#maybe ill make green too btw!!!!!

[soulsilvers]

woaaaa fully animated neocities buttons for my site! featuring the unforgettable friendship that captured the hearts of millions of people all over the world (...in another universe at least...)

but first ill sleep before working on the site again and see if they still look fine next morning.. :D

[the-acid-pear]

today's prompts are spiders and self insert so i've been thinking of drawing nembone and a uh, bunger. but Im still thinking around the uh. ? i cant remember the word HELP the fucking COMPOSITION there.

[oceantornadoo]

hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.

im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!

bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)

you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.

that explains a lot.

and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)

"evenin', duckie."

"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."

john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.

"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.

"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.

"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...

"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."

"anythin' for you, duckie."

list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner

shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.

"all ok, john?"

"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.

"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.

"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.

"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."

"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.

"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.

30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?

john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.

that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.

john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.

"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.

you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.

"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.

"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."

--

ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.

[levisolace]

am i making you feel sick? (zayne x f!reader)

WC: 15,691 Pairing: zayne x reader, subtle sylus x reader Warnings: graphic depictions of illness Genre: Angst, (Possibly) Unrequited Love, Hanahaki Disease AU Summary: You escape Linkon to heal from the deadly Hanahaki Disease, your unspoken love for Dr. Zayne threatening to consume you from within. Note: Hi! I had this in my drafts for a while since Sylus came out. Figured to finally post it. Here's my first LaDs fic. Hope you all like it. This is only a one-shot btw.

ao3 link

You don’t know when it started. Maybe it was over the meals you’ve shared, or when you began to know much more about him, how he loved sweets, how he graduated half the time it should’ve, or maybe it’s just how truly and deeply kind and caring he is. In the stolen glances you gave him whenever he was in your presence, you admired how beautiful he was. His raven black hair, hazel green eyes, and broad shoulders. Oh, his beautiful shoulders. It was your dream to have your hands running through them. 

It was perfect. You two shared a history from your childhood and more than a decade later, you were brought back once again in your adult years. Like it was fated. Like stars have aligned for the two of you. Maybe it was the knowledge of the “you meet people twice theory” that made your delusion worse. Maybe it was when you began to think of scenarios of you and him before you went to sleep at night. 

To make it short, you don’t know when you started falling in love with your primary care physician, Dr. Zayne. 

It was fun at first, the idea of falling in love. He is your friend, no matter how busy he is, if he can, he gives his free time to you. In the midst of all of that, you began to question yourself if the way you see him was more than a friend. 

Before you knew it, you found yourself blushing at every interaction, every text, every post and comment he made, and every doctor appointment whenever he would even slightly touch you. Your heart rate sped up and he probably noticed that too. You were practically transparent with how easy you are to read.

He was the total opposite.

He’s stoic and unreadable. Half of the time, you don’t know if he’s serious or joking. Most of the time, it’s the former. He would always find ways to scold you on how you take care of yourself. 

Still, you hoped. You made yourself believe that underneath all that caring was an underlying emotion that comes as more than a physician and a friend. And so you let yourself fall into that deep abyss of longing. Love. It’s such a common word, one that is used lightly but holds the weight of the world and humanity. 

But you couldn’t be more wrong.

You stepped out of the cab and onto the rain-slicked pavement of Linkon, the familiar hum of the city wrapping around you like an old friend. The night was young, but the streets were already alive with their own rhythm—flashes of neon lights, distant sirens, and the ever-present murmur of conversations blending into a cacophony that was both chaotic and comforting.

You tugged your leather jacket tighter against the cool evening breeze, your thoughts racing faster than your heartbeat. After weeks in the field—tracking elusive prey through shadowed forests and braving the bite of unforgiving weather—returning to the city was like slipping into a well-worn pair of boots. But tonight, the excitement in your step had nothing to do with the urban landscape you missed. It was all about the man waiting for you at the clinic.

Dr. Zayne had been a constant in your thoughts even while you were miles away, slinking through the underbrush and facing dangers of wanderers. Your encounters were always memorable, punctuated by shared glances and conversations that left you with a giddy sense of longing.

Your boots clacked against the pavement as you hurried down the street, the soft patter of rain masking her footsteps. You reached the glass door of the clinic, pausing for a moment to smooth your hair and then pushed inside. 

The lobby was quiet, illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights and the soft hum of a vending machine in the corner. You approached the reception desk, where a young woman was looking up with a smile. 

“Hi, I’m here to see Dr. Zayne,” you tell her. 

“Ah, Miss (L/N), right?” the receptionist asked. You’ve probably been here too many times to not be known. Is that a bad thing? Probably. But you don’t mind.

You nod. “Ah, I think Dr. Zayne stepped out for   dinner,” she informs you. “You can wait here. He should be coming back soon.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you,” you replied, giving her a smile. 

You cursed to yourself. You probably shouldn’t have tried to surprise him with your unprecedented visit and just texted him beforehand. It’s still pretty early for his usual dinner time despite it being dark already. With how busy and needed he is in the hospital, it resulted in him having inconsistent meal times, very much similar to your line of work. You hoped to catch him before he ate and ask him out for a meal like you always do. But that’s not happening tonight. 

As you wait patiently in the lobby while looking through social media posts on your phone, a nurse you know well approached you and called you by your name. You look up to see Yvonne smiling at you. You gave her a genuine smile back, happy to see an acquaintance. 

“Hey Ms. Hunter, you here for Dr. Zayne?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I heard he’s out for dinner. I just got back from a mission and wanted to see him because I had to skip an appointment during the week,” you inform her.

She places her hand in the pockets of her scrub as she thinks, her eyes widening for a moment when she remembers. “Yeah, I think he ate dinner with Dr. Emma.” 

“Dr. Emma?” The unfamiliar name rolls off your tongue in a bad way. This is the first time you’ve heard of her. 

“Yeah, she’s a new doctor who transferred here a while ago. A genius doctor too, maybe that’s why she quickly hit it off with Dr. Zayne,” she pouts. 

That’s when your heart sank. A dinner date. The words echoed in your mind, crushing the small spark of hope you had been nurturing. You forced a smile as Yvonne excused herself out of the quick conversation, dropping it as quickly as she fades from your view. 

Just like that, your excitement bubbled down into an unknown pain. It was like humiliation but something else completely. You felt like everyone’s eyes were on you even if no one was watching you—like they knew you were here for Zayne but he was already with another woman. But they don’t know that. You’re just another patient here. Thinking of that truth should’ve comforted you. But somehow, it felt worse. 

With a heavy heart, you went back to your apartment without seeing the doctor you were waiting for.

One sad dinner by yourself later, you found yourself lying on your bed, the exhaustion of the preceding mission finally dawned on you. The adrenaline of excitement has worn out, leaving you with a heavy feeling of disappointment and body ache. 

Your phone dinged with a notification and yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to move a limb. It’s a wonder how you never felt this way after a mission before even if you were injured. It’s like something was weighing you down but you couldn’t pinpoint where. 

The phone dinged a few times more and you ignored it, not wanting to talk to anyone at the moment. You guess it was just the group chat from work. Tomorrow and the weekend are your days off anyway. They can forgive you for not responding for a few hours. 

It was then that your phone started to ring, indicating a phone call. Groaning in annoyance, you will yourself to reach for your phone by the bedside table, picking it up hastily while your eyes are closed.

“Hello?” you answer groggily. 

“Are you alright?” The familiar deep voice asked without missing a beat, tone laced with concern. Your eyes widen, looking at the caller ID. It was Zayne. The messages were also from him.

