#This WILL lead to misunderstandings

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 182

Danny and Wes find themselves in the DC world after a portal incident. No they aren’t speaking about it, why would they need to? The issue is that they’re younger than they should be and it’s a lot harder to do things to try and get back home when people try to get them to go with them or go to the police or whatever. 

It’s not like they’re actually five year olds- they were almost graduating! One more week of school! ONE! So maybe they’re salty about it and maybe they both have latched onto each other as the literal only familiar thing in this situation. They don’t have co-dependence, really! 

But still, they have things to do! So if people could stop trying to stop them in concern that would be great! Aren’t big cities supposed to be horrible or something?! 

[bastardlybonkers]

i feel like not enough ppl are factoring in the cultural clash between laios and shuro and the many micro agressions shuro faced while being in their group. literally the name 'shuro' in itself is one

his name is toshiro 😭 lets also not forget that he has his own communication issues, in the opposite way that laios does- thats literally a factor in their argument, that his envy for laios's ability to express himself sincerely manifested as part of his distaste for him.

ig all this to say like, was their fight heart wrenching, especially when reading laios as autistic? absolutely. anybody whos ever been in laios's position knows how much it hurts to realize someone you thought was your friend doesnt actually like having you around, especially when they didnt tell you and you had no way of knowing due to not understanding their cues. but im begging yall to step back and see the nuance of this situation cause im gonna be real a lot of you are kinda just brushing over it acting like everything is toshiros fault and that hes a terrible person when in reality hes an average guy who really, really clashed with laios and it led to a very long misunderstanding due to their supremely opposite methods of communication. even laios and toshiro, after letting everything out in their fight, were able to come to an understanding and start a foundation for an actual friendship built on better communication

ok yknow what Edit: i shouldve made it even more explicit at the end of this post, i hadnt thought i would need to since i started the post with this, but i think a few too many people are missing my point so i just wanna clarify. i shouldnt have said 'really clashed' and left it at that because yeah they did, but it wasnt just their opposite methods of communication, it is also very much that toshiro was experiencing microaggressions via laios. it may have been unintentional on laios's part, but it still happened and wore him down, made it harder for him to communicate on top of both the more subtle social cues that he was raised with and his own communication difficulties. i also want to say that the fandom reaction to toshiro and the complete ignorance of this point is also racist tbh or at the very least ignorant. i understand that the anime did not cover this panel, and neither did the manga, as this was an omake, but im gonna be real with you guys. there are enough context clues within the story to clue you into this. if you didnt pick up on it thats ok, but i think this is a good lesson in picking up subtext in the stories that youre watching and/or reading. kui shouldnt have to explicitly say 'by the way laios was racist to toshiro' for this point to be understood, and at the very least, when the author portrays a character in a sympathetic light (as kui clearly does) it should make you question Why they are doing so and what makes them sympathetic, rather than youre immediate and only reaction to be 'well i hated what this guy did/said so i hate them and they suck'. idk exactly how to finish this, just. idk. question your biases and gut reactions to things you see in media and stories, and think about whether or not theres subtext that youre missing.

[bet-on-me-13]

Ellie is a Clone Misunderstanding

So, I' sure most of us have seen a story/prompt or two about Ellie being on the Teen Titans or Young Justice right? Here's my question, does she tell them about her being a Clone, or does she just omit that from her resume?

Imagine a scenario where Ellie is on a mission with her team (Let's say YJ for this). They are nearly done, when she gets hit by some type of Ecto-Weapon in the middle of the fight?

She is hurt, but shrugs it off and continues the battle. In the end, the team manages to come out on Top, and they return to Base.

The others are fretting over Ellie, asking how she is doing and if she needs ant help. She's never once been hit while in Battle, her Phasing Powers are stronger than even Miss Martian, so they are understandably concerned for her health.

She tells them that she's fine, and goes off to her room to rest, telling them to drop it.

