.

His eyes narrow in on the bottle and there he is.In the blink of an eye, he snaps it out of your hand with such fast precision that you're almost caught off-guard. 

Zeff narrows in on the mostly empty flask like it's personally insulted him and his entire lineage. “Where did you get this?"

"It was on the menu."

"It sure as shit was not! How could you—" He freezes like a thought suddenly dawned on him, and if a man can become purple from anything other than oxygen deprivation, Zeff's current mood is the closest thing to it. "Sanji. Why that snot-nosed, little—! ... When I get my damn hands on him."

It seems that whatever vendetta Zeff has towards his employee, it outweighs the one he has for you tenfold, which says something. Without another word, he yanks Luffy by the scruff and all but drags him with him to the kitchen. 

Ordinarily, you would’ve intervened on behalf of your captain, but with Zeff now preoccupied, it’s your chance to rob the bar of a few more beverages.

And in your dictionary, “a few” is the equivalent of “a shitton”.

"Wow," Usopp murmurs with a low whistle. "That guy really hates your guts."

"What are you talking about? I’m his favorite customer." You raise what remains in your glass to them. “Anyone want another one?”

"I do," Nami relents.

Zoro laughs, probably for the first time since you’ve met him. "Now you're talking."

Maybe, just maybe, you’re beginning to like these people. 

With a couple more drinks, maybe you’ll be able to tell.

———

“You know, I kind— I kinda assumed you were an asshole when we first met?” 

Usopp’s struggling to stand on his feet, legs bent slightly forward as he makes a half-assed attempt at ordering another drink. You can’t tell if the bartender is electively ignoring him or not, and truth be told, you don't blame the guy if the former applies.

Between the two of you, you’re more adept when it comes to dealing with liquor. Sure, your lips are a little looser now and the bright lights are starting to hurt your eyes, but all in all, you’re not even half as drunk as you want to be. 

Seriously, fuck me sometimes. You just had to go all out when you were younger. Days and nights spent pouring bottle after bottle left your liver hardened rather than weakened.

Now, because of the high tolerance you stupidly developed, it's come here to bite you in the ass and keep you from getting wrecked. 

“Oh?” Your sarcasm couldn't be any more discernible than it is now as you eye your crew mate. “What made you reach that conclusion?”

Usopp twirls around, horribly off-balanced, and slaps a hand over your shoulder. 

A little too personal for your liking, but you let it slide for now.

“I mean, for starters, you—,” he hiccups. “You always have that look about you. Like someone just pissed in your ale.”

You give him an unimpressed but vaguely piqued once-over. “Descriptive. Go on,”

“And soso— And so I and the guys are wondering if you’re like that because some clown broke your heart or—,” he hiccups again. “Or some— something? Did he piss in your ale?”

You shrug his hand off at once. You don’t want to think about him, now least of all. "No.”

Not even a second later, his arm his back over your shoulder and he leans closer. It's probably meant as a comforting gesture, but given how absolutely wasted he looks, you perceive it with a grain of salt. 

"Y-You can tell the great Capt— I mean, the Great Usopp, alright? We've all been there before, I—I'm ssssure. I mean, Zoro doesn't strike me as much of a ladies' man, but he's probably got stories, too."

The bartender finally stops by and leaves a beer bottle in front of you on the table, completely ignoring your companion, and disappears to make his next rounds.

You take the flask and flick the cork off with your thumb. "Well, if you really want to help, —" 

You turn around so that your back hits the bar counter, twirl Ussop around with the guidance of your hand and shove him lightly towards where Nami and Zoro are sitting. "— Talk to the others first about their heartbreaks."

If he wants to object, he's too drunk to for it. Instead, he recollects his limited stance and all but wobbles over to the corner where your other companions are seated.

He’s their problem now, but it’ll be an interesting display.

You recline against the bar counter to chug your beverage in peace when a voice suddenly speaks up from next to you. 

“I thought you were retired.”

With how loud the music is, it might have slipped your notice completely. Then again, the owner of said voice has always had that thing about him. 

He could whisper, and the entire room would’ve heard.

You glance up at your side, and you’re halfway tempted to smile when you see who it is. 

“It’s been a while, Hawk-Eyes.”

Everything from the feather on his hat to the cross around his neck and the pointy way his beard is trimmed has stayed the same. Not a scar, a bruise, or blemish to spot on him.

In ten years, he looks to have aged only one. Some people are fortunate in terms of youth, and you would definitely consider Dracule Mihawk one of them.

“Cross-Hairs.” He inclines his head to you, a silent courtesy reserved only for those whose company he tolerates. “I believed you abandoned your life behind the mast years ago.”

You take another generous gulp from your bottle before you respond. "So did I, but life finds a way, doesn't it?"

"Indeed." He peeks over his shoulder to where your companions are seated, his countenance less than impressed. Then again, that's just his face by default, so hard to tell with him. "And last we met, you were a Captain."

"Last time we met, you almost cut my right arm off." For emphasis, you pull back your sleeve to show off the straight scar that separates your upper arm from the rest. It's faded, old, and never noticeable unless you decide to wear anything short-sleeved, but it's there all the same.

He doesn't apologize. Of course, he wouldn't. Instead, he raises his sparse glass of wine to you. "Nothing personal."

You raise your bottle to him in turn. "Of course not,"

Clink!

You drink your respective beverages in companionable silence. However, even with your halfway inebriated state of mind, you can't help but think of the reasons for his presence. 

You have your suspicions, and you're not shy about voicing them.

"This isn't your usual scenery." You say. “What makes one of the great Warlords of the Sea seek out a place such as this? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," he answers curtly, as though he'd prefer to do anything but. "I'm looking for a captain."

“It’s not Shanks, I take it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s a captain by the name of Luffy.”

It doesn't surprise you. It should, but it doesn’t.

The lengths the vice-admiral is willing to go to retrieve his grandson, which apparently includes hiring a Warlord to do so, doesn’t surprise you in the slightest. Unbreakable willpower is a family trait, after all, if you've learned anything from Luffy. 

It wouldn’t suffice with a gun; he had to send the entire fucking arsenal.

Still, at least it’s Mihawk of all people. It shouldn’t be a source of relief, but had it been anyone else, be it Kuro or Axe-hand or Bu-... 

Your fingers subconsciously dig into the fragile, empty bottle you’re holding.

The point is, had it been anyone else, you would've intervened. You have intervened, several times by now, but not tonight. 

Tonight, you're here to drink and forget, then drink some more. You don’t have the sobriety to worry about much of anything anymore.

"Garp must truly be at his wit's end if he employs you for his endeavors." Once you retrieve the bottle at your disposal, you pluck off the cap and swirl it lazily in your hand. The lights from the bar dance around the transparently brown rim, like a shooting star with no exit and no entrance to the rest of the universe. Forever stuck. "Seems excessive to send you of all people after something so seemingly simple."

"From what I've heard, this particular quarry is something of a wildcard."

"If you’re here, I’m sure of it."

Mihawk tilts his chin up, eyeing you curiously in your peripheral vision. "Are you saying that you're acquainted with this Luffy?"

"I'm saying no such thing. It's just mere speculations on my part." Another fistful of alcohol travels down your esophagus. "You're only employed when it's truly serious, and the vice-admiral is known for only getting involved in those kinds of matters. It adds up, is all I’m saying."

“I hardly consider it dire. It's more a means of killing some time on my part." He does not take his eyes off of you, and even in your current state, you can tell that something is brewing beneath those sharp eyes. "However, if said captain has you in his arsenal, then I feel like some investigation is warranted. After all, the Captain of the Cross-Haired pirates is not particularly known for her tendency to submit to others."

You quirk an eyebrow at him and circle your finger around the bottle rim, pondering on the subject yet not biting at the metaphorical carrot he dangles in front of you. "Technically, it’s just like you said: I'm retired, and the Cross-Haired pirates are no more. I’d think most people are aware of that.”

