#(though it’s less coloring and more shading)

[adobe-outdesign]

Best and Worst Jelly Neopets? If this has been asked before, Apologies!

Jelly would be a hypothetical tie-in colour to Jelly World, if Jelly World existed (which it doesn't). It's kind of one of those weird niche colours that only makes sense in the context of Neopets, with there already being a huge amount of jelly items available on the site.

As for the colour itself, the designs are pretty standardized across the board—the pets are rendered to look like jelly and given a semi-transparent look, though the "flavor" (color) of the jelly can vary. Part of me wonders if more could been done with it—like, you could have pieces of fruit in there, change up markings and round off pointy fur to look more jelly-esq., have whipped cream accents, etc.—but I do appreciate the consistency, with the colors adding just enough individuality per pet.

This color is a Lab Ray exclusive (unless you count the Rainbow Fountain, which I don't). While getting Lab-exclusive colours is always a pain, it does at least make sense here given the somewhat odd nature of the colour to begin with.

This color should've been unaffected by customization, as it wasn't very dependent on poses. However, for some reason a lot of of the converted Jelly pets have less shading and transparency effects compared to the originals for reasons I can't hope to understand. There are plenty of good-looking post-customization Jelly pets out there; it's just the ones that got converted that seemed to get the short end of the stick. Thankfully, pet styles do exist.

Favorite Species:

Chomby: A tasty green lime color, the Jelly Chomby has some nice highlights to it that give it that all-important jelly texture along with a subtle bit of transparency. While the converted is fine, the UC/styled version is extra nice—the shading, highlights, and transparency are even more pronounced, which really gives it a good sense of depth. This is also helped by the fact that pre-conversion Chombies were just kind of lumpy to begin with.

Kiko: There's nothing all that special about this Jelly pet specifically I suppose, but I really like the light orange shade used here. Once again, the shading and highlights are very well done, and the transparency gives the body a really good sense of depth in areas like the arms. There's a tiny bit of tone variation in there, not enough to make it look un-jelly like but enough to give it a little bit of contrast.

Chia: You could argue with this one that it's a missed opportunity—considering all the fruity Chia colours, it definitely feels like this could've been done as a giant jello mold or something instead of just being the usual fair. That said, the rendering here is really good—subtle gradients are used along with a bit of transparency and layering at the bottom to make this thing look very jelly-like, and I love little details like the air bubbles. Only complaint is that the tongue is way too normal-looking.

Least Favorite Species:

Quiggle: I am giving this one the coveted dung award solely because it has regular non-Jelly eyes and that disturbs me. Also, while the UC/styled version has some decent enough transparency, the converted version's shading makes it look like rock-hard candy.

[soosoosoup]

sunset serenade

[syn4k]

to be, or not to be (romanticization of the inevitable)

[alangdorf]

The aforementioned Forgotten Land cutscene redraw, which I ended up overpainting (for the first time in over three years) to make it all nice since I’m using it as my desktop background!

[headfullof-ideas]

Oh, the uncertainty that comes with being faced with such baffling yet unwavering unconditional love. Especially from a creature that has been given nothing less than three hundred years of reasons as to why she shouldn’t even trust you at all. Yet she does. At the end of the day, despite whatever fights you got into with each other, despite how bad of a mood you were in, despite whatever happened earlier that day, she is still there at the end of it

[boyheros]

ohh yes i love vague details heh... me when interpretation

further questions... what is mizrieta sickness and what does it do to humans? (animals too if they can get it) what are mizrieta themselves? what is the process of reincarnation? are they conscious while waiting for a body to inhabit, and are there "rules" to reincarnation? (like, can they only inhabit certain bodies and etc) and what was the extinction event?

HEH thank you. i'm writing so much now you don't know how helpful this is for me actually. i hardly ever tend to write my oc lore down, before now this was all mentally catalogued. because i'm crazy. thanks so much for asking me stuff again. ok here we go

"mizrieta sickness" is when a human's soul & base black gets realized. it's not a human's natural state of being so it usually causes problems, especially because it often occurs during instances of great violence/trauma/duress ....usually when mizrieta are trying to kill people for resources (base black usually. all mizrieta need that but they only have a finite amount, and it can decay. stealing it is sometimes the only solution...) i'm kinda vague about how that "realization" works, too. i'll say it usually happens with violence or near death. if you're sitting next to someone with a realized soul you're not just gonna get the sickness it's not contagious like that. happens a lot when mizrieta try to steal base black cuz. they're trying to force a humans base black to realize (and it IS actually possible for only base black to become real without the soul. VERYYY rare though) and that will force the soul into existence too.

as for it's effects, plenty of people 'die' of something called "vessel rejection" right when they get mizrieta sickness. basically the strain of suddenly having a real soul (and also experiencing the horrors) will basically kill them. the new soul falls right out of the body. but it's not entirely a death sentence cuz it may not be too severe, or if their soul goes back in the body before all the biological processes stop then they can survive... because humans don't know how to control their souls/base black they'll have issues with this until they do learn. it's difficult because they're still alive, piloting their physical body the way we all do, but they also exist as a ghost that's essentially possessing themselves. parts of their soul can shift out of their bodies willy nilly and that in turn will interrupt biological processes and cause health problems. like your entire arm may go numb cuz the part of your ghost that's supposed to inhabit it moved out of place. ppl with mizrieta sickness also always have pupils the color of their soul. less so for any reason that makes sense but because i want the "eyes are the window to the soul" reference LOL.

im using a readmore now i should've done that on the last posts too my b. here we go:

as for animals. honestly haven't thought of that tbh i figure they could get the sickness because. they're alive also. actually maybe this could contribute to the extinction thing tbh. if you can steal base black from people you can steal it from animals. but if you kill em all...oops!!

as for what mizrieta are themselves. most basically what consists of their "self" is considered to be their soul and their base black, since they shapeshift their physical body can vary and change and blahblahblah. unlike humans they know how to control their souls/base black and can shed their vessels, incorporate new material into their vessels, possess someone else's body, etc. but literally i'll be blunt: the only difference between "a Mizrieta" and "a person with Mizrieta Sickness" is that the mizrieta knows how to control themselves & shapeshift, and also social view. there's a sorta "humanity divide" where. even though LITERALLY humans and mizrieta can be made up of the exact same components, humans view themselves as humans and they wanna stay that way. and the rare few (clones like the facestealer for instance) who 'become' mizrieta decide to take that label. they switch sides, i guess. (that's why Mizrieta the character is named that. she was like WELL! i'm goin all in!). humans and mizrieta alike tend to view the humanity divide as, well, a divide. normal humans on this side, mizrieta on the other, ppl with mizrieta sickness kinda in the middle but still on the human side. when in reality it's more like a continuum. you can go your whole life as a regular human, but once you get the sickness, you'll probably slowly slide over to the mizrieta end over time...