Later that night, one of her teammates goes to her room to fetch her for Dinner. They knock on the door, but she doesn't respond. After a while, they decide to just open the door and find Ellie collapsed on the floor. She never made it to her bed.

They rush her to the Medical Station, and call in the League.

While there, they try to figure out what happened, but nothing comes up with the Weapon that hit her. (They took it after the battle for study)

Eventually, they get the results back from the Doctors. Her cells are dying at an alarming rate. Her energy levels are Unstable. Her DNA is deteriorating. She's Destabilizing.

She's a Clone.

All the evidence is there. Her DNA is deteriorating because she wasn't made complete, and her Cells can't keep up with the damage anymore because of that.

If this Ellie is a Clone, what happened to the Real Ellie? When was she kidnapped? How did they not notice their friend being replaced by a Clone?!

They need answers, and unfortunately Ellie isn't waking up any time soon.

[inkskinned]

you have to go to work so you can pay for your doctor, who is not taking your insurance right now, and if you say i can't afford the doctor's you are told - get a better job. it is very sad that you are unwell, yes, but maybe you should have thought about that before not having a better job.

(where is the better job? who is giving out these better jobs? you are sick, you are hurting - how the hell are you supposed to be well enough for this better job?)

but you go to the doctor because you had the nerve to be hurt or sick or whatever else. and they tell you that it is because you have anxiety. you try your best. you are a self-advocate. you've done the reading (which sometimes pisses them off worse, honestly). you say it is actually adding to my anxiety, it is effecting my quality of life. so they say that you are fat. they say that all young people have this happen to them, isn't it a medical marvel! they say that you should eat more vegetables. they say that you probably just need to lose a little more weight, and that you are faking it for attention.

(what attention could this doctor possibly give? what validation? that's their fucking job, isn't it?)

there is always a hypochondriac, right. someone always tells you about a hypochondriac. or someone who is unnecessarily aggressive during the worst days of their life. or someone looking "for a quick fix". or some idiot who wasn't educated about how to properly care for themselves who just abandons their treatment. and again, the hypochondriac, the overly-cautious hysteric. these people don't deserve to be treated like humans (right), and since you might be one of these people, you also don't get treated like a human. because those people can really fuck with the system, you now have to pay for it. and besides. you're actually probably faking it.

(more often than not, you find a 2:1 ratio of these stories. for every "hypochondriac", there are 2 people who knew something was wrong, and yet nobody could fucking find it. the story often ends with pointless suffering. the story often ends with and now it's too late, and it's going to kill me.)

you are actually just making excuses. someone else got that procedure or that diagnosis and he's fine, you should be fine too. someone else said they watched a documentary about other inspirational people with your exact same condition, maybe you should be inspirational, too. you're just too morbid. your pain and your experience is probably just not statistically concerning. it is all self-reported anyway, and you're just being a baby.

(once, while sitting down in the middle of making coffee, you had the sudden, horrible thought - i could kill myself to make the pain stop. you had to call your best friend after that. had to pet your dog. had to cry about it in the shower. you won't, but that moment - god, fuck. the pain just goes on and on.)

you know someone who went in for routine surgery and said i still feel everything. they told her to just relax. it took her kicking and screaming before they figured out she wasn't lying - the anesthetic drip hadn't been working. you know someone who went in for severe migraines who was told drink water and lose weight. you know someone who was actively bleeding out and throwing up in the ER and was told you're just having a bad period.

in the ER there are always these little posters saying things like "don't wait! get checked today!" and you think about how often you do wait. how often the days spool out. you once waited a full week before seeing the doctor for what you thought was a sprained wrist. it had actually been broken - they had to rebreak it to set it.

but you go into the doctor. the problem you're having is immediate. the person behind the counter frowns and says we're not taking your insurance. you will be paying for this out-of-pocket.

they send you home with tylenol and a little health packet about weight loss or anxiety or attention deficit. on the front it has your birthday and diagnosis. you think about crying, and the words swim. it might as well say go fuck yourself. it might as well say you're a fucking idiot. it might as well say light your money on fire and lie down in it. and the entire fucking time - the problem persists.

it's okay. it's okay, it's just another thing, you think. it's just another thing i have to learn to live with.