"The Marines believe otherwise,” he counters calmly. “The Cross-haired pirates may be disbanded, but their captain’s bounty remains on the posters. The vice-admiral was quite adamant that, while he wants the boy alive, he’d prefer it if you weren’t."

“I see.” The vice-admiral should learn to take a fucking number. “Tell me, have you elected a means of execution, or is it the dealer's choice?"

"I recall he mentioned something along the lines of wanting your head on a spike."

"Crude."

"I agree."

"Then," you raise your glass. "Am I to have my last drink here tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, I'm here for the boy and nothing else."

You'd expect him to be forward with his line of questions; demand you just give Luffy up and be done with it, not side-stepping the subject like he's doing now. 

If he suspects something, he'll sniff it out like a bloodhound until he gets what he's searching for, regardless of how many cards or people fall around him. You’ve not exactly been subtle about your affiliations with his quarry, something you’ll berate yourself for come morning, but it all depends on how this plays out now.

"I won’t give you the answer you seek. You’ll have to do that on your own.”

You're not friends, but you're not necessarily foes either. 

For as long as you’ve known the swordsman, Mihawk's only ever had a beef with Shanks for reasons undisclosed even to you. Even after you parted ways with your red-haired crew mate, Mihawk never seemed to have anything personal against you despite the rather brutal nature of your previous encounter. 

If anything, there's a certain level of respect veiled between you, one former pirate to another semi-former one, and it’s something you hope he'll honor just this once.

To your relief, he decides to not push the matter, but the interest lingers in his eyes. 

It's not easy to notice, but you make it a habit to take note of limited details. "The boy must be something special to have earned your loyalty like this, Cross-Hairs." 

"I suppose you'll have to find out for yourself." 

"Perhaps so," he concedes.

You chug the rest of your drink in one go, put the empty bottle on the tabletop in the space between you, and push yourself off the counter. "For what it's worth, I wish you good fortune with your endeavor. However, I’ll warn you; if anything happens to the kid, I'll get involved.”

“Duly noted.” Once again, he dips his head to you. "And Cross-Hairs,"

"Hmmm?"

You glance at him from over your shoulder, but his gaze is fixated on something else this time. Something on the other side of the bar, to the borders of the waters. If he sees anything, you can't tell what it is, and he doesn’t share. 

Not explicitly.

"There is unrest brewing in the seas," he finally reveals, casually as if he's discussing the current state of the weather. "I'd suggest you keep your feet dry for now, at your convenience."

You don't know what he speaks of, but whatever it is, you'll follow. He is not a man who prides himself on his capacity to proclaim falsehood. If he tells you that the sun is green, you'll believe it, and you make it a habit not to believe in a lot of people.

That applies to this warning too.

"I'll see you around, Hawk-Eyes."

You need another drink.

———

You slip in and out of consciousness a couple of times throughout the night, never coming to the same places twice, with a belly full of rum, beer, and whatever else with enough alcoholic percentage to knock out a horse. 

At one point, you're in the restaurant munching on some bread rolls.

At another, you're puking your guts out in the bathroom stalls. 

At the third, you're chugging even more liquor straight out of the bottle while a bunch of people cheer you on.

The circle goes on and on and on until it spins out of control like a zoetrope. Faces flash in front of you, one after the other, never the same two times in a row. 

It's alright, you tell yourself, as long as you forget.

You forget about blue eyes, blue hair, and red noses. 

You forget about Gol D. Roger and the time you spent on his crew.

You forget it all, if only for a few hours.

Next time you come to, you're still miraculously standing on your feet. You’re currently in the kitchen on the Merry, and currently listening to Nami telling a ridiculous story about how Zoro challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel.

What a funny story.

In fact, it’s so funny and so outlandish that you can't help but snort. Since when has Nami been the kind of person to tell jokes?

Maybe Usopp's tendencies have rubbed off on the standoffish young woman, or maybe she's smoked something along with her drinks? 

Fuck, you have to ask her where she got the stuff.

It takes a few moments of awkward silence until you realize that no one is joking, Nami least of all. The room is still, and as if all alcoholic content has left your blood, it dawns on you last of all.

Oh hell no.

You slowly turn to Zoro with a deadpan look in your eyes, and despite the urgency, you ask him as calmly as you can, "You challenged Dracule Mihawk to a duel?"

He bobs his head and continues polishing his swords. "Which he accepted,"

You blink, and blink, hoping that this is just a fragment your beer-and-bottle-drenched brain has conjured to fuck with you, but Zoro remains where he is and so is everyone and everything else.

Fuuuuuuuck…

You thought he was one of the smart ones, too. His sense of navigation doesn't work for shit and if anyone can get lost on their way to the lavatory, it's him. Still, you withheld some semblance of hope that he would exhibit the same kind of recklessness as his captain.

Turns out, it has all been for naught.

You rub your temples hard enough to sting. With a nasty headache developing, you decide to pop the question. "Cremation or burial at sea?"

"... What?"

"Pick one or the other, I'll see to it that arrangements can be made."

"I'm not going to die.”

"You are a fly to him." Nami grimaces. "Something to be swatted and forgotten,"

"Not if I win." Zoro is steadfast and determined, like every new pirate on their first voyage.

It’s a look you remember well. In a way, the young swordsman kind of reminds you of Mihawk himself, and if there's one thing you can link to both, it's that annoying stubbornness that never yields. Even when the odds are against them.

"You're not going to win," Nami tries.

Zoro remains infuriatingly unconvinced. "You don't know that."

"You won't." This situation, to your chagrin, sobers you up enough that you can't blame the liquor on your next actions or words. 

You take a step towards him, and with an iron fist, grab him by the front of his shirt and force him to face you. He's unamused. “I think I liked you better when you were drunk,” he murmurs.

"I want you to get this, really get this.” You snarl. “Once you go against Mihawk, and there's no coming back for most. He's not known as the World's Greatest Swordsman for no reason, and as good as you are, take it from me. He'll end you."

He inclines his head to the side with deep-rooted skepticism. "Sounds like you really know the guy,"

"It doesn't matter whether I know him or not." 

"Everywhere we go, we make enemies, and for some reason, they've already got a grudge against you, Captain Cross-Hairs." 

With one hand clenched against your offending wrist, he starts to list off his other hand. "Since you know just about every asshole we come across, you might as well tell me about Mihawk's preferred method of execution. Will he chop me in half, or is he excessive like the damn clown and goes all the way with splitting someone into pieces?"

You feel your nails begin to pierce through the fabric of his shirt, inches away from leaving open gaps. You're not their guardian or their mentor. You're not the one supposed to keep the crew at ease or lead them towards certain victories. 

That's the captain's role, and you're not it. Not on this ship, with this crew.

Your only purpose here is to keep them from killing themselves on their first voyage, but if they're so determined to do it themselves despite the warnings you provide, then it's not on you.

Pulling him a few inches closer to you, you look him straight in the eyes, and that's when you see it. The aforementioned stubbornness that follows each and every young pirate you've come across in your life. The notion that they're invulnerable; unkillable. 

Nothing can hope to end them.

You remember what it was like, that feeling, and it almost breaks you to see it in front of you like this. 

You know aggression won’t do it for him, so you try an approach you haven’t tried in years. Bargaining. 

“What will it take for you to pull back from this?”

“He’s coming for Luffy. I’m his first mate, it’s my duty to protect the captain.”

To protect the Captain…

That's how you know that there's no convincing the young swordsman to stand down, not this time. 

He's persistent, exceedingly so, and if there's one thing you've learned during this voyage with these people it's that hell hath no fury like a straw hat pirate determined.

This is not on you, yet it doesn't make it any easier to let go of him. But you do.

Taking a deep breath, you uncurl your fingers and let him step back. 

"Fine."

You need another drink.

Glancing over your shoulder, you meet Luffy’s concerned gaze. “This is your call, captain.”