as for reincarnation. once you have a realized soul it basically exists FOREVERRRR so if you have a fatal vessel rejection. you're like a ghost now. Lingering souls without vessels tend to wander, not usually very cognizant of who or where they are. (another difference between humans and mizrieta i guess. mizrieta would be much more Aware. they're practiced at existing as a Soul rather than relying on stuff like brains to hold their consciousness and memories.) The way ghosts interact with living humans can vary widely. Some don’t seem to know or care about the presence of others, while some seem to intentionally seek living beings out, seemingly in the hopes that they can regain a living vessel for themselves. this means you can in fact shove a new vessel at a ghost and they can live in it. boom. as for "rules," you'd realllly wanna reincarnate someone in a body that matches the DNA of their original one. you COULD possess a body that wasn't 'yours' in any way but. your soul might just reject the body. like an organ that doesn't match. or the body will start "turning into" you cuz of base black memory like i mentioned last post.

IN THE STORY THOUGH. reincarnated people don't know how they got reincarnated!!! they just tend to kinda "wake up" somewhere, alive. there's a whole religion about it now. at this point in the chronology, clones stopped being made. before the (latest) extinction event, even. so no one ever considers, "huh, there are machines that that can make bodies" ....they think "what the hell, Maverick, you're a clone? i thought those were extinct? where the fuck did you come from that's so unnatural."

now, the extinction event. also left kinda vague on purpose. but the human race's population had been declining for a looooong time. enough time that they invented cloning as an attempted stop-gap. i figure it would be a combination of a lot of factors (multiple "extinction" level events, perhaps), over quite a bit of time. as in the standard of living lowered enough over time that people on average are shorter than they are now. and then the mizrieta come and kinda finish them off. it's not like all mizrieta are human killers, but as i said. humans make great resources for them. you do what you do to survive, i guess. not all is lost though bc if you're killed by mizrieta for resources, you probably got mizrieta sickness, so you can probably get reincarnated...yay....

but in the part of the story i tend to treat as "the current part" or the part that would be the focus if it was a written story or show. is post extinction. lots of this other nonsense is 'backstory' if you can believe it. lots of the info i'm feeding you would be mysterious i guess. humans went extinct so they lost a loooot of everything. resources, knowledge, etc. societal views change too. ALL reincarnated people literally have mizrieta sickness so it's not viewed as bad, anymore, and it's not called 'sickness.' you're just reincarnated, lol. instead, regular humans (the offspring of 2 reincarnates are born normal, without realized souls) are called "natural born" or "naturals" because they're. yeah.

[claire-starsword]

the hunt for unused content in the game itself is not doing so hot, so i went to look for some old magazines and was immediately rewarded. Again, eternal thanks to Sega Retro for archiving this stuff.

There’s a magazine with some interesting stuff from three months before the game’s release:

“...the king of Guardiana said, ‘you are our last light’...“

First of all, pink haired Simone! Just like in the GBA games. Her face has a few details different as well, there’s an actual line for her nose, lighting in her eyes, which she only gets when looking at you in the final version, and a weird line on her forehead i can’t understand. The whole scene also looks lighter but i don’t how much of that is printer effects.

Anyway, while I like the auburn hair more, I have no clue why they would change it, and bringing it back for the GBA makes me think that at least the designer preferred the pink version. Interestingly her artwork in the manual already implies that, her hair is not pink there, it would probably be too obviously contrasting with the game’s version, but it is far lighter than in game.

Her text is also different here. I have translated part of the JP intro before, she talks of Max and Cain’s bloodline instead, no mention of Guardiana and its king. Makes me wonder if these lines survived in the JP rom, the US rom has unused lines for her but all of this intro was altered in localization, so they tell little of what the JP might have.

Moving on, Ken has completely different sprites, and mind you, they kick ass, I’m wondering big time why they were changed. I guess the perspective might be a little off, but, you should not talk to me about perspective lol. The lower body is also not moving much, but that wouldn’t be reason to change the whole shading. Notably, the spear seems to be part of the character instead of a different sprite, and is accurate to the knights’ artwork.

I didn’t even notice at first, but you can see an axe on the loose behind the sprite, meaning weapon sprites and animations were already in, but unfinished.

For further evidence here’s Max’s sword learning how to levitate as well. This sword sprite is also cooler than anything in the actual game.

It also took me a ridiculously long time to notice Max has no MP here. Perhaps there was no egress at this point, or you’d have to gain the MP to use it first? sounds bad. But Max’s magic suffering late changes would explain the oversight in the final version where his MP continues to grow despite learning nothing but Egress. Would also explain Egress requires exactly 8 MP, which is kind of a random number for a basic and unique. It would come to make a little more sense in future games where the heroes have Bolt and you have to actually manage their MP if you want to be able to retreat later on, but Max has no other spells here.

Of course, the other possibility is that Max was meant to learn more spells. With the trend of GBA version things being planned for the classic all along, it wouldn’t surprise me. This is probably the moment I should bring up that the final game has exactly one dummied out spell, which just so happens to cost 20 MP, a weirdly high cost for a test/placeholder feature, and very in line with the costs of Supernova in the GBA version.

For minor details that don’t excite me as much, Guardiana castle had a gate at some point, and plenty of chickens as well. Even I can’t make a theory out of that, they are probably placeholders.

[sableeira]

sketches that I couldn’t get to look the way I wanted when I rendered them in the style of the other two works. So I just messed around a bit.

hiii long time no art and I’m late but I’m not immune to skk 109 angst

[littlelamy]

boat scene with rafe

requested by @gibson-g1rl l <3 😘 part 2

credits: oysters png from @saizun , and amazing gifs from @rafeyscurtainbangs

The boat rocks beneath you as you step toward where Rafe sits bound against the wall, looking both furious and oddly vulnerable. You catch his eye as you enter the room, holding a small packet of aspirin and a plate of food. His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise, but his cocky smirk returns almost immediately.

