#golden advices from dabs

[hotwings-incorrect-quotes]

hawks: what should you do when your parents have traumatized you?

dabi: traumatize them back.

[yusax]

fluff • fem!reader •semi shinxreader

idk but the thought of Shinichiro’s gf being the only close older female role in ema's life is kinda cute.

every time you come over, she silently waits close to the front door, hiding around the corner while her brother opens the door, welcoming his girlfriend. when you hug him, you can see her tiny shy figure with an expression as if she wanted to tell you something.

"what is it, ema?" you ask after she had dragged you to her room, leaving her brother standing at the entrance dumbfounded.

"How do you know you like someone?" the question caught you off guard. Is there someone that caught her interest? you couldn't help but smile at the thought. The question came out bold but you could tell she was flustered by the blush forming on her cheeks. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, you minimized the teasing and tried giving her a decent explanation on how to tell if you like someone.

you being the only female role in her life made her search for your advice on everything revolving around a girl growing up. Even though Shinichiro would appreciate it if his sister didn't constantly steal his girlfriend away from him, he is grateful that ema and he can rely on you and that she is comfortable enough to come to you when she needs help.

In fact, even before this had started she already saw you as a big sister and loved hanging out with you.

"Y/N-Nee, what is this for?" she asked, holding up the primer you previously applied to her face before adding the foundation. You were going to a restaurant she had picked out a while ago and since it was a special occasion - given that the grade on her math test would turn out good - you wanted to make it seem extra special by dressing fancy and doing her makeup and hair. Nonetheless, even if it turned out bad, you knew how much effort she put into studying. At least for that should you reward her.

"You put this beneath your makeup, so it stays longer and doesn't get cakey" you answered, taking out the blush and applying some of it on the apples of her cheeks and the tip of her nose. “Can I have some of that too?” she asked, pointing at the shimmery eyeshadow that was scattered on the floor next to all the other products you’ve used on her. You didn’t want to put that much on her, at first even being reluctant of doing her makeup in the first place but when your boyfriend reassured you it was okay, you obliged. To her favor, you dabbed the with a golden powder-covered brush onto her eyelids, blending it so it’s evenly spread. “And, we’re done! Are you missing something? I can add it before we go.” you said after handing her a mirror she could admire her makeup in. The way her face lit up and her smile reached her eyes, made you gush in adoration. “Now I look just like you!” she exclaimed, running out of her room to show her new look to her brothers. She couldn’t see how your eyes widened at her statement. A tender smile formed on your quivering lips, a hand reaching out to your heart since you could only take that much. She’s so adorableee~ you thought, before getting up and grabbing your purse, so you could finally leave the Sano residence and drive to the restaurant.

I had this idea a while ago and decided to finally write it down last night. 

I sacrifized my sleep schedule but I hope you guys enjoyed it <3

[gumballavocadoharry]

A brawl; Jack Chambers:

*Jack loses his temper, mentions of violence, fighting, aggression and swearing. This is a time rewind to when Jack and Alice were younger and dating. *

Matthew Halley. Six foot three, golden hair in a pompadour, alluring river blue eyes, a quiffed smile that showcased his circle dimples on each cheek and his broad frame that carried muscles in each arm. Despite the larger than life persona, the man was nothing more than a hellion. He picked on people who he thought to be weaker and less powerful than him; snagging men's dates in front of them, taking women as he pleased, getting rough and turbulent with men who challenged him.

Till he met Jack. Jack was a man with a solid compass; standing his ground even in the thick threat of emotion. He knew his right from his left and didn't allow some clambering braggart stand in his path.

It was a murky night, tickled with scintillate twinkles scattered all over the floor of the sky. The young couple walked hand in hand through the assiduous streets of Sacramento. The glossy smell of Alice's perfume tickled Jack's nostrils, dousing himself in the intoxication of euphoria for his leading lady. Her neckline; slim showcasing her slender pronounced jawline. The way her gold necklace with its dainty little chain holding one glint silver diamond fell around her collar like a loose rope around a tree.

Her hand complimented his rangy one, bulked with muscle cocooned in a protective grasp around hers. Alice couldn't hold back a feeling of acclaim for her boyfriend. She felt safe and protected with Jack shadowing her like a sun hat on a sunny day. The whiff of his cologne that was dabbed around his neck that donned a black collar and sinewy shoulders. The belt of his watch would slide occasionally against her arm, sending this shiver of warmth through her body.

The glow around them; surrounding them with light became dampened upon seeing this husky figure peering towards them. "Well aren't we all dolled up?" The debonair of his voice choked Jack. His eyes narrowed ferociously seeing this tall blonde headed blockhead cloak over the couple unbidden. "Excuse us-"

"Seems like a waste to be with such a puny boy." Jack yanked back, "Boy!?" Matthew stuck his nose up, satisfied to arouse Jack with annoyance. "Jack, let's go-" Alice struggled to nudge Jack away from something that was turning ugly. "You're a pretty thing," Matthew petted the long strands of hair that dangled across Alice's shoulders. "Want to see a real man?" Jack's teeth gritted. Nose flared, eyes burning with red. Jack's fist gutted themselves; clenching white with piercing hate.

"No thank you. You will need to leave us alone," Alice spoke sternly, "Come on Jack."

"You're gonna let a lady boss you around? Tell you what battles to pick?" Alice shot her head towards Jack. His rapid breathes, his squinted eyes with pupils dilating into slits of a jagged animal. Jack thought about leaving, listening to his girlfriend's advice in taking the high road. But it's when Matthew grabbed Alice, spinning her around and kissing her neck furiously that's what made Jack reacted. Hearing the screams of Alice wanting Matthew to leave her alone, sent a swipe of blood through Jack. His subtle jawline was now sharp and stiff.

Grabbing Alice back towards him and giving Matthew a hard shove. "Oh, little boy wants to fight." He grabbed Jack by his collar, "Alright you son of a bitch- this ones free." He punched Jack in gut, making him cry out in pain. Alice winced, screaming at the ruthless attack. But Jack just wiped his face and pressed his two fists together and gave a hard guthro punch in the jaw to Matthew. Jack finished him off with a bloody nose, before running off with Alice.

"Fucking jackass," Alice slapped Jack's shoulder, "Jack! Language! Not to mention fighting...really?" Jack's face reddened upon realizing what he had done. There was nothing macho about fighting in the street at night. "Are you okay though?" Alice had her arms around Jack, fretting over Matthew's blow to Jack's stomach. Jack nodded, not even feeling the sting of his former ache. Although, his hand was killing him. "I'm sorry Alice. Just seeing him kiss you like that made me just..." Jack's face bubbled red again; the thought making his build fury in jaw.

"What if the police had come? You could've been arrested." Alice still held dismay in her voice, not able to pull away from the entire scene that played out in front of her very eyes. "We're fine now baby." Alice looked down; shaken by Matthews appearance. "What if he comes back?" Her voice shook, twinging with unsureness. The uneasiness made her own stomach flip itself around.

Jack stopped Alice, cradling her chin his soft hands. Eyes soft and puppy dog like. "He won't I promise." Kissing her forehead, Alice fell into Jack's arms. "I'm sorry our night was ruined." Jack frowed, pulling Alice to look at him. "It wasn't ruined- I mean it wasn't perfect- but it's not ruined." He kissed Alice's neck. "Why don't we catch a movie and put this whole night behind us?" A smile grew across Alice's face.

"I'd like that."

Sorry, this is my first blurb using swear words. Ik I'm such a baby! lol

I get my bottom wisdom teeth out tomorrow, so I probably won't be posting that much or anything then. I'm gonna call it a week!

Adios until next time!!

[ethereousdelirious]

I desperately need more sick!Elias in my life 😩

As you wish! 😌✨️

Based off this prompt. It's a little more sneeze focused than sick focused, so let me know if you want a redo 😁

Peter’s insufferable grin filled Elias’ vision, his blue eyes sparkling in the golden light. He stepped with the music as he approached. Elias counted them to the beat, though the music sounded muddy and dull through the congestion in his head.

“What,” said Peter, once his absurd little waltz was complete, “is black and white and red all over?”

Elias just glared at him, nose twitching, tissues in hand. He had borne the miserable sneezes exploding in his congested head all night and cautiously avoided Peter and his obnoxiously knowing glances, but it seemed he had grown slack as the night wore on and his head continued to pound.

“Do you want a hint?” Peter asked, like it wasn’t painfully obvious exactly what-- or who-- was black and white and red all over. Like Elias’ crisp white shirt and stark black suit didn’t throw his irritated nose into sharp, unavoidable relief. Before Elias could vocalize any of the venom surging toward his mouth, Peter leaned in and tapped the bridge of his nose.

Elias’ hand flew to his face, the handful of used tissues in his palm clammy and chafing against his sensitive skin. “Ih’skrff! Ih’xrch!” He sniffled uselessly. The one night he’d forgotten a handkerchief turned out to be the one night he needed it most. All he had to protect his dignity was this handful of wet, rapidly disintegrating tissues.

His head pounded. He glared at Peter over his fingers.

“If you ever do that again, I--”

“Sorry?” Peter’s grin widened.

Lacking the brainpower for scheming, Elias soothed himself with the fantasy of decking Peter straight in the mouth, tissues and all.

Instead of indulging in manifesting this fantasy, Elias sniffled and dropped his hand. “If you do that again, I shall consider it an attempt on my life and react accordingly.”

Peter sobered slightly, though it was impossible to tell whether this was out of awe or sadistic bonheur. He’d been drinking. “People are staring, you know.”

“Of course I know,” Elias snapped, but he hadn’t. His own watery eyes had muddied his connection with the Watcher. What little he’d been able to discern had been petty and useless. Now that Peter had set him right, the backwards sensation of eyes on him filled his mind. Other gala attendees were indeed staring at him. “You’d think they’d at least have the decency to be less obvious about it.” He sniffed out of offense and necessity in equal measure.

“Shy, are we?”

“Oh, yes, I'm positively blushing.” He inhaled involuntarily. “Hh’rsch!”

“Perhaps,” said Peter, rocking onto his toes, “they’re staring because you’re sneezing on everything.”

Elias growled at him before he could stop himself and the hum of it through his inflamed sinuses burned deep in his nose. “Hk’tshrf!”

“Hum,” said Peter, unbearably smug.

“I’m not sneezing on everything,” Elias said, choosing to behave as though the last few seconds had never happened. He dabbed his wet nose with the equally wet tissues for all the good it would do him. “I have tissues,” he added, gathering up the remains of his dignity.

“Well.” Peter tilted his head. “Bit generous to call those ‘tissues’ at this--”

“Hk’tsch! Hk’xtsch!”

“Very generous to call them tissues now.”

Elias clenched his free hand to keep from strangling Peter. “I don’t suppose you have any helpful advice. There are no tissues in the bathrooms.”

“Yes, yes, and I suppose you won't debase yourself by using toilet paper.” With a sigh, Peter tugged his pocket square loose and held it out to Elias. “Here, it’s linen.”

“That’s decorative,” Elias said, twitching his nose against a mounting tickle.

Peter shook it. “I can tell you’re about to sneeze.”

“I am n-- Hh’tschf!” Elias slammed the wet tissues against his face once more and they finally fell to pieces in his fingers. “Guh…” He snatched Peter's pocket square and folded the tissue remnant into it, then buried his nose in it. “I really do despise you,” he said, defeated.

[shivanesboutique-blog]

How to Care for Your Silk Sarees: A Step-by-Step Guide

Silk sarees are a luxurious clothing item, representing grace and culture. Yet, the elegance they possess demands attentive nurturing to preserve their timeless beauty throughout the years. This blog will help you through the steps of taking care of your silk sarees. 

Understanding Silk Varieties: 

Silk comes in a variety of weaves and textures, each deserving of its own unique care routine to maintain its luster and integrity. Here's a brief look at some usual types: 

Organza Silk Sarees: Organza sarees should be handled gently due to their sheer, crisp texture. To avoid snagging, keep them away from rough surfaces and store them carefully. 

Crepe Silk sarees: These sarees have a lovely crinkled texture and require little upkeep. But use caution when ironing because the cloth can be ruined by intense heat. 

Tussar Silk Materials: This kind of silk has a slightly rough feel and a natural golden luster. Though they are renowned for being long-lasting, tussar silk sarees nevertheless need to be handled with care. 

Step-by-Step Silk Saree Care: 

Less is More: Dry cleaning is the most ideal option for silk sarees. Detergents' strong chemicals have the potential to harm the silk cloth. Use a mild detergent made especially for delicates if a spot clean is required. 

Spot Cleaning 101: Move quickly to clean up little spills! Use a fresh, absorbent cloth, and dab the stain. Never rub as this may cause the discoloration to spread. Should the stain continue, get advice from an experienced dry cleaner. 

The Power of Air: Make sure your silk sarees are always air-dried. To keep them from fading, hang them away from the sun. To absorb more moisture, you can also spread it flat on a fresh, dry towel. 

Iron Carefully: If ironing is required, iron the fabric's reverse side using the lowest possible heat setting. A pressing cloth should always be placed between the silk saree and the iron. 

Proper Storage is Key: It's necessary to keep them away from direct sunlight and store them in a cool, dry space. Dust and creases can be avoided with breathable cotton muslin bags. Avoid putting sarees in plastic storage bags as this might retain moisture and encourage the spread of mildew. 

Folding Magic: Neatly fold your silk sarees instead of hanging them, as hanging can risk stretching the delicate fabric. When folding, place tissue papers in between to avoid creases. 

Interleave Your Beauties: Don't store your sarees tightly packed together. This can cause wrinkles and colour transfer. Allow space for air circulation between sarees. 

Expert Assistance: It's always advisable to speak with a professional dry cleaner who specialises in delicate textiles like silk if your sarees are extremely stained or embroidered. 

Bonus Tips for Specific Silks: 

Organza Silk Sarees: Handle organza sarees with great care. Don't overdo the jewellery on them since it can catch the fragile fabric. 

Crepe Silk Sarees: Crepe sarees are prone to wrinkling. To reduce creases, roll them loosely rather than folding them when storing. 

Tussar Silk Materials: Compared to other types, Tussar silk has a somewhat less tolerant nature. To maintain its longevity, it's still crucial that you stick to the general care instructions. 

Cotton-Silk Materials: Blends of silk and cotton are less expensive and easier to maintain than pure silk, but they still have specific. While generally, these sarees can be hand washed in cold water with a mild detergent, it's advisable to consult the care label for specific instructions to ensure proper maintenance. 

These simple steps can ensure that your silk sarees retain their stunning beauty for generations to admire, just as they were on the day you got them. 

Shivane's Boutique - Your Ethnic Wear Destination 

At Shivane's Boutique, we curate a range of excellent silk sarees, ranging from the renowned Kancheepuram weaves to the ethereal elegance of organza. We also have a selection of silk-cotton mixes for women looking for more practical ethnic dress options. Whether you're a seasoned saree expert or a curious newcomer, allow us to be your guide in discovering the perfect silk saree for any occasion.

For more: How to Care for Your Silk Sarees: A Step-by-Step Guide

[worldismyne]

The Longest Sleepover: Ch 13

Summary: The first year of school did not go as planned for Harv and he’s never felt more alone. That is, until a loud kid from the saga studies course decides they’re best friends now.

(Year 1 AU, Harv deals with homophobia, Finn is oblivious.)

Series: Warrior U

Pairing: HarvFinn

Rating: T

Ao3 Link

When he was younger, Finn would practice what it would be like to have a real friend. It was easier to mimic scenarios with his imagination and toys than dare venture outside alone. Over those years he had accumulated a list of things he'd like to do and the best scripts to go along with them. However, it was much harder to get people to follow those scripts in real life and it'd been a real sense of aggravation, especially now. For once, it wasn't his friend that wasn't playing along, but Finn's own feelings.