You don’t need to be here for this. You’ve done your part, and now it’s his turn to do his.

You give Zoro a pat on his back, just one. It's not meant for comfort, it's not an act of sympathy either. 

It's just a pat, like the kind you give your friend when they're about to gamble away all their savings over a game of cards. It’s the “fuck around and find out, but do it yourself”-kind of gesture.

Heaving a sigh, you sidestep him and let your fingers fall off his shoulders. "It's been fun, Zoro." 

And the worst part about this all is that you mean it, truly. It has been fun to sail with them, share a few beers, and joke at the expense of others. Your time on this ship has been fun. 

Like old times.

You won't go as far as to call Zoro a friend, you never do, but it's close enough that you'll probably miss him in the long run.

Zoro looks at you, his countenance indecipherable. "Say that to me again when I win this fight,"

"I can't." Because you won't.

---

The water forces its way into his lungs at such speed that it feels like he's swallowed buckets by the time they finally come up for air. He harks and coughs and tries to get as much of it out, but he doesn’t feel any lighter. 

Get it? Lighter, because he’s just a head now and— alright, forget it.

For once, he's happy his head is disjointed from the rest of his body because if it wasn't, he'd probably sink to the bottom of the ocean from the fluid in his belly alone.

The taste of salt and sand stays like a sour afterthought on his tongue, and as much as he tries to spit it out, he can't be rid of all the grains. "Fuck! Give me a warning next time, will ya?! Kinda vulnerable to seawater and all that!"

Whatever fish-guy has him strapped to their back this time does not dignify his complaints with a verbal response. Instead, all he hears is a couple of snickers, like their humor is fuelled at his expense. 

Assholes, the lot of them. 

It takes some time for the tangy scent to abandon his nostrils, but once it does, it's immediately replaced by the fine scent of something divine. Something delicious. 

It smells of food. Actual fucking human food. Not whatever Arlong and his litter gorge on, which he personally believes to be carcasses of dead sea animals they happen to catch on the shores of their island. 

It's honest-to-god cooked, seasoned, edible food.

Buggy can feel his mouth water, and for once, he cannot blame it on seawater.

They're finally at Baratie.

The finest restaurant in all the East Blue, renowned for its excellent taste and unrivaled quality. Only the richest of the rich get to dine here, and while he's not exactly flowing with berries at the moment, he’s famished.

“Hey, Lips!" he yells out as loud as he can through the shitty bag. "How about you order me some hot dogs once we get a seat? A clown's gotta eat!"

The only sort of response he gets is an elbow to the bag, which incidentally clashes right into his nose. "FUCK!"

"Shut up!"

There's scuttling to be heard, doors opening, and a shitton of gasps echo from all around him. They have an audience, he deduces, and not a particularly receptive one at that. 

Arlong makes a spectacle, something about "serve" and yish and yash about dinner and last meals as they get a seat.

Fuck, what he would give for a meal.

For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels solid ground settle under his neck. Though it's a pleasant reprieve from being thrown back and forth like a yarn ball caught in a cat’s game, he won’t consider it much of an upgrade. He's fucking hungry, damnit!

"Who are you, old man?" Arlong speaks, and Buggy hears uneven steps approach them.

An unfamiliar voice answers. "My name's Zeff, and I own this place."

Right, the Chief. Maybe he can ask him for some crumbs since his captors aren’t exactly on the generous side.

"Well, I'm Arlong, and I own the East Blue."

"No one owns the sea. Not even a fish man."

Ooooh, burn! Suck on that, shitface!

"Listen up!” Arlong exclaims when the chief’s negotiation tactics fail to appease him. “I'm looking for a pirate in a straw hat! Goes by the name of Luffy!"

The saw-nosed motherfucker truly has to be even more extravagant than himself, Buggy admits to himself with no short amount of begrudging compliance. Fishface even goes as far as to threaten the poor diners with having them for dinner instead, by the sounds of it. 

Buggy can appreciate the message it conveys; he’s used it himself, but he refuses to find any common ground with his captor, so he buries the sentiment ten feet down into wherever the hell his body is.

He listens as the diners lose their appetite, all the while Arlong begins to gorge on whatever he has on his plate. For a while, all he can make out is the sound of meat being torn off something and the occasional cry from one of the diners in the distance.

Even from miles and miles away, Buggy can feel his stomach twist painfully due to the lack of food in it. Oh, it’s hell on earth to smell everything you want yet being unable to even grasp it. And here his captors are, toying with him, torturing him with it.

Seriously, fuck them.

He’s about to demand to get something to chew on when Arlong’s other henchman — Kuroobi or some shit like that — beats him to it. "Hey, boss, I'm feeling for a bottle right about now."

Arlong laughs. "Don’t have to tell me. Take what you please. I don’t think that one will mind sharing one of hers.”

“And get one for me too while you’re at it,” Lips supplies.

The henchman cackles and gets up to his feet to retrieve what he’s looking for, but not before lightly kicking the bag that is Buggy’s current prison cell in the side. 

“HEY!”

“Sorry.” He apologizes unapologetically.

Buggy grinds his teeth together and tries to think of something — anything — to keep his mind off his ever-rising hunger. When he gets his body back, he'll take some bottles and shove them right up these fuckers a—

CRASH!

Buggy hears the sound of something breaking from the opposite side of where the fish man just headed. Countless gasps ring through the restaurant’s interior, bouncing on the walls, and he hears the henchman’s painful wails from a distance away.

He’d laugh - he does laugh, because it seems like someone didn’t want to share their precious drinks and decided that full-on attacking one of the fish people was the appropriate kind of response.

It’s impressive, he thinks. Very much so. Oh, he’d pay to see that again, and he’ll have to give that person a fucking kiss, just for making his day a little bit better.

It’s a shame he can’t see the—

"Fucking get lost."

Buggy feels his head freeze in the bag.

He recognizes that voice. The morning sun shone atop the ship deck. Warm. Cold. All of them at once. 

He's finally found you.

---

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku, @ay0nha, @teh-vampire-bunny, @lokiscure, @internationalsuper-spy, @detectivesparrow , @yuriwk , @notyuralycat , @angeli-fucking-cat, @machinema7k , @shuujin, @avatar-lover, @gingernut1314, @autumn-slaves. @marvelouskatie, @floristoflillys, @dizzyenby, @redpool, @deliri-yum22, @aemondsb1tch, @ackroxia, @gayandfairycore (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or leave a comment :))

[mustangphobia]

on sunny days, i go out walking. i end up on a tree-lined street. i look up at the gaps of sunlight,

i miss you more than anything.

[lizziespoem]

dalmatians cupid | nanami ͏⸺ one shot

͏⸺Various hilarious faces and figures hid in the angel-white cloud seam, over foaming the blue sky like the gently rushing waves of calm sea and the pink blossoms of the fairytale cherry trees scattered like the glorious dreams of the pedestrians over the freshly mowed meadows as the roofs of the tall buildings shone on the horizon and the wind chases the scent of the blooming wildflowers through the small gaps between the towering trees. Purple and blue plums hung from the branches of the trees, waiting to be picked up, clutched by the thorny bushes of black blackberries and the little hidden currant bushes, it was truly a colorful sea of a thousand colors.

A slight warmth tingled under your chest as you were under the green leaves hiding from the bright sunshine, your legs were folded over each other and on your lap laid one of the oldest books you had ever owned, but you loved with all your heart, while next to the park bench and next to you your beloved Dalmatian had laid down on the grass and enjoyed like the sun rays shone on his black spots, the red leash of your dog was stuck under your thighs.

It was one of your well-deserved days off and you couldn’t imagine anything better than sitting between the fluttering butterflies and the fragrant flowers, while your eyes were fixed on one of your favorite books and your dog beside you peacefully enjoying the peace, there were rarely moments in which you were so calm.