“Oh, it’s you.” Everything felt lighter than it was, your tone involuntarily chipper than it was a second ago. It was like your body is uncontrollable when it comes to him. You sit up on your bed to speak to him more clearly. 

“What happened?” He asked again, eager to get the point.

“What do you mean?” 

“Why did you leave the hospital? The nurse told me you were here to see me and then left,” he asked further. You don’t answer for a moment, unsure on what to lie about. You can’t exactly tell him the truth. 

“Oh… yeah. I just got back from a mission but you weren’t there so I left,” you explained. 

There was silence from a moment like he was thinking and you wish that you knew what it was about. Like most of the time, you wished to enter his mind and see him wholly. 

“...Are you hurt?” The eagerness dropped from his tone, replaced by the softness that you adored partnered with the deep concern that he showed you multiple times. It’s a softness that you found yourself used to, something that pertains to a relationship more than a doctor and his patient. 

“I’m alright, Dr. Zayne,” you answer truthfully but your voice betrays you and you curse yourself in your mind, knowing that the attentive doctor would notice. 

“You don’t sound alright,” he states the obvious, the subtle sarcasm noted in his answer. 

“I really am, Zayne. I just felt bad about missing the appointment because of the mission,” you say as you pull and fold your legs closer to yourself, hugging them to your chest. You hear his soft sigh on the other line and you let out an involuntary chuckle, picturing his disappointed and crunched forehead while he sat on his office desk. 

“Do you want to come in tomorrow?” He asked and your heart jumped at the question. The thought of seeing him tomorrow giving you a boost of serotonin. 

“Do I need to? I really am fine,” you answer truthfully, pertaining to your physical health.

“Nevermind. You’re coming in tomorrow. That’s an order from your doctor,” he commands and you chuckle again and roll your eyes but enjoy his nagging nonetheless. 

“Fine, Dr. Zayne. I’ll come in tomorrow.”

“Great, I’ll see you then,” and he hangs up.

That night, you sleep with a heavy heart no longer but the thought of another woman still lingers at the back of your mind. You push the thoughts away, focusing on the thought that you will see him tomorrow. 

Just for tonight, you’ll dream of those green eyes. It wouldn’t hurt, would it?

You sit in front of him, legs crossed, your frilly skirt brushing against your knees as you try to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. Zayne flips through your chart, his brow furrowed in concentration, like every detail of your health is a puzzle he’s determined to solve.

“Everything looks fine,” he says at last, his voice calm and steady.

You smile, forcing a lightness to your tone that doesn’t quite match how you feel inside. “Told you. I’m a good Hunter.”

His lips twitch into a half-smile. “You are. But that doesn’t mean you should throw yourself at any wanderer that crosses your path.”

You pout, sticking out your bottom lip in mock protest. “I wasn’t throwing myself at anyone. You make it sound like I’m reckless.”

Zayne chuckles, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not reckless—just a bit too fearless sometimes.”

The playful back-and-forth between you has become so natural, but today it feels different. You’d dressed up a little for this checkup, abandoning your usual jeans for something more delicate, more thoughtful, hoping he might notice. Maybe today would be the day you’d muster up the courage to say something—anything—to let him know how you feel. But before you can respond, a soft knock on the door interrupts your thoughts.

Zayne glances up, his face softening instantly. “Come in.”

The door opens, and a woman steps inside, holding a small container in her hands. She’s striking, with short auburn hair that falls just past her ears and eyes that shine with quiet warmth. She’s dressed in a simple but elegant medical uniform, her steps confident and unhurried as she approaches the desk.

“Hey,” she says, smiling at Zayne. “I brought you something.” She sets the candy container down in front of him, a fond look passing between them.

Zayne’s face lights up—genuinely lights up—in a way you’ve rarely seen. He glances over at you, as if only just realizing you’re still in the room. “Y/N, this is Dr. Emma Lin. She’s—uh—one of the new doctors here at Akso Hospital.”

Emma gives you a polite nod, her smile warm but distant, like she’s already figured out who you are and where you stand. You manage to smile back, but your throat tightens painfully. You can feel the familiar weight of something blooming deep inside, a pressure building that you’ve worked so hard to suppress.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Emma says lightly, looking back at Zayne. “I just thought you could use a snack.”

“No, it’s fine,” Zayne replies, his tone softening even more. “Thanks for this.”

Emma lingers for a moment, her hand lightly brushing Zayne’s shoulder before she finally turns and heads out, leaving the room in an awkward, heavy silence.

You stare at the closed door, a pit forming in your stomach. So this is her.

“She’s nice,” you say, forcing the words out even though they taste bitter on your tongue. “Seems like she cares a lot.”

Zayne clears his throat, his gaze dropping back to the chart, though he’s clearly not reading it anymore. “Yeah. She’s great. We’ve been, uh… seeing each other.”

There it is. The confirmation you didn’t want but were already expecting.

“Oh,” you say softly, keeping your tone as casual as you can manage. “That’s… that’s nice, Zayne.”

He glances up at you, his brows knitting together as if he can sense the sudden shift in your mood, the hurt you’re trying so hard to hide. “It’s still pretty new,” he adds, almost as if he’s apologizing. “We’re just trying it out.” 

You swallow, the familiar burn in your throat intensifying. You can feel the petals—sharp and brittle—pressing against your chest, but you can’t let him see. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m happy for you,” you lie, forcing a smile that feels like it’s cracking at the edges. “You deserve someone great.”

Zayne watches you closely, his gaze searching, but you don’t let anything slip. Not a single hint of the pain coursing through you.

“I should probably go,” you say abruptly, standing up a little too quickly. “Thanks for the checkup, Zayne.”

He stands as well, concern flickering in his eyes, but you’re already heading for the door before he can ask any more questions.

“Y/N,” he calls after you, his voice hesitant, but you wave it off, turning with a bright, practiced smile.

“I’m fine, really. Just… have a lot on my mind. See you next time.”

And with that, you’re out the door, your chest tightening with every step as you leave the clinic. The air outside feels cold against your skin, the pressure building inside you unbearable. You let out a shaky breath, but little did you know, it’s too late to stop it.

The days dragged on like you were on autopilot. Your feelings weren’t new. They’ve always been there. Since you had a tiny crush on him in your childhood, you actually believed that you had a chance. 

The memory of Zayne's words, spoken only a few weeks ago, echoed in your mind. His voice, usually so warm and reassuring, had been hesitant, almost apologetic, as he shared the news. He'd told you about the new doctor he was seeing, her name a blur in your memory, her face a hazy silhouette in your imagination.

You hadn't meant to linger, to let the silence stretch into an uncomfortable void. You'd forced a smile, a laugh, even though your heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. You’d congratulated him, your voice a shaky whisper, but inside, you felt as though the world had been flipped on its side.

The world you’d been building in your head, a world where perhaps, just maybe, your unspoken feelings for Zayne could blossom into something more, had crumbled in an instant. You had been so careful, so cautious, not wanting to jeopardize the easy familiarity that had always existed between you. But now, the fragile hope you had clung to was gone, shattered into a million pieces.

The image of Zayne’s smile, reserved only for you, the way he’d always look at you with a warmth that seemed to encompass you entirely, now felt like a cruel mirage. The way his hand had lingered on yours, just a moment longer than necessary, had felt like a shared secret, a silent promise. Now, the memory of that touch sent a pang of longing through you, a sharp, unfamiliar ache.