“Look who’s here to take care of me,” he drawls, his voice dripping with that familiar teasing tone, though there’s a flicker of genuine relief in his eyes.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite to your words. You set the plate down next to him and hand over the aspirin, glancing away to avoid letting him see the small, reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “Thought you’d need this. Can’t have you passing out on us.”

Rafe takes the aspirin from your hand, holding your gaze just a little too long before he swallows it dry. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting room service,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. “Didn’t know you cared this much.”

You scoff, folding your arms. “You should know by now I don’t want you dead, Rafe,” you say with a wry smile. “But don’t expect this to become a habit.”

He chuckles, the sound low and a little smug. “We’ll see about that,” he says, shifting against the ropes, clearly enjoying the attention. He nods toward the plate. “So, what—are you gonna feed me, too?”

You blink, taken aback by his nerve, and then raise an eyebrow, letting sarcasm color your voice. “Would you like me to? Or do you think you can manage?” You narrow your eyes, daring him to keep pushing.

Rafe’s smirk wavers, his cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink as he quickly looks away. “I can handle it,” he mutters, clearly flustered but trying to play it off. “Don’t get carried away.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to.” But you can’t help the grin tugging at your lips as you settle back, watching as he tries to pick up a piece of food from the plate with an awkward, fumbling grip, struggling against the restraints.

You stifle a laugh as he tries to eat without making a mess, and he catches you smiling, his jaw tightening. “Something funny?” he snaps, though there’s a hint of embarrassment in his tone.

You shrug, biting back your amusement. “Nothing at all. You look perfectly in control.”

Rafe grumbles under his breath, focusing intently on his food to avoid meeting your eyes. Another wave rocks the boat, causing you to steady yourself against the wall, and you look back to find him watching you, something almost like concern flickering in his gaze.

“Be careful,” he mutters, his voice softer, dropping the bravado for a split second.

For a moment, you just look at each other, the storm outside and the chaos around you fading into the background. His cocky expression softens, and he gives you a small, grateful nod. He won’t say it, but you know he’s thankful.

“Thanks,” he says quietly, his gaze lingering on you a beat longer.

“Yeah, yeah,” you reply, crossing your arms as you lean back against the wall. “Just don’t make me regret it.”

Rafe grins, his cockiness slipping back into place, but now it’s warmer, less of a wall and more like something shared just between the two of you. As he reaches for another bite, he murmurs, “Wouldn’t dream of it.” And as much as you try to resist, you can’t help the small, reluctant smile that crosses your face in response.

The storm hits hard, the boat rocking violently beneath your feet. You’re barely able to keep your balance as you make your way through the narrow, dimly lit hallway. Waves crash against the hull, each one sending a jolt of panic through your body. But there’s something else clawing at you—something that won’t let you ignore the sound of Rafe’s voice, sharp and desperate, calling from another room.

“Come on! Cut me loose!” His voice cracks, the desperation in it too raw to ignore.

You freeze, breath catching in your throat. Rafe. He’s still tied up. The ropes are holding him in place as the boat teeters precariously on the brink of capsizing. You can hear Pope and Cleo yelling from the kitchen, their voices overlapping, trying to convince you to leave it alone. To save yourself. But you can’t. Not this time.

You grip the knife tighter, your fingers cold and trembling from the anxiety rising in your chest. There’s no time to think. Rafe’s call keeps echoing in your head, and that voice—the urgency, the fear—pushes you forward. You make your way toward the room where you heard him last, the sound of the storm growing louder as it pounds against the sides of the boat.

Before you even get to the door, Cleo’s voice rings out. “No! Y/N, No!”

Pope’s voice follows, sharper. “Y/N, stop don’t let him out!”

But you keep moving. You don’t stop. You can’t. There’s no way you’re going to let Rafe stay there, helpless and bound, when you can do something about it.

When you reach the door, you shove it open, and the sight of Rafe tied up against the far wall hits you with a jolt. He’s slumped slightly, sweat slicking his forehead, his face drawn with exhaustion and frustration. His eyes snap to you, and for a split second, they soften with something almost like relief.

“Cut me loose, come on!” He says again, his voice strained, but louder this time, more insistent.

His hands are bound tightly in thick ropes, his legs spread out uncomfortably beneath him. The ropes seem too thick for him to break on his own. You can see the tension in his body, the way his muscles twitch from the strain, and the panic that flickers behind his gaze. There’s no time to waste. You don’t think twice. You crouch in front of him, the knife in your hand glinting in the low light.

Rafe watches you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “Don’t make me regret this,” you murmur, feeling your heart beat faster as you cut into the thick rope that’s holding him in place. Your hands are shaking, the knife slipping slightly as the boat tilts again, but you focus on the task at hand.

“Come on, hurry up.” His words are clipped, desperate, and you push aside the nervous tightness in your chest as you work faster, cutting the ropes.

You’re close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, a stark contrast to the cold, wet air from the storm. The boat groans as another wave slams against it, and Rafe’s eyes flicker to the window, then back to you.

“Please,” he breathes, and it’s that one word that makes everything else fade away—the roaring storm, the panicked shouting from the others, the ticking clock of time slipping away.

The last thread gives way with a sharp cut, and Rafe’s hands are free. His arms immediately reach for you, grabbing hold of your wrist with a surprising amount of force, pulling himself upright.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his voice rough, but there’s something deeper in it, something like a sense of vulnerability you’ve never seen from him before.

You don’t have time to say anything, to wonder if he’s really thankful or if he’s just grateful to be free. The boat shudders violently, and you both stumble as the hull groans beneath you. The wind howls outside, whipping against the windows, and you know there’s not much time before things get worse.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an invitation. He grabs your arm, pulling you toward the narrow hallway. “We need to get to somewhere safer,” he says, his tone not leaving any room for an argument.

You’re both moving quickly, though the boat keeps pitching wildly. The wind screeches, and water sloshes against the floorboards. Every step feels like a risk, like the boat could capsize at any moment. But Rafe doesn’t let go of your arm. He pulls you behind him, guiding you toward a small corner near the engine room, the only place that might offer even the slightest bit of shelter.

You slide into the corner, pressing yourself against the cold wall. It’s not the safest place, but in the madness of the storm, it’s all you have. Rafe follows, wedging himself beside you. There’s barely enough room for the two of you, but you don’t mind. You’re not focused on that right now. All you can think about is how the boat is rocking, how you’re both on the brink of disaster, and how Rafe’s body is so close to yours.