So absorbed in the lines of your book, you did not noticed as your dog pulled her ears back and lifted her head slightly to look around before her gaze landed on another Dalmatian, her tail began to wag frantically and it took her only a second when your dog pulled out the leash under your thigh and started to run towards the other dog.

It was almost after five as the tall blonde man looked at the watch around his wrist, letting a small sigh leaving his mouth as if he didn't wanted to believe that the time ran away from him, when his angelic boy came to him and after an attentive barking the dog his head rubbed against Kentos leg to extract a rough laugh from his throat as he stroked the head of his dog “I know, i know, it's time for a walk”

Kento Nanami could not deny that his time was limited and he probably would never have bought a dog himself, but when he had discovered the little Dalmatian on the street at that one night he did not have the heart to leave him a shelter and took him home with him.

The tall men stretched his upper body before pulling his shirt down, after it had slipped a slight bit higher, his gaze fell to his blazer leaning over the back of his chair, but he shakes his head as he leans over to his desk letting his hand slip through the fur of the white cat, that was sleeping between the stacking papers “try to make not too much of a mess”

Kento could feel the hasty footsteps of his dog by the ruffled pulling on the dark leash, and although the man had a tremendous strength in his body, was it his dog that had pulled him through half the park until his steps became slower and more cautious, when Kento decided to look around and trying to find the reason of the behavior of his dog and then his gaze caught you.

He couldn't deny that even by the look of your back you looked astonishing, the way the sunlight peeked through the dancing leaves letting small rays of sunshine lighting some strands of your hair, the way your back was a little bit bent as you sat on the dark blue bench under the willow tree, he would certainly have noticed more things about you if his dog had pulled the leash out of his hand and started to run towards you.

Helplessly you try to call your dog’s name in the hope that she would turn around, but she didn't and all you had left was to run after her and try to grab the leash, just like Kento, you ran after your dog and tried to reach for the leash, however before you could catch the end of the red leash your dalmatian had already stopped running unlike Kento, who covered the end of the leash with his hand.

“are you okay, madam?” Kento cleared his throat in embarrassment and scratched the back of his head with his free hand, slightly straining his arm as he studied your face, when you politely smiled at him with a nod “yes, thank you. forgive me if…”

Everything you wanted to do was to apologize if your dog irritated his dog, but before you could apologize, you felt like something wrapping around your legs and as your eyes fell down you saw the dark leash of the other dog wrapped around your legs and the legs of the man as the leash pulled them closely together, but before either of you could react, it was already too late and you two are losing your balance falling into the small pond of the park.

The hands of Kento grabbed you by your waist as he tried to lift you above his body so you wouldn't touch the muddy ground of the pond and with a loud splash the two of you landed in the cold water, elicited a little scream out of your throat as you feel the cold water touching you.

“did you hurt yourself, madam?” the blonde man asked as soon as the scream left you mouth looking at you laying over his chest, as your hair was falling into your face and all of your strains were dripping wet, gently his hand stroked the wet strains behind your ear to take a look at your face to see if you were alright “I must apologize about my dog”

Kento would have expected anything that you would shout at him or even insult him for the foolishness of his dog, but to his surprise, the corners of your mouth moved up and a heartfelt laugh crawled out of your stomach, causing a strange warmth to fill the empty space around his heart as his lips couldn't help but smile.

“I must say I’ve outdone myself again for embarrassment” he whispered as he looked at you, letting his hands travel to your chest under your arms to help you up at the muddy pond while he was standing up by himself. The both of you were soaking wet as the water drop ran down on your bodies and soaked water in your clothes dripped on the surface of the pond, as a sweet smile light up on your glossy lips “well I'm glad to share this experience with you”

Again the corners of his mouth lifted and he lifted his shirt a little bit to wring out the fabric, exposing the defined abs that were hidden behind the fabric “I couldn't imagine anyone better to share this with”

“I am Kento Nanami” he charmingly holded his hand in front of you as you take it to shake it gently “y/n y/ln”

Kento was the first to carefully climb out of the pond, then stretch out his hands to you so you could embrace them with yours and climb out easier without even fearing to slip on the muddy ground inside the pond again as your eyes fell onto your both dog, mindlessly laying on the grass while innocently looking at Kento and you.

“I truly apologize for ruining your clothes” he tried to apologize again as he ran his hands through his wet blonde hair, studying the wet fabric hugging and sticking to your body. His thoughts wandered back when his fingers had embraced your waist, he couldn’t help wishing to touch it again and even though he didn't wanted to escape his thoughts, he cleared his throat and asked “Do you want me to take you home?”

Your gaze wanders to your Dalmatian who gently tilted her head when you nodded to accept his offer “That would be really nice”

Maybe it was meant to be, the thought was crawling into the mind of Kento as he walked next to the passing cars looking over his right shoulder listening to you rambling about your beloved book as he couldn't help getting drunk with every word that left your mouth. In his eyes you looked like one of those dreams a painter must have to create a masterpiece, you shone like a sky full of stars yet too mesmerizing to touch, you spoke like an idea a writer would have yet too unique and complex to describe.

As soon as you stopped walking his gaze landed on the building behind you, traveling down at your dogs before looking back into your eyes “Would you go out with me by any chance? I may not have made the best impression, but I’d really like to see you again”

Your cheeks burned as you smiled “Yes, i would like that”

© 2023 LIZZIESPOEM. please do not copy any of my writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[lombemu]

On sunny days, I go out walking

I end up on a tree-lined street

I look up at the gaps of sunlight

I miss you more than anything

[muridae3]

Francis Forever | Harvey x Reader

Harvey reflects on his mistakes when it comes to the farmer.

Based on the song Francis Forever by Mitski

I don’t know what to do without you

Harvey laid awake in bed, unable to sleep but unsure what to do with himself.

I don’t know where to put my hands

He felt so small and alone.

I’ve been trying to lay my head down

Sleep had evaded him since that night.

But I’m writing this at three AM

He looked over at his alarm clock, cringing at the blinking numbers— 3:00 AM. 

He already knew that he would be miserable at work.

But, his patients were important to him, and he resolved to be the best doctor he could, even if that meant starting his day at three in the morning.

I don’t need the world to see that I’ve been the best I can be

After taking a long shower and putting on a fresh set of clothes, Harvey felt much more like himself. He knew he would probably look more disheveled than usual, but he found himself not caring what his clients thought of him. Even though it was only five in the morning, he decided to tackle some paperwork that had been sitting in a forgotten pile at the front desk. 

But I don't think I could stand to be

Harvey worked until the sun came up, satisfied at the slow but steady depletion of papers from the stack. After grabbing a cup of coffee, undoubtedly the first of many to come, he sat back at the front desk, ready and able to help anyone that needed it. 

Where you don't see me

The front door to the clinic opened, and Harvey jumped, half expecting and half fearing the farmer’s presence. But that was a silly thought, wasn’t it? After all, the farmer probably never wanted to see him again after the stunt he pulled.

It was just Maru, arriving for her shift. Harvey relinquished the front desk chair to her before heading back to his office, busying himself with more paperwork and distracting himself from the crushing weight of his thoughts. All too soon, the clock struck noon, and Harvey decided to step out. The fresh air would be good for him. 

On sunny days I go out walking

After picking up some food from the saloon, Harvey sat in the small grassy area next to the town square as he always did. The food was delicious, as always, but after he was finished eating, he didn’t necessarily feel like going back to the clinic. He decided to stretch his legs with a short walk.

I end up on a tree-lined street

Harvey wasn’t quite sure how he ended up at the bus stop. It was peaceful—the trees and flowers looked especially pretty in the fall. 

I look up at the gaps of sunlight

Harvey turned his face towards the sun, trying to avoid looking at the road leading to the farm. Maybe it would improve his mood�� after all, sunlight does help the body produce serotonin. 

I miss you more than anything

As he felt the warmth on his face, he heard the sounds of nature and subconsciously thought about what the farmer might be doing. He tried to push them from his mind, but they kept coming back– their smile, their laugh, and their little gifts to him filling his mind’s eye.