He enjoyed helping Harv pick things out to wear and fastening a collection of golden bands around Harv's locs dress them up. Harv was too nervous to object to any of Finn's suggestions, even going so far as to let Finn dab some cologne on his wrists. If he wasn't kept busy, he'd just pace in front of the clock until it was an appropriate time for him to leave. 

It wasn't Harv's fault that the only way he could have a night off was if Finn stayed home.

Harv had acted on Finn's advice and asked Trevor out. 

This was the part where Finn was supposed to be giddy and hope the date goes well.

"Mother can come get you in a heartbeat, if anything happens." Finn said. He handed Harv's coin purse over and adjusted Harv's jacket. "Even if it's just awkward and you need an excuse to leave, all you have to do is call." Harv brushed away Finn's hands with a nervous laugh.

"I'll be fine. It's fine." Harv checked his pockets, making sure he had everything. "I appreciate it though."

"When you get back, tell me everything." He couldn't muster the joyful exuberance he felt such a sentiment demanded, couldn't find an opportunity to hug Harv goodbye without feeling awkward, and Harv was too preoccupied to care. As Harv waved goodbye, leaving Finn standing alone in the doorway, a very scary thought tried to intrude.

He closed the front door and dusted off his favorite tiered teacake tray. The act of setting a table for company of his own was not enough to distract him from the fact that he was unhappy. Which, he shouldn't be, going on a date with Trevor would make Harv happy and he wanted Harv to be happy. He worked really hard to get Harv to let himself be happy. This was the part where Finn was supposed to be giddy and hope the date goes well.

But...

He didn't hope it would go well at all.

Of course he didn't want Harv's heart to get broken, that would be cruel. The fact that it'd even crossed his mind was upsetting to him. He had already come to terms with the idea they wouldn't be together all the time, and it wasn't like he was anxious Harv would suddenly leave him behind. He literally couldn't at this point. It just wasn't lining up, and if he sat still long enough to wonder why this upset him, he knew he wasn't going to like the answer. 

He was going to be happy for Harv whether his heart agreed with him or not.

For now he needed to stay busy.

-v-

Harv had arrived thirty minutes early, but anxiously waiting at their meeting place was better than waiting at home. At least now he could push the fear of being late out of his mind and make room for the other many ways tonight could go wrong. He leaned against a large oak, watching the clouds cover up the setting sun. There was a warm humidity about the air and the promise of rain was somewhat comforting, if only it could wait an hour or two. The low rumble of distant thunder was the only thing available to distract him from his thoughts, Trevor had requested they meet somewhere more private than town. 

"I didn't keep you waiting, did I?" Trevor ran to where Harv was, and leaned forward to catch his breath. "I would have been here sooner, but the last house I had to work on just got a new litter of kittens, and you know-" The more Trevor rambled and didn't know what to do with his hands, the more at ease Harv felt. He wasn't the only one who was nervous. He smiled a little, wondering if he should be bold enough to take the other's hand or wait for a different opportunity. 

"Nah, I wasn't waiting." Harv said. It was a lie, an obvious one, and Trevor's laughter cleared the awkward air. 

"You're turning into quite the gentleman." 

"What, me?" Harv blushed and looked away. "No." He bit his lip and held out his hand. "Come on, the place I want to show you is a little off the trail. We should head out now before we lose any more light." Trevor took his hand and Harv squeezed it back leading the other through the thickets.

"Are you sure this is safe? I thought people had been disappearing in the woods lately..." At first Harv shrugged, briefly reminded of the part of the forest that made Finn nervous.

"I've been all around these woods and haven't seen so much as a wolf." Harv said. "Probably just people getting lost or running away from home." Of course, he hadn't done too much exploring at night, but that was what the sword was for. "It'll be worth it, you'll see." They entered a part of the underbrush he was deeply familiar with. Several bushes were singed or pecked at. "Uhh, don't worry about that." Eventually they got to a small clearing of closed up flowers. Normally, once the sun set, the whole area would get bathed in moonlight, but tonight lamp light would have to suffice. He let go of Trevor's hand to get the lamp and a few blankets out for them and set everything up in tense silence.

"I, uhh, I didn't bring anything." Trevor shuffled. 

"Hunh?" Harv looked up at the red head and back at the probably expensive quilt he was laying on the grass. "Oh, no this is for both of us." He sat down and patted the spot next to  him. Trevor hesitated and took a seat, though he left a safe distance between. "Thanks for coming out here. As soon as I found them, I knew you had to see them." Even with the sky obscured, the little flowers could tell it was nightfall. Slowly, one by one, they opened up; warmed by the lamp light. "Aren't they neat? They only bloom at night." He scooted closer, and slowly searched for Trevor's hand again while keeping his eyes on the flowers.

"Yeah." Trevor said quietly. He laced his fingers in between Harv's, letting Harv lean against him before clearing his throat. "Thank you, for asking me out, for coming back. When you left home, you kind of stopped talking to everyone. I thought maybe you... I was worried you'd never want to talk to me again." 

"Yeah, well, it's hard to talk to someone when you've been told even looking at them is, well, 'too obvious'." Harv sighed. "I like you so much, I didn't want you to get hurt because of me." A few, fat drops of rain fell from the sky. The water was warm, but more than enough warning they couldn't linger outside.

"If we're quick, I bet we can make it to the club in time." Trevor stood up quickly, and helped Harv to his feet.

-v-

By the time they made it to the club, their over coats were soaked. Both of them busted through the doors, laughing at the absurd risk Harv had put them through for a few flowers, even if they were fairly pretty. Harv was embarrassed to recognize the bard playing the mandolin, even if he was a fairly good soloist. Once they got to their table, Harv was able to clue Trevor in on all the infighting that had been going on between the local bards for the last few months.

"Does it matter as long as someone is playing?" Trevor asked with a half laugh. "I thought you hated gossip."

"It doesn't, I just-" Harv set down his glass. "You're right. I've gone from studying famous battles, to studying famous people." He cupped his temples, as if to shut out any onlookers. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not like you can help it, you're hanging out with nobles now, it's what they do to entertain themselves instead of working." 

"Not. Helping." Harv said, laughing despite himself. Had he really become so out of touch with serfdom so quickly? It wasn't like he was trying to act all high and mighty, but every so often he'd stumble on what his date expected from him. They used to be closer than this. At least the food was good.

"I'm thinking of becoming a palace guard instead of going on the front lines."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I know everyone's excited to see the world and what not." Trevor sighed. "It just doesn't seem for me. I'd rather stay at home knowing I'm doing good rather than seeing other places at their worst." 

"That's fair. I..." Harv bit his lip. "I'm not sure what I'm going to do yet. If Finn's band takes off; I'd have to follow them or get a new job. That'll be hard here where everybody talks." He didn't like where the conversation was heading and tried to shift gears. "But that's years from now. I actually have a duel coming up. The knight is making a real big deal out of it, which would be really cool if he wasn't such a-" He caught himself. "I'm doing it again aren't I?"

"You're fine." Trevor laughed. "Tell me more about this knight that thinks he can beat you in combat."

-v-

The rain had lightened up by the time they were finished. Trevor insisted on walking Harv home, a sentiment that filled Harv with butterflies as they walked hand in hand down the empty street. They paused just as a door to one of the local taverns opened. Cliff exited the tavern, and the minute Trevor recognized him, he let go of Harv's hand. The three exchanged pleasantries and parted ways. 

Harv knew what it was like to be afraid of getting judged. What he'd gone through this last year was something he wished on no one, especially Trevor. It still hurt that Trevor didn't feel comfortable with even Cliff knowing they'd gone on a date together. He waited until they were far enough from the town square to try and reach for Trevor's hand again. He took it, offering Harv a small smile, but it didn't ease the ache. They got to Finn's house, and Harv tightened his grip on Trevor's hand.

"I..." Harv felt himself getting choked up. His first crush looked just as beautiful in the lantern light as he had imagined. "I've wanted this for a long time." He turned to face Trevor. "I kinda told myself it would never happen, and I... I'm really glad you like me too." As much as he'd like to go on more dates, he didn't want to have to plan around everyone they knew just to have them. He couldn't go back to living in secret again. "I kinda hoped liking me would be enough, but... you'd have to like me more than what you have planned. I'm not asking you to make that decision. You shouldn't have to make that decision." 

Trevor kissed him. It was soft and sweet, just like Harv had always hoped. He wished he hadn't sniffled through the whole thing. When Trevor pulled away, he could see a look of desperation that almost physically hurt to look at. 

"You don't have to give me an answer right away." Harv said. But he knew the answer already. He wished it would be something else, anything else, but were they in opposite positions he wouldn't have come out of hiding. "If that's something you'd want, let me know, otherwise..." He kissed Trevor again. 

"Goodnight Harv." Trevor said quietly. Harv lingered on the front porch watching him leave. He took a deep breath and braced himself for an onslaught of invasive questions. Instead, what greeted him was silence. There was a tea party set up left abandoned in the dining room that had hardly been touched. When he checked in with Leenan all she said Finn had gone to bed early. 

Harv trudged upstairs and changed out of his fancy clothes. In the dim light of his room, he could breathe, letting a sort of numbness take over. Trevor hadn't outright said no yeah, but he hadn't exactly said yes either. Whereas before he could wrack things up to him over thinking things, this time it seemed more concrete. Trevor would have said as much if Harv had jumped to the wrong conclusion. It was just a shame, the date itself had been really sweet. Now he just felt drained.

He shuffled out into the hall and saw a sliver of light peeking out from Finn's room. If he was still awake, maybe he could offer some blind hope for Harv to cling onto so he could get some sleep tonight. However as he approached Finn's room, he could hear the bard crying loudly on the other side.

"I wish. I knew. What was wrong with me!" The cadence of his voice drowned by snot and tears. Finn had to stop speaking to catch his breath. In the lull, Harv couldn't hear another voice, so he had to assume he was on the phone with someone. "I keep thinking I'm getting better and then something else happens and it's ten times worse. Normally people don't get nauseous when they see their friend kis..." Finn couldn't finish the sentence, wailing uncontrollably. "I want to. I want to talk to him so bad, but I sound like a crazy person right now. I can't make myself calm down- Don't hand me over to Shad. Don't!" Harv had initially hesitated, but hearing Finn panic he finally knocked on the door.

"Finn?"

"D-don't come in!" Finn tried hard to mask the sound of his tears. "I-I know I said we'd talk about how the date went, but I can't." Finn forced himself to take a deep breath. "I'm sorry Harvey, maybe-" He was about to say something else, when Shad said something over the phone. "I can't hear you talk about dating someone, I'm sorry. Don't ask me why." 

"I won't." Harv leaned his forehead against the door. "I don't think there's going to be a second date." He could hear Finn shuffle closer to the door.

"Don't say that because of me. You can- you can date whoever you want. I just- I'm not myself right now."

"It's not because of you." He wanted to tell Finn, but Finn clearly wasn't in a position to offer emotional support right now. "...If you were on a date with a man, would you stop holding their hand when someone saw you?" Finn's breathing had slowed down a bit.

"I already told you, no one would want to date me."

"Can you please just answer the question?" 

"...no... I'd want everyone to see." He sniffled. "You did!" Finn shouted accusatorial at the phone line. "Your exact words were 'what's even the point then' before dumping me!" Having a person to directly channel his frustrations toward helped ground Finn. "Yes you did! Put Beatus back on the- What do you mean he went to bed!? I'm not talking to you about this again. You always make everything about yourself!" Finn sighed. "I'm sorry Harvey, we can talk more tomorrow. Right now- IF THAT HURT ME!? WHAT DO YOU MEAN IF!?" Finn stumbled over a chair making his way back to the bed. "Quit making it sound like I took things 'the wrong way' after you spent three months complaining to Beatus about how I was a heartless shrew. I don't want your sympathy, I want real advice! Wake him up!"

"Goodnight Finn."

"I don't feel better, I feel like punching you in the face!" Finn put a hand to the receiver. "Goodnight Harvey." He continued to fight with Shad over the phone as Harv walked away and went back to his room. As much as he had shouted he didn't feel better, it did sound like Finn had stopped crying, which made Harv feel a little better. He noted duly as he entered his bedroom that this was going to be the first night he'd spend by himself. The disappointment from the doorstep and the confusion from Finn's meltdown weighed on him as he stared up at the blank ceiling. 

He wanted to finally have reached a point where he could say with confidence he was happy. Just last night he thought he'd reached that. As he tried to doze off, he tried to conjure a scenario that would soothe the ache in his chest. Though, to his surprise, the idea of Trevor calling him to say he changed his mind didn't help nearly as much as the thought of Finn crawling back into his bed again. 

[luvyanfei]

how they comfort you when you’re sad

ft. diluc, kaeya, venti, childe, zhongli, albedo, & xiao non-requested piece 

diluc ragnvindr. 

as stoic as diluc may be, he’s the most emotionally affected by your misery out of the others listed here, but he’s clueless in how to help. he’s not adept in everything despite being known for being a perfectionist and unfortunately, comforting you is one of them. he would reach out a hand to you, and then pull it back to his side before you notice. it annoys him greatly how he can insult the knights without hesitation and combat against his enemies confidently, and yet...

it’s easy to get diluc flustered over the simpler things in life. you’re usually so happy and lively, the light to his dark that he finds it almost eerie to see you looking depressed as you enter the tavern. you don’t even spare him a glance, and slumps down at an empty seat, your head splayed down on the table. out of concern for your wellbeing, the winery owner whips up your favourite drink free of charge and delivers it himself to your spot. instead of leaving you as one would expect, he pulls up a chair and taps the wooden surface of the table with his gloved fingers, stirring you to look up at him. he greets you in a monotone voice unintentionally, and shyly asks if there are any problems going on in your life. he may not look like it, with how distant he is, but diluc would be very pleased to help you. 

with hesitation, you take the drink and start taking small sips from the cup. the savory taste melts on your tongue and your lips quiver slightly. before you know it, you’re reduced into a sobbing mess, your tears staining the floor. “what’s wrong?” dismayed, diluc rises up and pats your back, handing you a handkerchief from his jacket pocket for you to wipe your tears away with. 

he ushers you into a private room where nobody can see you and rubs your hands together. he doesn’t talk, instead fixating on calming you down. dabbing at your swollen eyes and cheeks gently with a drenched towel, diluc cradles your face and leans in close to you, your foreheads touching. “i’m here, [name],” his voice is soft and delicate, a sharp contrast to his formal and uninterested tone, “i will always be here for you, so you don’t need to worry about suffering alone. we’ll get through this together, alright?” 

kaeya alberich. 

he’ll take you to the tavern with him for a nice drink. it won’t do you any good to be by yourself and moping, right? as hypocritical as it may seem, kaeya is fully accepting of you coming to him for emotional support despite being rather closed-off when it comes to his personal emotions. if you’re underage, he’ll purchase you a soft drink or juice, and if not, a glass of wine will surely boost your spirits up. his attempt to cheer you up is to temporarily distract you from it. quite clever of him, no? of course, his objective isn’t for you to ignore your problems altogether, but to take your mind off of it until you can think a bit clearly. 

kaeya will act like a gentleman the whole time, letting a few teasing remarks slip out every now and then, but his attitude is toned down for the most part. after you consumed a plentiful amount of beverages, he takes a stroll with you in the night, passing by a bard stringing music on their lyre. this gives the cavalry captain an idea and he takes you into a secluded area, fireflies glowing to add a touch of whimsy to the scenario. still gripping your hand, he raises it up to kiss the surface and proposes you to join him in for a dance under the moonlight and stars. 

kaeya looks at you with a brimming grin. “are you feeling better now?” you nod, placing a hand on his open palm.

“now that you’re here, yes, i am.” his smile broadens and cups your cheek with his free hand. the tip of his thumb lightly grazes your bottom lip before he replaces it with his lips. the kiss is passionate and savory, a description that fits your relationship perfectly. 