You couldn't explain the sudden urge to avoid the clinic, the way even the faintest scent of disinfectant made you feel dizzy. You’d found yourself choosing the more dangerous missions, seeking solace in the adrenaline rush of battle, a temporary distraction from the growing unease in your heart.

You tried to push the thoughts away, to bury the hurt beneath layers of duty and responsibility. But it was a losing battle. The emptiness you felt, the ache in your chest, it was a constant companion now, a gnawing emptiness that refused to be ignored.

You couldn't ignore the growing fatigue, the way you seemed to be catching every bug that went around, the way your lungs felt tight, as though they were constantly filled with a suffocating weight. But you pushed it all aside, attributing it to the stress of your job, the relentless pressure of protecting the city. You were a Hunter, one with duties to protect the people from Wanderers. You couldn’t afford to be sick. Not when their threats are more rampant than before.

You need more distraction. You need to forget about Zayne. 

The world felt muted, the colors drained. 

The harsh fluorescent lights of the Hunter HQ buzzed overhead, casting a sickly glow on the cluttered desk where you sat, sifting through reports. A wave of nausea, unexpected and sharp, rolled over you. You clutched your stomach, a bead of sweat forming on your brow. This wasn't the usual post-mission exhaustion. This felt… different.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Tara asks in concern as she sees you practically about to hurl. 

You excused yourself, hurrying to the nearest restroom. The familiar scent of disinfectant did little to ease the churning in your gut. As you leaned over the sink, a wave of violent coughing seized you, racking your body. Something lodged in your throat, a burning sensation rising with each heave.

At first, it just worried you. Your protocore syndrome must’ve worsened. But that can’t be. You’ve gotten stronger since you’ve been in the N109 zone and you’ve been fine even before that.

Finally, you coughed up a small, crimson-tinged object – a delicate, blood-red rose petal.

Panic tightened your chest. Hanahaki. The whispered fear that had always lurked at the edges of your mind, now a stark reality. The illness that bloomed in your lungs, a physical manifestation of unrequited love, a slow, agonizing death. It was a rare disease, so rare that people even begin to question if they still exist. But they do. And now, you are an example.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis. Zayne. His warm smile, his kind eyes, the way he always seemed to know just what to say, the way he’d gently patch you up after each mission, his hands tracing the scars on your arms with an unspoken tenderness that had always made your heart skip a beat.

You remembered the day he'd told you, his voice softer than usual, about the new doctor he was dating. The way his hand had lingered on the door handle, a touch of hesitancy in his eyes. The way he’d looked away as he mentioned the woman’s name. The woman he’d spent months, maybe even years, telling you stories about.

But this couldn’t be. You weren’t supposed to be sick. You were a Hunter, a soldier, a protector. You weren’t supposed to be felled by something as fragile and fleeting as love. You weren’t supposed to be… heartbroken.

The fear gnawed at you, a cold, sharp blade against your insides. Your vision blurred, the bright lights of the HQ fading to an almost unbearable white. You clung to the sink, your mind reeling, knowing that with each cough, each petal you coughed up, your life was slowly fading away.

The days dragged on, each one blending into the next, a constant reminder of your hidden struggle. Tara’s worried glances were becoming harder to ignore. She’d been your best friend since you started hunting together, and her concern was palpable, hovering like a cloud over your head.

“You need to take a break,” she pressed one evening after a long mission, her voice low as you both cleaned your gear in the dim light of the supply room. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You’re not invincible, Y/N.”

You waved her off, forcing a laugh that sounded hollow even to your own ears. “I’m fine, really. Just a little tired. The last mission was tough, that’s all.” But deep down, you knew you were lying, and Tara could see right through it.

Your nights were plagued with coughing fits, sharp and painful, like a bitter reminder of the flowers blooming within you. Each cough felt like a warning, a desperate call for attention, yet you buried it beneath a layer of denial. You pushed through the pain, stubbornly refusing to let it slow you down.

But then Captain Jenna called you into her office, and you felt the weight of her piercing gaze as soon as you stepped inside. She was a force of nature—stern but compassionate, always demanding the best from her team. The moment she closed the door, you could sense the shift in atmosphere.

“Y/N,” she began, her voice steady but filled with concern. “You’re not yourself. I’ve noticed the way you falter during missions, how pale you’ve become. It’s like you’re a shadow of who you used to be. What’s going on?”

You met her gaze, your heart racing as you weighed your options. You could tell her the truth about your condition, about the Hanahaki disease that was slowly consuming you. But could you bear to reveal your secret? The love you held for Zayne, the pain of watching him with another woman—it felt too heavy, too raw to lay bare.

“It’s nothing, Captain. Just a bit worn out,” you said, your voice stronger than you felt.

“Worn out?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “This isn’t just exhaustion, Y/N. You’re struggling. I need you at your best. The team needs you at your best. If you can’t do this, I need to know.”

The pressure built inside you, and you fought the urge to scream, to let it all out. “I can handle it. I promise. Just give me a bit more time.”

Jenna studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You know where to find me if you need to talk.”

You nodded, though her words felt like a lifeline you were too proud to grasp. As you left her office, the walls felt like they were closing in. The facade you’d built was crumbling, and you were running out of places to hide.

The next few days were a blur of missions, each one feeling heavier than the last. Tara’s worried looks became more frequent, and you could see the doubt creeping into her expression. You tried to put on a brave face, but the more you pushed yourself, the worse you felt. Your coughs grew worse, punctuated by a metallic taste that clung to your throat.

One evening, you finally reached your breaking point. You collapsed onto your bed after another grueling mission, your body trembling with exhaustion. Your hands trembled as you brushed your fingers across the petals that had begun to manifest along your throat. Each one was a reminder of your unspoken feelings, a testament to the love you couldn’t bear to confess.

As you lay there, Tara knocked on your door before entering without waiting for a response. She took one look at you and rushed to your side, her eyes wide with concern. “Y/N! You look awful! Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this bad?”

You turned your head away, biting your lip to keep from crying. “I’m fine. Just a little tired, that’s all.”

“Stop lying to me!” she exclaimed, her voice shaking with frustration. “You’re clearly not okay. You need to see a doctor. If you won’t talk to Jenna, then you’ll at least talk to someone else.”

At that moment, the walls you've built around yourself finally crumbled, and the truth began to pour out. “I don’t want to talk about it, Tara! I’m just… I’m just trying to keep it together.”

Her gaze softened, and she reached for your hand, squeezing it tightly. “You don’t have to do this alone. Let me help you.”

You felt the warmth of her support, and for the first time in days, you let yourself lean into it. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “There’s something wrong with me, and I don’t want to burden you with it.”

“You’re my best friend. You’re never a burden to me,” she said, her tone gentle yet firm. “Just tell me what’s going on. Please.”

With a shaky breath, you finally relented, the weight of your secret pressing down on you like an anchor. “I think I have Hanahaki disease. It’s… it’s because of Zayne.”

Tara’s eyes widened in shock. “What? How long have you known?”

“Since the checkup,” you admitted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “But I can’t tell him. I can’t let him know how I feel. And if I don’t have the surgery, the flowers will keep growing. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Y/N…” Tara began, her voice a soothing balm against your anxiety. “You need to take care of yourself first. If Zayne cares about you like you think he does, he’ll understand.”

The idea felt foreign, a small glimmer of hope amidst the suffocating darkness. But would he really care? Would it matter to him?

You shook your head, the thoughts swirling like a tempest in your mind. “I can’t go back to him. Not like this.”