I don’t need the world to see that I’ve been the best I can be

Thinking of them reminded him of his own regret. He had been so afraid of what others might think—of the gossip that might spread through town—that he had pushed them away. It was a mistake, an incredibly stupid mistake, fueled by his own self-loathing. 

But I don't think I could stand to be

He opened his eyes, looking down the path leading to the farm.

Where you don’t see me

He took a shaky breath and started towards the farm, trying to organize what he would say in his mind. He owed them an explanation, at the very least. 

And autumn comes and you’re not yet done with the summer passing by

He had spent almost the entire summer with the farmer, and he didn’t care then what the townspeople would have to say. So why was it, then, that he cared so much about what others thought now? He had held feelings for the farmer for weeks now, and he had thrown them away when they were returned, like an absolute idiot. He had tainted those beautiful summer memories with his own self loathing.

But I don't think I could stand to be

He stopped in front of the farmhouse. Even if they never wanted to see him again, he knew he’d sleep better after telling them how he truly felt.

Where you don’t see me

He knocked on the door, swallowing his rising anxiety.

“Harvey? What are you doing here?” The farmer’s voice was laced with confusion. “You don’t look well. Are you okay?”

“I had to see you,” Harvey said quickly, suddenly wishing he had tidied up before coming. “I needed to— I— just—”

“Come inside,” the farmer urged, guiding him to the kitchen table. “What’s wrong? You’re pale as a ghost.”

Harvey’s gaze drifted to the bouquet on the kitchen counter—the one meant for him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

“I came to say… I’m sorry,” he finally managed, unable to meet their eyes. “I’m so sorry.” He blinked back tears that threatened to spill over.

“Harvey…” The farmer sighed softly. “It’s not your fault. You don’t have to return my feelings just because I have them. I should have understood your signals better. This is on me.”

“It’s not that,” Harvey said, his voice trembling. “It’s not that at all. It’s my fault. I was afraid... afraid of what people might think. This amazing new farmer moves to town, and they choose Doctor Harvey, of all people? How lame is that? It could ruin your reputation. That’s what scared me.”

“Harvey… I don’t care about that, and you know it. If people judge me for being with you, so be it.”

He looked at them, startled by their certainty. “You… you really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” they replied, a small smile spreading across their face. “I think you’re pretty cool, even if no one else does.”

“...even though my only hobbies are airplanes and aerobics?”

“Even though your only hobbies are airplanes and aerobics,” they said, their smile widening. “And, for the record, I don’t think those hobbies are lame at all.” They reached for the bouquet on the counter and held it out to him. “I like you just the way you are, Doctor Harvey, and I would be honored if you’d be my boyfriend.”

Harvey blinked, taken aback. “You… you really mean that?”

“If you’ll have me.” they said, a blush coloring their cheeks.

Harvey took the bouquet, then pulled the farmer into his arms, hoping he could be everything they deserved.

[blackberryjambaby]

when mitski said on sunny days i go out walking i end up on a tree lined street i look up at the gaps of sunlight i miss you more than anything. so true girl i am always saying this

[gunnrblze]

Mayhaps Ghosts as Mitski songs if you’re up to that..?

Absolutely anon! Basing these mainly off lyrics tbh because I really fw Mitski’s beautifully heart shattering, emotionally compromising lyrics ≧◡≦

Hesh- I Bet on Losing Dogs (“my baby, my baby. You’re my baby, say it to me. Baby, my baby. Tell your baby that I’m your baby”, “I’ll be there on their side, I’m losing by their side” YEOWCHHH! Talk about the family dynamic there😁 IM CRYING!)

Logan- First Love/Late Spring (“and I was so young when I behaved 25, yet now I find I’ve grown into a tall child” stop actually. they grew up too fast)

Elias- Brand New City (hear me out I’m just getting the vibe. “I think my fate is losing its patience, I think the ground is pulling me down, I think my life is losing momentum, I think my ways are wearing me down”. This old man omg😭)

Merrick- Abbey (“I am something, I have been something, I was born something, what could I be?”, “there is a dream that I sometimes see, that only appears in the dark of sleep” this very much just feels like him to me)

Keegan- Francis Forever (It’s giving him and Ajax tbh (and also Hesh and Logan, it was hard to decide) “I end up on a tree lined street, I look up at the gaps of sunlight, I miss you more than anything. I don’t need the world to see that I’ve been the best I can be but, I don’t think I can stand to be where you don’t see me” EMOTIONAL ALERT!)

Kick- My Love Mine All Mine (this definitely feels like him, at least how I imagine him hehe. “Moon, tell me if I could, send up my heart to you? So when I die, which I must do, could it shine down here with you?”, “Nothing in the world belongs to me. But my love mine, all mine, all mine”)

Rorke- I’m Your Man (yes this is entirely about him and Elias to me. “You’re an angel, im a dog. Or you’re a dog and I’m your man. You believe me like a god, I’ll destroy you like i am. I’m sorry I’m the one you love, no one will ever love me like you again”. “you believe me like a god, I’ll betray you like a man” HELLOOOO?!,&?,!)

[ophii]

on sunny days i go out walking / i end up on a tree-lined street / i look up at the gaps of sunlight / i miss you more than anything

stuff below cut -

speedpaint + brightened version!!

[wickedlyrefined]

P.O.V Part II - The Death Reversed

I don't know what to do without you | I don't know where to put my hands | On sunny days I go out walking | I end up on a tree-lined street | I look up at the gaps of sunlight | I miss you more than anything | I don't need the world to see | That I've been the best I can be

Já fazia mais de um ano que Verônica havia se casado com Francis, e tudo parecia simplesmente perfeito. Seus dias eram repletos de alegria e tranquilidade, como se cada peça estivesse em seu devido lugar. Não havia incertezas; ela se sentia segura e amada. Sua felicidade aumentou ainda mais ao descobrir que estava grávida, e agora, ansiava por todas as possibilidades de um futuro promissor. Ter filhos fruto do amor que compartilhava com Francis era uma bênção aos seus olhos, e ela sabia que amaria aquela criança mais do que a si mesma, protegendo-a de tudo que pudesse lhe fazer mal, como uma boa mãe deve fazer. Claro, sentia um certo nervosismo, especialmente por ter perdido a própria mãe aos treze anos, uma fase crucial para qualquer jovem dama. Contudo, contava com o apoio de sua velha amiga Prudence, com quem havia estreitado os laços desde que Sophie partira sem deixar notícias.

—Você acha que vai ser um garoto ou uma garota? Sabe, por mais que fosse adorar um novo amigo para o meu Richard, se fosse uma garota poderia significar uma união de nossas famílias no futuro, não seria perfeito?! — Prudence parecia animada com aquela perspectiva acabando por deixar seu chá completamente de lado, Verônica por outro lado sorria de maneira gentil ainda que não parecesse tão certa assim das intenções da melhor amiga. 

—Acho que é muito cedo para dizer, querida Prudence, mas se for uma garota, certamente poderá acontecer no futuro caso os dois venham a se apaixonar… — Concluiu esperando que Prudence aceitasse, já que Verônica não tinha quaisquer pretensões de forçar qualquer um de seus filhos em um casamento sem amor ou indesejado, apenas os guiaria para fazerem as melhores escolhas, é claro. E por mais que jamais fosse o dizer em voz alta, considerava o pequeno garotinho de Prudence que agora tinha cerca de dezoito meses um tanto feio e malcriado, mas tinha certeza de que poderia crescer para se tornar um belo e respeitoso rapaz com a boa criação da amiga. 