[torchstelechos]

Endlessly amusing to me that Mirabelle was like, "I don't think Siffrin really cares all that much about us or our journey :/" meanwhile Siffrin is "I've only had this party (family) for one Journey but if anything happened to them I would destroy the entire world and then myself"ing in the corner as they self destruct in new and interesting ways because they dont know how to say I love you without baggage claiming twenty new issues at the emotional airport that is their mind

[pollyna]

au in which Bradley gets back home years before the canon events because of scuttlebutt and a really terrible timing when he overhears conversations other people are having. All leading him to believe that: Admiral Kazansky is now married to his secretary, Captain Mitchell is dating someone called Tanya, Admiral Kazansky is going to be a dad soon and Tanya is sooo good with her hands they almost got arrested for public indecency. Bradley believes all of that so much that he found himself in front of Mav's door asking for an explanation and to find out if their breaking up was his fault.

Only, when the door is opened in front of him there isn't a pretty lady with magical hands but his pop - older than he remembered him - wearing one of his dad's shirt, a golden ring on his left hand and the most confused expression on his face.

Bradley has never been more happy to see a hickey on his father's neck.

[puppyeared]

I just skimmed through the art part of your blog and holy bajeebus your LMK art is so beautiful and the headcanon ideas you come up with are so good I wanna steal em-

Kinda wanna see like a part 2 of the little angst you did between MK and Macaque a while ago. It's so interesting and I wanna see Macaque's reaction in your art style. (You don't have to of course, it's just a suggestion [idk if i spelled that right])

Thanks for reading and hope you have a good day/night!

Hope this is to your liking ^^

Part one here

[cheeseanonioncrisps]

It just occurred to me…

So Delores can very clearly hear Bruno in the walls, right? Like the rest of the family may think he's missing, but she knows he's still in the house. She even admits as much to Mirabel in We Don't Talk About Bruno.

I've seen various explanations for why she reveal this to the rest of the family, ranging from 'she was scared of upsetting Abuela', to 'she was angry at Bruno for ruining her chances with Mariano', even 'she straight up assumed she was hallucinating the whole thing'.

And these are all very good explanations. But I have another question:

Does… does Delores know that the other family members don't know where Bruno is?

I mean, it's not as if they're talking about it.

She might be aware that Mirabel, Camilo and Antonio are in the dark, because they would have been either young children or not born when he 'left', but there's honestly no reason for her to assume that the adults don't know he's in the walls.

Dolores can literally hear an eyelid twitch from several rooms away. Bruno, from her perspective, is gonna be loud. He's walking around, knocking on the walls and staging elaborate telenovelas with his pet rats. It's entirely possible that she thinks the rest of the family can hear him as well.

And from her perspective, this probably wasn't a discovery. Like, there was a family argument, she woke up one morning and Tío Bruno was for some reason living in the walls, and whenever she tried to bring it up the adults would tell her not to talk about it, or insist that he was 'gone'.

I dunno, I'm just enjoying the idea of the post-movie family discussion being like:

“Delores! Why didn't you tell us your Tío Bruno was living in the walls?!”

“Wait. You guys didn't KNOW Tío Bruno was living in the walls??? Where did you think he was???”

[fisksaturday]

i have this terrible disease that makes me spend several hours drawing zak's hair and then lose a bunch of detail bc its mostly black anyways

[puppetmaster13u]

Another Prompt in Memes?! Yes.

[shy-forceghost]

One thing that I love about the bar conversation scene and Bea's "I did not say that!" about being royalty is that it implies that by that point Ava and Beatrice have already had a more detailed conversation about Bea's uppriggning. Not only that, but that it was such a lighthearted conversation so that Ava can freely mention it during a moment when they are both having fun and not worry about Bea's mood changing.