Tara leaned closer, determination shining in her eyes. “Then let’s go to the hospital and get you the help you need. You don’t have to face this alone. We’ll figure it out together.”

For the first time in days, the thought of facing your illness didn’t feel as daunting. Maybe there was still a chance to reclaim a piece of yourself. Taking what Tara said by heart, you stood up, ready to fight the battle you’d been avoiding for too long.

You need to come up with a plan without involving Zayne. He doesn’t need to know and carry the guilt of you being sick. He’s a doctor, for fuck’s sake. How could he bear to treat you when he learns that he’s the reason for it? Or worse, will he have to be the one to  surgically remove the plant growing inside you to completely remove him for life?

After a long period of silence, you turn to Tara with dried tears in your eyes, determined and decided.

“Tara, I need you to listen to me about what I’m about to do.”

Filing a leave of absence from the Hunters Association felt like the hardest thing you’d done in a while, but it was the first necessary step. You expected resistance—Jenna rarely let anyone take time off easily, especially not with everything happening in Linkon City. But to your surprise, she granted your request immediately, no questions asked. Maybe she’d seen more of your exhaustion than you realized. Or maybe she knew this was something you needed to do alone.

Once the leave was secured, you contacted Sylus, the only one you know who could help you get into the N109 zone safely, a place few dared to go unless they had business on the other side of the law. He was your last hope for hiding away from everything: Zayne, your disease, and the life you couldn’t bear to face anymore. You expected him to hesitate, maybe even refuse to help, but Sylus responded almost immediately, granting you safe passage to his home without a second thought.

“You look rough, sweetie,” Sylus said the moment you stepped through the door. His nickname for you, one you used to find annoying and mocking, now felt oddly comforting. But today, there was no mockery in his tone. Only concern.

You glanced up at him, feeling the weight of his crimson eyes studying you. He wasn’t just looking at you; he was seeing you, seeing how much you’d changed since the last time you stayed in N109. Your skin had lost its color, your lips were dry and cracked, and your once sharp, determined eyes had dulled with fatigue and the weight of secrets.

Sylus sighed, stepping aside to let you pass. “You know where your room is.”

You nodded weakly, mumbling a soft “thank you” as you dragged yourself through the dimly lit hallway. Luke and Keiran, Sylus’s trusted associates, were already by your side, taking the backpack from your shoulder and exchanging worried glances as they guided you to your room.

The room was exactly as you remembered it—small but cozy, tucked away in a quiet corner of Sylus’s house. It had been your safe haven once before, back when the pressures of the outside world had gotten too heavy. But this time, it felt different. You were running from more than just stress. You were running from yourself.

Luke placed your bag on the chair while Keiran hovered near the door, his usual mischievous demeanor replaced by concern. “Are you hungry?” Keiran asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You shook your head, barely able to muster the energy to respond. The truth was, you hadn’t felt hunger in days, the constant nausea from the flowers growing inside you making food seem like an afterthought.

Keiran exchanged a glance with Luke before stepping closer. “You need to eat something, Y/N. You’re looking… worse than usual.”

You couldn’t help but give a weak smile at his bluntness. “I’ll eat later,” you promised, though you knew you probably wouldn’t.

Luke stayed silent and didn’t press the issue. Instead, he handed you a glass of water, and you took it gratefully, sipping slowly as the two of them busied themselves tidying the room. You could feel their unspoken worry, the way they moved more carefully around you, like you might break at any moment.

“Anything else you need, just let us know,” Luke said quietly before they both left, closing the door behind them.

Alone at last, you collapsed onto the bed, the exhaustion finally catching up to you. The room felt too quiet, too still, and your thoughts began to spiral. You’d made it to N109. You were away from Zayne, away from the Association, from everything. But the weight in your chest—the flowers—remained. You could feel them growing, their roots twisting deeper with every unspoken word, every feeling you couldn’t voice.

You lay there for a long time, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how long you could keep running. How long until the disease consumed you completely?

There was a soft knock at the door, and you turned your head to see Sylus leaning against the frame, holding a tray of what looked like a warm bowl of noodles. 

“Not eating, huh?” he said, his voice low. “I figured. Got you something anyway.” He walked in and placed the tray on the side table. You were right. It was one of your favorites when you stayed here before.

You smiled weakly. “You don’t have to do this.”

Sylus shrugged, his crimson eyes still locked on you, sharper now, as if he could see the weight you were carrying. He goes back to lean against the door frame, watching you like you were going to break at any second. “I do when you come back looking like death warmed over. What’s going on, Y/N?”

You wanted to tell him. You wanted to spill everything—the disease, your love for Zayne, the way it was slowly killing you. But the words stuck in your throat, and all you could manage was a tired, “It’s complicated.”

Sylus’s gaze didn’t waver. “Everything’s complicated. Doesn’t mean you can’t talk about it.”

For a moment, you considered it, but then the thought of Zayne flashed through your mind. The image of him with Emma, happy, unburdened by your love, and the flowers in your chest tightened.

“I’ll be fine,” you said instead, though you weren’t sure you believed it yourself.

Sylus stared at you for another long moment before sighing. “Well, you’re here now. Rest up. We’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

He pushed off the doorframe and left you alone again, but his words lingered in the air. We’ll figure it out.

But what if there was nothing left to figure out? What if the only solution was letting the flowers take you?

The silence of the room settled over you like a heavy blanket, pressing down on your chest until it was almost unbearable. Every breath felt strained, like the air itself was growing thicker. It has been a few days. You hadn’t told Sylus, or anyone for that matter, the full truth of your condition. But you could feel it—the flowers—growing stronger, more vicious by the day. Sylus has ordered a doctor to come to your room, just to check up on you. Just as you predicted, doctors are a bit hard to come by in this area. The doctor knows little about Hanahaki disease, so you told him it was your Protocore Disease accompanied by accumulated stress from work. He gave you suppressants and asked Sylus to monitor you for now.

Hours passed in a blur of restless half-sleep, until a sharp pain in your chest jolted you awake. You pressed a hand to your ribs, wincing as a violent cough wracked your body, more intense than any you’d had before. Panic surged through you as the pressure built in your throat, forcing you out of bed.

You stumbled into the bathroom, hands trembling as you gripped the edge of the sink. Another cough ripped through you, harder this time, and you doubled over, gasping. You felt something sharp and foreign rise in your throat—something too large, too wrong.

With a shuddering breath, you coughed again, and this time, something solid came up. You coughed repeatedly but it would just not come out. Tears stream down your face from the pain and frustration. You began to help it by pulling it out with your fingers. And finally, it came out.

You leaned over the sink, spitting out the mass into the basin, your heart pounding in your chest. When you looked down, you froze.

A stem of thorns, slick with blood, curled like a dark vine in the sink. Each thorn gleamed under the dim light, jagged and cruel. The petals had been bad enough, but this—this was something else. Something worse. You couldn’t ignore it any longer. The disease was advancing, and it was doing so faster than you’d anticipated.

Panic surged through you as you backed away from the sink, a quiet whimper escaping your lips. You pressed a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too late. You hear that damn bird cawing outside the door. 

The door creaked open, and Sylus stepped into the bathroom, his eyes narrowing the moment he saw you. He was still dressed fully like he just came back from outside. He must’ve had a meeting late at night, a normal occurrence in this place. Mephisto, sits by his shoulder, cawing like he was the one who led Sylus to you. 

“Y/N?” His voice was low but urgent, the edge of concern sharpening his usually calm demeanor.