—Você segue ingênua como nunca, minha amiga, nem todos têm a sorte que você teve ao se casar por amor e bem… E por mais que aspire tais coisas para suas crianças, aprenderá com o tempo que a praticidade é o mais indicado… Mas tenho certeza de que nossos filhos crescendo juntos certamente poderão encontrar o amor um no outro ou amizade verdadeira ao menos! — Mesmo com aquelas palavras, a Tremaine sabia que Prudence não aceitaria a ideia de uma simples amizade tão facilmente. Ainda que fizesse sentido, considerando que as duas haviam crescido juntas e criado uma amizade através disso, curiosamente o mesmo havia acontecido com Francis e o marido de Prudence, que possuíam uma amizade de muitos anos. Talvez fosse destinado que as famílias fossem amigas. —Mas não deixe de pensar no quão perfeito seria um casamento entre nossas famílias! Nos tornaria ainda mais próximas, não seria magnífico?

E lá estava de novo a persistente Prudence, Lady Tremaine se resignou a sorrir e acenar com a cabeça e beber um gole do chá de camomila. Se tornando mais uma ouvinte do que qualquer outra coisa na conversa que se sucedeu, ainda que quando a melhor amiga casualmente mencionou que se o futuro as abençoasse de unir as famílias significaria que estariam unidas para sempre, amigas para sempre. A frase sendo o suficiente para que despertasse memórias que havia tentado ao máximo esquecer, mas como ela poderia esquecer a pessoa mais encantadora que já havia conhecido? Por vezes a loira ainda aparecia nos sonhos da Tremaine quase como um lembrete constante de algo que havia perdido, algo que viu escapar por entre seus dedos e com isso vinha o pensamento de que talvez para sempre não durasse tanto assim. 

Mesmo com Francis insistindo que viajaria com ela até a casa de Reginald Sinclair, ela garantiu que não havia necessidade, estava grávida de seis meses, mas na companhia de uma criada já seria o suficiente. Até por que se fosse considerar os enjoos de Francis sempre entrava em uma carruagem, tinha certeza de que ela mesma passaria mal e era melhor evitar isso, mesmo que significasse ter de ficar longe de seu amado por pelo menos três ou quatro dias. Desde que havia se casado, o pai havia vendido a propriedade na cidade e optado por uma vida mais pacata no interior do reino, sempre havia amado a natureza e os animais bem mais do que a vida na alta sociedade. Agora que era mais velha, reconhecia que o pai havia sacrificado seus próprios interesses e preferências apenas para a felicidade dela e sua mãe, algo do qual ela seria eternamente grata. Sentia que já não estava apta a correr com o peso da barriga, mas ainda assim se permitiu uma pequena corrida quando desceu da carruagem e viu o pai à sua espera, quase pulando nele em um abraço. Sabia que a Mary, sua criada, ficaria surpresa com sua súbita falta de modos, mas não se importava com nenhuma daquelas bobagens no momento atual. 

—Papai! Eu estava morrendo de saudades do senhor! Tenho tantas coisas para lhe contar! 

Exclamou animada enquanto soltava o pai do abraço e era guiada para dentro da propriedade, instruiu os criados que vieram consigo de onde deveriam deixar a bagagem e depois os dispensou pelo resto do dia para que descansasse ou explorassem a propriedade como bem quisessem, detestaria os fazer trabalhar quando não havia a necessidade e acreditava que um passeio no campo ou no pequeno vilarejo poderia os alegrar. E claro, acreditava que seria bom ter certa privacidade para com suas conversas com o pai. Não possuía nada para esconder, mas também não desejava que os criados interpretassem errado e levassem informações errôneas para o marido. E por mais que ainda não tivesse falado nada, era transparente demais para que o pai não demorasse a perceber que havia algo a mais na súbita visita. 

—Sabe que pode me contar o que lhe aflige, criança, nunca fui de julgar ninguém, essa tarefa era muito mais bem executada por sua mãe. — Apesar do comentário Reginald sorria com certo apreço, os olhos brilhando com certa nostalgia e saudade. Algo que surpreendeu um pouco a Tremaine, já que sempre esteve certa de que os pais não casaram por amor. 

—Mamãe sempre um pouco difícil… Mas acho que ela ficaria contente de saber que me casei com Francis já que ele é um barão. 

—Entendo de onde esse pensamento vem já que sua mãe sempre foi uma mulher prática… Mas lhe garanto que ela ficaria feliz de saber que você está feliz, que se casou com seu tão sonhado amor verdadeiro. — O sorriso gentil no rosto do Sinclair transparecia honestidade, mesmo que fosse difícil para que Verônica imaginasse a mãe ficando feliz com sentimentos e não com a ideia de estabilidade financeira. 

—Não sei dizer se consigo imaginar a mamãe feliz com algo assim, mas sobre isso, existe algo que eu gostaria de lhe perguntar… — Viu o pai assentiu com a cabeça, mas ainda assim demorou alguns segundos até continuar, ponderando como colocaria seus questionamentos em palavras. —O senhor acha que existe um único amor verdadeiro por toda a vida? Nas histórias que me contava parecia ser sempre assim… 

—Não considero que nada seja tão extremo ou definitivo dessa forma, diga-me, você amava apenas a mim ou apenas a sua mãe? Deixou de amar quando ela morreu?

—Claro que não! Mas não é a mesma coisa. Estou falando de amor verdadeiro. — Explicou um pouco melhor, pode ver um brilho no olhar do Sinclair de quem ponderava a melhor resposta para aquela questão, mesmo que não tivesse todas as informações necessárias para tal. 

—Me diga, minha filha, você me ama verdadeiramente com todo seu coração? — Verônica não pensou por um segundo sequer antes de assentir com a cabeça, mas antes que pudesse o interromper, Reginald seguiu. —Isso é amor verdadeiro, por mais que as histórias que eu tenha lhe contado fizessem sempre parecer algo romântico, o amor verdadeiro vem em diversas formas ao longo da nossa vida… E um jamais anula o outro, quando se ama alguém tão profundamente nem mesmo a morte pode destruir esse sentimento e resta a nós viver contentes pelos bons momentos que tivemos com essas pessoas. Mesmo que a criança ainda não tenha nascido, você a ama, não ama? 

—Claro que amo, com todo meu coração, acho que só não esperava que amor verdadeiro fosse ser algo tão complexo… Mas você acha que é possível amar romanticamente e verdadeiramente mais de uma pessoa? — No momento que a pergunta saiu de seus lábios o arrependimento foi imediato, mesmo que o pai não parecesse exatamente surpreso. —Esqueça, é uma pergunta tola e nada decente para uma lady. 

—Não há problemas em sentir, Verônica, ainda que sempre iremos ter de fazer escolhas… E quando se trata de amor não existem escolhas certas ou erradas, cada escolha leva a um caminho diferente, falo por experiência… Muitos anos atrás, eu escolhi sua mãe e mesmo que ela nunca tenha sido capaz de retribuir da mesma forma não me arrependo de minha escolha, por que me trouxe você. — Reginald sorriu com simplicidade, aquela era a primeira vez que ouvia o pai admitir de certa forma que havia amado a esposa e foi o suficiente para Verônica fosse até ele e o abraçasse. Ele riu. —Mais carinhosa? Talvez o barão realmente esteja sendo uma boa influência para você.

—Papai! Eu sempre fui carinhosa com o senhor… Certo, talvez não tanto, mas você sabe como a mamãe era. — Foi tudo que disse enquanto se afastava do abraço, agora um pouco mais serena, sentia que entendia tudo que precisava naquele momento. Arregalou os olhos ao sentir um chute e prontamente levou a mão do pai até a barriga, um sorriso bobo nos lábios de ambos. —Parece que ela ou ele ou vai gostar muito de carinho ou ser bem avessa à ideia! 

—Seja como for, eu farei questão de encher essa criança de carinhos e mimos. Já tem alguma ideia de possíveis nomes?

—Tenho sim… Se for um menino terá seu nome e se for uma menina terá o nome da mamãe, as pessoas que mais amo na vida, achei que seria justo. 