No heavy feelings, no fear of breaking the joy bubble. Just another anecdote to laugh about.

[chamomileteainabuttercup]

happy for the people enjoying punk Steve lately and genuinely not criticising them, only expressing a different thought in parallel (I hate how saying "genuinely not criticising" can make it sound even more passive-aggressive but I'm genuinely genuinely not criticising! I'm not suggesting other people are liking my favourite character wrong that would be so douchey)

I just always like the idea that Steve isn't, like, repressing a secret desire to be unconventional and join some kind of counterculture and one day start showing his true, wilder self in his fashion and grooming choices

that the way he looks is literally just what he's like

you could give him total freedom of choice and tell him to go hog wild and he'd still be chumping around in polos and light-wash jeans

they're comfortable and he likes how he looks

he likes sports and cars and his favourite Star Wars movie remains the one with the teddy bears

any "unconventional" stuff he does is very subtle and minor like he was indeed wearing a touch of strawberry lip gloss in the summer of 1985 because he needed a little cheer-me-up and he felt like the blue uniform washed him out, he's a warm autumn for god's sake he shouldn't be wearing blue

he would get, like, one ear pierced and wear a small plain gold stud and he'd feel very special about it

Eddie: gradually filling up his whole skin with increasingly elaborate tattoos

Steve: got a little heart with "E+S" in it on his inside forearm where it's not conspicuous but he can take a look at it and smile to himself any time he wants

he's not holding back this is just what he needs (and he thinks Eddie's tattoos and hair and jewellery and et cetera et cetera are badass and beautiful)

[faerie-somnium]

for an early celebration of his birthday, TYIES Dazai!! (he is also a bull-rider but i needed to show his mare, Meredith)

[kurithedweeb]

Mother called him zvanyalken, demonblood. She called him enkyaiken, Enki’s blood. She calls them livyahken, frostblood.

“You are Travis, son of Elsbeth,” Mother told him when he was young. “You are a son of Gal’ruk, and one day you will protect its people from the forces of the Warlock Valkrum as I have been, and you will be one of a long line of warriors.”

Travis ran his hand over his mother’s embroidery project. This one was a new quilt for his bed. His old one didn’t cover him completely anymore and blizzard season was coming. He liked the blizzard season. Mother didn’t go out imp hunting as often, so she didn’t get hurt as often. He liked watching her work, her stitches were so neat and straight.

“Was he always bad, Mother?”

She added another stitch to the arctic fox running across the hem. “I’ve never known him not to be, but there was a time before I knew him,” she said. “I thought he was a sweet man when we first met, but that wasn’t really him.”

Travis was zvanyalken. He was a shape-changer, a skin-shifter. He was born with horns, with fangs and claws. He spent most days squishing his insides into human-shapes. He spent most days trying to look like Mother for as long as he could.

He did not look like Mother that day. That day, he had horns and fangs and claws. The points of his teeth caught on his lip when he spoke, his nails tore through his mother’s beautiful stitches like a knife if he wasn’t careful, if he didn’t dull them down.

“Was he a different person in the skin you knew?” Travis asked.

“No, no. I don’t think he was a different person at all. He was only pretending to be someone else.”

Mother set down her needle and embroidery. She tipped his chin up and ran a hand over his hair. Over one of his horns.

“You’re not a different person when you shift skins either, Travis,” she said. “No matter what form you take, snowflake, you are still Travis, son of Elsbeth. You always will be.”

His lip bled when he smiled, caught on a fang. It was healed by the time he licked the blood away.

“Come sit with me, snowflake. I’ll teach you how to make a fox.”

She guided his hands through embroidering a smaller, much worse fox trailing after the first. The conversation drifted from his mind, and when he woke up one day soon after in the skin of an arctic fox, she brushed his coat until it shined and made him a nest in front of the hearth until he shifted back because he wasn’t big enough to reach his bed.

