#anyways thank youuu

[i-luvsang]

Bro :// I'm sorry you're feeling that way :( do you wanna talk about it?

awe you are too sweet <333 thank you for offering my love! i will take you up on it bc grrrrr ranting will help me process <33 :,) im just upset bc its something ive dreamed of and got really excited about that thought i might actually achieve after saving up for it for so long :// it just feels really disappointing too that i totally could have afforded this the last time when the vip package had the hi touch in 2022 but i didn’t go for it then to save money. not a bad thing per say! just really disappointing that now that im willing to pay the extra money and have saved up for it thats its both far more expensive and not even a possibility this time. i just don’t understand why they wouldn’t include hi touch this tour and then charge so much more. i totally expected tix to be more because they have even higher demand of course after growing more famous and performing at coachella!! but to not include the same benefits as last time makes no sense to me and is just really disappointing :(( i know getting my hopes up isn’t my fault, but i really just wish they’d release official prices and vip packages so i wouldn’t have as much. they did last tour so it feels lame that the fans had to do our own research by snooping around or emailing the venue ourselves etc. it just feels like such a grab for money, which is to be expected of a kpop company but still disappointing. i would’ve paid the money if they just included the same benefits as last time😭

[feketeribizli]

marci masterpost 🫡 my beloved formula one guy

[zu-is-here]

Hey dear Zu if you possibly take requests could you perhaps draw Fresh if you haven't yet? Love your work!

Clink <3

[4/20] Fresh by loverofpiggies

Greaser by rodsee

[blabberoo]

Since when—

[pangwave]

[ X ] DON'T RUN AWAY THIS TIME OUR DATING SIM (2023) for @soulmatelines [ happy birthday jo 💗 ]

[corpsephrog]

i love the golden trio and the lightning era characters but i primarily stick to the marauders side of the fandom because it's just like... an objectively better place to be

[claudiablogger]

i love your takes on armand,he gives the ick but it’s fascinating at the same time lol what is your take on loumand from armand side? do you think he genuinely liked louis at some point?! it was all about his obsession with lestat? why he wanted to keep him so bad,again,only bc of lestat(i hope not tbh)? did he love him? idk after the last two episodes i bounce so much with this!!

thank youuu everyone loves an evil man until they get one and suddenly he's their canceled wife. or a doe eyed twink. or an overgrown teenager. anything but the actually interesting version of himself presented in the source material. but i digress imo armand absolutely loves louis he's so. his hunger is bottomless and he pours all of it into louis and by god will he ensure louis takes it. without complaint too we wouldn't want to get hysterical now would we dear not in this already fragile state. anyway i do think the choices armand makes in no pain are incredible (scarily straightforward) foreshadowing for the latter half of s2. like base conditions and consequences 1. he wants a relationship with louis on his own terms (on coven terms he set) or not at all; 2. he expects louis to make the necessary unquestioning sacrifices for acceptance and for their romance--first his freedom, then claudia; 3. and in the absence of this sacrifice he kills him/possesses him completely when that fails--e3 ends with armand deciding not to kill him but instead have sex with him. and the trial's ordeal ends with their eternal companionship built on armand's lie . othello had to kill desdemona bc if she could betray her father to marry him she could betray him to sleep w someone else etc it's all about making sure the wife knows her place

in dubai he's definitely a hundred percent in love w louis + having been shown their bedroom i don't subscribe to the bed death theories. but imo louis doesn't have the breadth of choice to ever meaningfully reciprocate. his love is a small box....it's all carefully curated to ensure he appears louis' only option and his best chance at enduring vampirism + the sickness of living without claudia. in his mind he keeps louis because he loves louis. he keeps louis because he wants complete control over his own illusion of servitude. he keeps louis bc he's earned the right to louis + his companionship

i do genuinely think his obsession w lestat is different entirely; armand respects lestat too much to ever love him the way he loves louis. man to man lmao.....he knows lestat can't be possessed the way louis can and his envy is only amplified by louis' love for him. i also do think in his eyes he just vibes w louis better (while in her eyes well. armand voice your wife is counting down your thrusts) while his relationship with lestat 1. was primarily antagonistic 2. was edited to fit the narrative of his powerlessness + being wronged by him in order to appeal to louis' sympathies 3. eventually became about louis' love and louis' choices . yay

[campbyler]