O resto de sua estadia com o Sr.Sinclair foi alegre e calorosa, até mesmo os criados pareciam se divertir com as histórias contadas por Reginald e eram contagiados por sua alegria e vivacidade. Contudo, mesmo que amasse o tempo passado com o pai, tudo que conseguia pensar era o quanto sentia a falta do marido e como ansiava por estar em sua presença outra vez. E mesmo tão distante, ela tinha plena certeza de que era da mesma forma para Francis, mesmo que ele não soubesse colocar em palavras, ela sentia através de suas demonstrações de carinho.

Duas semanas após o nascimento de Drizella, a euforia e o cansaço dos primeiros dias de maternidade se misturavam ao sentimento agridoce que assombrava Verônica. A alegria da chegada de sua filha era intensa, mas cada sorriso parecia incompleto, marcado pela ausência de Reginald, que partira antes mesmo de conhecer a neta. Ela não conseguia ignorar a dor que apertava seu peito, um misto de saudade e arrependimento por não ter passado mais tempo com ele durante a última visita.

Francis, sempre atento, notava o vazio nos olhos de Verônica e decidiu levá-la para um passeio no parque próximo de casa. O dia estava ensolarado, o céu azul claro e sem nuvens, e uma leve brisa passava entre as árvores, balançando as folhas como se fosse uma saudação sutil da natureza. Eles caminhavam em silêncio, Drizella aconchegada nos braços de Verônica, com as pequenas mãos fechadas e o rosto sereno em meio aos lençóis. Francis, sempre ao lado, mantinha-se atento a cada expressão dela, como se quisesse aliviar o fardo que sabia que estava ali.

—Ele ficaria tão orgulhoso de você, Verônica. Sabe disso, não sabe? — Disse ele, parando sob a sombra de uma grande árvore e olhando nos olhos dela, esperando que pudesse alcançar algo além da tristeza. Verônica respirou fundo, sentindo as lágrimas ameaçarem cair. Sabia que Francis estava certo, mas a ausência do pai era ainda muito recente, muito dolorosa.

—Gostaria tanto que ele a tivesse conhecido... — Sua voz saiu em um sussurro, quase inaudível. —Tanta coisa mudou desde a última vez que estive com ele. Parecia que ele ainda tinha tanto a viver.

Francis a envolveu com o braço livre, apertando-a de leve e olhando para Drizella. Havia algo de reconfortante em vê-la tão pacífica, alheia ao que os adultos ao seu redor estavam enfrentando. Depois de um longo momento, ele falou, com aquele tom tranquilo e resoluto que sempre trazia um pouco de paz a Verônica.

—Mesmo que ele não esteja aqui para conhecê-la, podemos homenageá-lo. Manter viva sua memória, sua presença... Eu pensei em plantar algumas flores em seu nome. Quem sabe lírios-aranha vermelhos, lá no jardim? — Sugeriu ele, lançando um leve sorriso, como se quisesse compartilhar com ela um propósito. Verônica ergueu o rosto para ele, seus olhos ainda marejados, mas com uma pequena centelha de esperança. Os lírios-aranha -vermelhos, que sempre foram uma das flores favoritas do pai e Francis, simbolizavam tanto a saudade quanto a beleza de algo que se foi, e Verônica sabia que essa seria uma maneira perfeita de mantê-lo próximo. Ela assentiu levemente, um novo calor preenchendo seu peito.

—Acho que ele gostaria disso… — Murmurou, suavemente. —E talvez, um dia, eu possa contar a ela sobre o avô que teria feito qualquer coisa por nós.

Francis apertou sua mão, e, juntos, eles ficaram ali, sob a sombra, como uma promessa silenciosa de que manteriam a memória de Reginald viva. Enquanto o sol brilhava através das folhas, criando pequenos pontos de luz no chão, Verônica sentiu que, apesar da dor, ainda havia uma nova esperança de felicidade, como Francis prometera. Com ele e Drizella ao seu lado, ela sabia que, de alguma forma, eles sempre encontrariam o caminho de volta à alegria.

Anos se passaram e aos poucos ela conseguiu se reerguer com o auxílio de Francis e sua amiga, Prudence. O nascimento de Anastasia, o nome sendo em homenagem à falecida mãe de Francis, foi uma grande alegria para todos na casa. Talvez fosse pela escolha de nomes ou apenas uma coincidência que ambas tivessem nascido ruivas como as avós, ainda que nenhum dos pais compartilhasse daquela tonalidade de cabelo. Contudo, em busca de manter a memória da mãe viva e de sentir mais próximas com as filhas, Verônica passou a pintar os cabelos de forma que sempre as reconhecessem como uma família onde quer que fossem. Novamente tudo parecia simplesmente perfeito, mesmo que ainda sentisse a falta de seu pai todos os dias, havia aprendido a viver com aquela dor sabendo que possuía apoio. A agora ruiva, sentia que o futuro seria promissor e recheado de felicidade e alegria! Exceto de que não foi bem assim que as coisas aconteceram… 

O tempo parecia ter congelado desde a partida de Francis. Verônica sentia-se mergulhada em um luto tão profundo que, por mais que tentasse, não conseguia encontrar o chão. A doença fora rápida e cruel, deixando-a desamparada, sem que ela tivesse tempo de absorver cada instante ao lado dele. Ela lembrava-se de como ele tentara confortá-la, mesmo nos dias em que a dor o consumia, e agora o silêncio que restara parecia gritante. Prudence, fiel e solícita, buscava apoiá-la sempre que possível, mas Verônica mal conseguia encontrar palavras. Era como se qualquer tentativa de consolo fosse engolida por um abismo, algo que ninguém poderia preencher.

Ela queria ser forte pelas filhas, sabia que era o que Francis teria desejado, mas a força lhe escapava a cada manhã em que acordava e ele não estava ali. O peso de ser tudo para as meninas parecia esmagador, e, ainda assim, o vazio permanecia, imutável. Em um dia claro, Prudence sugeriu que saíssem com as crianças para um passeio no parque, pensando que a brisa fresca e o brilho do sol pudessem trazer algum conforto. Verônica aceitou, ainda que hesitante, desejando, ao menos, oferecer às meninas um pouco de normalidade em meio à escuridão que sentia.

As árvores ao redor balançavam ao ritmo do vento suave, e Verônica observava as folhas dançarem, como se fossem fragmentos de dias passados. Drizella e Anastasia corriam pelo gramado, rindo sob os cuidados da babá, enquanto Verônica as observava à distância. Mas em vez de consolo, cada riso das meninas trazia à tona lembranças de Francis — a maneira como ele as embalava nos braços, seus olhos brilhando ao vê-las sorrir. Sua ausência se tornava mais vívida, quase insuportável, como se ele estivesse ali, mas longe o suficiente para nunca mais alcançá-lo.

Em meio ao som distante de risadas, Verônica sentiu uma onda de memórias, nítidas e dolorosas, ressurgir. Ela se recordava de suas caminhadas com ele, dos planos que fizeram, dos sonhos que tinham para o futuro. Seu coração parecia quebrar novamente, pedaço por pedaço, e ela teve que se segurar para não desmoronar ali, no parque. Cada detalhe ao seu redor — as árvores, o céu claro, o riso inocente das meninas — tornava a ausência de Francis ainda mais devastadora, um lembrete de tudo o que ele significara para ela e que jamais poderia ser substituído.

Ela tentou forçar um sorriso para as meninas quando elas se aproximaram, pequenas mãos estendidas, cheias de folhas e flores. Mas o vazio dentro de si não permitia. Tudo o que pôde fazer foi segurar as mãos delas, apertando com mais força do que pretendia, como se esse simples contato pudesse sustentá-la, pelo menos por mais um dia. E talvez com a expressão não tão amigável já que não demoraram muito a começar a chorar e pedir desculpas, mesmo que não entendessem pelo que… Verônica sentiu o coração afundar no peito outra vez, tentou dizer que não era necessário desculpas e que tudo estava bem, mas sua voz soava ríspida demais para as crianças. 