[98chao]

ion know what vanilla milkshake is but damn ill ship it outta spite for twitter and to support u dawg wtf is happening in the cookie run fandom

LMAOSKDISJFOKSOFJE well i could go on for HOURS abt the ship, but basically in cookie run kingdom they have the 5 ancient cookies that have a special power given to them called the soul jam right, and in a huge update back in january they introduced what are basically the ancient-ancients called beast cookies, who were the original owners of the soul jam but had half of it stripped away because they were using it for evil

SO BASICALLY vanilla milkshake is the ship between the ancient pure vanilla cookie and the beast shadow milk cookie

they both hold the soul jam for the virtue of knowledge, split up into the traits of truth and deceit respectively

so... of course when they're thematic contrasts the ship is gonna be right up my alley, and i started shipping it like literally immediately after playing the update. but crk fans (specifically twt and tt ones) do NOT like this ship bc they think it's toxic lol, even tho theres nothing wrong with shipping something that's literally just enemies to lovers trope that everyone claims to love 😭 it's like the one meme "how fake enemies to lovers fans look when REAL enemies to lovers fans come at them"

there's other ancient-beast pairings too but they're like equally hated because the beasts are unapologetically cruel to everyone. like mystic flour cookie x dark cacao cookie even tho they had THIS beautiful scene that really made me wish i was dark cacao cookie here

me personally i'll still enjoy all of them ... these ppl just don't understand peak ship dynamics 😒. we haven't even seen a lot of the beasts so its way too early to judge the ships this harsh when they have so much potential to be amazing

[romance-rambles]

modern alkaid | 319 roses and a date

Alkaid gets asked on a date by the girl he desperately wanted to ask out, at least before he found out who the flowers were for. You'd like to maintain that nothing you said was a lie.

2.8k, post-alkaid's florist ending [everything else happens the same way, except alkaid's first meeting with mc happens after godheim], misunderstandings + some angst, mc is reader, series: none

ALKAID STARES DOWN BLANKLY AT the bouquet of white roses in his hands. At some point during his stunned silence, he had unwittingly taken them off yours, just as you had hoped for.

All 319 of them, to be precise—which is a number that, put in a different context, can also refer to 3/19, the day of his birth. Even with the limited capacity he has at the moment to sort out the events that led up to this moment, he can't help the way his heart flutters at the knowledge that you remembered, even though so much time has passed.

"Alkaid?" A gentle tap against his shoulder robs the flowers of their spotlight. "Do you...not like the flowers?"

He looks up and sees you, still here—still dressed so beautifully he's once more in danger of succumbing to asphyxiation, with a fretful expression that makes him wonder if he's already there. When he does not respond, you close the remaining distance between them, obscuring all else from his vision.

It is a problem only because he has nowhere left to run.

"No," he croaks out finally, leaning back over the counter to accommodate you.

Obliviously, you move closer, leaving him with no choice but to avert his gaze once more. Alkaid can only hope you aren't offended—that you don't think he finds you unattractive, with how often he does so. It's only that your beaming smile reminds him of what it feels like to stare down the sun.

"They're lovely."

Satisfied with his answer, you pull back. Your hands are clasped behind your back, and your ponytail sways slightly, once more retreating behind your shoulder. There's an adorable star-shaped pin fastened onto the strap of your cross-body bag.

He sighs discretely, relieved, and pulls the bouquet up to his face as casually as he can. The petals, he hopes, will be enough to cover up the deep scarlet staining his cheeks.

"I'm glad!" You clap your hands together. "I was worried they wouldn't be to your liking. Maybe I should've asked you what your favorite flower was before I tried asking you out."

A self-deprecating laugh slips out as you scratch your cheek. An intricate design spans the length of your nail now—shades of red and green shaped into what he can clearly recognize as halves of a rose hugging the edges—against a black background.

Alkaid bites his lip, converting the interrupted gasp into a quiet exhale.

"You guessed right. I like white roses," he says, hoping desperately that his words are nothing less than reassuring. "Though they share that spot with lilies as well."