You turned, eyes wide, your hand still pressed to your mouth as if you could hide the evidence. But it was no use. His gaze flickered from you to the sink, where the thorny stem still lay, stark against the white porcelain. There was blood all over your mouth, dripping on your hands and neck.

“Sweetie…” His voice dropped, softer now, but laced with something darker. “What the hell is going on?”

You couldn’t speak. The words stuck in your throat, tangled with fear and shame. Sylus crossed the room in a few quick strides, his eyes never leaving yours as he reached the sink. He stared at the thorns for a moment before looking back at you, his face hardening with realization.

“You’ve got Hanahaki, don’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement, a truth you could no longer deny.

Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded, your hands shaking as you gripped the edge of the sink for support. “I… I didn’t want to tell anyone. I thought I could handle it,” your voice was hoarse, throat swollen as you tried so hard to speak.

“Handle it?” Sylus’s voice cracked, and he ran a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his frustration in check. “You’re coughing up thorns, Y/N, rose thorns. You do know that rose is one of the deadliest strains of Hanahaki, don’t you? This isn’t something you can just ‘handle.’ Why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

You swallowed hard, the taste of blood still lingering red in your mouth. “Because… because it’s because of Zayne.”

Sylus froze, his eyes widening in shock. “Zayne? You mean—”

You nodded, the confession spilling out like a dam breaking. “I’ve loved him for so long, Sylus, and I can’t stop. But he’s with someone else now. And I… I couldn’t tell him. I couldn’t put that on him, not when he’s happy.”

Sylus’s expression darkened, and he let out a low, frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Darling, you’re killing yourself over him. You should have told me sooner.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, the pain in your chest growing sharper. “I didn’t know what else to do. I thought… I thought I could live with it, but it’s getting worse. The flowers, they’re… they’re spreading.”

Sylus stepped closer, his hands gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “You don’t have to go through this alone. We’ll figure something out. But first, we need to get you to a doctor. A real one, not some back-alley medic.”

“I can’t,” you whispered, shaking your head. “If I get the surgery, it’ll remove the feelings entirely. I won’t feel anything for Zayne anymore. And… and I don’t know if I’m ready to let go of that.”

Sylus’s expression softened, the anger fading as he saw the pain in your eyes. “I get it. But you have to take care of yourself first. This disease—it’s going to kill you if you don’t do something. I’m not letting you waste away like this.”

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words sink in. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. But the thought of losing your feelings for Zayne, of letting go of the love that had been a part of you for so long—it felt like a different kind of death.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

Sylus nodded, his hands still steady on your shoulders. “I know. But I’ve got you, sweetie. We’ll get through this.”

You nodded, feeling the tears fall freely now. For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to lean on someone else. To let Sylus’s strength carry you, if only for a little while.

“We’ll get you to a doctor in the N109 zone,” he said quietly. “Someone who can help, someone who won’t ask too many questions. But after that… you need to make a decision, Y/N. Whether you want the surgery or not, you need to choose. I’ll support you, whatever you decide.”

You nodded, knowing that the time for running was over. You couldn’t keep pretending this wasn’t happening. The flowers had taken root, and now it was up to you to decide how to survive.

Zayne sat at his desk, staring down at the empty appointment slot on his tablet. It had been weeks since you missed your first check-up, and at first, he didn’t think much of it—Hunters had unpredictable schedules, after all. But then you missed the next one. And the one after that. Now, weeks had passed without so much as a text from you, and an uneasy feeling had settled deep in his gut. You were never this irresponsible about your health.

He tried reaching out—texts, calls—but all had gone unanswered. That was when real concern started to gnaw at him. The you he knew wouldn’t just vanish like that, especially not from something as crucial as your medical check-ups. Something was wrong.

He didn’t like the feeling. In fact, it twisted in his chest, growing heavier by the day. He’d dealt with plenty of patients who disappeared on him, but you were different. You always kept in touch, always made an effort to keep things light even when you were battered from a mission. But now? Silence.

Sighing, Zayne grabbed his coat and decided to take matters into his own hands. He needed to check on you in person. He knew where your apartment was—he’d dropped off medicine there more times than he could count after your particularly rough assignments. His job required him to keep an eye on his patients, but with you, it was more than that. He hated the way his thoughts kept drifting back to you.

The streets leading to your apartment were quiet as he made his way over, the familiar hum of the city blending into the background. His mind raced as he walked up the stairs to your door, running over all the possibilities: maybe you were hurt, maybe you were sick, maybe you were avoiding him. That last one gnawed at him harder than the others.

When he finally reached your apartment, Zayne rang the doorbell, waiting for a response. Silence. He knocked this time, but there was no movement, no sound coming from within. His heart sank a little, and he tried the handle. Locked.

“Y/N?” he called out, pressing his ear to the door. Nothing.

He felt his pulse quicken. He checked the windows, walked around the perimeter, hoping for some sign that you were there. But the place was eerily still. It was clear you hadn’t been home for a while. The anxiety that had been simmering in the back of his mind began to boil over.

Zayne pulled out his phone and scrolled to Tara’s number. If anyone knew where you were, it would be her. You were inseparable as fellow Hunters, practically glued to each other on and off the field. If something was wrong, Tara would have noticed.

The phone rang, each buzz tightening the knot in his stomach, until finally, Tara’s voice came through.

“Zayne? What’s up?”

“Hey, Tara,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Have you seen Y/N lately? She’s missed a couple of appointments, and I just went by her apartment. She’s not there, and she hasn’t been answering my calls.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Zayne’s chest tightened at the silence. Tara wasn’t usually one to hesitate.

“Zayne…” Her voice softened. “She’s on leave.”

“Leave?” His brow furrowed. “Since when? Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She filed for leave about a week and a half ago,” Tara explained, her tone tinged with worry. “She hasn’t been herself lately. I mean, she’s not feeling well and went on sick leave… I figured she needed some time to recover, but I don’t know where she went.”

Zayne’s grip on his phone tightened. “Wait, she’s been sick?”

“I don’t know how bad, but it’s been getting worse. I tried to get her to rest, but you know Y/N. She’s stubborn. Always pushing herself too hard.” Tara sighed on the other end. “I haven’t been able to reach her since she left either. I thought maybe she just needed space, but… I don’t know, Zayne. She told me she’ll come back when she feels better.”

Zayne’s mind raced. Sick? That explained your recent absence from your appointments, but why hadn’t you come to him? Why hadn’t you said anything? And where the hell were you now? The idea of you out there, alone, battling something serious without any support—it made his stomach turn. He was supposed to be your physician. Who else could you trust more in this situation? 

“Thanks, Tara,” he said quickly. “If you hear from her, let me know immediately.”

“You too,” Tara said, her voice growing softer with concern. “I hope she’s okay.”

Zayne hung up, his thoughts swirling in a storm of worry and frustration. This wasn’t just a case of missing appointments. You were sick, and you hadn’t told anyone what it is that you’re feeling. Not Tara, not the Association, and not him. The thought of you out there somewhere, getting worse by the day, hit him hard.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He wasn’t going to let this slide. He needed to find you, and fast. And if you were too stubborn to ask for help, well, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give it to you anyway. You didn’t get to disappear on him. Not like this. Not when it felt like something was so deeply, dangerously wrong.

The underground clinic in the N109 Zone was dimly lit, the scent of antiseptic and metal lingering in the air. Sylus sat beside you, his crimson eyes fixed on the makeshift doctor as she examined your condition. The doctor, a woman with worn hands and tired eyes, shook her head slightly, pulling back from the dim glow of her equipment. Sylus told you she’s the only one in the area who specializes in Hanahaki disease.