Hi again! just want to say thanks for the song 'kiss me slowly'. your playlist has been one of the best driving playlists ive had and made my summer 2024 sooo magical with little dreams of camp on long journeys. i am definitely more of a mike than a will when it comes to driving, both in song choice and car type! hehe!

and this song throws me back to my teen days, listening to emotional 00s indie rock back when people used to make 5 min long youtube edits to harry potter and twilight using songs by howie day, the fray, and anything that was on one tree hill lol

very pleased to add to my acswy driving playlist!

hello and thank you and you are so so welcome!! this is actually the second time i’ve put this song on a mike pov fic playlist — i think it just makes a lot of sense for him and i associate him quite heavily with this era of 2000s-early 2010s pop rock/pop punk, and lyrically it fits so well with how i see his specific style of Yearning teehee. even aside from mike, kiss me slowly by parachute has been on my rotation for Years because i also first discovered it through a youtube edit 😎 i think driving wise and in general i personally am definitely a good mix of both of the music tastes we’ve assigned them in this universe (and usually the tastes i assign them in all my fics anyway lol), it honestly just depends on what mood i’m in when i get in the car, but i like to be a little self indulgent with mike’s driving tunes here because i think the mustang’s roof goes down and the feel good nostalgic pop comes OUTTTTTTT ‼️‼️‼️ so glad you’re having a good time with the playlist and our tunes! thanks for the love 🩷

[sharkaroni]

Chapter 10 of The Plum Calendar is up!

In this chapter, Reigen and Serizawa finally have a talk. In the end, they’re wet, cold, covered in mud, one of them’s bleeding and they’re both halfway deaf. But to find out how that happened, you’re just gonna have to read the very final chapter of The Plum Calendar.

” Like I said, aside from the constant overhanging threat of being eaten, it was one of my better vacations to date.” The fact being, it was one of exactly two vacations Reigen had taken in his entire adult life, and the other one had been pretty severely dampened by a very predictable bout of salmonella. ”Besides, you, uh, definitely did your part,” he said, looking the other way. ”You’re a pretty smooth talker, when you wanna be. And you’re not a bad kisser, either.” Reigen didn’t have time to reflect on what a stupid, idiotic thing that had been to say, because he, along with all the woodsy debris on the ground, was being launched a good few meters up into the air by some unseen psychic force.

The Plum Calendar has been a fic about pretending to be engaged to the secret love of your life so a 200-year old ghost won’t marry him and keep him in the ghost dimension forever. But it has also been about not being good enough, about the concept of deserving, about what it means to be a liar, and whether or not that sort of thing is innate.

For those of you who have been reading along, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. I can write 30 000 words of someone else’s sappy feelings, but I can never express how much I’ve loved having you read my story. And for the rest of you,  maybe check it out? I don’t know, you might like it.

[here-there-be-drag0ns]

i was terrified thinking my riptide hyperfix was dying

turns out i just needed to relisten to the black rose pirates oneshot

[lanternlightss]

Yaaay writing requests ^^. Do you think we could get the old mondstadt gang (everyone lives) reacting to venti after ascending do godhood? 👀. I think it'd be interesting >.<

As beings of Anemo, there is little reason for wind wisps to partake in the act of breathing. Why would they, those made of that same air as the one whirling around them, need to? This remains true for Venti, even after they had taken a form alike to Cecil’s own.

If. If only Venti did not take a liking to breathing, pretending—for a moment—that they have lungs to use, the subtle up and down of their chest, at first a conscious choice that you could see being made, moving towards one they do without thought. Something human. Something mortal. It makes them happy, to be able to mimic such abilities, such mundanity.

This is, to say, that he is impressed they have learned how to do it whilst they sleep (their wings twitching intermittently); as he feels the occasional soft breaths (he counts—a full minute of complete stillness, followed by a shuttering, jagged exhale, repeat) being blown across the hand that they rest beside, having used his left arm and waist as a pillow during the night.

He does not mind, not at all. Had sat up to place his right hand atop their head once he was not blinking sleep from his eyes, playing with the strands.

Briefly, he entertains the thought of humming them a lullaby, or perhaps, a tune to celebrate this moment, that they are all here, together, still. He dismisses it the moment he begins to toss the idea around, knowing that those same people included in that “they are all here, together, still” in the room with him (Amos, in her own makeshift bed beside him—Cecil “borrowed” the one he is using, truth be told, he should be in the room one down—with Valentina besides her sat in a chair, and Felix standing at the entrance) would kick a fit if he even dared to strain his voice further (orders from the healers.) How elated he had been when they told him he could still talk, simply had to be quiet, low.