"Lilies," you repeat, a determined gleam in your lovely eyes. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He bites his lip harder.

THE MORNING HE'S DUE TO hand off your flowers, Alkaid finds himself contemplating the benefits of coffee behind the register.

Though his favorite concealer and his usual color corrector have done much to brighten up his undereyes, they can do little for the grogginess that comes with staying awake the whole night (Why such a specific number? Who are they for? Do you remember him at all?). And, by the time the clock strikes nine, he's already downed three cups of strongly-brewed tea.

What pushes him to finally break away from his usual preferences is a simple headache.

The store is empty, and there remains more than half an hour before you're set to arrive. A sharp twinge of pain in the side of his head as he stands up to check on your flowers draws out a careful hiss. Alkaid, with some amount of lingering hesitance, flips the sign on his door to closed, with a note explaining the rough length of absence. Then he walks out the door, his destination the artsy cafe across the street—the one that makes him think of you whenever he walks in.

Allen, the normally deadpan barista on duty, seems to shut down when Alkaid corrects him on his order. Soon, the news spreads to the rest of the employees, who take turns staring at him as he leaves with a warm thermos of coffee in his hands.

But, in the end, it proves to be an unnecessary trip.

You're already in front of his flower shop when he returns, half-crouched and studying the sign the way someone might study a work of abstract art. Today, too, you have a large, dark blue backpack slung over both your shoulders, its surface decorated with various pins and stickers—mostly of a cat, your cat, but also of a popular manga that you seem to like.

In Passing, that is.

It's about a love triangle featuring a tyrant emperor and a well-liked leader of the rebellion. Even without the reviews praising it for subverting expectations, Alkaid would've picked it up anyway.

He's on the third volume right now, and—

Hmm? His eyebrows furrow. Where did I leave it? In my bag?

All of a sudden, the sleep that had been so insistent on dragging his eyelids down vanishes. Alkaid wracks his brain desperately for the answers, stomach churning at the thought of you finding out about his latest reading material.

Unfortunately, you choose that moment to turn around.

"Oh, Alkaid!"

Your confused expression soon melts away, leaving behind only a cheerful smile. Tightening his grip on his thermos, he exhales silently, before flashing you a gentle smile.

"You're here." Time stops as you begin to approach him, your keychains singing a short jingle to accompany you. Your expression softens, as does your voice. "You didn't forget about me, right?"

Alkaid can only sputter out a half-coherent apology.

The words get drowned out by the insistent, purposeful beating of his heart. It's as if it wants to claw itself out of his chest and entrust itself to your hands, as it is, with shattered bones sticking out of it.

You laugh prettily, as always. "It's okay. I'm just joking."

Then, like a moth to a flame, his gaze falls upon your lips. A soft red, with a glossy sheen, one that matches the color of your skirt. On a plain canvas, it's all the more striking. It leaves him wondering about things he, currently a stranger, shouldn't be fretting over.

He's not sure how long he stares for, with slightly parted lips and a series of half-realized thoughts chiding at him to stop—only that it's not long enough for you to grow uncomfortable.

Alkaid clears his throat, holding up his thermos (I should've bought her something too, he thinks) as an explanation. "I apologize for the wait. I went over to the cafe across the street."

"Coffee lover?" you guess, making room for him to open the door.

"I'm usually more of a tea person." As he slips inside the store, he can't help but chuckle self-consciously, remembering all the different ways he imagined this scene playing out. Naturally, his next words are nothing more than the most blatant lie he's ever told. "I thought I'd try something else for a change."

"Is it a nice place?" Upon seeing the puzzled look he sends over his shoulder, you clarify, "The cafe. I've seen the reviews, but I think only experience can beat the testimony of someone you know."

He considers your question for a moment. "The staff is very friendly. I often stop by during lunch for their sandwiches."

"I see..." you murmur.

"I think you'd like it," Alkaid blurts out as he slips in behind the register, happy to note that his copy of Volume 3 is, in fact, in his bag. "The owner enjoys collecting art—there's a lot of different paintings all over the cafe. Um, since you're an art major."