“i’m glad you do,” he pulls back and breathes out a sigh of relief. “it’s the same with me. i admit, i also enjoy your company very much.” 

venti.

it’s best to let your emotions run loose. don’t bottle it up, okay? if you need to cry, then cry. sure, venti may act all carefree and exuberant, but even he has his serious sides from time to time. he takes the situation rather calmly, pulling you into a comforting embrace and rubbing your back as you tearfully sob. when he feels that you’re muscles have slowly relaxed and your cries have been reduced to tiny sniffles, he transitions out of the hug and places his hands on your shoulder, all with an angelic smile on his face. see, that wasn’t so bad, now was it?

if you’re up for it, venti will be happy to play you a quiet melody carried in the night breeze. he’ll position your head to lean on his shoulder as both of you sit down on the ground and he clears his throat before he begins singing. the stringing of the lyre, the gentle rustle of the leaves in the background, and the soothing sound of his voice automatically brings a smile to your lips. snuggling closer to him, you drift in a state of contentment and serenity. once the bard catches wind of your heavy breathing, your eyes fluttered closed, he stops his singing and presses a dainty kiss to your forehead. 

carefully, so he doesn’t disturb your slumber, venti carries you back to your resident and tucks you into bed. as he’s about to head off, you snag him by the wrist, and tug him back to your side. “please don’t go yet, venti.” he pats the hand imprisoning his wrist and chuckles in amusement. 

“don’t worry. i don’t plan on ever doing something like that.” he crawls into bed with you, tangling your legs together and hooking his arms around your waist. the tip of his nose grazes your hair faintly as your back is pressed against his chest. “not now, and not ever.” 

childe.

he’s the eleventh harbinger, yes, but beneath his fearsome title and mischievous demeanor, childe is a regular human with an affable heart. it hurts him seeing you look dejected, as if you’re on the brink of suffocating from insufferable pain. it’s like your emotions are a type of infection, contagious to say the least. if you’re happy, then he’s happy. if you’re sad, then you’ll bet he’s also going to drop his jovial gleam. luckily, growing up with siblings gives him an advantage here. he’s used to taking care of others and turning their frowns upside down. 

if he finds out someone has been upsetting you, he’ll personally deal with them himself, ordering them to apologize lest they want to face his wrath. if you’re having financial difficulties, he’ll lend you a generous amount of mora so you can clear your debts or help you find a well-paying job. either way, he’ll cradle you in his arms and compliment you for being strong, no matter what life throws at you. life’s hard, but that’s all the more reason why you should keep marching forward - hand in hand with childe.   

“shh, [name], it’s okay. don’t cry.” childe kneels before you and wipes away a salty tear. grabbing a teddy bear abandoned on the ground, he shoves it in front of your face. to your sudden bewilderment, he grabs the bear’s arm to pat you on the head and grins. “there, there. mr. teddy is here to make you happy once more.” 

you sputter out a giggle despite tears still leaking from your eyes. “childe, i’m not a little kid anymore. cut it out!” he resists the urge to pinch your cheeks when you pout cutely at him. 

“fine, fine. i’ll stop, but hey! at least you’re smiling again, right?” you roll your eyes and sniff. 

“yeah, i’m feeling a little better. thank you.”  

your comment forms a blush to dust his cheeks and he sheepishly scratches the back of his head. “there’s no need for gratitude. to me, your smile is the one thing i’d hate to lose.” 

zhongli.

feeling sad? his arms are already wide open and a box of tissues is conveniently laid on the table. zhongli is the wave that laps up your sorrows and tears, the lulling sound of his voice uttering words of reassurance like a tranquil melody to set your heart at ease. he’s the type who will lend a shoulder for you to cry on. while he brews up a nice cup of tea to soothe your mind, he encourages you gently to tell him whatever it is that’s bothering you. he soaks up every syllable that falls from your lips like a sponge and in a pensive state, he gives you advice in turn. 

you take his words to heart, since everything he’s said before have always been genuine and your trust in him runs deeper than the bottom of the sea. sure, maybe not everything he says is the answer that will cause your problems disappear, but he does guide you to choose rationally how you want to approach it. as much as zhongli would like to solve everything for you, he’s aware that there are times where only you have the potential to fix the issue. 

the golden ginkgo leaves twirl in the autumn breeze, as zhongli clasps his hands with yours. you adjust the scarf around your neck, shivering from the mild chill settling in liyue. 

you stare grimly at the seagulls soaring in the cloudy sky, and peers down at your feet planted firmly on the ground. a frown tugs on your lips and you sigh. a warm hand caresses your cheek and you look towards zhongli smiling gently in your direction. wiping away the tears that are beginning to moist your eyes, he encages you in a comforting hug. 

“don’t hold it in,” zhongli whispers soothingly in your ear, “you’re allowed to cry if you want. i promise you, there’s no judgement.” 

albedo.

it’s like he has a sixth sense. you could have been crying in your sleep last night and the first thing you wake up to is all your favourite meals placed rigorously on a sliver tray and a positive message with cursive, neat handwriting scribbled on a notepad for you to read. albedo is rather considerate, like that. before you started to live together and entered a more domestic relationship, he visited your home and asked if anything was wrong in a neutral tone that belied his concern. you were shocked how he could have possibly known since you were sure you concealed the visible evidences skillfully with makeup, and you looked quite normal for the most part, as if you hadn’t been crying mere seconds before he knocked on your door. 

he shrugs indifferently and responds that he just has a feeling something’s bothering you. albedo will take a day off from his confinement in his lab so he can stay with you. he takes you by the hand and gestures for you to sit down on a nearby chair beside him, offering you delectable appetites to eat while you rant to him. once you’re finished spilling out your problems, he kisses you on the forehead and tells you that you did a good job. it isn’t easy to admit you’re not mentally well, in which he praises you for. 

hugging your legs to your chest, you quietly ask him if it’s not a bother. firmly, albedo shakes his head and squeezes your hand reassuringly. “no, you’re never a bother.” he scoops up a spoonful of ice cream and feeds you the cool dessert. once you swallow, his lips curve into a little smirk as he wipes away the excess on the side of your mouth with a finger and licks the cream off with his tongue. 

“whether you’re happy, sad, or disappointed, my love for you will never change.” 

xiao.

he’s not very good at handling these types of situations. xiao can never know what he’s supposed to say or do to make you feel better, so he just stands there awkwardly. please don’t blame him! he’s already terrible at consoling himself that having to cheer someone else up seems more like an impossible challenge than a simple task. however, like albedo, he can also sense if you’re depressed or in need of saving. what do you mortals call it, an instinct? 

he asks verr for advice on what to do to help, and she suggests for him to stick by your side and show that he cares deeply about you. it takes xiao a while to come up with a suitable plan. he wanders up to the highest floor of wangshu inn and reminisces over the past. your first meeting with him, the time when you gave him almond tofu, and when you both fought together to protect liyue - he’s memorized it all down to the last detail. suddenly, an idea clicks into place and he teleports immediately to where you are. sitting on a bench alone, while you absentmindedly watch the birds peck at the crumbs scattered on the cement floor, it takes you by surprise when you find xiao hovering above you. he reaches out his hand and composedly asks if you would be willing to accompany him for the night. 

when you encounter him at the location where you agreed to meet, you curiously question xiao what he wants to do, but he doesn’t reply. instead, he scoops you up in his arms, a surprised expression on your face as you wrap your arms around his neck so you don’t end up falling. before you know it, both of you are... soaring in the air? your eyes subconsciously drift to his vision glowing brightly in the murky night. so he’s using his anemo abilities to create wind currents and literally sweep you off your feet. 

“do you see this place?” he gestures with his head for you to look at liyue harbor. the city lights glow in the darkness and most people are walking back home, idly chatting with each other and giggling. “it wouldn’t be as peaceful as it is now if it weren’t for you. so if you ever feel sad again, know that it’s you who puts a smile on everyone’s faces - including mine.” 

and with that, xiao smiles serenely at you, to which you finally offer a grin of your own. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Can I pls request headcanons for Leona, Jamil, Sebek, and Cater on a mug-painting date with their s/o?? With their choice of personal design and the reader painting a similarly-designed mug so they can match as a couple?? (´；ω；`)

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Leona’s surprisingly skilled at painting, despite seeming to put little effort or thought into his strokes or color choice. (Apparently, he’s a man of many hidden talents!) It’s hard to keep your eyes away from his masterful fingers as they work their magic.

Every so often, he’ll glance over to meet your eyes, catching you in the act of staring. He chuckles when you blush and tear your eyes away to focus on painting your own mug--to him, it’s a triumph to get you flustered.

You try to subtly copy the pattern Leona has painted, which is a line of savannah animals marching in a spiraling line up the cup, but yours comes out a little more sloppy. He takes notice of your attempt to match him, and takes the chance to tease you just because he can.

“What is that supposed to be, a potato? It looks like how that bastard Vil sees the rest of us.” Leona points to a lumpy lion cub at the back of the line. “Hmph. Don’t get ahead of yourself, herbivore. You’ve got a long way to go before you can match me.”

You respond with something along the lines of “imitation is the sincerest form of flattery”, which earns you a devious smirk. “Oh? So you’re trying to flatter me, then. I see how it is.”

He dabs his thumb in a bit of sienna paint and cheekily smears it on your forehead. You cry out in shock and go to wipe it off, but Leona catches your hand and holds it. “Leave it,” he insists. “It’s customary in the Afterglow Savannah to mark precious things like this.”

Jamil readily takes to painting his mug, thankful to have a brief moment of freedom (in the form of creative liberty). He spins the mug around in the palm of his hand as he adorns it in glittering gold paint. It looks like an intricate tapestry when he’s done, golden patterns snaking across a maroon canvas flecked with more gold.

You “ooh” and “aah” at Jamil’s work, praising him for adding so much detail with just a few brushes. He replies with a humble “thank you” and a small smile, but inside, he’s puffing up with pride.

Inspired by Jamil’s mug, you decide to replicate its design on your own. He quietly observes you struggling to keep your strokes clean for a few minutes before sighing and offering help. Before you can respond, Jamil has already taken your hand in his, easily guiding it along in a perfect arc.

He murmurs words of advice in your ear while he moves the brush--and your hand. It’s all valid, but you find your train of thought going wildly off track between his warm touch, and his face and voice so close to yours.

“... Are you listening?” Jamil asks, snapping you out of your daze. “I said, you can use cornstarch to thicken the paint. That should make it easier to control.” You nod absentmindedly, and he smiles back (secretly pleased to have your complete attention on him).

When both mugs are done, Jamil offers his in exchange for yours. You start to protest (since your mug is riddled with mistakes), but he’s very insistent. “This is something I can call my own,” he says calmly, “something to remember you by, even when we are apart... so it stands to reason that its mere existence is worth its weight in gold.”

You quickly learn that art is not Sebek’s forte. Like, at all. He seemed super eager to join you for mug painting when you initially invited him, but as soon as he has a paintbrush in his hand, you start seeing the real havoc he can cause.

All his shapes and colors muddle together, making his mug more like a melting green and black mess than a coherent design. You gently ask what it is that he is painting, and Sebek confesses that it is supposed to be “a mug made in the likeness of the young master!!”

But Sebek’s not blind. His cheeks burn with shame (in what way does his terrible artwork resemble the great and powerful Malleus-sama?). He loudly apologizes to you for making you look at his “cursed” mug and hastily sets it aside for a fresh one. This time, he tries a simple pattern of black stripes and neon green lightning bolts. It turns out looking okay, but ultimately much less grand than what he had initially planned for.

Sebek glances at your mug, eager to avoid looking at his grade school-level work--and he’s shocked to find that you’ve imitated him. Half of your mug’s muddled, and the other half has the same look as the new mug. You sheepishly tell him that you don’t mind how the mugs look--you just want to be able to match with him!

He’s so touched by your declaration that he decides to keep his original Malleus mug instead of trashing it. Sebek also starts bellowing about how fortunate he is to have an understanding and patient S/O like you but you need to calm him down before he disturbs your classmates.

Sebek proudly uses his mugs whenever he can (even when he’s forcing himself to drink coffee). Whenever a Diasomnia member asks him what “that weird melted mug” or “that childish looking mug” is, he just responds with a laugh and brags about how they match with his S/O’s! (”I didn’t ask, but okay, Sebek-san...”)

Cater goes for an avant-garde look (... which means his mug is going to be covered in those card suits with silly faces, just like the ones decorating his phone and dorm room), and he��s delighted when you say you’ll do the same. Matching mugs are super trendy and aesthetic right now--plus, they’d be perfect for a cute couple like you and him!

He doesn’t worry too much about getting the shapes and faces perfect--”There’s perfection to be found in imperfection, you know?” Cater tells you, fingers teasing a bit of paint out of a lock of hair. “Besides, this is way more fun than painting the roses red! Sorry not sorry to Riddle-kun.”

You point at each other’s card suit characters and take turns trying to come up with backstories for them. Maybe this frowning one left his cookies in the oven for too long and they burned, and maybe this smiling one just won the lottery and is setting off to see the world soon. The stories inspire you to add more details to one another’s designs--you add a tray of burned cookies to Cater’s frowning diamond, and Cater adds a suitcase to your smiling one.

He has his phone out to document the experience in photos and videos. Cater tries to get you in on the action too, swiveling the camera around to grab shots of you painting, or wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you close (even if he accidentally smears paint all over you and himself in the process).

The paint gets everywhere! Cater takes the primary colors and uses them like face paints on himself, just for fun! Here’s a little blue drop under the left eye for sadness, a star under the right eye for happiness, and two red dots on the cheeks for the flush of anger.

He gives you the same look with the paints, then encourages you to come close for a cute selfie together~ You raise your matching mugs so they’re visible in the frame, snap the picture, and let it go viral.

[pettyvxbes]

Colson Baker x Reader - Ocean Eyes III

This was originally only supposed to be three parts, but I have so many ideas. . . I might be getting a little carried away. If anyone is interested in being included on the tag list for ocean eyes drop me a comment. ❤ Btw, ya'll rock, and I'm so thrilled that you're digging where this story is going as much as I am!!

SUPPORT YOUR LOCAL COFFEE DEALER

Colson had insisted on going to a coffee shop across town, even though there were plenty of great coffee shops near Shaker Square that you two had frequented on your previous Saturday adventures. He initially suggested that you ride with him, but you declined the offer and opted to drive yourself, much to your dismay. You considered making a wrong turn to head back to your sister's house several times as you followed closely behind him but decided against the outlandish idea.

Pulling into the parking lot, you immediately noticed the sizeable pink skull painted on the side of the brick building. It read "Drink. Eat. Work. Meet" arched across the top with "The" on the forehead, a 2 and 7 in separate eye sockets, "club" on the chin, and the most clever part was the nose which was a cup of steaming coffee. The aesthetic was everything, and you quickly understood why Colson had wanted to bring you to this specific coffee shop. It was edgy and artistic, kind of like you, and he knew you would love it.

"This place is fucking awesome." You gushed, taking in the surrounding interior. The walls were painted pink and accented with black. There were skulls in various places throughout the room, and directly in front of you behind a large circular counter were the associates, wearing "Coffee Dealer" tees, waiting patiently to take your order. Capturing every aspect of the shop, you noticed the music playing. It was a synth-pop-R&B beat accompanied by the voice of Chris Brown and Usher.

"You gon' be my baby Love me, love me crazy Tell me you with it Baby, come and get it Maybe try a new thing And let's spark a new flame."

It was one of those songs that stuck in your memory and could take you back to a specific time and place. You looked over at Colson to find him looking back at you, and you were instantly transported to that cold January night eleven years ago, the night you had first met Colson.

The air was crisp, and the night sky was aglow with the bright city lights of Atlanta. You were visiting your best friend for what was left of your winter break at NYU. She couldn't wait to take you out on the town. So naturally, you both ended up at the Gold Room less than five hours after you had touched down in the Empire State of the South.