“It’s as I suspected,” she said quietly, her voice barely carrying over the hum of old machines. “The remedies I’ve given her will alleviate some of the symptoms—the coughing, the pain—but they won’t stop the disease. Hanahaki can only be cured one way.”

You knew what she was going to say before she even spoke the words. You felt it every time you coughed, every time a petal slipped from your lips, every time the thorny vines twisted deeper into your lungs. Hanahaki Disease was a cruel sickness. Only unrequited love could birth it, and only love returned could stop it.

Sylus stood, pacing the small clinic room, his fists clenched tight. “So what’s the point of this?” he growled. “You’re telling me she’s just going to keep getting worse?”

The doctor nodded grimly. “I’ve seen cases like this before. Without reciprocation, the flowers will continue to bloom. The disease will spread. It will choke her from the inside out.” Her eyes shifted to you, softening with pity. “She’ll have to make a choice soon. Either have the flowers removed surgically and forget her feelings entirely, or…”

“Or die,” you finished for her, your voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor didn’t respond, but the silence was enough.

Sylus slammed his fist into the nearest counter, rattling the tools scattered across its surface. “There has to be another way.”

The doctor said nothing. She’d already given her answer.

You shifted uncomfortably in the worn cot, feeling the sharp sting of another thorn scratching at your throat. You pressed a hand to your mouth, and when you pulled it away, you saw more petals—vibrant, soft, and hauntingly beautiful. The irony wasn’t lost on you: love, something meant to be pure and life-giving, was slowly killing you.

Sylus knelt beside you, his frustration giving way to concern. He grabbed your hand, his grip firm but gentle. “You can’t keep doing this, Y/N. You need real help.”

You met his gaze, seeing the worry etched deep into his features. You wanted to tell him that you were fine, that you could push through this. But the truth was, you didn’t know how much longer you could keep going. Each day, the flowers bloomed more aggressively. Each day, you felt your strength slipping away. And the one person who could save you—Zayne—was unreachable, tangled in a new relationship, unaware of the feelings you’d been hiding.

“I don’t want to forget him,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

Sylus’s expression darkened. “You’re dying for a man who doesn’t even know you’re dying because of him.”

You knew he was right. You’d seen Zayne’s smile when Emma came to his office. Zayne wasn’t yours to love, not anymore. Maybe he never was. But the thought of forgetting him entirely—of erasing every moment, every memory, every flicker of what could have been—was unbearable.

“I can’t,” you murmured. “Not yet.”

Sylus let out a slow breath, his frustration palpable, but he didn’t push further. He simply stayed by your side, silent but steadfast, offering the only comfort he could in this grim situation.

Days passed in a haze of pain and exhaustion. The makeshift remedies from the underground doctors kept the worst of the symptoms at bay, but they couldn’t stop the inevitable. The flowers continued to bloom, their roots digging deeper into your chest. You could feel them, a constant presence now, weighing down your lungs, stealing your breath little by little.

One night, as you lay in bed at Sylus’s place, you woke to another coughing fit. This time, it wasn’t just petals that came up—there were stems, long and twisted, covered in thorns. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, feeling the flowers pressing against your ribs, desperate to grow, desperate to take over. You couldn’t stop them.

Sylus found you sitting on the bathroom floor, clutching your chest, petals and stems scattered across the tiles. He didn’t say anything at first. He just knelt beside you, his expression a mix of anger and helplessness.

“You don’t have much time left, do you?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how weak you’d become until that moment, how much the disease had taken from you. The once-strong Hunter now sat in a heap, broken by love that was never meant to be.

Sylus grabbed his phone, his voice tense as he called another doctor. “She needs real help. Now.”

But deep down, you both knew the truth. There was no real cure for Hanahaki—not unless Zayne’s love was returned. And that hope was slipping further out of reach with each passing day.

The dim lighting of Sylus’s home did little to soothe your nerves. After another coughing fit that left you weakened and breathless, you sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the bouquet of petals in your hand—pale, soft, and soaked in blood. The weight of your condition felt more unbearable with every passing day, the flowers pushing closer to your heart, the thorns digging deeper into your lungs. Yet, even after everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to agree to the surgery that would rip not only the flowers from you but also your feelings for Zayne.

There was a knock on the door. Sylus entered, followed closely by the underground doctor from the N109 zone. She carried a bag of supplies, her face etched with the same quiet concern you’d come to expect from her.

“Y/N, we need to talk,” Sylus began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. He took a seat beside you, his crimson eyes meeting yours. “The remedies we’ve been giving you… they’re not enough. You’re getting worse.”

“I know,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “But I’m not ready for the surgery. I can’t just… forget.”

The doctor stepped forward, glancing at Sylus before speaking. “Y/N, I understand your hesitation. But we’ve been talking, and there might be another option.”

You looked up, confused. “Another option?”

“It’s not a cure,” she clarified, her tone careful, “but there’s a treatment we could try. It won’t stop the disease entirely, but it could slow it down—buy you more time, at least. It would alleviate some of the more aggressive symptoms, like the coughing and the thorn growth.”

Your hope flickered. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

The doctor exchanged a quick glance with Sylus, then spoke again. “The treatment is experimental, and the resources here in the N109 zone are… limited. We don’t have the proper equipment to administer it safely. You’d have to go back to Linkon City, to Akso Hospital.”

Linkon City. The name sent a jolt of fear and longing through you. It meant facing everything you were trying to run from—Zayne, his new relationship with Emma, the memories you were desperate to hold onto. But it also meant the possibility of relief, of not feeling like you were drowning every time you took a breath.

“How does it work?” you asked warily, your eyes darting between the doctor and Sylus.

“The treatment will slow the growth of the flowers,” she explained. “It won’t cure the disease, but it’ll suppress the symptoms long enough for us to manage them. It’ll give you more time to decide what you want to do.”

Sylus crossed his arms, his gaze heavy on you. “It’s the best option right now, Y/N. Better than sitting here, wasting away.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Going back to Linkon meant stepping right back into Zayne’s world. You didn’t know if you could handle seeing him again, knowing that you still loved him and that he had moved on. But the alternative—letting the disease run its course, with no other options left—was becoming harder to endure.

“What if it doesn’t work?” you asked quietly, fear creeping into your voice.

The doctor’s face softened. “It’s a risk, I won’t lie. But right now, doing nothing is a bigger risk.”

You clenched the sheets in your hands, the conflicting emotions inside you swirling like a storm. You wanted to believe that this new treatment would help, that it would give you enough time to figure things out. But deep down, a part of you knew this was a gamble.

“I don’t know if I can go back there,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Zayne… he…”

Sylus placed a hand on your shoulder, his expression firm but kind. “You don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. But you can’t die like this, Y/N. Not when there’s still a chance, even if it’s a small one.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll arrange everything with Akso Hospital. They have the facilities and the staff to administer the treatment safely. You can be in and out, no one needs to know you’re there.”

You swallowed hard, the idea of returning to Linkon gnawing at you. But the weight of the disease was becoming too much to bear. If this treatment really could slow it down, even for a little while, maybe it was worth the risk. You didn’t want to die. Not like this. Not without trying something.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice trembling. “I’ll go.”

Sylus’s hand tightened on your shoulder briefly, a silent show of support. The doctor nodded, already pulling out her comms to make the necessary arrangements.