"Well, now I have to try it out." You don't seem particularly startled that he knows about your major; instead, you take to drawing patterns across the wooden countertop. He thinks he sees the familiar curve of an A. "The cookies you recommended last time were really great too."

When he keeps his silence, the complete opposite of what the state of his mind currently is (she remembers?), you look up.

"Hmm?" You tilt your head, confusion clouding your once smiling expression. "Do I have the wrong person? You're Alkaid, right? From that time in the snow mountains?"

He forces himself to nod, but that too is enough.

A shy smile blossoms on your lips, paired with both a brief flash of relief flitting through your gaze and the slight, almost imperceptible widening of your eyes. Placing your hands above your heart, you sigh exaggeratedly.

"You had me worried for a moment," you say. Your eyelashes cast a dark shadow on your undereyes. "I thought we'd never meet again."

For a moment, he wonders if there's more to your sorrow than you let on. Does it have anything to do with the way you disappeared? Somewhere so far away that no one could reach you at all?

Alkaid shakes off his thoughts.

"But we did," he responds carefully. I never thought we'd meet again either, he does not say instead. "Whether it was destiny, whether it was just a coincidence, we did. All we can do is make the most of it."

A tinge of sadness mars your lovely smile. "I think that sounds lovely."

SOON AFTER THEIR REUNION, DONE properly this time, down to exchanging numbers, Alkaid excuses himself to go fetch your flowers. When he returns, lovesick heart brimming with curiosity over the recipient's identity once more, he finds you've returned to doodling on the counter.

"Here they are, 319 white roses," he announces.

There's a blank expression on your face when you look up. Slowly, as recognition dawns upon you, it melts away to something bitter and rough. Its jagged edges dig into his his heart, leaving a paralyzing mix of sadness and longing to wash over him.

And then—

"Thank you," you say, and take the flowers off his hand.

His hand twitches, yearning for the camera he still keeps in his backpack, for the days where he feels like memorializing something instead. Lovely is the only word he has to describe you as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and pull the bouquet close with a faint smile.

Then, you close your eyes, and you inhale deeply. Once more, you are somewhere else—somewhere far, somewhere he can't reach.

"Ah, sorry." You crack one eye open. Now, the bouquet is clutched against your chest, but your sadness remains. "I guess I'm a bit nervous. I don't know if he'll like the flowers."

He? From some far corner of his mind, he recalls the image of your guardian. A tall man, with long silver hair and a pleasant, but guarded expression. Cael, he thinks is the name.

"For your guardian?" Alkaid inquires.

Your smile drops entirely at the mention of your guardian. A complicated series of emotions flash in your gaze, soon averted to one of the potted plants at the display. Scratching your cheek, you offer him a polite laugh.

Today, only some of your nails are a plain black. The rest remain bare.

"No, it's not for Cael." You answer carefully. "Actually—"

Looking down at the flowers, you take a deep breath. When next you speak, your voice has reclaimed the softness it'd shown him earlier—your searching gaze as well. You leave him with the truth, imparting it onto him like a mischievous secret.

"There's someone I'd like to ask out."

His stomach drops, and you leave him with the memory of lovelorn smile, forever imprinted behind his eyelids.

"I hope he says yes."

[3:00 PM] you: Alkaid, do you have any plans tonight?

[3:17 PM] alkaid: No, I'm free

[3:21 PM] alkaid: Did something happen?

[3:22 PM] you:

[3:22 PM] you: I haven't asked him out yet. Gonna do it soon

[3:23 PM] you: All of my other friends are busy rn.

[3:24 PM] you: Is it okay if I stop by after you close up shop?

[3:24 PM] you: I'd want to talk to someone about it

[4:31 PM] alkaid: Of course

SOMEHOW, ALKAID MANAGES TO GET through the rest of the day.