The Gold Room was fancy. Golden poles were lining a transparent window rail in the main seating area. Each roped-off section donned eccentric gold couches, chandeliers, and splashy tropical lighting, all of which highlighted the significance of those seated there. You happened to find yourself smack dab in the middle of the distinguished crowd, behind the velvet ropes. All thanks to your gorgeous best friend who had been casually seeing one of the Atlanta Hawks.

"Y/n, don't look now, but that guy over there has been staring at you since we walked in." Your best friend screamed into your ear over the loud music.

"Which one?" You questioned, waiting to turn and look.

"The blonde with the tattoos!" She paused, taking a sip of her drink. She could tell you were waiting for a more descriptive answer. "You'll know which one. He's fine as fuck!" She screamed, causing you to chuckle at her bluntness.

You casually turned to the side to look for the mystery guy, and you were quickly met with his blue eyes. You felt your cheeks flush a bit as he maintained eye contact.

You were beautiful in a way that the other girls in the club weren't. You were confident but not cocky, and your attire was modest but still sexy. You didn't need to be accepted by others, which was apparent in how you carried yourself. Your smile was beaming as you looked back at him, and Colson could have sworn it illuminated even the darkest corners of the room. You were authentically you, and the blue-eyed boy was captivated.

Your eye contact was broken by one of the tall basketball players in your section offering you a glass of champagne. You accepted the drink and made small talk for a moment before quietly excusing yourself to the ladies' room. At least that's what you told your friend, but if you were honest, you were actually looking for those blue eyes. You made your way slowly through the horde of people keeping your eye on the VIP section that the tattooed man occupied. You couldn't see him, so you wandered closer until you were stopped by a husky voice.

"Are you looking for something?" You turned, looking up into the blue eyes you had been searching for.

"Not anymore." You smirked. He was taken aback by your forward response, and you could tell by the look across his face that he was speechless. You chuckled at his expression. "I'm sorry."

"I wasn't expecting you to say that, but I was hoping you would" He laughed. "I'm Colson."

"Y/n."

"Y/n, that's beautiful." He smiled at you. You couldn't tell if it was the champagne coursing through you or the fact that he was extremely handsome, but all you could think about was kissing him. The thought was soon pushed to the back of your mind as you began exchanging information about yourselves. Where you were from, what you were doing in Atlanta, your relationship status'. . .the basics. You two eventually found yourselves halfway through a game of 21 questions in a more private area of the club where you could actually hear each other speak.

"If you could have one 'do over' in your life, what would you do differently?" You inquired.

"Ooh, we're going there now?" He chuckled. "That's easy though, I wouldn't do anything over because then I wouldn't be sitting here with you."

“Smooth.” You chuckled at his cheesy answer.

“Yeah? You see what I did there?” He joked "Ok, my turn. . ." He changed the subject, trying to think of a question quickly. "If there was one piece of advice you could give, what would it be?" You thought for a moment before speaking.

"To always appreciate the little things in life."

"The little things?" he questioned, waiting for you to elaborate further.

"Yeah, you know, like early morning sunrises or late sunsets. The ones where you'll see an array of colors in the sky that you wouldn't normally see." You raved. "Or road trips and motorcycle rides, when you have music in your ears and the wind in your hair. Or the days when you're surrounded by your favorite people, the ones who make you realize that the world isn't such a cold, harsh place." You rambled, and he smiled like a fool.

"The little things that make you realize what life is about and what it means to be alive?" He pondered quietly, contemplating what you had said.

"Yes!" You extolled. "Appreciating the little things makes you enjoy where you are, right now, in the present."

"Enjoy where you are right now," He reiterated. "I like that" A comfortable silence settled in for a moment, and you could hear a catchy synth-pop-R&B beat surging through the room. The voices of Chris Brown and Usher were crystal clear.

"Who said you can't find love in a club? 'Cause I wanna tell them they wrong Come on, just baby, try a new thing And let's spark a new flame."

You both let out a little chuckle at the lyrics, and the next thing you knew, his right hand was on the side of your face pulling you into him. The kiss was magic, chaos, and a little bit of poetry. You felt a fire deep in your bones, and he melted every part of you.

"Hey, Colson!" The barista greeted him, pulling you from your memory of the man standing next to you. You hadn't even noticed, but you two were still staring at each other, and you wondered if the same memory had crossed his mind too.

He turned towards the barista as your eyes continued to explore the coffee shop. That's when you saw it—a mural on the wall situated above black leather dome seats. In large pink letters, "Enjoy where you are right now." and it clicked - this was his coffee shop. . .and he still thought about that night, just like you.

Colson glanced back at you, preparing to order, you smiled at him, and yet again, he could have sworn it illuminated even the darkest corners of the room. You were still authentically you, and the blue-eyed boy was still captivated.

II << 💀 >>

TAG LIST @canyoubuymetoast

[lostinfantasyworlds]

Words: ~4,200

Cw for some descriptions of the pain of childbirth.

Includes my drawing of Inuyasha and baby Moroha later on in the story! (I will also post separately).

Read on AO3

A/N at the end.

------------------------------

The first of the evening’s stars twinkled against a darkening sky above Kaede’s hut, where Kagome lay inside, deep in the throes of labor. The initial pangs of discomfort had begun shortly after daybreak that morning, the recent sunset marking thirteen hours since then. Now well into active labor, Kagome braced herself for yet another painful contraction. She groaned before clenching her jaw tightly shut, feeling the muscles within her lower abdomen begin to tense.

The fingers of her right hand were laced firmly through her husband’s, who sat diligently at her side. She squeezed Inuyasha’s hand with all her strength, grateful that she could do so without hurting him too much. 

Although it was not traditional for the father to be allowed in the birthing hut, a (reluctant) exception had been made for Inuyasha. Kagome recalled the earlier scene in an effort to distract herself from the building pain.

“Kaede!” Inuyasha called out as he burst through the entrance of Kaede’s hut, carrying Kagome in his arms. 

Kaede made a sound of annoyance as she finished making her tea, her back turned towards the couple. Her lack of surprise suggested that she had sensed the half-demon’s aura approaching. “What are ye making such a fuss about, Inuyasha?”

“Kaede, the baby’s coming!” Kagome said through labored breaths. Kaede finally turned around to see Kagome in Inuyasha’s arms, one hand on her swollen belly and her face screwed up in pain. Her face softened as she realized the reason for the sudden intrusion.

“Ah, yes. Good, good,” Kaede said calmly and set her tea down to begin preparing the futon for Kagome to lay on. 

She moved slowly in her old age, and after a few minutes when Kagome cried out again, Inuyasha growled and snapped, “Would ya move it along? Kagome needs somewhere to lay down right fucking now!”

Kaede shot him a one-eyed glare as she finished placing the last pillow. She gestured to the futon, indicating that it was ready for Kagome to lay down on.

Inuyasha lay Kagome down on the futon ever so gently, making sure she was as comfortable as possible given the circumstances. Once he was sure she was taken care of, he settled onto the floor himself, sitting cross-legged by her side.

“What do ye think you’re doing?” Kaede asked as she grabbed a clean birthing robe and water bucket from a storage chest in the corner. “Fathers are not allowed in the birthing hut, Inuyasha. It is time for ye to leave.”

Inuyasha cracked his knuckles in response, holding up his claws menacingly. “You gonna make me, old hag? There’s no way in hell I’m leaving Kagome right now!”

Kaede’s tolerance for Inuyasha’s rudeness was already running thin. “How dare ye threaten me in my own home! It is bad luck for the father to - “

She was cut off by Kagome, who had just finished breathing through her latest contraction. “Kaede, please, I want him to stay. I need him here with me.”

Kaede considered her request, ultimately deciding it would be less hassle for her to just allow the exception. She nodded slightly before turning away and sighing, preparing herself for a long night ahead with a stressed and overprotective Inuyasha.

Kagome looked up at Inuyasha, who smiled slightly, seemingly relieved that she wanted him to stay. She reached out and took his hand, intertwining their fingers. She returned his smile with a warm one of her own, before abruptly dropping it and replacing it with a glare.

“I want you here with me, but if you are rude to Kaede one more time, I will not hesitate to kick you out. Now apologize!” She gave him a look that made his ears flatten against his head. 

“Fine, whatever. Sorry, Kaede,” he grumbled almost inaudibly. Kagome rolled her eyes at his immaturity, but was still thankful that he would be by her side as they welcomed their child into the world.

Kagome was brought back to the present as her contraction peaked. Her muscles tensed impossibly harder, causing her to let out a cry of agony and squeeze her eyes shut. This was the worst and longest one so far. It was so intense that all rational thought was wiped from her mind as her vision went momentarily white. Unable to comprehend anything beyond her overwhelming desire for the pain to stop, she squeezed Inuyasha’s hand with a force that probably would have broken a regular human’s hand. 

She did her best to try and breathe deeply until her body mercifully began to grant her relief. Chest heaving and limbs shaking, she savored the brief respite, knowing that she didn’t have much time to prepare for the next contraction. They were only a minute or two apart now, and she instinctively knew that their baby was very close to making its arrival.

She felt the comforting coolness of a damp cloth dab the sweat from her forehead, and looked gratefully to her left where Sango knelt beside her. Sango gave her an empathetic, encouraging smile. She had happily volunteered to assist Kagome with the birth of her child, both as an excited aunt-to-be, and as part of her midwife training. 

Kaede’s strength continued to wane in her old age, and Rin had decided to spend some time traveling with Sesshomaru again to see if she still preferred that lifestyle over living with other humans. Not wanting to risk leaving the village without a midwife, Kaede had asked Sango and Kagome if they would be willing to undergo training so they could assist with births if the need arose. Although Sango was incredibly busy with her ever-growing family and occasional demon slaying whenever she got the chance, she jumped at the opportunity to give back to the village that she had made her home for the last seven years. As a mother of five children of her own, she had plenty of experience and advice to offer new moms.

Sango put a comforting hand on Kagome’s shoulder, remembering the excruciating pain of childbirth all too well. “You’re doing great, Kagome. Let me check on your progress.” She moved down between Kagome’s legs to determine how much farther she had to go. Kaede had taught her several methods of determining the baby’s position at any given point during labor. She hoped, for Kagome’s sake, that she was nearing the end.

“Good news, Kagome, you’re almost there! When the next contraction comes, you can start pushing,” Sango said, moving back to Kagome’s side down by her feet.

Kagome nodded slightly, closing her eyes and taking a few more deep breaths to try and prepare herself. Her heart was pounding, her hands were shaking, and a layer of sweat coated her entire body. She had never experienced so much pain, not from any of the injuries she had sustained during their countless battles. Even having the Shikon jewel torn out of her body was nothing compared to this. She had to keep fighting down waves of nausea as the contractions had become more and more agonizing.

She was already exhausted, already past her limit of pain tolerance, and the thought of pushing sent her into a panic. How much worse is this going to get? What if I can’t do this? What if the pain kills me? Maybe I wasn’t ready to be a mother! I’m not strong enough…

Terrifying cynical thoughts raced through her mind as her heart pounded against her ribcage, her breaths becoming more shallow.

“I’m scared,” she admitted quietly, to no one in particular. She kept her eyes closed, feeling weak and ashamed. She had been looking forward to being a mother for so long, so why was she suddenly so afraid? 

“I don’t think I can do this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. A few tears slipped out from under her shut eyelids and rolled down her flushed cheeks. She felt like she was on the brink of a complete breakdown.

“Yes you can. What you’re feeling right now is perfectly normal, Kagome,” Sango said soothingly. 

Kagome slowly opened her eyes at the sound of her friend’s voice.

 “Every mother feels the same way at this point, I promise. This last part isn’t going to be easy, but it doesn’t last too long, and then it will all be over and you’ll be holding your baby in your arms. When you look into their eyes for the first time, you’ll forget all about everything else, trust me.”

Kagome smiled down at her, thankful for the reassurance from someone who had been through this before. She then looked up to her husband who was still holding her hand and sitting cross-legged at her side. Her gaze was met with golden eyes full of concern.

Inuyasha was overwhelmed. There were so many sounds, so many smells, so many emotions. He had done his best to try and prepare himself for this day, but he had to admit that he was in over his head. It was killing him to see Kagome in so much agony, especially when there was nothing he could do about it. His instincts to protect her flooded through him with every cry of pain she let out, followed by the frustration of not being able to help. It was driving him crazy that all he could do was hold her hand and offer her words of encouragement every so often. 

He had kept relatively quiet since his earlier threat to Kaede, afraid of saying the wrong thing and upsetting Kagome. He was completely out of his element, having never witnessed a birth before. He had no idea what to do or say, or what was considered normal. All he knew was that he wanted to be by his wife’s side, and that she wanted him there as well. Now, as she looked into his eyes after voicing her fear, he knew he had to be strong for her. 

“You can do this, Kagome!” he said fervently. Hearing her say she didn’t think she could do it had made him want to scoff and call her an idiot, but he figured that wouldn’t be very helpful and might even earn him a ‘sit’ command in her current state. The idea of her not being able to do this was ludicrous to him. He had been watching her in awe all day, amazed by her strength and resilience. Since they first met, she had always been a fighter, never backing down or giving up when faced with a challenge. It was one of the many things he loved about her. 

He brought his free hand up to her cheek to gently wipe some of her tears and sweat away, letting his fingers linger on her face for a moment. 

“You’re so strong, you always have been,” he said, bringing his hand back down to grip hers between both of his own. He stared deeply into her wide brown eyes, trying to wordlessly communicate the neverending love and respect he had for her. “And I’m right here beside you.”

Kagome could feel her panic melting away at his words and the look in his eyes. She smiled a little at him before looking forward with a newly determined look on her face. That’s right, Inuyasha is with me. I can do anything with him by my side.

She felt the pain building again, but it was different from before. Somehow sharper and duller at the same time. She knew this was the final stretch she had to get through to meet their little one, so she gathered all the strength and courage she had left. 

The pain of pushing was almost unbearable, but she did her best to remain focused on the steady pressure of Inuyasha’s hand and the guidance given by Kaede and Sango. She felt every sensation in her body, her instincts kicking in to guide her through the final stage of delivery.

Over forty excruciating minutes later, a cry finally rang through the cabin, alerting all those in the area to the arrival of a new life. Kagome breathed a huge sigh of relief and fell back against the pillows. Kaede caught the crying baby and carried it over to the water basin to be bathed. Sango cut the cord and helped clean Kagome up enough so that she could comfortably lay her legs flat again. 

Kagome lay exhausted, trying to catch her breath and calm her racing heart. The cries of her baby echoed through the cabin, filling her with a euphoric pride. She had loved their child from the moment she knew of their existence. It felt like so long ago that she first found out she was pregnant. She could still remember the rush of pure joy she felt at the news. Finally, after so much wondering and planning and waiting, she was about to meet the one she already adored more than anything in the world. 

After giving her a few moments to catch her breath, Inuyasha helped support Kagome as Sango stuffed a couple pillows under her back so that she could sit up more. Once she was sure of Kagome’s comfort, Sango got to her feet and said, “I’m going to give you some privacy. You did so well Kagome.” She smiled warmly down at her friend, and then shifted her gaze to Inuyasha. “I couldn’t be happier for the two of you.” Both returned her smile, and Kagome reached out to take Sango’s hand.

“Thank you so much for everything, Sango. It really helped to have you here.”

Sango squeezed her hand. “Anything for my dearest friend. We’ll all come visit in the morning once you’ve had some time to rest.” She released Kagome’s hand and walked out of the hut to give a full report to Miroku and Shippo, who were waiting at home with her own children. 

As Sango walked out of the entryway, Kagome lifted her head up to anxiously look around for her baby, who was no longer crying. Her eyes found Kaede, who was wrapping the newborn loosely in a blanket. Her heart fluttered with nervous anticipation as Kaede slowly made her way over to her and Inuyasha, carrying their new addition in her arms.