He leans into you, his breathing ragged and uneven. For a moment, he pulls away, but then his hand is at your waist, his grip tightening. It’s almost like he’s afraid you might slip away from him. He presses his body closer, his face now inches from yours, and you can feel the rapid beat of his heart.

Rafe places his head on your neck, his face buried in the crook of your shoulder. The warmth of his breath on your skin is both comforting and unsettling, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you place your hand on his back, the pressure of your touch grounding both of you as the storm rages on around you.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, though you’re not sure if you’re trying to reassure him or yourself.

Rafe doesn’t respond, but you feel his muscles relax, his tense body unwinding little by little. He’s not just holding onto you for stability; it feels like he’s holding onto you for something more. You can’t explain it, but there’s something in the way he leans into you, something raw and vulnerable that you’ve never seen before.

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln

[dynamic-power]

Steve is walking down the hallway towards his math class when it happens.

Someone bumps into him, a girl he only vaguely recognizes, and she reaches out and grabs his hand to steady herself.

His vision explodes with what he knows must be color. Bright shades assault his eyes, shades he doesn't even have names for. His classmates' clothes, the tiles beneath his feet, the homecoming sign above him. Even the lights have taken on a new hue, washing Steve's entire world in something completely alien.

The girl looks as shocked as steve feels. Her eyes are wide, and her mouth drooped open as she spins in a slow circle. She's pretty, he thinks. Short hair, soft features, an unusual sense of style. She's clutching an instrument case, and he thinks that's why he recognizes her.

"Uh," he says, catching her attention. "Hi."

Her mouth opens, closes, opens once more, and then she dashes away from him, disappearing into the throng of students.

He spends the rest of the day cataloging colors. By the time he's climbing into his car (which is a color he still can't name, but has decided he likes) he's found at least a dozen different shades, and he wonders how they all fit into the seven colors he's been told are in the rainbow.

He tells his mom when he gets home that day. She is ecstatic. When Steve admits he doesn't have anything to tell about the girl herself, his mom turns her attention on naming colors for him.

It becomes quickly apparent that something isn't quite right. He'd been so focused on everything that was new that he hadn't realized what was the same. He still sees a lot of grays. Blues, purples, greens,and violets are all still lost on him.

That doesn't make what he can see any less spectacular, though. Oranges, reds, pinks, yellows. The yellows are his favorite.

He'll meet his other soulmate, his mother assures him, as they sit in the backyard, admiring the rich golds and reds of the trees that he can now see, standing out against the gray of the sky he knows should be blue.

He does, about two years later. He's picking Henderson up from school one afternoon, but instead of Dustin climbing into the front seat like usual, the back door swings open violently and not one but two figures scramble into the back seat.

"Henderson, what the fuck?!?"

"Drive!" Henderson screeches, his head popping up between the seats. "Go, go, go!" A hand, not Dustin's, reaches out as the stranger tries to sit himself up and fingers graze his temple as he's peeling away from the curb.

"Motherfucking assmunch-" Dustin is saying, "thinking he can get away with that shit-"

But Steve isn't paying attention, because the trees are green and the sky is blue and the world is suddenly right.

Steve looks into the rearview mirror and meets the gaze of a shocked-looking Eddie Munson.

[brewed-pangolin]

Early morning workout Johnny who makes it a habit to run by your house every day at the stroke of 9.

He's got your routine down to a science. He's not a creep, he just likes a schedule. As do you.

He knows you'll be out on your porch by 8:45 with your cup of coffee. Just in time to watch him stride down through your cul-de-sac like some muscle wrapped machine.

You'd be lying if you said you didn't enjoy it. Giving him a courteous wave, to which he politely returns with his own and million dollar smile. Sipping your warm brew, his sunlit silhouette disappearing in the distance to turn down the next street.

Except it all changes one fateful morning.

You weren't on your balcony. No coffee mug on the table. Not a single shred of evidence you had been home at all, other than the car in the driveway.

He makes one circle. Then another.

And another.

After the fourth, he's running low on fumes and you're still nowhere in sight. And amidst the fog of a draining runners high, he miscalculates his steps and smashes chest first into your mailbox.

Hurdling down with a thud, a few choice explatives that alert the neighbors and jolt you from the sleep you had been so deep within on your couch.

"Holy shit! Are you okay?" You call out, swinging the front door open. Hair a messy mop. Shirt warn and wrinkled and a thick crease running along the circumference of your cheek.

Soap is nothing more than an apologetic mess. Battling with a mud ladened 2x4 and peppered with an array of junk mail and enveloped bills.

"M'good, lass. M'good."

"You sure? That mailbox is basically destroyed. You must have hit it pretty damn hard."

You reach down, giving him a hand up to which you are given the strongest grip you have ever felt. Playing off a wince with a smile, letting your eyes take him in while he brushes off a layer of dirt and grass.

"Aye. Bulldozed straight into it. Sorry bout tha'."

You have off his apology, taking a gander at the damage and mentally beginning to plan out the finances to fix it.

"I can get ya a new one. If ya let me."

His deep brogue interrupts your thoughts. Raising a brow and a hand to block the bright morning sun.

"No, don't worry about it. It's an easy fix."

"Nah. Please. It's the least I can do, lass. Besides. I am the one at fault ya know."

You hesitate only for a moment. The blue of his eyes mirrored by the sunlit sky behind him. Feeling a certain pull towards him, as though those morning waves had cemented a bond that was only beginning to solidify in the morning sun.

"Okay."

"Aye? I'll be back after yer shift. 530 right?"

You push aside the fact that he knows your work schedule as he reaches out for a friendly handshake. His grip less firm, more cordial. Gentle, even.

"Yeah."

--

After an unremarkable shift that you wish to push deep into your memories, you sit out on your balcony with a refreshing drink in hand. Taking in the hard determination of your mailbox destroying neighbor as he singlehandedly hammers it into the ground.

You had offered to help, to which he emphatically responded with a solid 'no'.

"You've got good taste."

Your seal of approval is all he needs. Taking a welcome cold beer from your hands with that million dollar smile and a final hammering to cement the pillar into the soil.

"Thought it'd fit the style a yer home. Glad ya like it."

You begin to realize this runner is a man who misses nothing. His choice of mailbox color not too dissimilar to the one of your preferred coffee mug. The shade matching almost perfectly, only shifting in hue by the extravagant sunset.

"You hungry?"

Your politeness thankfully overshadows the sudden flush erupting within your chest. You'd blame it on the alcohol if he asked, but you know he'd see right through it.