His heart is held together haphazardly with duct tape and carefully-placed staples, though their efforts are thwarted constantly by a popular refrain (You hardly know him. Of course there's someone else.), and he's one stubbed toe away from being reduced to tears, but he manages. Somehow.

He swallows down his what-ifs and maybes and waits, watching the hands on his wristwatch inch ever closer to six in the evening. And eventually, the vaguely promised time arrives.

As he's stepping out from behind the register, a familiar chime echoes cuts through the silence. Alkaid looks up and sees you, dressed still in red and black, your turtleneck and skirt swapped out for a knee-length dress.

"Hi."

The bouquet of white roses—held in both hands, a stark contrast to the black leather jacket you're wearing—covers up its neckline. You smile sheepishly at him, pulling at the mesh of your bright red skirt to mimic a curtsy.

You're beautiful. Even the flowers surrounding them pale in comparison. Even the aurora they'd seen together pales in comparison. You rob him of his breath and leave gasping for a reprieve, but so long as he keeps his memory in even the smallest capacity, that's simply impossible.

The familiar knife called jealousy stabs into his heart, leaving him keenly aware of his longing. He averts his gaze, but the damage has already been done. You are beautiful, and he has waited years to see you.

"Hi." Alkaid swallows uncomfortably, as the sound of your footsteps draws closer. In a panic, his hands brace themselves against the edge of the counter. "Was something wrong with the flowers? I thought—"

A mysterious expression sits upon your features when you pull his gaze onto you, seemingly oblivious to your magnetic power.

With a deep breath, you thrust the flowers at him, knuckles brushing against his chest. You pull back for a moment, taking your flowers with you, and the soft coral of your blush makes it difficult to discern whether you find yourself a victim the of same scarlet blooming across his cheeks.

"That's—" You cough politely. There's a heart-shaped pendant dangling from your golden necklace. The dress is either strapless or your jacket has covered up the straps. "—what I'm here to find out."

Alkaid tilts his head. His confused gaze darts across his surroundings and stops at the glass window of the store's display, thinking perhaps that your mystery boy might be outside. But while the streets are not barren, there is no one outside his store.

You say his name in the same way you told him your secret. Like it's something precious. Like it's something you love. And the truth begins to settle into his bones with a finality that deafens the half-coherent puzzle pieces he's been trying to fit together—he is the only one you could possibly ask out in this empty store.

He has no choice but to look back. At you, and the bouquet you're offering him.

"Would you like to go to the movies with me?"

AND THAT IS HOW HE finds himself with the beginnings of a bruise forming on his lip. He doesn't mind, not when the sting he feels as he wets his lip reminds him that this is not, in fact, a dream (It feels like it though, he thinks), nor a fantasy.

"You...you don't have a girlfriend, do you? It's been a while since then..."

You rub your arm lightly, muttering about something he can't understand, and what else is Alkaid meant to do but take your hand? He squeezes it gently, tickled to find that he can return the favor for all the times you've stolen his breath away.

Your lips part slightly, but whatever you hoped to say does not leave the confines of your mysterious mind. Instead, you draw some of your hair from both sides over your flushed cheeks.

"Nothing like that," he reassures, smiling gently at you. "I'm just surprised. I didn't realize you were talking about me."

"That's a reli—what." In a single moment, your voice goes from girlishly breathless to an irritated flat. Releasing your hair, you blink uncomprehendingly at him. "How?"

Watching you descend into another muttered ramble, Alkaid shrugs. "If you'd still like that date..."

You whip your head in his direction. "Then it's a date!"

The first time he met you, it was when you had fished out of the snow and offered him a warm drink to fight off the cold. They had talked about miscellaneous things, from your half-hearted desire to request a camera for your birthday to who could make the better model between them both.

And back then, he had thought to himself that there was no sound more beautiful than your laugh.

Almost four years after the fact, as he watches you giggle, Alkaid can confidently say his past self had the right idea. Such a specific title leaves him with room to declare your follow-up smile to be just as breathtaking.