E assim os anos se passaram, todos os dias ela lutava pra ficar de pé e seguir em frente, mas simplesmente não conseguia e se perguntava como seu pai havia conseguido, se perguntava por que ela era tão fraca. Não queria perder os importantes momentos da vida das filhas, mas sempre que tentava se aproximar parecia apenas as assustar ou machucar, sentia que a única forma era as manter em certa distância de si para que sofressem menos. Claro, não queria que pensassem que ela não se importava e por isso compensava com diversos presentes, comprava tudo que as filhas pudessem desejar, ao menos isso parecia as alegrar um pouco. E conforme o tempo passava, as garotas iam aos poucos esquecendo de Francis, especialmente Anastasia por ser a mais jovem e quando ela tentava perguntar qualquer coisa a Verônica… Simplesmente não conseguia a responder, apenas a mandava de volta para o quarto como se tivesse feito algo errado, tudo para que a Tremaine mais jovem não a visse chorar e ela sabia que acabaria chorando no momento que falasse do falecido marido. 

Até mesmo Prudence foi deixada de lado, porque Verônica sentia que seria um fardo para qualquer amizade, ainda que sua melhor amiga era insistente demais para que deixasse de a visitar ou a abandonasse por uma simples grosseria ou palavra torta. Não era como se Verônica não desejasse ser feliz outra vez ou simplesmente seguir em frente, apenas não encontrava forças para o fazer. Em toda sua vida sempre esteve mais do que ciente de que não era uma princesa como a das histórias que o pai contava, que jamais encontraria um príncipe encantado com o qual teria um felizes para sempre. Mas havia encontrado o amor verdadeiro em Francis, não entendia por que logo ela tinha de perder uma das únicas pessoas que ainda lhe restava, porque teve de ver o marido partir tão precocemente. Simplesmente não conseguia entender ou deixar tudo aquilo para trás, não quando doía tanto, mesmo depois de anos era como se o luto ainda fosse uma parte intrínseca na vida da Tremaine. As vezes, pra sempre não é tão longo quanto esperávamos. 

[tojifile]

I love your Dazai and fyodors pieces!!!

Can I request about S/o who is close to their edge?( I forgot the term sorry!) Like one more thing and they will snap? S/o really have a bad day!! With Fyodor please<33

( I really have a bad day:(()

Fyodor Dostoevsky: Fedya Forever

“I don't think I can stand to be where you don't see me..” -Mitski

Genre: Hurt-Comfort // Fyodor x gn!reader

⚠️: A bit ooc Fyodor

A/N: I told myself I'd only make one request a day but this request was too sweet to do later. I think the word you were looking for is 'breaking point' and I know I can't make you feel all happy but I do hope you take Fyodor's wisdom and run with it. It's an important life lesson I've come to terms with and sometimes we all just need a listener and someone to hold us tight (not that I'd ever have my dream boyfriend).

LINKS: Masterlist

Today was a difficult day, it was as if everything that could go wrong had happened. You were on the verge of tears as you lazily cruised along the bustling streets of Yokohama.

You walked alongside people who were actually doing something with their lives. You felt unworthy to walk the same road. You were walking aimlessly, not knowing where to go.

You ended up on a tree-lined street, you looked up at the gaps of sunlight, then you suddenly felt a strong sense of longing. You missed him more than anything—you missed Fyodor.

You walked to his office, keeping your head down while still trying to avoid the people walking in front of you. After a few minutes you reached his office, you knock on the door softly, making sure he knows that it was you by using a knock that was unique to you.

"Not now." Fyodor spoke at the other side of the door nonchalantly. You felt tears falling down your cheeks as he spoke, your right hand immediately held your heart as you knocked again, this time with a shakier sound.

He grunted and stood up from his seat, he walked over to the door and opened it. At first he was furious and was about to scold you but his expression immediately turned from anger to worry the moment he caught sight of your tears.

You stayed silent as you cried, looking up at him with a pitiful expression, much like a child, begging for attention.

He gently wrapped his arms your crying figure while his chin rested on top of your head. "I'm sorry darling.." he spoke softly. You continued to cry more as he held you in a tight embrace. He then picked you up, closing the door behind you and walking over to his seat with you in his arms.

He sat on his chair and gently propped you on his lap. "Tell me what happened.." he gently whispered as he caressed your hair. You softly sniffled and cried as you tried speaking with a shaky tone.

You told him everything about your day and he attentively listened, stroking your hair as you spoke, humming in response to your words, and kissing the top of your head when you start crying harder.

"It seems like you've had quite the day my dear.." he held you closer as he spoke, "But you must always remember that bad days aren't permanent and good days aren't as well, it's what makes them stand out, it's what makes them good and bad—change is constant like my love for you, which is constantly growing." He then kissed you softly on the top of your head, whispering "I love you, my dearest," before you fell asleep on his lap—exhausted.

Spontaneous post: 07/06/23 22:46PM GMT+8 Philippine Standard Time

[hehearse]

i keep trying to like. hold myself back from sending too many asks but im listening to my orv playlist again and every single song starts playing and i immediately fall ill. anyways!!

idk if u mind or not but ORV Spoilers for anyone reading this 👍

eighteen is Francis Forever by Mitski. hsy and yjh about kdj. specifically when theyre both trying to cope with him being gone post scenarios.

"i dont know what to do without you, i dont know where to put my hands. ive been trying to lay my head down, but im writing this at 3am" is so hsy.

"on sunny days i go out walking, i end up on a tree-lined street. i look up at the gaps of sunlight, i miss you more than anything" is yjh. i always think about how he takes to running post scenarios.

"i dont think i could stand to be where you dont see me" feels so much like how as a constellation kdj could join the channel and watch them even when he wasnt in the scenarios.

nineteen is Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil. kdj and his kids. sys and lgy and even ljh. i feel like the anger about it fits with jihye more than yoosung and gilyoung, despite her not being like. His Child. in the same way the other two are.

twenty! Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos!! yjh, hsy, kdj. a soldier, a poet, and a king. thats just what they are.

twenty-one. Boats & Birds by Gregory and the Hawk!! kimcom in general abt kdj. the whole stardust part is upsettingly accurate to how he fucking scattered himself over the entire universe.

so many evil songs get added to my playlist. i don't think i got that many new songs in the last 4 years that i got in the last. whatever number of days it was. the playlist is so fresh and unfamiliar now...

Francis Forever by Mitski

a murder from the start huh. but also the lines "i don't think i could stand to be where you don't see me". rotating in my brain. something something about kdj on the train but not watching him despite being able too. scared to see them smiling in front of a sunset along with him - without him. something about them visiting him in the hospital, unchanging, unconcious, so close yet unseeing, scattered far away... head in hands

Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil

WOHOO back to the songs i know B)

specifically lee jihye grabbing his collar, screaming about them betraying and letting die the constellations that were on their side. and the song as a whole. very much kids and kdj. loving but distant and speaking different language. realisation of love hitting with a delay.

(but as the devil on your shoulder, let me whisper sweet nothings into your ear. in an evil, fucked up way it could be 17yo yoohyun about yoojin. still holding trust and belief that they are not that far apart even if he leaves)

do you see my vision?? do you???? (<- possessed by the sctir demons)

i feel like the Soldier, Poet, King by The Oh Hellos i got shown along with several DIFFERENT animatics even during my voluntarily confinment in the non-spoiler bubble FSDECDE so there is nothing more to say about it....

Boats & Birds by Gregory and the Hawk

this is so evil of you. so cruel to miette. "I live to make you free"??? head in hands. yeah. the gentle melancholy etc etc... i would even. more spicifically point at ysa. because she knew all along.... and she let him go (even if she didn't want to, even if she didn't want to so bad...... i wonder if that's what being in his head for so long did to her. or strengthened her resolve in that regard.)