“…how asleep, are they?”

Aha, speaking of his dear companions.

Cecil inclines his head towards Felix, though his eyes never stray from Venti. “I do not believe they will be waking up, for a long while.” (Thank the winds for that, they deserve it—he had heard that whilst he and Amos’ injuries were being attended to, the rest of them had been running themselves particularly ragged dealing with the everything.)

He hears Felix sigh heavily in response, and the shifting of fabric. Shoulders, presumably, fell? He brings his eyes up to scrutinize—the man looks one awful sway away from collapsing.

“Good, that means we can have this discussion in peace.”

That … particular phrasing does not inspire a good feeling. He forces himself not to show outward unease at the words, instead, curling the hand in Venti’s hair to touch at their forehead, and lightly gripping what he can of the sheets with the other.

“Are you sure we should be having any discussion? Both you and Valentina should get rest, too—you look a dead man walking, Felix.”

And—there, Felix’s relaxed shoulders seem to tense, his jaw clamping and working in a gritted motion subtly. Cecil is waved off, both in tone and by the fluttering of his hand, “I will rest easier after this.”

He chances a glance over, to where Valentina has scooted to the very edge of her seat, clutching at her knees in a white-knuckled grip, with furrowed brows. Amos, meanwhile, is propped against pillows, slightly slouching, her bangs and unbraided strands casting a shadow over her eyes, as she burns her gaze into Felix.

The first to speak of them is Valentina, leaning forwards: “Which discussion have we not already taken care of?”

Felix does not look away from Venti, but a grimace overtakes his face, angling his head in a way to hide himself behind both his hair and the large fur of his cape. He seems rather… uncomfortable, now—his crossed arms pulling further into his chest, one hand flexing. It continues to stay this way, even when gesturing to where Cecil’s wisp cuddles against him, and speaking the words, “What do we do about them?”

Her eyes harden, back straightening in an instant. “What is it that you mean.”

(Cecil is quick, to check on Amos. Her bangs have now completely covered her eyes, and he cannot truly gauge a reaction. He worries the sheets between his fingers.)

That discomfort shines, in the floundering of Felix’s limbs—his arms flinging outwards, his hand waving about as he grasps for words. “The whole point of this was that we did not want a God to rule over us, the way they had! And then, whatever it is of that…. those heavens, has decided we were wrong in that thinking, that they sent us another God to deal with, not a moment’s peace from the previous? Are we to never escape from the divine?”

Valentina stands, her mouth twisted into a tight-lipped frown, both her fists raised to her sides and clenching. She is stopped from going farther by Amos raising an arm in front of her.

A brief spark of irritation whisks throughout Cecil’s chest, and he wishes Felix had chosen a better moment to do this—Amos, as well, is not supposed to talk above a quiet voice, or for long periods of time. “I fear we would have encountered divinity whether we wanted to or not—tell me, why is it that many had told us of a frozen land, yet when the storm vanished, the snow was fading?” Her arm shakes imperceptibly, “Had it not been for … what decision it was, that transpired before we succeeded, we would have come to face the God responsible for declaring the war.”

(That is, to say nothing of their neighboring nation and Boreas’ wolves….)

She turns, and, he notes, that for the first time since Venti’s presence had made itself known (when they had near silently glided into the room, the door creaking shut just so, with Anemo slowly dissipating from their form, and playfully tousled Cecil’s bangs in a light breeze) Amos looks directly at the God, who has huddled closer—they seem to be trying to lay themselves over all of him—whilst the conversation had gone on.

Her eyes seem to soften, staring a few seconds longer, then dropping her attention to the end of the bed. She turns away, her arm falling to her lap, hands lacing together and nails gently clinking against each other.

“Perhaps we should count ourselves fortunate, that of all beings to ascend, it was the Elf.”

Felix scowls and presses his back against the wall, the sound of his cape sliding across it echoing, nearly drowning out the even quieter grumblings of his, “Fortunate is not the word I would use.”

How terrible for him, that for as far as he is from Cecil, his words still ring clear—words that cause that spark of irritation to flare into a burst of small flames, flames that have to be forcefully smothered out. Over the little time that the bard has not been able to walk the grassy lands, has he forgotten? Nothing, not a single noise, escapes from those who always listen, who keep their ears pinned to the striking chords of the winds.

His eyes narrow, bordering on a glare. And this is not quite shaping to be a “discussion”; would it be a proper one, they would actually be going somewhere, and not talking in practically circles.