“Congratulations Kagome and Inuyasha, it is time to meet your daughter,” she said with a smile. 

At the word ‘daughter,’ Inuyasha and Kagome’s eyes met, both of their mouths dropping open slightly. Their daughter. 

Kaede handed the tiny bundle off to Kagome, who reached out instinctively. As soon as the child was securely in Kagome’s arms, Kaede made her way outside to let them have their first moments as a family in private. 

A peaceful silence settled over the hut as Kagome held their baby close to her chest and stared in awe. Inuyasha moved closer to her, draping an arm over her shoulders. Kagome was overcome with emotion, an overwhelming feeling of love and warmth taking over every ounce of her being. She was still exhausted and in pain, and somewhere in her brain there was a terrifying, nagging reminder that she was now responsible for protecting this tiny being, but it all felt like dull background noise compared to the warmth that emanated from her chest as she marveled in the presence of her daughter.

“Inuyasha...she’s....” she trailed off quietly, unable to quite find the words. 

“...Perfect.” Inuyasha finished for her in a dazed tone. He couldn’t stop staring at the face of the life they had created. He had pictured the arrival of their baby many times in the months since they found out they were expecting, but he could never have imagined what he was feeling now. It was surreal and overwhelming to finally come face-to-face with the child who had only been an abstract concept in his mind until a few minutes ago.

He had struggled with the idea of becoming a father. Despite his excitement to start a family with the person he loved most in this world, he had trouble imagining himself in that role. Questions such as What if I ruin our kid’s life? What if something happens to them? Or to Kagome? How am I supposed to know what to do with a baby? had kept him awake countless nights over the last several months. Not to mention how much time he had spent worrying over Kagome. He’d had a hard time leaving her alone for more than five minutes during her entire pregnancy, constantly afraid that something could happen to her or the baby.

It was the worst on his human nights, the negative thoughts hijacking his mind and taking hold until he could think of little else. What if something attacks us when I’m in my human form and I can’t protect them? What if I’m not a good enough father and Kagome resents me? What if our kid grows up facing the same kind of discrimination I did for being part demon and part human? The questions became impossible to ignore on those nights, a couple times bubbling up to the point where his heart raced and his breath became shallow. He usually tried his best to hide his fears from Kagome, not wanting to cause her any extra stress, but those few times, it was too hard to pretend nothing was wrong. 

Kagome would try to comfort him. She would whisper reassurances into his ears. That she loved him and believed in him. That their child would be well cared for no matter what. That he would be an amazing father. She would look at him with such love and trust and warmth that he was almost able to believe that he was the person she saw him as. But it was hard to forget a lifetime of being told he was worthless, an abomination. It was hard to forget all of the awful things he had said and done in his past. How could he ever be a role model to a child? What if he had doomed them to the same lonely life of an outcast that he had?

Witnessing Kagome’s excitement to be a mother was the only thing that kept him from drowning in his anxiety. Although he didn’t know if he was cut out to be a father, he was positive that Kagome was meant to be a mother. She had always been the caring and nurturing type, and the joy she had to finally fill the role of a mother had radiated from her throughout her entire pregnancy. 

Whenever Inuyasha felt overwhelmed with doubts, he would just watch his wife tenderly rest her hands on her rounded belly, or listen to her hum lullabies to their unborn baby. In those moments, he knew that at least their child would have Kagome as their mother, and that even if he fell short, she would always be there to provide them with the care and support they needed. He vowed to match her as best as he could, all the while feeling terrified of letting her down.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed that Kagome was looking at him. She seemed to sense his inner turmoil and asked, “Do you want to hold her?” with a sweet smile.

“Uh..” Inuyasha responded stupidly, but Kagome had already extended their child towards him. 

“Just remember to support her head and you’ll be fine.”

Inuyasha took the tiny bundle ever so carefully, as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces at his touch. He slowly adjusted her position so that her head rested in the crook of his elbow and she was fully supported by his arm. He stared at her for a long minute, still unable to make sense of everything he was feeling. How could he have helped create such an incredible little human? How could he ever be a good enough father to her? She was so tiny and fragile, what if he hurt her by accident? Protecting Kagome was already stressful, but at least he knew she could handle herself in a battle. How in the world was he supposed to protect someone so small defenseless? He tried not to think about all the dangers of the world around them.

To distract from his racing thoughts, he focused on cataloging everything about her. The little tuft of jet black hair on the top of her head, her barely open chocolate brown eyes that looked so like Kagome’s, her tiny nose and mouth. Although she hadn’t inherited his eye or hair color, or his dog ears, the shape of her features still resembled his own. She was truly a perfect blend of the two of them. He inhaled and memorized her scent. It was similar to Kagome’s, with hints of his own scent, but distinct in its own way. 

Inuyasha cautiously extended one finger from his free hand to gently stroke her cheek, being mindful of his claws. Her skin was softer than the finest silk. He had never felt anything quite like it. He moved to pull away, feeling unworthy to touch her with his rough, calloused hands. At the same time, a chubby fist escaped the confines of the blanket surrounding it and waved blindly through the air. Tiny fingers found his retreating hand, and instinctively wrapped around his outstretched pointer finger. 

With a sharp intake of breath Inuyasha froze, suddenly hit with a surge of emotion so strong he could hardly breathe. His daughter gurgled and looked up at him, gripping his finger with surprising strength for a newborn. A soothing warmth began to spread from the point of contact throughout his whole body, almost reminding him of the sensation of being purified by Kagome’s spiritual powers. But this was something else, something deeper and more profound. 

Something shifted deep within himself as he felt her tiny fingers grip his own. Every priority, every feeling, every want and need he had ever had was rearranging, placing his daughter at the center of it all. The moment that she had touched him, he was forever changed. His rough edges softened just a bit, his heart grew a little larger. The world and his place in it made a little more sense. All of the doubts and insecurities he had about being a father faded to the background. He knew now that he would do absolutely anything for the little girl in his arms. 

A type of love he never knew existed rushed through him, seeping into every last crevice of his soul. It was all-consuming and indescribable. He felt as if he was staring into the sun itself, her radiant light giving him warmth and life in ways he hadn’t known he needed. All of the pain he had gone through in his life now felt worth it to be able to experience this moment. He would do it a thousand times over again as long as he got to meet her. He had known for a long time that he was born to be with Kagome, but now he knew he was born to meet his daughter as well. 

He let out the smallest of laughs, breathy and awestruck. After several more moments, he finally managed to tear his eyes away from her to look up at Kagome, who had been watching the heartwarming scene unfold. His mouth still hung agape, and as his eyes met Kagome’s, he felt a single tear roll down his cheek. The sensation surprised him, having never shed tears of joy before.  He hadn’t even noticed the wetness building in his eyes. As he looked at his wife, he noticed that tears were silently falling down her cheeks as well, though she wore a beaming smile. 

The familiar sight of Kagome’s smile made his heart swell with even more warmth. It hardly felt real that, after all the heartache and loneliness that he had endured in his life, he was here looking into the eyes of his wife and holding his daughter in his arms. He wanted to tell her how much he loves her, how thankful he was to be able to share this moment with her. He wished he had the words to explain what it meant to him to have a family of his own.

“Kagome...” he said quietly, trying to think of something else to say. How could he ever put into words everything he had just felt?

“Inuyasha,” Kagome responded warmly in a way that told him no words were needed. They had always had a quiet understanding between them, their love for each other much deeper than words could ever hope to describe. It was something he was eternally grateful for. With a smile, Kagome reached out to cover her husband and daughter’s joined hands with her own.

Her eyes drifted back down to their beloved child, and after a few moments of contemplation she asked, “Moroha?”

Inuyasha wasn’t sure where she got the name, but it didn’t matter to him. It fit her perfectly.

“Moroha,” he repeated, confirming her name.

Inuyasha rested his forehead against Kagome’s as they continued to gaze down at their daughter. He knew his fears hadn’t disappeared completely, but there would be time to worry later. For now, he simply let himself bask in the glowing happiness of this perfect moment with his family.

----------------------

A/N (sorry it’s so long)

Hope you enjoyed the feels! I’ve been working on this for a while now, so I’m really excited to finally post it! I had originally wanted to post it before the premiere of Yashahime, but I kept nitpicking and editing it over and over. Plus I decided to add the drawing which took me forever. I also went all out and made the banner and everything, which I’m not sure if people usually do for oneshots but oh well!

This all started with me imagining that one moment of a newborn Moroha grabbing Inuyasha’s finger, and that being the moment that moved him and changed him forever. I could see him being really nervous and unsure about becoming a father, but I liked the idea of her touch causing a shift in him and basically turning him into a puddle of mush. I hope it isn’t too OOC for Inuyasha to cry at this moment, but I thought if anything would have the power to make him shed tears of joy then this would be it. Plus I saw it as kind of an involuntary bodily reaction to all of the emotion he experienced.

I tried to throw in some of Kagome’s POV, but I mostly wanted to explore Inuyasha’s conflicted thoughts and feelings about becoming a father. I hope the descriptions of pain/birth weren’t too much. I have never gone through childbirth, but it sounds ridiculously painful and terrifying so I was probably projecting a bit haha. Kagome is a badass for dealing with all of that with no drugs! 

I tried to look up real stories of how people felt when they saw their baby for the first time. There were a lot of mixed reactions, with a lot of people saying they just felt really scared or didn’t have a strong emotional reaction. This is a fic so of course I wanted it to be emotional and happy, but I tried to mix in some of the fear they must have felt also.

I didn’t want it to seem like Kagome’s strength only came from Inuyasha being there with her, but from what I read about active labor, the pain at that point can be extremely mentally and physically taxing, so I wanted her to have a moment of weakness where she felt like she wasn’t strong enough. And I always loved that Kagome and Inuyasha draw strength from each other in different ways. So I felt like she would have been able to tap into that from having him by her side.

Also, in regards to Sango and Miroku having 5 children, I find it hard to believe that they would have stopped at 3 considering how much Miroku talked about wanting to have 10 + kids lol. So that was just a little canon divergence I threw in there. This takes place about 4 years after Kagome returns to the feudal era for good. 

Anyways, I could ramble forever and over explain everything as I tend to do, but I wanted to get this out there before we see baby Moroha in Yashahime this week. I’m so excited!

[obae-me]

Beneath Still Waters- CH 1

Miracle Meeting

Word count: 3600

Summary: It’s the first of many strange meetings you’ve yet to come across. As you feel you’ve hit rock bottom, someone comes along to give you an opportunity. Feeling like you have no other choice, you pack a bag and head to a town known as Old Midev, the place where your adventures will soon begin. 

Tags: (Mostly) Human AU, second person view, gender neutral reader, I do not endorse always following the advice of a stranger, but for trope purposes, it’s fun.

They say that despite the appearance of calm surfaces, you should always be aware of the danger of currents churning just beneath them. There’s a point people warn you about, for once you drift too far from shore, there’s a good chance you’ll never be able to come back, even for all your fights and struggles. The best thing for you to do at that point is move with the flow, all the better to keep your head above water. Is that what your life had come to at this point? Had you been swept along by unseen forces, working to barely keep afloat? 

A little raindrop made its way down the glass pane, weaving and shifting past other stagnant dots of moisture. The trail it left formed small beads before it drifted down too far, disappearing from view. The locomotive ticked and churned along its path, unaffected by the storm outside. You sighed, changing your posture after having sat in your current one too long. Everything in your body was stiff, your muscles were sore, but most of all you were undeniably nervous. Was this a mistake? You wondered. Had it been too good to be true? But at this point...was there a better alternative? In all honesty, your life was at a low point. A very low point. Due to circumstances beyond your control, you’d lost your job, been told you had to find a new place to live by the next month, and finding any sort of stability financially, mentally, or otherwise seemed nigh on impossible. 

That was, till about two days ago. Trying to scrounge up any semblance of peace, you’d taken a trip to a local park. Disheveled, heartbroken, you sat on a bench, pondering if soon you’d have to sleep on this very seat in the near future. At that point, it seemed like a very real possibility. Little kids threw balls at each other and screamed in joy, the birds around you sang without a care. Everyone else looked happy. Everyone else didn’t seem to struggle as you did. And while it seemed silly, you couldn’t help but seem envious of everything. Envious of the adults who seemed to have everything together. Envious of the free birds. Even envious of the little flowers planted in their permanent little pots. 

“Mind if I sit here?” A gentle voice snapped you out of your thoughts, some worry racing through your mind, wondering if the stranger had noticed how bitterly you watched the passersby. The man was a kind looking soul; bright blue eyes, dark-toned skin, well-kept clothes, a shining smile on his attractive features. A soft breeze ruffled his curly brown hair. He pulled his ivory jacket closer around him, adjusting the blue scarf around his neck, the ends of the fabric billowing behind his shoulders. Something about him struck you as otherworldly, but you couldn’t place it. 

Aware of the way you looked compared to him, you scooted a little closer to the edge of the bench, straightening your own clothes in an attempt to make your hoodie and sweatpants a bit more presentable. “Uh...sure…” 

As he sat down, he thanked you only to apologize right after. “I’m sorry, I just had a feeling...maybe you could use some company.” Had you really looked that pathetic? Like a wounded animal left on the side of the road and calling out for help? You refrained from making a comment, hunching your shoulders instead. The stranger tilted his head at you, then lifted his chin to observe the puffy clouds drift up above your heads. “A beautiful day,” he expressed. “Don’t you think?” Really? Out of everything that could’ve possibly happened today, a charming yet odd stranger basically asked how you thought the weather was? Was it a good day? Was today, a day you’d been handed two rejected applications, a day you’d been hunting for anyone to take you in, a day you felt as if nothing could get worse, a good day? “It doesn’t have to be a good day,” he started, speaking as if he’d directly read your thoughts, “For it to be a beautiful one.” The breath in your lungs stopped for a moment as you observed him with semi-wide eyes. How did he…? The man simply shot you a sympathetic grin. “Ah, sorry for the assumptions. It’s just, in my line of work, you tend to see a lot of people sport the same expression. I couldn’t help but notice it on you when I passed by.” 

Some heat poured into your cheeks. So you had been that easy to read. A small family walked by in front of you, one of the younger children running too far ahead. Their guardians hurriedly reminded them not to go too far. Once they passed, you straightened your slouched posture, taking a deep breath. “In your line of work?” 

“I’m a doctor,” he explained. 

“Ah…” How much despair had he seen, how many grief-stricken people had left such an impression on him that he could simply tell how someone was feeling just by their face? Was he an empath or just observant? It doesn’t have to be a good day for it to be a beautiful one, he’d said. The leaves off the trees shone different shades of green, some shifting to warm hues in preparation for the approaching autumn, rustling under the beams of sun branching out from behind the clouds that rolled past the grey-blue sky. The air was crisp enough for jackets, but not yet cold enough for coats. You could smell the aroma of freshly baked goods, the air carrying the scent from the bakery just across the street. It was...rather stunning. “I’m going to be homeless.” The truth slipped out of you before you could process even moving your lips. With it, your emotions followed, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve been working towards has failed. My efforts amount--they amount to nothing! I don’t even know where to go or-or what to do anymore.” A choked back sob made your voice waver. “I’m sorry...I don’t even know you, I--I’m sorry. I don’t know why I just shared all that with a stranger.” The tears slowly began to dry as you brushed them away with the back of your hand. 

“Dr. Matthews,” he stated. “But you can call me Simeon.” 

You blinked, sniffling a little as you glanced quizzically at him. “Huh?” 

He rummaged for a few things in the confines of his pockets. With an outstretched hand, he offered you two things. One, a tissue, something you accepted with more than a little sheepishness as you dabbed the end of your nose with it. The second was a business card. It was a white and rather professional looking little paper with gold lettering. The name and title ‘Dr. Simeon Matthews’ was printed on the front, along with his email, business phone number, and website address. “Now I’m not a total stranger.” He smiled earnestly, and something about the idea of a doctor easily convinced that simply sharing a name would immediately make you acquaintances let a bubble of amusement float to the top of your mind. 