“I’ll set it up for tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll get you to Linkon, get the treatment started, and bring you back here before anyone even knows you’re gone.”

You nodded, but deep down, a part of you wasn’t convinced. Something about this didn’t feel right. But you were too exhausted, too weak to argue. For now, you would hold on to the hope that this “treatment” would give you the time you desperately needed. Time to figure out what came next—whether you could keep running from the love that was slowly killing you, or whether you had no choice but to let it go.

As the doctor left to make the arrangements, you lay back against the pillow, the weight of the decision settling over you like a heavy cloak. You had no idea what awaited you in Linkon. All you knew was that whatever happened, it would bring you closer to the inevitable.

Zayne sat in his office at Akso Hospital, his fingers tapping restlessly on the desk. Something had been gnawing at the back of his mind for weeks—Y/N’s sudden disappearance from her regular checkups, the silence she’d maintained despite his attempts to reach out. She had always been stubborn, always tough, but this felt different. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.

A message buzzed on his comm, interrupting his thoughts. It was from Greyson. Zayne opened the message, his eyes skimming over the text quickly:

“Heard a rumor. A Hunter suffering from Hanahaki Disease is being admitted to Akso. Thought you’d want to know.”

His heart stopped. Hanahaki Disease. He hadn’t heard of anyone in the Hunter circle suffering from it—no one except… No. It couldn’t be.

Zayne read the message again, his mind spinning. The only Hunter who had been coming to him regularly, the only one who had left without explanation, was Y/N. His mind raced, replaying every moment from their last appointment—the slight cough she tried to hide, the way she seemed distant, and the sudden leave she took from the Hunters Association. The pieces began to fit together like a cruel puzzle, one that painted a picture of her suffering in silence. 

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Y/N had been in love with someone, and the disease had taken root because the other hadn’t returned those feelings. And now, because of that, she was dying. Why didn’t she tell him? There could only be one reason why she didn’t ask for his help, her only physician. 

Zayne stood abruptly, knocking a few files off his desk as he scrambled to process what this meant. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt wash over him—he had been blind to her feelings, caught up in his new relationship with Emma, while Y/N had been silently withering away. He was so in sync with Emma, so alike, that when she asked if they could try being more than colleagues and friends, he didn’t know why he actually agreed to date. He must tell you that. He must tell you that he…

Oh. He does. For so long. 

He couldn’t waste another second. Grabbing his coat, Zayne rushed out of his office, his mind focused on one thing: finding Y/N before it was too late.

He tapped his phone, dialing a doctor from the network who was set to oversee the patient’s treatment. The voice on the other end answered quickly.

“Zayne? What’s going on?”

“I need to know about the patient coming in with Hanahaki Disease. The Hunter,” Zayne said, his voice tense, barely controlled. “When are they being admitted?”

There was a pause, then the voice responded, hesitant. “That’s confidential information, Zayne. I can’t just—”

“It’s Y/N,” Zayne interrupted, his tone sharp. “She’s the one with Hanahaki Disease, isn’t she?”

Another pause, this one longer, more telling. “Zayne… I don’t know all the details, but… yes. She’s scheduled for surgery tomorrow.”

His heart dropped. Surgery. Hanahaki Disease could only be cured in two ways—either by having her love returned or by undergoing surgery to remove the flowers. But the surgery came with a cruel price: it would erase her feelings completely. Y/N wouldn’t just lose the disease; she would lose her love for him, and all the memories tied to it.

Zayne’s grip tightened on the comm. “Cancel the surgery. I’m coming.”

“Zayne, you can’t—”

“Cancel it,” Zayne said firmly. “I’m not going to let her go through with this without knowing the truth.”

He disconnected the call, his heart racing as he stormed down the hallways of the hospital. His thoughts were a whirlwind of panic and guilt. He should’ve noticed sooner. He should’ve been there for her. But there was still time—he had to believe that. He could fix this, he had to.

Zayne made his way to his car, his mind already racing ahead to what he would say to her. He had no idea how she would react, or if she even wanted to see him after everything, but he couldn’t let her go through with the surgery. He had to tell her how he felt. Because the truth was, somewhere along the way, his feelings for her had grown too.

As he drove through the city, his thoughts lingered on Y/N—on her strength, her stubbornness, and the way she had always kept her distance, even when he tried to get close. He had been blind, wrapped up in his own life, too focused on the surface of things. But now, he understood. And he wasn’t going to let her suffer in silence any longer.

Zayne’s mind was racing as the car sped towards Akso Hospital, the weight of everything crashing down on him. He didn’t know if she would even listen to him. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t let her go through that surgery without knowing that he was ready to fight for her—for them.

For the first time, Zayne realized just how much he cared for Y/N. How much she meant to him, and how blind he had been to the quiet way she had always been there. He couldn’t let her lose that, not when he could still save her.

Tomorrow, you’ll be leaving for Linkon and you couldn’t sleep. Your mind is everywhere until you found yourself once again in the bathroom. The dim, suffocating air of the room wrapped around you like a cold embrace. Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps as you hunched over the sink, your hands trembling as you help yourself hurl the white rose. The familiar metallic taste filled your mouth, but this time, it was worse—far worse than it had ever been.

When you finally dared to glance down, your heart nearly stopped. There, lying in the sink, was the largest bloom yet: a full white rose, its petals soft and fragile, but tangled in sharp, vicious thorns. Blood stained the delicate petals, your blood, and the sight of it sent a shudder down your spine. You clutched the edge of the sink for support, your vision swimming as pain tore through your chest.

This was it. The disease had progressed further than you had imagined. No makeshift remedy could stop it now. There was no time to experiment.

The thorns, tangled and sharp, had felt like they were tearing you apart from the inside out. The flowers—the symbol of love that you couldn’t escape—had bloomed in full force, reminding you of the feelings you had tried so desperately to bury. Every cough felt like a knife in your lungs, but it was more than just physical pain. It was the heartbreak of loving someone who would never love you back.

You stumbled back from the sink, collapsing onto the floor, clutching your chest as you struggled to breathe. The decision you had been avoiding for so long now weighed heavily on you, inescapable. You couldn’t survive this. The love that had rooted itself deep within you was slowly killing you, and there was no way to keep running.

Sylus found you moments later, rushing into the bathroom when he heard your weak cries for help. His crimson eyes widened when he saw you, his usual stoic expression breaking with a mix of shock and concern. He knelt beside you, his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his voice low.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his tone softer than you had ever heard it. “This… you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Your throat felt raw as you coughed again, tasting blood on your lips. You couldn’t even muster the strength to argue, your body finally betraying you in the worst way possible. Sylus helped you sit up, his eyes briefly glancing at the bloodied rose in the sink. He didn’t say anything, but the look on his face told you he understood.

“I can’t… I can’t fight it anymore,” you rasped, your voice barely audible. “I need the surgery.”

Sylus’s eyes flickered with something that almost looked like relief, but it was tempered by the knowledge of what the surgery meant. He knew the cost—the erasure of your feelings for Zayne, the love that had been such a painful part of you for so long. But he also knew there was no other choice now.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gentle.

You nodded weakly, wiping at your mouth with a shaking hand. “It’s the only way. I… I don’t want to die like this.”

Sylus exhaled slowly, standing up and helping you to your feet. “Then I’ll make the arrangements. We’ll leave for Linkon as soon as you’re ready.”