Dinner starting innocently at the table, shifting seamlessly towards the living room and finishing the main course in your bedroom. Coming to a close in a cacophony of growls, moans, and the aroma of sex.

The pièce de résistance being the loud creak of the bed, falling to the floor in a heap of laughs and entangled bodies as he broke your walls and nestled himself into the chasm of your soul.

Under the Blue Moonlight Masterlist

Drabbles Masterlist

[verstappensrealwife]

Get in loser, we’re going shopping. - Max verstappen x fem!Reader

fluff

approx. 1100 words

warnings : fem!reader implied, lingerie, makeup?

max verstappen masterlist - here. f1 masterlist - here.

Victoria secret. Max Verstappen stood in Victoria's Secret, an unmistakable tension in his posture. He had clearly entered a world far outside his comfort zone, one where the vibrant pink stripes of the walls seemed to mock his unease. His usual confidence was nowhere to be seen as he fidgeted, eyes darting around like he was searching for an escape route, only to be met with racks of lacy bras and silk pajamas.

Every so often, he would sneak a glance at the scantily clad mannequins, immediately recoiling as though he had seen a ghost. When you picked up a particularly elaborate set of lingerie with a playful smile, Max’s gaze involuntarily followed your movements, only to snap away the moment he realized where his eyes had landed. His cheeks were turning a shade that could rival the blush of the silk and satin surrounding him.

“What do you think about this one?” you asked, holding up a dark blue, lace-up one-piece with a flourish, as if presenting a rare treasure. The garment seemed almost to sparkle in the store’s soft lighting.

Max’s eyes widened, his throat bobbing as he tried to process the question. “Oh—yeah—” His voice cracked, then steadied as he tried to muster a semblance of expertise, even though he looked like he was trying to decipher a complex mathematical formula. “Yeah. It, uh… looks good.”

You couldn’t help but snort with laughter. The sight of him standing there, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, was both endearing and hilarious. “Oh, come on, Max,” you said, tossing the dark blue creation into your basket with a dramatic flourish. “We can pay now. Stop worrying. You look like you’re about to break into a cold sweat.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and for a brief moment, his shoulders relaxed. As you made your way to the checkout, he kept his eyes resolutely on the floor, as if studying the intricate patterns of the carpet might somehow make this experience more bearable.

When the cashier flashed a friendly smile and began ringing up your purchases, Max’s face turned a shade of red that was almost a match for the store's pink décor. He shuffled his feet, looking everywhere but at the register, clearly relieved that the ordeal was coming to an end.

As you walked out of the store, basket in hand, Max let out a sigh of relief. “Well,” he said, trying to sound casual, “at least that’s over.” He gave you a sideways glance, and despite his discomfort, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Next time, let’s do something less, uh, colorful.”

You laughed, looping your arm through his as you headed toward the next store. “Deal,” you said, still chuckling. “But I have to say, you’ve got a pretty good eye for lingerie.”

Max shot you a playful glare, though his lips twitched upward. “Just don’t make me go back there anytime soon.

Sephora. The moment you stepped in, you were greeted by the familiar scents of perfumes, the vibrant displays of makeup, and the soft lighting that made everything feel luxurious. Max followed closely, looking a bit out of place but curious nonetheless.

“Alright, what’s first here?” he asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

You laughed, enjoying his willingness to go along with it. “Well, I need to restock on a few things. But first, let’s find you a cologne. I think you’ll like it.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical but game. “Alright, show me the way.”

You guided him to the fragrance section, where rows of sleek bottles lined the shelves. You picked up a few testers, spraying them on the little cards and holding them out for him to smell.

“This one’s nice,” you said, offering him a card with a fresh, woodsy scent.

He sniffed it, nodding in approval. “Not bad, actually. Do you like it?”

“I do,” you replied, smiling. “But let’s try a few more.”

You went through several options, each time watching his reactions as he tried to distinguish the notes—some he liked, some not so much. Finally, you both agreed on one that was a perfect balance of musk and spice.

“Alright, I’m sold,” he said with a grin. “Now, what else are we getting?”

You laughed, knowing full well he had no idea what he was in for. “Well, I need a new foundation, and maybe a lip gloss or two. You can help me pick.”

As you moved to the makeup section, Max started to loosen up, asking questions about the different products. You explained the basics of what each one did, enjoying the role reversal as he tried to understand why you needed five different shades of lipstick.

“Why not just one?” he asked, holding up a bright red tube.

You giggled, shaking your head. “Different occasions, different moods! It’s all about options.”

He seemed genuinely interested as you swatched a few colors on your hand, comparing shades and textures. “This one’s nice,” he pointed out, picking up a soft pink shade.

“Yeah? I like it too,” you said, adding it to your basket. “Good choice.”

After a while, Max even started having fun, pointing out products that caught his eye and making playful comments. By the time you reached the skincare section, he was fully engaged, asking about face masks and moisturizers.

“What does this do?” he asked, holding up a jar of night cream.

“It helps keep your skin hydrated while you sleep,” you explained, opening the jar so he could smell it.

He gave it a cautious sniff, then smiled. “Maybe I should start using this. I could have skin as nice as yours.”

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “Maybe you should! We could do face masks together.”

He smirked, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Only if you pick the least girly one for me.”

“Deal,” you agreed, feeling a warm sense of happiness that he was willing to dive into your world, even if it was just for an afternoon.

By the time you left Sephora, Max was carrying the bag, looking surprisingly pleased with himself. “You know, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be,” he admitted. “And I got a new cologne out of it.”

You smiled, looping your arm through his. “See? I told you it’d be fun.”

“Alright, next time, we’re going to my store,” he warned playfully.

“Deal,” you said with a laugh. “But you might have to drag me out of the next one.”

As you walked out of the shopping centre together, you couldn’t help but feel a little closer, grateful for a boyfriend who was up for anything, even an impromptu trip into the world of Sephora.

[moneypowerglorymiddleofmiami]

— trickentine જ⁀➴♡ ︎

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

summary: when eros, the god of love, makes the annual valentine visit to camp half-blood, he conveniently unintentionally leaves his bow and arrow in the capable hands of his younger half-sister.

warnings: nothing i think, except for like one curse word (pls do tell me if i miss any though!)

genre: ...romcom?

part 2

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

The gods were many things: powerful at their core, benevolent to those who merit it, temperamental when goaded, and mysterious in their methods— but there was one trait that defined them most of all, incandescently littered in their tales and lores: they were tricksters.