“Simeon?” You repeated, and he nodded to confirm you’d gotten it right. The vowels slid past your lips. “It’s a nice name.” 

He beamed at the compliment. “Thank you.” His long legs shifted and his hands fidgeted in his lap as he struggled with an internal thought. “Tell me...have you heard of Old Midev?”  You hadn’t. In fact, you couldn’t even tell what he was referring to by name alone. A book? A show? An illness? “It’s a little old town quite a ways from here, but it’s where I grew up. It’s so small most maps don’t even bother displaying it,” he chuckled. Homesickness stood out behind his eyes, his smile a lonely one. “It’s been quite a while since I’ve been home...Do you like house-sitting?” His question left you stunned, and a pit formed in your stomach. You could connect the dots. Was he inferring what you thought he was? 

“Simeon!” A high voice turned both your heads. A child about the age of ten or twelve was awkwardly running towards the bench with a little plastic container in his hands. Golden hair bobbed across his forehead as he stood before the man and presented the container; a little cupcake with pink frosting and pearl-like sprinkles dwelled inside. From under the kid’s blue jacket sleeves, you spotted bandages as well as a medical bracelet covering his wrists. “I managed to get one! They let me watch them make it fresh! Doesn’t it look delicious?” 

“It looks amazing, Luke!” Simeon addressed the pale child. “But remember what I told you about running?” 

Luke huffed and raised his nose. “I’m old enough to buy this by myself! I can handle running a little.” 

“I just want to be cautious is all,” Simeon assured him. The doctor used a hand to gesture towards the kid. “This is Luke, he’s a patient of mine.” Your heart quickly sank. It explained the bracelet, why Luke looked too pale, why his bright tufts seemed so thin. Simeon noticed your face quickly drain, and he playfully ruffled Luke’s hair. “He’s been a fighter, but it’ll end up being moot if you waste all your energy running around like a rabid chihuahua!” 

Luke, affronted, swatted Simeon’s hand away and fixed the stray strands. “I’m not a chihuahua!” There was fire in him yet. He pulled the cupcake box closer to his chest like he had to protect it. His sweet innocence and their wholesome dynamic let a smile curl across your face, something that hadn’t happened to you for a while. “Who’s your friend, Simeon?” 

The man hesitated. He didn’t know how to explain that you two had literally just met, and your name had yet to be announced. He’d probably refrained from asking in the event it would make you uncomfortable. You drifted your sight between the two of them, the sense of unease devoid from your intuition. Usually you could trust your gut on sketchy strangers. The two of them felt warm, safe, strangely familiar, like you’d been fated to cross paths. Some faith in your humanity was restored, and as you looked at Luke, you remembered that other people were suffering too. If he could, you too could fight a little longer. With a little sigh, you let some of the heavy weight of hopelessness slide off your shoulders, and you shared your name. 

And that was simply the beginning of your journey. A meeting of miracles. 

Simeon had asked you again how you felt about house-sitting, and before he took off with Luke, he encouraged you to give the number on his card a call once you’d thought it over. Now here you were, on a train to this town of his, doing something potentially reckless. Old Midev...small alright. After you’d double checked Simeon’s doctorate claims, you’d searched this town. It did exist, but it took you a while to find it. For the longest time, the only result that would show up were some crackhead conspiracy posts on a mystic sea creature written by someone calling themselves The Sorcerer. There was only a lake in that town, nothing really seaworthy about it. Nothing really note-worthy about it, in fact. From the overhead map view, you could see a school, a library, a park, a gym, a grocery store, a few other scattered businesses--basically the bare minimum--and that was it. There were only about 800 people, and even that was slowly declining as residents moved away. But in that town held the potential of some support, a shelter, some hope, at least until you could get back on your own two feet. 

The train buckled a bit, the speed starting to decline. You picked your head up, eyes heavy as you’d almost begun to nod off. Only now did your heart begin to pound. New people. A new environment. Would you be able to tell people you were basically someone’s charity case? That you were going to be squatting in someone’s empty home till you could sort yourself out? Groaning, you tapped your feet against the floor to get your nerves out. It took about another ten minutes before the train came to a complete stop. The luggage you’d brought with you resided in a single large suitcase in the proper compartment. Everything else you owned you had boxed up and placed in a storage unit in your old city. 

If the station you stepped out onto was a testament to what the town was like, you could see that it truly lived up to the name Old Midev. The train had pulled next to the only station in town. It almost seemed as if the station itself was built before the rails, and they conveniently converted it into a station as an afterthought. It looked more like a barn than anything. A little red wooden building with rusty red walls and white trim that had begun to chip and grey with time. The platform was decorated with log benches, carved animal statues, and barrels that had been cut in half to serve as flower planters. There was a nice little overhead to keep people--and you--from standing out in open weather. Even though it was still raining, it had lessened to a light sprinkle. As you tried to move, your luggage quickly got snagged on a nail sticking out from the creaking floorboards underneath you. With a tug, you got it free. The pistons to the train hissed as they prepared to shut the doors behind you. It’s your last chance to turn around. It’ll be hard to get out of this if you stay, you told yourself. And yet you stood your ground, watching the train start to chug away. 

Simeon had given you some insight into a few things before he’d so graciously purchased your ticket for you. One, he told you that you were welcome to stay as long as you needed. Yes, this town housed his home, and yet his work had him traveling constantly, so there was no one there to look after it. Two, his extra set of keys was in a compartment behind a wall plaque with a proverb on it. And three, a friend of his would be waiting at the station when you arrived to help take you to the house you’d be staying at. Only...you were seemingly the only living soul around. Swiveling your head to observe the area around you, you only further confirmed this. There was no one else here. No one was sitting down, no one was inside the building when you peeked in the windows. Being alone in...such an unfamiliar place...out in the middle of nowhere. Your blood started to run cold. Should you have done more background checks on Simeon? Yes, there was a website and a secretary and Luke and everything...but maybe it had all been staged! Was it all fake? Did you make a mistake? What were you even doing hopping on a train to come all the way out here?! Sure you had joked about dropping your entire life to move to a desolate place and change the way you lived, but you never thought it would be this frightening in the moment!

“Hey.” The monotone voice of someone behind you made you shout. You quickly turned, placing your suitcase in front of you in the event you needed to use it as a shield. You’d brought a self defense keychain with you and hidden it in your sleeve. Up until now, you hadn’t had to use it yet...but you would if you were desperate. There before you, occupying the space you could’ve sworn was empty, was a man; ripped jeans, dark circles under his eyes about as dark as the large sweatshirt he was wearing. Floppy purple hair with frosted ends hovered in front of his vision. He had a chain around his neck, a dirty look across his face, and a strange intense stance. You were dead. You knew it. Somehow you’d been fooled into coming here, and now you were about to be killed. “Are you the person Simeon sent?” 

Oh...was this the friend Simeon had talked about? Your nerves were still on edge, but you found it a little easier to breathe. “Y-yes...are you…” 

“Yeah. He sent me here to pick you up. I’m kinda late, I-” He was interrupted by his own large yawn. “I overslept. But it’s whatever.” Wasn’t it already dipping into the late afternoon? There was still some trepidation inside you, and he must’ve finally noticed your defensive stance. “Oh. Simeon told me to say ‘seraph’...I think it was the word.”  Seraph had been Simeon’s little safety measure to try and ease your anxiety and to prove who to trust. It was such a random little word, you’d doubted anyone could come up with it without being told by Simeon first. Your shoulders loosened a bit. Although, still...not to stereotype...but you found it interesting that a character like Simeon would be friends with someone like...this person before you. He appeared as if he’d torn up his entire wardrobe with a set of knives and yet looked entirely comfortable about it. Like...soft-emo-core. And yet their clashing attire wasn’t what bothered you...it was Simeon’s angelic nature vs...this person’s apathetic attitude. Well, who were you to judge? Simeon just always threw more surprises at you. 

“Yeah. That was the word.” You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. “Thanks for coming to pick me up. I wouldn’t know left from right here.” 

His blank face managed a little laugh. “Most people don’t. Anyway, come on, my brother has the car running.” He already started walking off, not even bothered to check to make sure you were following. You muttered some curses in your head before dragging your heavy suitcase behind you, trying not to trip on the uneven platform. 

“Your brother?” 

“Yeah, I don’t like driving,” he replied, kicking a few stray rocks as he hopped off the platform and onto an unpaved road. A large four-door red pickup truck was idling a few feet ahead. Through the darkened window, you could see another man--the brother, you pieced together--eating behind the wheel. You grimaced. Getting inside a vehicle with two people you didn’t know was exactly the sort of thing you’d been told not to ever do. The one time your escort actually looked back was the time you’d hesitated. “What,” he smirked. “You think we’re going to murder you or something?” 

You stopped in your tracks. “Maybe! I don’t know you!” Your accusatory tone came out of nowhere. “You still...Simeon told me the name of the person coming to get me. You haven’t told me your name.” 

He rolled his eyes and opened his mouth. Even if he’d told you, you weren’t sure you'd fully believe him. The main factor that contributed to some trust was all thanks to the person who rolled down the window of the truck, swallowing another handful of fries. “Belphie! Why didn’t you help them with their suitcase?” The name was right. Simeon had told you the person coming to get you would’ve been called Belphie. Strange name. Much like the password, you doubted anyone would’ve just made up a name like that on the spot. 

“Eh. I didn’t feel like it. It looks heavy,” Belphie admitted. You almost glared at him. What is with this guy?

The other man opened the door and stepped out of the truck. He was wearing a tracksuit. Red jacket and matching crimson pants, both of which had black stripes running vertically up the sides. He was wearing a black shirt underneath, a little bright stain of some sort smudged on his chest, probably some condiment from what he’d been eating. Unlike his brother, he had bright red hair and an expressive face, although his voice shared the same consistent and unwavering deep tone like his sibling. He stepped towards you, almost giving you a heart attack when you realized just how tall and muscular he was. God help any creature that dared to upset him. When he moved his arm in your direction, you felt faint, but then he simply grasped your luggage with one hand and plucked it up from the ground, settling it gently in the bed of the truck. 

He turned on his feet towards you, Belphie slinking away to get into the passenger seat of the car without even offering to help. “You’re MC, right? Simeon told us some about you.” The doctor hadn’t known you for very long, so the ‘some’ must’ve been the whole...rock bottom explanation. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder to point behind him. “That’s my twin, Belphie.” Twins? They didn’t exactly strike you as such just on an observational standpoint, but it’s not as if twins were always identical. “Sorry about him. He gets grumpy when he’s tired.”

“It’s okay…” You mustered up a polite grin. 

“You can call me Beel.” Beel opened one of the backdoors to the car, quickly clearing the backseat by shoving old takeout bags into one slightly bigger bag before settling it on one spot on the floor, looking a bit proud of his swift cleaning job. “Hop in, MC. Let’s bring you to Old Midev.” 

[agoodpersonrose]

You want to WRITE again and I want you to WRITE again so #20 You walk out of a dressing room asking if the outfit suits you, but it’s not your friend waiting outside the room like you thought.

I KNOW this is a meet-cute prompt, but I also knew that there is already an INCREDIBLE fic based on this very concept right here by chthonicheart, and I couldn’t work out a way to write it without stepping on their toes. So, instead, I made it a mini canon divergent fic, I really hope that’s okay!

Patrick is desperate.

He’s really desperate, and he’s terrified. He truly had no idea when he woke up this morning that it would be such a momentous- such a life altering day.

But then, David was making a fuss over a man asking for a gift receipt, and then he was asking Patrick about birthdays, and that could only add up to one thing. It all came tumbling out after that; the invitation to dinner, the suggestion of 8pm (the universal date time), and then of course, the water out of the spray bottle, all over the carrots that Patrick then spent the next ten minutes dabbing anxiously with a piece of tissue, trying not to look too flustered.

But the truth is, Patrick is flustered; he finally did it. He finally asked David Rose out on a date. The same David Rose who has been the sole focus of all his attention; all his affection ever since he wandered into Ray’s house all those months ago.

It’s for this reason that Patrick is desperate to find some way to make this date go well. He needs it to succeed, because if it doesn’t, then he just knows he will always look back on this night as the one where he missed his chance. Where he lost out on the one thing he knows for sure that he really wants.

Except as soon as Patrick gets home, he finds that he has little- no, nothing that he could possibly wear that could live up to his expectations for this evening.

He’s still got five hours, so he tries not to panic. There’s plenty of time to hurry down to the clothing store in Elmdale, although, even if he did do that, there’s no guarantee that he could find something that he would like; something that would be worthy of sitting across from David’s monochrome glory.

He should have thought this through properly.

“Patrick? Are you okay in here? I hope you’re not intending on wearing that shirt soon, it’s going to need some considerably good ironing to get it back to the usual Brewer standards!”

Ray’s voice in his bedroom doorway startles Patrick out of his thoughts, and he looks down to find the one shirt that was in the running crumpled up in a ball in his hands.

“Patrick?” Ray repeats, stepping further into the doorway and looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just- I need to choose something. To wear to dinner. Tonight.”

Ray brightens up at the statement, seeming excited just to be involved in this important discussion. “To dinner?” he asks, suddenly turning sly. “I didn’t know you had a dinner planned for tonight. Anyone I know?”

Patrick can feel himself heating up and just laughs brokenly. “Ha, um, well, actually. It’s David’s birthday, so I asked if he wanted to go for a meal?”

“Oh, a meal?”

“Yes, a meal, and--”

Patrick pauses, thinking hard about what he’s about to ask, but eventually he gives in to the impulse.

“What are you doing this afternoon, Ray? I could really do with your help.”

This is how Patrick ends up accompanying his roommate/landlord/former boss on the forty-minute drive to one the only clothing stores in Elmdale.

Ray had agreed almost too quickly, seeming eager to get Patrick ‘out of his comfort zone’ and ‘into some colour’. Patrick is trying very hard not to regret his decision to bring his only friend along on the shopping excursion, though that is getting harder by the minute, as Ray rattles on and on about differing pattern swatches, and fabrics, and “ooh, maybe a little bolo tie!”

They pull up at the only viable store in the area, Ray shooting out of the driver’s seat in a fit of golden-retriever-like frenzy and rushing Patrick in and over to the men’s clothing section.

Surprisingly enough, Ray is conservative with some of his choices. Sure, there is a crocodile patterned vest thrown in, and a sweater with a cow on it which really would cause David to lose any affection he might possibly hold for him at this stage.

“I think these should do for the first round,” Ray says cheerily, bustling them into Patrick’s arms and pushing him in the direction of the changing rooms. “Go and try them on and I’ll be right with you with the next load.”

Patrick goes, unable to argue when Ray is acting this way, and wanders cluelessly past racks of shirts, suits, and jeans.

He smiles politely at the changing room attendant, and slips into one of the empty stalls, immediately letting out a huffed breath and glaring at himself in the mirror. He’s going to find something today. He’s going to look for his date, and he is definitely going to sweep David off his feet tonight.

And he’s going to kiss him.

That one he’s less certain about but he’s working on it.

Patrick slowly unbuttons his blue shirt, one white button at a time, and pulls it off, placing it carefully on a spare hanger while he slips on a bright orange sweater over his under shirt. He looks again in the mirror, wrinkles up his nose at the gaudy pattern, and goes to take it off.

“Patrick?” he hears Ray’s voice, and groans internally as he pulls the curtain back for his opinion. “Oooh, wow, well I think that’s a winner! What do you think?”

Patrick winces and looks down at the sweater, pulling the sleeves over his hands and making an uncertain noise. “I think maybe the colour isn’t quite--”

“Say no more, I’ll be right back with the next selection. Try this next!”

With that, another handful of clothing, this time majority black fabric.

“Ray, what are you--”

“Try them on, Patrick!” Ray calls without turning back, already disappearing behind another clothes rack.