“Why unfortunate?” Felix’s head snaps to him, and Cecil (pushes the flames) risks skimming his hand to where Venti’s right ear is, holding his palm there (a useless gesture, really, yet he does it anyhow). “You would not start anything if there was no value to be had of it—so, please, what is it you wish to truly say?”

The man opens his mouth, pauses. Cecil continues to stare, lowering his chin, his brows drawing together, upward, and the edges of his mouth threatening to fall.

Boots scuff against the floor, when Felix titters side to side, considering. A breath rushes out of him, harsh. Then, as if it were a leaf fallen onto still waters and sending ripples across the surface, he utters: “If they turn against us—what are we to do?”

Try as he might not to (flames slipping between the gaps of his fingers), Cecil lurches forward, and halts himself rather awkwardly halfway through it hearing Venti make an indescribable noise. He looks to them, seeing them curl inward, their brows knitted, wings dazedly moving to shield their body. A wince pulls at him, as he adjusts back to where he was (almost to, he should say—positioning himself to hide them from Felix’s view, his torso bent over them), and the hand covering their ear runs to their hair, massaging; they start to relax from it, wings spreading, and nestling their face into his waist.

(A splendid sight, yet… a bitter feeling forms, coating his mouth.)

Scratching at where two strands—resembling the ones they had as a wisp—sprout, he presses, a hiss to it, “Turn against us..?”

He holds his hands in the air, by his chest. “I know. I know, I have seen them.”

If the emotion of “incredulous” could be humanized, Cecil would be the perfect role, right then. Has he? Has he??

Admittedly, for most of the time he has been awake, he can count on one hand and two extra fingers how much he was fully lucid during it. When the pain constricting in his chest was not clouding his vision, when there was no fog laid over his mind, his surroundings dizzy, his limbs feeling inexplicably heavy. Shoving this all aside, however—during those lucid moments, and finding Venti waiting for him, their entire demeanor brightening at their locking of eyes; he noticed how terror and apprehension threaded through their being.

He does not think they have a capacity to harm—not for those they love, not for those they have a branch of trust to—by the fact that they cannot bring themself to hold his wrist in a firm grip without panicking of potentially “breaking him.”

(Or that they, wind now trapped in a bottle, a shell for them to be tied to, try next to everything to compact themselves to the size they once were. From curling into a ball on the wooden chair, from using their wings to hide themself away, from bowing and crumbling in the cradle of his palms.

How they are bigger and powerful, certainly, yet the world around them still remains so much more than they are.)

Felix slumps. “It would only be as a precaution. We should be prepared—”

There is a clanging of armor, signaling Valentina’s steps inching towards Felix. When she speaks, her voice is stern, tinged slightly by bafflement.

“No, you are aware, just as I, to what they are capable of! They are listening to the people, and doing what they can for them!” Her hand clenches, metal shuddering. “And even… they have been this way, they stopped at nothing to keep my clan safe, out in the frozen barrens. We should have seen a sign by now if they were to change, the winds are simple creatures. There is no reason for this precaution!”

“Are we to lay all our trust in what was? Their knowledge is more! They are not such a simple creature! They know intimately the hopes and dreams of mere humans—what that does. They have become privy to how far mortality can go, to how much a human can take before their life is snuffed from them, and now they have the ability to do something about it.”

He sweeps a hand, jerkily, to the two in bed, during the last words.

Cecil bristles. Their injuries are not to be used for matters like this. No one should have expected that death would not be nipping at their heels during the revolt, that they would not have to grab on to the world of living and dig. A retort readies on his lips, lips pulled back, only to—still.

(Oh. There is no air being blown across.

Oh.)

Valentina side-steps to the other side of Amos’ bed, hackles fully raised, a righteous glare upon her face. “You truly know nothing of the wind, then, if you believe they would willingly go back to those restraining—!”

“Enough.”

They both startle. Cape, whipping. Armor, clanking.

“Enough,” Amos repeats, the words sounding as though they were scraped from her throat. “The both of you… shall we have someone watch over, when you are outside here? You have swung knives.”

In unison, their shoulders hunch. She draws a soft breath, half-watching Valentina stride over to grab the canteen of water from the side table, offering it to her—while Felix seems to attempt to meld into his cape. She takes it into a tight grip, the tips of her fingers trembling, but does not bring it to her lips. Opting to swish the water inside, instead.