You really should’ve known better than to pick up that stray quiver of arrows.

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

The Aphrodite Cabin consistently made it a point to celebrate Valentine’s Day with much fanfare. Everyone has been busy the entire week preceding it; there were fresh roses to harvest, pink and red deserts to be made, hundreds of paper hearts to be cut, ribbons to be tied and acres to decorate. As one of the older siblings, a huge chunk of the responsibility fell on your shoulders. Needless to say, you spent an entire extra hour in the bathroom trying to put your concealer to good use.

A mere 10 minutes after leaving your cabin on V-Day, you’d managed to snap and glare at nearly everyone who even thought of intercepting your path.

Nearly everyone because you knew better than to direct your ire at the god of love.

“You didn’t even blend.” Eros said, perusing your make-up judgmentally. “Consider your favorite demigod sister card revoked.”

In his current human form, his hair was a deep shade of black and coiffed to perfection, his eyes a brown hue that you could only describe as melodramatic, and his skin beautifully tanned from frolicking in the sunlight.

Gods, how you missed to frolick in the sunlight. These days, you had to slave in it.

“Lord Eros.” You bowed, desperately fighting the urge to roll your eyes and purse your lips.

“I adore what you’ve done with the place.” He waved his hand off dismissively. He trudges ahead of you, officially beginning his annual Valentine inspection. “Although I definitely think it could use a little more sparkle. Perhaps a little more pink, too.”

‘Pink? For Valentines? Groundbreaking.’ You drawled inside your head. “The Hephaestus cabin is tinkering with a smoke machine to make it emit glitter.”

“Wonderful.” He replied passively, his attention drawn towards the dining pavilion where hundreds of glowing hearts hung from mid-air. Eros turned towards you. “Fairy lights on the beams?”

“On it.” You nodded your head tiredly, scribbling messily onto a notepad. “Anything else?”

“Everything’s perfect, except…” He trailed off before raising an eyebrow at you. “Find yourself a boyfriend, maybe? You need to loosen up.”

“Oh my gods,” You muttered under your breath, fighting the urge to physically recoil.

─── ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . ───

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed you slacking off on training.” Luke chastised with a tut, tugging your arm towards the training areas. Your feet were basically dragging against the dirt, soiling your sneakers and flicking particles of dust against your skirt, but you couldn’t care less.

“Luke, look around you. What do you see?” You asked, your tone too saccharine to be considered serious.

He decided to humor you anyway. “Hearts.”

“10 points to House Hermes. Now,” You leaned in conspiratorially, “Who do you think set this whole place up?”

Luke barely opened his mouth before you answered your own question.

“Me.” You jabbed a finger against your chest. You narrowed your eyes at him. “I set this whole place up. I planned it— the theme, the color scheme, the glitter, the ribbons, the dazzling pink fountain with mini-Cupids who sing at the hour!”

“It looks very pretty!” He said, panicked.

“Yes, I know it looks very pretty.” You kissed your teeth. “Don’t you think I deserve a little break because it looks very pretty?”

He shook his head.

“You are insufferable!” You groaned.

“Hey! In my defense,” He raised both of his arms in the air to plead innocence, “You’re the one who said you wanted to develop a skill by the end of the summer."

His voice was pitched higher by the end in a poor imitation of your’s. You scrunched your nose in distaste.

“Gods, why do I keep digging my own grave?” You mumbled. Luke shook his head in amusement.

He led you into the clearing of the archery field, a line of circle targets dotted around the edge of the forest. A quiver of arrows was hung against the branches, different from the ones in the armory but definitely familiar to you.

“You can use those. Guess one of the kids forgot to return them after practice.” He shrugged. Luke mustn’t have noticed the difference.

You reached up to grab the weapons, still incredulous but definitely not alarmed enough to hesitate. The material thrummed in your hands.

“Go shoot.” He grinned.

“Very helpful instructions.” You muttered.

“Well, it’s pretty straightforward, sweetheart.” He sauntered over to one of the targets, leaning against the wooden frame. “You’ve been taught the basics, you just need the application. Now, shoot.”

“I could literally hit you.” You said blankly as you mounted the arrow against your bow.

“Consider it your challenge to not hit me.” He raised a thumbs-up.

“You’re insane.” You responded, irked and stressed by his casualness. “I’m sleep-deprived!"

Again, Luke just shrugged his shoulders. You huff, but then follow his lead anyway. You close one eye as you raise your weapon to your line of vision, zeroing in on the target.

As soon as the arrow flicked away from your fingers, it changed its course. When it should’ve followed a curved arch towards the red target, it whizzed away and made a beeline straight for Luke. A pink trail of haze followed its path.

“Duck!” You yell.

The arrow pierced through his chest at nearly the same time Luke’s body collided with the ground.

“That’s where those went.” Eros snapped his fingers as he emerged behind you. His glinting eyes were looking intently at the bow and quiver on you, an imperciptible smile on his face.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Shit.

“Lord Eros! I sincerely apologize.” You immediately took off the weaponry, holding them in your hands then kneeling as if to offer them back. You definitely did not want a god to be at odds with you. The two of you might have the same mother, but that didn’t mean you were equal in Aphrodite’s eyes. “I wasn’t-”

“Nah, don’t worry about it, sis.” He said, tapping your shoulder. Was he actually consoling you? “I shouldn’t have left it out in the open anyways.”

He pulled you up by the arm gently, snapping his fingers and getting the remnants of grass off of your knees. He even picked off a stray leaf from your hair. What in Tartarus was this?

For as long as you’ve known Eros and he’s practically coerced you into a dysfunctional sibling relationship, this was the kindest thing he’s ever done. Yes, the bar was low.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“You didn’t use this on someone, did you?” Eros asked, cradling the quiver and bow against him like a child.

“I think I managed to hit Luke—”

“You didn’t!” He interrupted with a theatrical gasp, a hand covering his mouth. He was such a drama queen.

You narrowed your eyes. He planned this, didn't he?

He smirked wider when he noticed the change in your demeanor, the realization behind your gaze. You swore his pupils changed to hearts for a moment.

“Good luck with lover boy, little sis.” He turned around, showing you the back of his hand as he waved goodbye.

[tsuutarr]

Perfect. Pristine. Pure.

That is what angels are. That is what Finley should be – what he is.