Patrick does as he’s told again, stepping behind the curtain and pulling on a tight black fluffy sweater, leaving his work jeans on. It’s surprisingly, nice; soft fabric and a tight cut, and Patrick finds himself smoothing his hands over his chest several times with a pleased hum.

“I don’t know Ray,” he calls when he hears footsteps heading into the room. “I just don’t think David is going to be that impressed if I show up to our first date looking like his twin.”

There’s a small intake of breath, but Patrick pays it no mind, and instead steps out into the brighter lighting of the corridor, turning towards the large mirror leaning against the far wall.

Patrick whistles air between his teeth. “I’ll tell you what. It’s soft though, it’s pretty touchable,” he says, turning to one side, his hands continuing to skate along his own shoulders and arms. “Maybe too informal, you know? I want to impress him tonight; I just don’t know what he’ll think about this.”

Suddenly, a hushed conversation and some fast footsteps heading out of the changing rooms alert Patrick that something is happening, and he turns to look behind him.

“Oh. David.”

David Rose is standing in the changing room across from him, impeccably dressed and pale with surprise as he stares down Patrick from three doors down.

“Hi--”

“What are you doing here?”

David looks embarrassed all of a sudden, as if he is the person who just admitted in front of his crush that he was trying to impress him. “Well, um, Stevie actually brought me, she thought she might need a new outfit for- for tonight.”

Patrick’s heart drops through his stomach. “You’re going out with Stevie tonight?”

“Well, no, she was kind of under the impression that we all might be going out, um, after dinner. So, she wanted to get an outfit ready to collect some Randoms, not that that means much more than a vile new flannel shirt and jeans off the clearance rack, but you know.”

“Stevie is coming tonight,” Patrick says slowly, and then finally stops his hands where they have continued to brush against his sweater in an almost self-soothing manner. “To our dinner, tonight.”

David winces, looking uncomfortable.

“Okay, Patrick. I have a few more options here for you. Now, I know that blue is perhaps your statement colour, however, have we considered trying something a little more out there that I really think will catch David’s attention.”

Ray appears in the doorway and holds up a sequin covered sweater which changes colour from purple to pink when pushed in the opposite direction.

“Oh, um--”

“I don’t know Ray, I’m really quite enjoying his current get-up, don’t you think?”

Patrick blinks and turns toward David, who seems to have regained his confidence and is smirking at Patrick with his hand perched on his chin as if deep in thought.

“I think it looks touchable,” David continues. “And we all know how important that is for a first date.”

Ray looks between Patrick and David with an expression of pure elation on his face. Before he can open his mouth to say anything else in response, Stevie is suddenly back in the room too.

“Ray, I’m so glad you’re here. Do you think you could give me some advice for a--” she hesitates a minute, clearly coming up with something on the spot. “For a business meeting, that I have.” Ray’s grin grows ever bigger, and he is soon rushed away back to the store, though Patrick doesn’t miss the thumbs up Stevie shoots at David as they round the corner.

As soon as they’re alone, David steps up to Patrick and puts his hands on his shoulders. His touch is tentative and careful, but warm, as he slowly rubs up and down the seam of the black sweater.

“Mm, very touchable,” David hums, “But aren’t you supposed to ‘be yourself’ on a first date?”

“David--”

“I for one, will be wearing my very favourite Neil Barrett sweater. It has a lightning bolt across it, and my tightest pair of jeans.”

Patrick lets out a breath and slowly raises his hands to David’s waist. He’s still in the heart sweater from this morning, and the fabric is soft and warm from his body heat. “Oh, and why’s that?”

“I just think it shows off my best assets.”

Patrick clicks his tongue and leans back, pretending to look behind David for a while. “I don’t know, these seem to be doing the job just fine in my opinion.”

The laugh David lets out in response is miraculous, and his grip tightens on Patrick’s shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me it was a date?” he asks, dropping his voice slightly. “When you asked me to dinner.”

“I thought I’d made it obvious!” Patrick exclaims, unable to stop himself from feeling embarrassed despite how close David is standing to him. “And I’d hoped that if you didn’t know before, then you would know by the time you got there.”

“Not if Stevie had come and crashed it!”

“Mm, well, that just sounds like poor planning on your part.”

David pulls a face and sways closer. “You should kiss me now,” he mumbles, almost nervous in the way he’s pawing at Patrick, and dropping his gaze.

“You should at least buy me dinner first,” Patrick manages to get out before David’s lips are on his.

It’s a short kiss really, considering how long they’ve been waiting, though not by Patrick’s choice, as he makes a disgruntled noise of annoyance when David’s mouth is pulled away, and moving.

“Wha--”

“I said, how set are we on the café for our first date?”

Patrick blinks incomprehensibly, unable to stop his gaze from straying back down to David’s lips. Not that he knows what they feel like, how they taste, he can’t help but want to dive in for a second try.

“It’s just- There’s a diner down the road from here, I was thinking we could maybe--”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” David says, grinning and kissing Patrick quickly again. “Go get changed. This is lovely, but I want to go on this date with the blue-button-up, discount jeans Patrick who has been driving me mad these past few months.”

Patrick kisses David again, just because he can, and hurries off to change.

He’s got a date.

[askyourwritergrandma]

Hey! Can you give me any advice on how to make food visual and appetizing? Specifically breakfast foods and desserts?

Hello Anon!

Thank you for your patience. I hope you're having a lovely year end of 2021.

Onto the advice. Unfortunately, I don't have a great deal of advice that directly addresses the ask because I am not naturally a visual person and have therefore never really been able to concentrate on visuals.

I also believe (at least partly for the above reason) that since writing is not a visual medium, you should focus on igniting sense memories through emotional connections. I can give you some ideas for that.

First, consider what function the food has in the scene. Even if it seems like its just existing as a set piece, it's serving a purpose. If it's a lavish spread meant to convey the hosts wealth then that's arrogance and/or generosity. If it's the breakfast of lovers the morning after the first sleep over (so to say) then it's probably an attempt to prove they can provide/convey they had a great time and that's either 'look at me I can make bacon' or 'please don't judge me all I have is lucky charms'. (There's a lot of variations). If it's your mom's home cooking at home that's usually nostalgia/love.

Point is, pick an emotion and/or a purpose. That will help you pick the food. A show of wealth is going to be over the top and your descriptions of it should be lavish and extreme. Focus on the grandiose/excess.

The table was covered from end to end with an assortment of dishes. It was more food than Emsee had ever ever seen in all her life. From the overfilled bowls of plump, frosted grapes to the ripe red strawberries piled into deep bowls of cream there were more colors to see than she could have imagined in one meal. A steaming dish was overwhelmed with thick cuts of juicy sweet ham sitting next to a basket of flaky, thick biscuits. Nearest to her was a platter of pancake so thick and so fragrant and so hot the dabs of butter were running like streams across the perfectly golden tops. Her mouth was filled with the taste of so many things, leaving her breathless and unable to manage even a squeak to indicate how grateful she was.

(Our food is delicious because it is vast and many and we are humbled by it. It would be disgusting if it was an arrogance display meant to insult us.)

If you're stumbling through an awkward situation but you want to be happy about it, it might be like this:

She hadn't expected breakfast, but she found her date in the kitchen regardless. Georgette was as beautiful dressed in laundry-day sweats as she'd been wrapped up like a gift at dinner last night. Maybe more beautiful for how she blushed as she cleared her throat before she brandished two boxes of cereal. "I know it's not the filet mignon of breakfast but..." It didn't matter if Georgette poured her a bottle of bran flakes, limp and brown in a bowl of thin white milk. She would have eaten it like the finest of food, tasted the sweetness of the flakes like a pitcher of thickened sweet cream. Licked the last trace of milk out of her mouth like a starving man salivating over a helping of Christmas dinner. Lucky Charms might as well been a tower of donuts, still warm from the oven, dripping with frosting almost too sweet to bear.

(For the record, I have always liked bran flakes. I take no criticism.)

I'm sorry I couldn't give you more direct advice about how to describe them in a purely visual sense. Find that emotion you want the scene to portray and use words and phrases that echo the sentiment. Even if you don't describe the perfect brown bread crust in detail, your reader should be able to see the food and want it because they get caught in the emotion of the character who wants the food.

Good luck and thanks!

[porcelain-blue]

Embrace the Entirety of the World

When Wei Wuxian comes back into the world, the first thing he registers is pain. It’s a sharp, aching thing, a body filled with bruises and the gnaw of an empty belly. He sits there, for a while, letting it wash over him; the nausea, the headache, the rasp of rough woven cloth under his fingers. It is so much , so distinct, sound and smell and touch a dizzying input where there had only been numbness and nothing before.

He is alive. In his marrow he knows how rare of a chance this is, how short and how fragile a single soul in a single body actually is, how easily lost, how infinitely precious. He is dead but now he is alive, and it feels like there is nothing he cannot do.

He breaks out of that shack with gladness, eager to leave the stink of human excrement and neglect, and inhales deeply, noting the thickness of the humid air, the sound of faraway chatter of a bustling household. He smells dust, and animal, cooking not too far away, and the sensation of it all almost overwhelms him once again, and it feels like something inside his chest clicks , a setting of a phantom bone behind his sternum. Or perhaps it breaks. He feels untethered, unmoored, feral. An animal thing, more beast than human, more sensation than cognition.

When he calms, he spares a thought for young Mo Xuanyu, and makes a mental note to set an offering and perform rites on his behalf. He thinks with a pang that Mo Xuanyu was never treated well enough to ever understand the nature of the gift he had given Wei Wuxian. He will, however, honor those last wishes cleaved into his forearm.

So he saunters into a mystery, absently enjoying the feeling of packed earth under the thin soles of Mo Xuanyu’s boots, and within a few xichen night has fallen and the Mo family is sundered by corpse limbs. Wei Wuxian commandeers a grumpy donkey, marvelling at the stubble-rasp of the animal’s flank under his palms as he makes his way down the mountain, thrust into the gaping maw of the world once more.

When Zidian coils around him and wrenches, he cannot help but grin to himself, a small thing full of bloody teeth. He feels delirious, and everything hurts white-hot, but the feeling-sound-crackle-smell of Zidian is so familiar that it feels like home. If he closes his eyes, the purple of Jiang Cheng’s robes may as well be Yu-Furen’s. Their rage feels the same, physically.

Lan Zhan’s hand is so tight around his wrist that he can almost feel his bones shift, and he hisses at the pain even though it feels good, in a way, to be anchored to this plane of existence.

Later, when he flings himself behind Lan Zhan’s body, the first thing his brain registers is how fine the weave of his robes are, smooth but sturdy under his fingers, the faint threads catching against his rough skin. It’s a weird, incongruent detail that he can’t get out of his head, even as he shamelessly flirts his way out of getting dragged back to Lotus Pier (he cannot, not right now, not like this). Lan Zhan’s voice is deep, deeper than he remembers, and the thrum of it catching his hearing sends the hairs on his nape standing, skin prickling in an uncomfortable awareness.

Later, in the Jingshi, his old friend spread under him staring steadily as he asks him to go back to his own bed, Wei Wuxian feels like the light was never like this when he was last alive, liquid and colourless; that shaft of moonlight cutting through the crystal shape of Lan Zhan’s irises is almost vicious in its beauty. His breath catches, but he plasters a bright smile as he plays the part of shameless, predatory Mo Xuanyu(as though a boy so young and starved could be anything but vulnerable). But all Lan Zhan does is jab a pressure point that makes him go limp and tingly, and all he can focus on is the sharp, clean smell of incense, and the furnace-warmth of Lan Zhan’s terrifyingly strong golden core under him. He sinks into sleep and it’s only a little scary, to go back into darkness and quiet, but the warmth and weight of Lan Zhan’s hand draped on his waist is always there, at the edge of his awareness, and he slips off into the first sleep of 16 years.

As they journey Northwest, Wei Wuxian lets himself go, trails his hands on walls and scuffs his feet just to feel the dirt squish under his shoes. He lingers at stalls, more so than he would have before, touching everything and looking. He buys rouge from a merchant and dabs into the soft, pressed powder with his pinky, marvelling at the texture. He dabs a little, on his lips, for fun. No more than a passing fancy, but in this new body and new life, Wei Wuxian is determined to honor ever passing fancy, feel every sensation he wants to. He thinks, privately, that he has earned it.

Lan Zhan makes an aborted movement at him, when he sees the pigment on his face, makes like he wants to press his thumbs against his lips to wipe it off. Wei Wuxian waits, head cocked to see what Lan Zhan will do. Lan Wangji, however, has never died and been reborn. He is, as always the paragon of self-control and dignity. He would never acknowledge any passing fancies, so he flexes his hand from his fist, and turns away. Wei Wuxian stares after him, not knowing what that was about, beyond the knowledge that Lan Zhan has been denying himself every single day they have been travelling together.

It bothers him. He knows that Lan Zhan is not a person given to doing whatever he wants, but something about the movements, the heavy weight of his gaze, something makes his teeth itch, and Wei Wuxian convinces himself that it is merely concern for his friend, a desire to see him happy and a little more free. I must give him my advice! He thinks privately, amused and mischievous, keen to start a new plan into action.

So he catalogues every time Lan Zhan makes a strange movement, every time those eyes rest on him a little too long. He wonders how long it will take for Lan Zhan’s resolve to break, and he makes sure to repeat every action that catches the attention of the venerable Hanguang-jun.

He dabs the barest suggestion of pigment on his face. Sometimes his eyes, most often his lips, just to see the tips of Lan Zhan’s ears pink when he turns away. It eventually seems tha Lan Zhan is intent on watching him, though, so Wei Wuxian simply loses himself in the joy of being here.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says for the first time, and his blood quickens as he registers the joy of being called, to have a name and to be recognised. The cadence and tone of that voice, and the warmth of those large hands on his calf over his curse-mark feel so real he cannot lose himself in his own traitorous, quicksilver mind.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, tasting the words on his tongue as they leave him, intentional, seeking their owner.

When Lan Zhan moves to pick him up, he does not squawk, does not struggle. He reaches up and loops his arms around Lan Zhan’s neck and lets himself be carried, because why not?

Why not live in the moment?

What does it matter, what it looks like, when a man carries another man?

Nothing matters, except feeling safe and warm and grounded, here, pressed up against GusuLan white, the fabric smooth against his skin.

Lan Wangji is still trying to map the parameters of this new Wei Ying. He is much the same, of course, even without hearing the hollow scraping whistle of a bamboo flute butchering the one song he has kept close to his heart for years, Lan Wangji thinks that he would have been able to place Wei Ying before long, through his mannerisms, through the cadence and easy drip of his words.

But something seems looser, in this new Wei Ying. The boy he had fallen in love with so long ago had always been a creature of action and reaction, all whim-chasing wrapped around an unbending moral core. But then, that boy was gone and in his place was a man unyielding and exhausted, and Lan Wangji had almost forgotten what it was like to hear a clear laugh dancing about him.

But apparently lying dead for 16 years and coming back had done something to Wei Ying, and he seems all at once more carefree and young than he has ever seemed, and also still, wise, in a way that he never seemed to achieve before.

He no longer cares about the gaze of others, truly does not mind them instead of the knowing-and-defying that Wei Ying had been known for. Lan Wangji had admired him for that before, but now, knowing about the censure and the tightrope dance Wei Ying had had to do within the bounds of what was socially acceptable, Lan Wangji feels something flutter in his chest, some tight tension from before melting away, bit by bit.

Wei Ying buys rouge with his money, and he knows that this is probably part of a plan to catch him out, to obfuscate his true identity (as though Lan Zhan has ever been so unobservant as to miss all the tells that make up the creature that is Wei Ying.), but even after Lan Wangji reveals what he knows, Wei Ying continues to play with the pigment. He ends up buying this new Wei Ying a box of lip paper, and watches curiously as Wei Ying opens the box, fishes out a sheet of vermillion delicately, and places it between his lips. A press, holding it there for a while, then his mouth parts, and oh, he is beautiful.