“A godhood is delicate,” taps at the canteen, the sound reverberating, “Especially one at … at the very beginning, of their divinity. A sign of change would not be in mortal lifetimes—it drips, one by one, slow.”

She turns to face them, once more. Trailing from where Venti’s wings flutter, the sleeves of their robe half splayed over the bed, to where Cecil is furled around them, a few pieces of hair strands falling over his eyes as he bows further at her stare. Eyes meet, hers, tinged in an old pain and weighted by exhaustion; his, bordering on guarded, cracked with pleading.

Underlying all of that is an understanding.

(You can never quite understand a God’s thinking, will only get to see the glimpses of what layers that sit just underneath the surface, a scratch of it, but love—

A God’s love, their eyes and arms locked around you, is something all encompassing.)

“We should continue to offer them the kindness they gave us.” Another tap, another tink. “Whatever path they follow down, whatever they choose to do, hundreds or thousands of years after this—at the least, they will remember having us by their side. Should they give an inkling, now, however—”

“All these what-ifs,” Cecil murmurs bitterly, withholding a sneer. “Could we, say, let them take their own steps first? They hardly have a proper footing!”

The puff of air that escapes her is almost amused. Her gaze drifts downwards, where the water of the canteen sloshes as it is tipped to her mouth. She sets it gently into her lap, after, a chorus of clinking coming from the repetitive thumping of her fingers.

“Of course.” She hands the canteen to Valentina, and the trembling of her limbs seems to have worsened. The blunt ends of her nails press into the palm of her hands, briefly, and she goes to pull the bed’s cover up to her chest, hiding her arms by tucking it over her fists. Then, “I have not seen you receive any medical care, these past days. Have you been shirking?”

Venti’s wings puff, a minute flinch going throughout their body. He pets at their hair, twirling it between the gaps of fingers—he had been checked on the day before his wisp had visited, and watched as they checked Amos’ health, too, quietly asking if the soreness had lessened, after the healer left, and her reply of rolling her shoulders and commenting that it does not feel like she is being crushed.

“Hee, I was hoping you would not catch that…” He nuzzles into their head. Backs a bit away, nary an inch or so, and brings his hand to their jaw, stroking his thumb along their cheeks. Venti tenses, brows scrunching. He continues, mock whispering, “Psst, Miss Amos revealed one of my secrets, can you believe…? Quite mean of her, hmpf! You would be my knight and defend my honor, would you not, Venti? My dearest?”

There is a pause, where he can see them debate with whether they should “awaken” or not. He waits, humming lowly—and is rewarded when two glittering green-blue teal jewels blink up at him.

“Knight..?”

“Yes! I shall gather you a shield, so that we can deflect her peddling—”

“My deepest apologies for not wishing your wounds to infect.”

Cecil leans to stick his tongue at her (she wrinkles her nose in jest), feeling more than seeing Venti sit taller, their hands moving to grasp at his wrist. A perturbed expression greets him when he turns back to them, searching him for anything critical. His heart squeezes, flips, squeezes.

He reaches out to brush his hand against a braid, tracing the poof part that is held together by a band. Hopes that the twinkling in his stare is enough to convey Do not worry, a “go along.” The ruffled feathers of their wings start to smooth out, fluttering about, as they squint at him—message received. “How many missed?”

“Only one session, I promise. My bandages… may need replacing, a little,” ducks his head, bonking against their forehead, and offers up a gentle, crooked smile. “Walk me back?”

They graze their own hand over his, holding it loosely. Nods, and lets go, standing from the chair, using their foot to push it away farther. Cecil shakes off his arm as he yanks the cover down to the end of the bed, throwing his legs over the side, the soles of his feet hitting the floor. Venti holds their hand out for him to take, pulling him up (though, he notes, they keep their fingers intertwined tightly with his.)

“You will be going?” Felix questions, uncrossing his arms.

“Mmm. I believe Amos has had enough of my shenanigans.” He waves his hand, stepping in front of Venti, having them still out of Felix’s view.

“… if you need any he—”

“Fret not, I have the most wonderful guiding wind!” He leans into Venti, as subtly he can, beaming. They are besides the man, now, and he tugs them closer to the doorway. “We should be on our way now, might be able to catch a healer along our journey.”

He waves to Amos and Valentina, receiving waves back (though, on Valentina’s part, seem slightly reluctant to see the both of them go.) They both skirt around the doorway and down the hall, where Cecil exhales, his shoulders sagging.