So, it’s really no surprise that he’s chosen as a guardian angel – your guardian angel. After all, only those who are the most pristine, the most perfect, the most pure can be a guardian angel. Anything less and corruption will be too easy. But Finley will be fine – he’s the pinnacle of what an angel should be, after all.

And now, he’s so excited to watch over you, to ensure that your life goes a little smoother than it has been.

As he watches over you, making sure you’re safe, he can’t help the affection that blooms inside of him. You’re someone he’s taking care of, which means that you’re his. You’re safe right now because he’s helping you. An umbrella on a rainy day, a pencil on exam days, a timely bus on busy days… he’s making your life so much easier! He can’t help the surge of pride that lights his heart.

He’s always so vigilant, watching out for you in any way that he possibly can. Whether you’re eating properly or sleeping properly concerns him greatly. It won’t do if you don’t take care of yourself.

But that doesn’t mean he wants other people to take care of you. Bitter vines of envy crawl up his throat whenever you thank someone else. He’s the one that’s doing most of the work, you know. Those thorns of envy only continue to bloom as he watches you laugh and talk and interact with other people.

Why can’t he interact with you? He’s the one that’s always watching you and taking care of you. Greed floods inside him as his desires fester. More and more and more – he’s greedy for your attention. For you. 

So, really, it’s no wonder that his thoughts become so twisted and wrathful. You can’t see him even though he gives you all of him, so why should those pesky flies around you get to bask in your presence? It’s not fair. It’s not fair. 

And it’s really not fair that you’re so pretty, so lovely. You always shine so bright, the epitome of everything Finley loves and adores. Watching you makes his skin flush with so much desire.

But he shouldn’t be feeling this way – oh, no. No pure, perfect, pristine angel should be feeling this way. Only those that have been corrupted by the world succumb to their desires. By the time Finley realizes this, he’s already in too deep. He’s already been colored by all shades of you.

So, there’s really only one answer, right?

Now, he’ll live only for you. He’ll make sure you realize just how devoted he is to you – just how much he belongs to you. Just how much you belong to him. You’re the one who taught him all these new emotions, after all. You’re the one who made him the way he is.

To him, you are his everything.

For you, he will kneel.

For him, for you, he will worship you and only you.

[harmonysanreads]

Playing Dress Up

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ft. Sunday, Aventurine, Dr Ratio, Blade

Heads up: Female!Reader, Possessive Behaviors, Very Self Indulgent

-; ੈ♡˳ SUNDAY

Sunday seeks refinement in every aspect of his life, this does not fail to extend to how you'll dress yourself while tied to his prestige as well. Sifting and digging through uncountable articles on women's fashion, extensive research on sources to make his vision come to life — Sunday hadn't even put this much effort into drafting his own style. What beget this initiative is rooted in his innate desire to make your connection to him clear through means sans saying it outright, though he'd much rather present it as his attempt in searching for a style that is uniquely yours ; which he does wish for to a degree, not to fret.

Your clothing will be weaved from scratch with the finest threads, silk and satin will be cut, folded and stitched to perfection. Even the measurements of your clothing will be penned down by the man himself : skirts must be of moderate length, not too long or too short and necklines must be modest. Said attires will be painted in shades of white, blue and gold ; his colors in short. But anything under these graceful dresses will be sleek black, a secret that'll never meet the public eye. The motifs of his halo will be skillfully engraved on the canvas that is you ; woven on the dresses, tempered in jewelry to adorn your hair and ears and not even your shoes will be spared.

The principle Sunday follows throughout this charade is complexity through simplicity. While one might think you'd look much like an over-groomed poodle after this, the gentle elegance of the reality will surprise even you. That is because Sunday practices caution in areas that are easy to complicate, jewelry for example. He's partial to earrings, bracelets, brooches and hair ornaments — not necklaces as he prefers the unobstructed beauty of your decolletage. Even those few ornaments are not gaudy in design, selected exclusively to accompany than to steal the stage. But the stones, diamonds and pearls he orders to be embedded in them are far precious than they initially suggest. After all, you deserve nothing but the best.

Most of Sunday's struggle was concentrated in the makeup area, for which, he had before anything else, scheduled an appointment with a dermatologist. Only when he had a detailed report on what products would suit your skin and what would harm you did he place the orders. Sunday thinks this endeavor to be much like conducting an orchestra : not all will understand why the conductor standing on the podium spins and twirls the baton, but when the tunes from the instruments unite and bring the melodies to life, it all makes sense.

-; ੈ♡˳ AVENTURINE

Aventurine has no patience for subtlety and employs bold tactics to get his message across. Should someone be naive enough to interrogate the man himself in his extravagant displays, he'll be unflinching in his reasoning as well. No amount of zeroes attached to the price tags or repeated cursory glances from passerbys will deter him in his shopping spree and should you complain about the mounting amount of bags — well, he has two perfectly functioning arms and adjacent shoulders sparkling in their vacancy, doesn't he? Your job is to just point out what catches your eyes, sweetheart.

The Stoneheart has discovered a sweet spot for matching since you entered his life ; which will materialize in earrings, bracelets, rings, hats, sunglasses, coats, chokers and the list goes on. Even though he gives you fair chances in choosing your attire, he'll not so discreetly sneak in pieces that'll reek of him. In occasions where this charade gets spectated by more than two pairs of eyes, Aventurine is less teasing and more edified in his intentions. Blue, pink and emerald coating fabrics that expose more than they cover will mock wanton eyes and they'll say loud and clear — this will never be yours.

Aventurine's favorite part has to be picking the perfumes for you. If you already have preferences, he'll scout the finest brand of that fragrance and make sure no other being in the expanding universe will be able to acquire it from then onwards. It just so happens that he also sees the importance of securing something that is uniquely you. If you're indecisive about perfumes, then even better! You can be doused in the fragrances he indulges in, keep no doubt that they'll be tasteful.

All this glamour might give the impression that Aventurine never allows you or himself to ever be stripped of the fanciful, glimmering and glittering layers oozing with the repute of uncountable credits. However, you were pleasantly surprised to find his lax attitude concerning your nightwear. You did not see any flickers of that ravenous flame concealed beneath enigmatic smiles even if you wore something bruised and tattered by time or, if you stole something from his wardrobe upon a random urge. Perhaps in moments overlooked by the light of distant stars, he treasures above all the sight of you in your most natural state, and wishes he could indulge in the same vulnerability as well.