Wei Ying has always been beautiful to Lan Wangji, and it was no secret that his old body had many admirers. But even now, in the fine-boned features of Mo Xuanyu, it has always been the light in those eyes and unbreakable spirit that Lan Wangji had been drawn to. But the truth of the matter is - and of course, lying to oneself is also forbidden - that Wei Ying, returned after 16 long years in a new body, with wide guileless eyes and lips stained the same red of his underrobes- Wei Ying is lovely, and Lan Wangji wants nothing more than to dart forward and taste, to see if that sweet smelling paper also would impart flavour, or if Wei Ying’s lips would be the only thing to discover.

“Ah, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan! I don’t have a mirror, so you’ll just have to tell me, does it look good? I know you think I’m shameless, but what do you think?”

Lan Wangji reaches forward, plucks the box out of Wei Ying’s hands and stows it away in their shared travel bag. He pauses for a moment, glancing at the graceful bow of those lips, then back at those wide, happy eyes.

“Wei Ying has always looked good in red,” he murmurs.

Wei Ying blinks for a moment, surprised, before breaking out into a smile, wide and soft and sweet, vermillion stained.

After gathering the juniors like ducklings, they head into town, and Wei Wuxian keeps tugging them aside to look at stalls in the marketplace, nagging at them to eat more food and buy souvenirs for their friends and families.

“Why are you so frivolous!! You’re so embarrassing!” Jin Ling huffs, red faced and embarrassed that Wei Wuxian is currently trying to shove some tanghulu into his hands.

“Aah, Jin Ling, that’s where you’re wrong!” Wei Wuxian says, brandishing a stick of tanghulu at him. “It’s not frivolous to slow down and enjoy things! It’s a beautiful day, the sun is shining, there are snacks to eat. You should listen to me! I’m very wise!”

He laughs at the disbelieving looks on all their young faces, and turns to Lan Zhan, who is regarding him with his usual steady stare. He poffers the tanghulu, and Lan Zhan pauses for a moment, before accepting the offering, biting delicately into the candied hawthorn before pulling it off the skewer. He chews thoughtfully, and swallows, and the sight of that pink tongue darting out to lick the remaining sugar off distracts Wei Wuxian into silence.

Lan Zhan hands the skewer back, flicks his gaze up at him, before murmuring, “ Be strict with yourself .”

Wei Wuxian blinks, and vaguely registers Lan Jingyi nodding in agreement with Lan Zhan. But he laughs, and counters airily, “‘ Embrace the entirety of the world ’, Lan Zhan! That was always my favourite rule, you know. After all, how can you fault me! I’ve died once, and am fortunate enough to be here to eat candy and play around.” He smiles, feeling his eyes crinkle, and pops another candied berry into his mouth.

He drinks slowly, now, luxuriating in the feel of smooth liquor on his tongue, the slide of it down his throat. He stops asking Lan Zhan to join him, after the first few times had left his heart pounding and desire pooling in his belly. No, it wouldn’t do to act when Lan Zhan was vulnerable, when he would not remember anything.

He feels like honey, thick and slow-moving. Lan Zhan is a steady presence across the table. He wants-- well, he wants many things. He sits with those feelings for a while, sifting through them like pebbles covered in mud, washing them clean until they are smooth in his hands.

He weighs each desire, thinks about their cost, and whether his heart can take the cost. He thinks of his battered heart, weighed against the steady golden gaze looking at him, always looking at him, and thinks he knows which way the scales tip.

He sets aside the jar, ceramic clinking onto the polished wood of the table. Leans forward, far enough to smell sandalwood and jasmine. He moves slowly, eyes never leaving Lan Zhan, telegraphing his movement enough such that Lan Zhan could easily back up, move away, give his answer therien. But Lan Zhan is still as a rock under a waterfall, worn smooth with patience and time. He looks at him, lips slightly parted and cheeks dusting pink.

“Lan Zhan,” he breathes, the syllables sweet on his tongue.

“Wei Ying.”

Had the sound of his name ever sounded so sweet, so fragile and tender? There is nothing different about the way Lan Zhan says it, Lan Zhan has called his name like this for years, but only now, with his mind clear of resentful energy, clever of all the trappings of his past life, can Wei Wuxian hear the tender regard and warmth that Lan Zhan imbues into the characters of his name. The way his lips catch on Wei , the deep breath at the back of his throat- Ying , I love you , it says, soft and tender. I love you without ever asking for anything back , it says to him.

He finally reaches his destination, hands landing on Lan Zhan to balance himself; the left on his shoulder, the right on his knee. He is warm under his palms, but he does not move, save to shift a little to place his hand near Wei Ying’s right, fingers ghosting the side of his wrist. A steadying presence.

He presses forward, brushes his lips against Lan Zhan’s own, swallows the slight hitch-exhale from him, lips pressing together in earnest now. Lan Zhan’s lips are soft, plush, yielding. Wei Wuxian licks into his mouth, taste joining smell-touch-sight-hearing , five senses to catalogue the entirety of Lan Wangji, mapping out the start and end of his being.

Lan Zhan makes a rough, wounded noise under him, and they shift against each other, finding purchase on the seat, Wei Ying crawling into that firm lap as he pushes himself close.

“Wei Ying,” he gasps, broken and in disarray, fragile hope in his eyes as he glances at him, darting, taking in is eyes, his mouth, looking like he wants to drown in Wei Wuxian.

“Shhh,” he soothes. “I’m here now, I’m alive, I’m alive.”

He repeats that phrase, whispering it into Lan Zhan’s hair, into his skin, into his lips again, an affirmation, confirmation of the impossible made fact. There is proof, evidence, all five senses and the events of this puzzle falling around them to prove that Wei Wuxian is here , cradled in the lap of someone who he lives, who loves him.

Wei Wuxian kisses him, his Lan Zhan, his zhiji, his beloved, and feels like he has come into the world anew, born again for the third time, the fibre of his being pulled apart and knit together into a new configuration that wraps around another.

[vigilantezra]

Chapter One: The Song of The City

Who woulda guessed that taking a job as a janitor for Poseidon Industries would end up with me stuck smack-dab in the center of a mafia war between three ancient gods, fighting a spider-themed bounty hunter, and asking a gun for advice.

Alright, listen up, 'cause we got a labyrinthine twisted task of a tale to tell, and if you don't keep up, ya might get lost. First, to understand how this all goes down, you've got to know a little bit about the world we're talking about.

The world was once full of magic and wonder. Breathtaking dream-like landscapes rolled across the realm and mystical creatures soared through the sky. Blazing their way through this primal world of gods and monsters, there were heroes. The chosen few that could lead the way, cut through the darkness, and give their people hope. But as time passed, humanity did learn to tame this untamable earth. Slowly, but surely, heroes became legends, and legends became only myth. Civilizations discovered science, industry, technology, and the past eroded under the rushing current of the future. We built, and forgot.

It's a sunny Saturday afternoon in Sigil City. Thin, white clouds are stretched like cotton across the sky, split only by the Dawnspires, a union of interconnected, elegant, golden skyscrapers that twirl upwards towards the heavens. The sun beats down on the streets of the city, which are overflowing with thousands of people, all pushing against the tide of the foot traffic. A woman in the crowd reaches towards her purse, and her phone gently floats out into her hand as she takes a call. A delivery biker passes by towering bronze buildings and archways, as well as some glowing runes on a decrepit wall before cycling up a hill, past a rounded skyscraper of steel and glass parting a group of pigeons.

The sounds of construction, car horns, and music thrum together into a symphony that reverberates through the streets into the deeper layers of this megalopolis. We follow this sound through traffic, weaving around citizens, past the storefronts, and into a tucked away, gray cobblestone alleyway. We move through a gap in the lose stones, and as the sounds of the city become muddier and fade away, we see in the darkness a sickly green light, faintly illuminating the inside of an ancient tomb. A hand reaches out, and grabs the light, plunging the room into darkness.

Suddenly, the lights flash on and all that can be heard is the sound of a low, humming fluorescent light. Below it, the interior of the janitor's closet at Poseidon Stadium. I grab my mop, and begrudgingly walk out. I'm immediately met with the stench of cigarette smoke. Standing adjacent to the closet is a barrel-chested man with a bushy mustache and a pair of permanently furrowed eyebrows, accompanied by wiry, charcoal-colored hair and a cigarette hanging from his lips. He claps his hands, then speaks.

"Hurry it up, rookie. We gotta get the stadium clean before tomorrow's show, and I don't think you wanna piss off an Olympian."

"Yeah, yeah", I groan. We start walking down the hallway, a light at the end marking the double doors that lead out into the spectator area of the stadium. As we walk out, we're greeted with the heat of the sun. I look down. We've got a lot of work to do.

"Let's get to it, then", I say, as I walk down the stairs to complete yet another day in the wonderous life of a janitor.

[END]

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Skinship

This one is dedicated to my dear friend and fellow TWST writer, @twstpasta! 

Congrats on making it to 3k followers and for making the grand debut of your new blog mascot~ I look forward to seeing your future works, as well as all of the (inevitable) Vil brain rot once your EBG (Extreme Bias Game) is over!

Imagine this...

“Unacceptable.”

“Eh?”

“Your skin,” Vil clarified. “It is simply unacceptable. You don’t truly intend on marching to the opening ceremony looking like that, do you?”

“My...skin?” Your hands subconsciously trailed to your cheeks. “What’s wrong with--”

He cut you off, his pupils dilating in absolute horror. “No...!! Don’t touch your face! Your hands are breeding grounds for all manner of nasty bacteria!”

Your hand jolted away at Vil’s remark. He sighed in relief--but the repose is short-lived.

“You haven’t even properly buffed out the sunscreen along your hairline. See to it that you wash your hands and blend it in. Now.”

“Ah, I must have gotten some grated parmesan on me while I was making my mac ‘n cheese for lunch,” you explained, your expression sheepish. “I only put sunscreen on when I work out, Vil-senpai.”

“Excuse me?!” He brought a finger to his chin and frowned. “I don’t know whether I should be more appalled at the fact that you somehow got cheese in your hair or at the fact that you scarcely wear sun protection...What, if I may ask, does your typical skincare routine look like?”

“I splash water on my face once in the morning and once at night. And I already told you about the sunscreen when I exercise.”

“...That is all?”

“Yup.”

Vil cradled his head in his hands.

“...Sit.”

“Huh? Oh, sure.” You seated yourself on a sofa and glanced up at your senpai. “But won’t we be late for the ceremony if we wait around for too long?”

“It will only take a few minutes,” Vil insisted with a dismissive wave. “I will be right back.”

The Pomefiore dorm leader swept out of the room, his dark sleeves billowing out behind him. The intricate golden designs on his robes seem to twinkle and dance under the lights.

He soon reappeared with a tray--upon it, a few towels, several small bowls of water, and an assortment of containers. Vil sat down beside you, placing the tray on a low coffee table.

“We can’t have you going out looking a mess,” he declared, “so I shall be giving you a quick facial.”

“Whoa, really? Thank you so much for this, senpai.”

“Don’t thank me yet. The magic has yet to start.”

He took a pump of soap, working it into a rich lather, then dipped his hands into a bowl of water and patted dry with a towel. Vil dispensed a viscous substance from another bottle and swiped it on your face--from your chin to your forehead, massaging in circles.

“What’s this slick stuff? Moisturizer?”

“It’s an oil-based cleanser,” Vil corrected, “Listen well, potato. There are three essential steps to every skincare routine--the first is cleansing.”

“But I’ve already washed my face today.”

“We need to break down your sunscreen first before we apply more product,” Vil chided, wetting his hands again before running them across your cheeks. “Next is a water-based cleanser.”

He popped open a tube and squeezed out a coin-sized amount. Rubbing his hands together produced fine suds.

“You’re washing my face again?” you asked, giggling while Vil worked the product onto your face. The lather tickled a bit—and it smelled like a field full of raspberries, bright and bursting with sunshine.

“Skin has both fat and water. Therefore, you should wash once with an oil to bind to oils, and water to bind to water—this will give you a thorough cleanse.”

Vil’s words were stern, but his touch remained gentle. Even as he chastised you, you could not help but indulge in the moment, melting in his voice—rich and velvety and decadent.

Hehe...like mac ‘n cheese...

You could feel a trickle of drool forming in the corner of your mouth.

“...45 to 60 seconds washing with each cleanser,” Vil recited in a murmur. “Upward and outward circular motions to promote lymphatic drainage, and to keep the skin from sagging. Be sure to exfoliate at least once a week...Are you listening to a word of what I’m saying, potato?”

“Huh? Uh...yeah, yeah, I’m listening.”

“Hmmm.”

“I-I swear I am!”

“Pop quiz, then. How many steps are there in a basic skincare routine?”

“Three! Four if you count washing twice!”

Vil cracked a small smile. “Excellent. I expected nothing less from you.”

He moistened his hands again and removed the bubbles on your face . Then Vil patted you down with a towel, leaving your skin just a bit damp.

“The next step is moisturizer. Normally, I would have you apply a toner, essence, and serum first, but we do not have the time for that.”

Vil unscrewed the cap on a tall, frosted glass bottle. The contents were pure white, sloshing around like melted snow

“Isn’t moisturizer usually like...lotions and stuff? That doesn’t look like a lotion to me.”

“This is a 2-in-1 toner and moisturizer. Cream skin,” he explained, carefully pressing the product onto cheeks and forehead.

Ah.

His fingers. They were so plush, so soft through the thin slip of the product—like clouds brushing against your face, planting dew drop kisses.

Your eyes drifted shut for a few moments, relishing in the feel of him.

“And, last but not least, sunscreen. You must always wear sun protection, even in winter and on cloudy days. UV rays can wreak havoc on your skin.”

“Y-Yes!”

Vil sighed, squeezing a generous heap of white goop into his palms. “If you understand, then you must promise me that you will take better care of yourself in the future.”

“I promise...”

“Good.”

His hands ran across your face, tracing every contour and curvature until each spot was slathered with sunscreen. Vil was the artist, and you were his canvas to be molded into a work of art.

A sweep here, a dab there, and...

Done.

Vil held your face, cupped within his hands, and gazed upon his work. His lips pulled into mirthful smirk—and his eyes glittered like amethysts embedded with stars.

He was so close--yet you cannot make out even a single pore or imperfection on his milky face. Your heart hammered from his intense gaze, and how his pink lips--today, the color of raspberries--were parted just so. How soft they must be, if he takes such good care of his skin.

“D-Do I look better now?” you asked nervously.

“See for yourself.”

Vil passed over a handheld mirror.

In the glass, a familiar, yet unfamiliar, face stared back at you. Your reflection bore a plump complexation—all rosy cheeks and supple skin. No white cast, no oily sheen, no flaky patches, no rough texture.

It almost doesn’t seem like yourself.

“Well?” Vil inquired, his arms folded.

“It’s me, but like...way better. It’s like you cast a spell or something.”

You cautiously poked your cheek. It conformed, then bounced back.

“No touching!” Vil hissed, yanking your wrist back with a frown.

“Whoops...ehehe, sorry. I forgot.”

“Honestly,” he groaned, reaching out and grasping your other wrist, “if you are going to disregard my advice so blatantly...”

Vil flashed his pearly whites in a sly smile.  “ ...then perhaps I should keep a firm grip on these traitorous hands of yours until further notice.”

He lifted the back of your hand to his mouth and planted a kiss. His lips were every bit as tender and smooth as you had imagined them to be.

A single thought emerged from the back of your mind: just what would those lip of his taste like, set upon your own?

You reddened.

“That color is most becoming on you, potato,” Vil chuckled, pulling back. His grip on your hand remained firm, yet somehow also delicate--as though handling a precious gem.

“Come. We cannot afford to dawdle any longer. The ceremony awaits us.”

Hand in hand, you venture out into the world--

--putting you best face forward.