If they wish to still discuss such a topic, fine, if that is what will bring them ease in this environment. Everyone is on edge and wary, equally they are relieved and excited. He has seen how some shuffle around the new God, confused how to interact with the wisp. But if they wish to do it while the person they discuss is there, unaware, they are welcome to be his guest to explain to Venti why that topic involved which of the best ways to stab them in the back was—especially when there are more important issues that should be focused on! That warrior, in particular….

Urgh.

He squeezes Venti’s hand, placing his head upon their shoulder.

“My darling knight, I love you no matter what.”

…they squeeze his hand, ears flicking, and wings puffing once more.

[just-another-colin-kinnie]

heh....... MY BIRTHYAY!!!!

[chippuyon]

may i introduce you to: t4t lesbian labru.. 🫡 also p.s i looove your tgirl laios stuff i always lose my mind when i see it

HOW DID YOU KNOW ANON....... yes t4t labru yuri has been on my mind for a while 😭

[ladybugkisses]

Do you have other socials too or do you only post on Tumblr?

i'm only on Tumblr, i do have a Twitter but it's been inactive for like... 2 years maybe?

i just use it to lurk around my FYP and like tweets now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[hermidetta]

Andrei wakes up, head pounding in protest. The memory of the past few hours is a blur of desperation, following the group of survivors towards uncertain salvation. He doesn't remember exchanging a single word with anyone between leaving the monastery and passing out in the shelter, somewhere south of Garreg Mach.

Now, though, he looks around, gaze finally landing on the first familiar figure.

"Bernadetta!"

Ignoring the pain in his legs, Andrei stumbles over to her side. He'd heard that the Black Eagles house was off on a mission the previous month, and assumed she'd been part of the team sent out. Had they returned just in time to get caught in the attack on the monastery?

"...You're injured." He reaches out a hand, warm magic briefly, instinctively pooling at the tips of his fingers... before fizzling out, exhaustion or apprehension or something else entirely rendering his efforts futile. He grits his teeth in frustration. "I can't—" a shaky exhale, then, "—You'd be better off getting this looked at by someone who knows how to heal properly."

If he couldn't help her in the moment, then he'd be useless sitting around doing nothing. Andrei turns away, intending to return to his earlier spot, but looks over his shoulder at her once more.

"If there's anything you need of me, let me know," he says, "As long as it is within my power, I will see that you do not come to further harm."

It's a promise he intends to keep.

bernadetta has loved and lost before. in both cases of it, she had gotten both back.

now she has lost them both all over again.

andrei is the second to find her—and immediately does bernadetta spin around to him, eyes wide and quivering at his injured state. unsurprising, but still upsetting. nearly all of them had fallen in the ambush.

"andrei!"  she near sobs, arms reaching out, uncertain, unknowing. her hands jolt and twitch around him without touching—wanting to support where he stumbles, wanting to accept any weight, but too unsure where he might hurt. too scared she might hurt him worse.  "you're okay! y-you're— i mean, yeah, we're both injured, but you're alive! thank goodness!"

bernadetta does not want to lose any more than she already has. bernadetta shakes her head vehemently, the purple tufts—some matted—whipping about.

"it's okay."  her nicked fingertips hover by his, nearly catching them. his frustration seeps, acid aimed at himself, and bernadetta knows it more than anything. that is why she insists:

"it's okay. i-it's not you. it's"—a meek gesture at their surrounding chaos—"all of... this. um, thank you for trying."

for bothering. for caring. just like he had all those months ago, with mr.—...

her heart sinks. where her satchel is one stuffy lighter, her chest feels like lead. no bear, no good luck ribbon, no security of razor sharp lilacs that always seemed to make her feel like she could do anything in the world. she is shaking. her face contorts for a flicker, scrunching as if the dam had burst, but bernadetta quickly swallows her hiccup and twists her features back into milder distress. that is the best she can do.

because she still has people to protect, too. the one right in front of bernadetta turns, but before he leaves, her mousy fingers catch the very corner of his sleeve.

"let me know, too. a-about you. promise?"  light as a feather and just as unassuming, she hooks her pinky finger with his. just the briefest, fleeting touch. they're meant to be alive friends, after all.  "and if i find anything you can use, i'll bring it right over."

[swiftviolets]

i’ve been playing in @florwal’s portsim save over the weekend and honestly i am in love it’s so detailed it’s my new fav save file for sureee. i decorated one of the empty lots on company time hehehe