-; ੈ♡˳ DR RATIO

The prodigious Veritas Ratio loves watching you get dressed, although there's a scarce chance of him openly admitting to his shameless ogling. Ironically, his genius receives negative marks when he tries to search for a rational reason as to why he continues regardless of your teasing — which, just so happen to never have sufficient burn to deter him for good. There's an odd sense of peace in spectating you building your look, in the movements of various tools and scattered, dexterous hand gestures. To him, it's almost synonymous to sculpting ; shaping something unremarkable to a display of skill and artistry.

Ratio thinks studious scholar should never limit their perspectives, which is why he tries to broaden his agenda with new experiences constantly — or at least, that's the excuse he ultimately settles on. He's yet to tell you of this, but he's certain he's acquired quite the quantity of knowledge on makeup from his observations. He knows the difference between foundations and concealers, in which order the cosmetics are applied and has a decent understanding about shades and highlights. It's safe to say, you can rely on him on this matter should there ever arise such an occasion.

When it comes to clothing, Ratio appears to be quite indecisive, form fitting or loose, he has no issues. The area where he is particularly strict, is hygiene. Which means no missed baths, or any half-hearted showers. After he's found himself comfortable in your presence, he'll take personal initiative to make sure your baths are never boring. Fragrant body washes, essential oils, exquisite rose water, bath bombs, shampoos — he has it all covered. Another astounding discovery for the scholar was that he adores taking care of your hair, in particular. He always takes extra caution when washing it, buys smoother combs so that it might not get damaged and occasionally tries different hairstyles — though he's not very skilled at it. But learning has never been an effortless process to begin with, he's sure he'll be able to decorate your hair the way he desires properly one day.

-; ੈ♡˳ BLADE

Blade seldom comments on your choice of attire, but it doesn't mean that he never thinks about it. He prefers to dismiss most of those bubbling thoughts, for what does a weapon understand of fashion senses and trends? What he does offer you instead are drawling stares tiptoeing before the line of glares. Insufficient time knowing the enigmatic Stellaron Hunter will prove your inefficiency in understanding his brooding gazes. Should you directly ask his opinion on a certain outfit, it'll not earn you more than a grunt or a hum. But coming from Blade, that would be considered a lot.

In truth, Blade finds himself bewildered before the feelings you stir within him through the most mundane actions. He was certain that wanton emotions, urges and his humanity were devoured by the curse. For centuries, he wandered without a definitive purpose, stewing in the rage and hatred bubbling from his fate. Above all, he did not think himself human. So when you, in all your bright and humane light dug through the battered cage of his ribs and made yourself its soul resident, tugging him closer closer closer towards that tunnel's end through seemingly meaningless antics — Blade was lost.

It made him afraid sometimes, for the unreachable end that he always clawed towards seemed to lose its appeal before you. When he realized one day that he liked lighter colors on you, that he enjoyed watching you practice a hairstyle for hours, that he loved how your lips shimmer after a swipe of lip gloss, that he'd not trade the matching tassels you gifted him on a whim for the universe — the appalling realization that living is just a tiny bit more bearable with you around crashed on his beliefs and destroyed him beyond repair. Which is why, for the longest time, he didn't know how to respond to any of your gestures ; far too occupied with processing whether its the talons of mara digging into his sanity or just plain pleasant emotions.

Blade is often irresolute when you ask for his opinion on your clothing, not because he has not the faintest idea of what is considered appealing but because, you just look good in everything in his eyes. There's a particular garment though, form fitting Qipao with cheeky side slits that had him run the first time you wore it. Only after Kafka's reassurance that no, it isn't his mara was he able to gather the courage to approach you again. In conclusion, be prepared for every possible outcome when you're dolling yourself up for Blade.

[osaemu]

HOME SWEET HOME FT. GOJO SATORU

✩ ‧ ˚. synopsis: gojo finally comes home to you after escaping from the prison realm

contents: fem!reader. non-explicit manga spoilers. kinda cliché.

there isn't quite a shade of blue that can exactly match the color of satoru's eyes. maybe his eyes are a mixture of all the blues you can think of, or maybe they're an enitirely new color. all you know is that without that color in your life, the world seems a little less vibrant.

eighteen days—that's how long your shared house has been devoid of satoru's overwhelming prescence. on the nineteeth day, he comes home.

your reunion is a mess of salt-drenched eyes and touch-starved hands, and for the first time in weeks you get the privilege of hearing his voice again.

"missed me, sweetheart?" satoru breathes, red-tinted eyes scanning your face for any sign of anger or injury. one of his hands rests on your waist, and the other lies on the back of your neck, holding you in place against his lips.

"yeah," you whisper, shaking your head and swallowing the painful lump in your throat. "a lot. i missed you a lot, satoru. i can't—" your voice breaks, and you look away, tears still trailing down your face.

for eighteen days, you weren't sure if he was dead or alive. for eighteen days, you thought you might never see him or hear his voice ever again. for eighteen days, your world was empty of the one person you could call home.

"tsk, always so dramatic," satoru mumbles in between kisses. he cups the side of your face and uses his thumb to wipe away your tears, but they keep coming endlessly. "i'm here, m'kay? save the crying for when i'm fucki-"

"satoru, i thought you were dead," you interrupt, not wanting to deal with his teasing just yet. "eighteen days. that's a lot of hours, and even more minutes," you sniffle, not caring that you barely make any sense.

"ah, darling, actually, they all add up to the same amount of tim—"

"satoru."

he grins ruefully, pressing his lips to yours again before you can continue speaking. one of his hands trails through your hair, and he smiles against your lips when the tears keep coming.

"baby, you're taking the saying 'cry me a river' a little too seriously," satoru says with a smile. he cups your face in both of his hands and makes you look at him. "i'm here. stop crying, please?"

you glare at him through tear-filled eyes and make a face. "...but i look really pretty when i cry."

"you're always pretty, sweetheart." right on cue.

"yeah, but my skin starts glowing and my eyes look gorgeous," you say, starting to smile. "and my lashes look so good, it's like makeup without actually having to—"

satoru cuts you off with another kiss, and this time, he doesn't pull away. his eyes are closed and you're close enough to count all of his lashes. you probably could if you didn't have to breathe—which is why you eventually have to tap satoru's jaw to get him to let you go.

"love you, sweetheart," satoru says, a lopsided grin on his face. he hasn't looked anywhere else but you since he walked in, and you haven't either. "haven't seen your pretty face in too long."

"love you too, even though you left me on delivered for eighteen days."

"well, i didn't really have a choice."