Your legs wobbled beneath you, but you managed to steady yourself with Sylus’s support. The weight of your decision settled over you like a heavy blanket—stifling, but somehow also freeing. You would lose your love for Zayne, that much was certain. But at least you would survive. At least the pain would stop. And you could get back to work. You could see him again and act like nothing happened. It would be better for everyone if you just didn’t feel. 

As you packed your things for the journey back to Linkon City, your heart felt strangely hollow. There was no going back now. You were going to let the surgery take away everything—the flowers, the thorns, and the love that had nearly consumed you. You would lose the part of yourself that had been tied to Zayne, but maybe that was for the best.

Maybe, in the end, forgetting him and his memories would be the only way to move forward.

With a final, shaky breath, you looked out the window, knowing this was your last chance to feel the weight of your love before it was ripped away forever.

The familiar, sterile scent of Akso Hospital greeted you the moment you arrived in your room. The journey back to Linkon had been long and exhausting, and your body felt more fragile than ever. Every breath seemed to rattle within your chest, the flowers pressing harder against your lungs as the disease worsened.

Sylus had helped you settle into the bed, his usual stoic demeanor faltering slightly as he glanced at you with concern. “I’ll check in on you later,” he said, his voice gruff but laced with an underlying care. “I can’t be seen much around here, you know that. If you need anything, let me know.”

You nodded weakly, barely managing to muster a response. All you could think about was the surgery—the thought of the flowers, and your feelings for Zayne, being torn out of you for good. The relief of that thought was tinged with sadness, a weight that settled heavily in your heart.

Just as you closed your eyes to try to find some rest, the door creaked open.

You didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

“Y/N.”

His voice—steady, but holding the edge of something raw—cut through the quiet room like a blade. Your eyes snapped open, and you turned your head to see Zayne standing in the doorway, his expression torn between worry and something deeper, something more desperate.

You sat up slowly, your body protesting the movement as pain flared in your chest. “Zayne… how did you—”

“I found out,” he interrupted, stepping further into the room. “I found out about your condition, about the Hanahaki. I—” He faltered, as if the words were too heavy to form. His eyes were wide with something you hadn’t seen before—panic.

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Zayne, it’s too late. I’m getting the surgery.”

He froze, standing still as his eyes locked onto yours. “You don’t have to do this.”

Your heart clenched painfully at the words, but you forced yourself to keep your expression steady. “Yes, I do,” you replied softly. “I can’t keep living like this. These flowers, this pain… it’s killing me.”

Zayne’s eyes darkened, his hands clenched at his sides. “You don’t have to lose your feelings for me. You can survive this without giving that up.”

You let out a bitter laugh, your voice trembling with the effort. “How, Zayne? You don’t return my feelings, and this disease… it only stops when the love is mutual.” You met his gaze, trying to convey the finality of your decision. “I don’t have a choice.”

He took another step closer, his face tight with emotion. “But you do have a choice. You don’t need to do this surgery. We can figure something out—together.”

You shook your head, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. “There’s nothing to figure out. I’ve already decided. This is the only way.”

Zayne’s eyes were stormy with conflict. You could see the guilt eating away at him, the pain of realizing what his absence had cost you. But you also knew he wasn’t here to confess his love. He was here because he cared, because he felt responsible. And as much as that hurt, you couldn’t let that be the reason to hold onto hope.

“Zayne, please…” Your voice cracked as you looked at him, your body trembling with exhaustion. “Just go. Let me do this.”

He moved toward you, his hand reaching out to gently cup your face. The contact was warm, his touch familiar and comforting, but you could feel the hesitation in him, the uncertainty that hung in the air.

“You don’t understand,” he murmured, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Your heart clenched at his words, but you pulled away from his touch, shaking your head. “You won’t lose me, Zayne. You’ll still have me as a friend, as someone you care about. But I can’t… I can’t keep loving you like this.”

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to spill over. This was it. This was the moment you had to let go, no matter how much it hurt. You couldn’t bear to love him any longer, not when it was destroying you from the inside.

Zayne’s expression faltered, his hand falling back to his side. “Y/N…”

“Zayne, just go,” you whispered. 

“Y/N, wait,” he said, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked up at him, confused. “Zayne, please, don’t make this harder than it already is.”

But he wasn’t listening. His hand gripped yours as if it was the only thing keeping him steady, his chest rising and falling heavily with each breath. “There’s something I need to tell you,” he began, his voice strained.

You frowned, your heart sinking. “What is it?”

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, you saw more than just concern. There was something deeper, something conflicted.

“About Emma—the other doctor,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not what you think. We’re not… It’s not as serious as you believe.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you quickly shook your head, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Zayne, it doesn’t matter. You’re with her, and that’s fine. I’ve already accepted that.”

“No, you haven’t,” he said sharply, stepping closer. His eyes flashed with frustration. “And I haven’t either. I ended things with her.”

You stared at him, trying to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?”

Zayne hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing as if he was gathering the courage to say something he’d been holding back for too long. “I’ve been avoiding my feelings, Y/N. For a long time. I thought keeping things professional between us was the right thing to do, the smart thing to do.” He paused, searching your eyes. “But seeing you like this… seeing you suffering because of me…”

His voice trailed off, thick with emotion, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. This was a side of him you had never seen, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. You opened your mouth to speak, but he wasn’t done.

“I didn’t want to face it,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “I thought that by staying focused on my work, on our roles, I could keep things simple. But I can’t anymore. Not when I know what’s happening to you. Not when I realize I’m the reason you’ve been hurting.”

Your breath caught in your throat as his words sank in, and you felt the familiar sting of tears building behind your eyes. “Zayne… what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I don’t want to lose you,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been scared, Y/N. Scared of what it would mean if I let myself feel more for you. But I can’t hide from it anymore. I care about you—more than I should have ever let myself admit.”

The room seemed to shrink around you, his words sinking in deeper with every breath you took. Your heart was racing, your mind a whirlwind of emotions you had thought were on the verge of being erased forever.

“Zayne…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “You… you never said anything.”

He shook his head, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have been honest with you, with myself. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you that I don’t want you to go through with the surgery.” He squeezed your hand gently, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “Don’t erase your feelings, Y/N. Don’t erase us.”

You stared at him, your heart aching with the weight of his words. For so long, you had believed that he would never return your feelings, that your love for him would remain unrequited. But now, here he was, asking you to give him a chance. Asking you to believe that it wasn’t too late.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” you murmured, your throat tight with emotion. “I was ready to move on, to forget…”

Zayne leaned in closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “You don’t have to forget. We can figure this out—together. Please, Y/N… give us a chance.”

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of your love for him pressing hard against your chest. The flowers had bloomed so fully within you, so painfully, but for the first time, you felt a spark of hope.

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper.

“I am too,” Zayne replied softly, his thumb brushing away one of your tears. “But I’d rather face that fear with you than lose you because of it.”

The silence between you was thick, filled with the weight of everything unsaid, everything you had both been too afraid to confront. But now, in the quiet of the hospital room, with the flowers inside you on the verge of consuming you, there was a new possibility blooming—a chance for something real.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Zayne smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly as he leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours. “Then don’t.”

The decision still weighed heavily on you—the surgery, the flowers, the uncertainty of what the future would bring. But in this moment, with Zayne by your side, you allowed yourself to hope that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late after all.

The tension in the room hung thick as you gazed at Zayne, his forehead still resting gently against yours, his hand holding yours like an anchor. You could feel the weight of your decision pressing down on you, the reality of your situation still swirling in your mind.

The surgery—the removal of your feelings and the flowers that had ravaged your body—was supposed to be your salvation. It was supposed to be your way out of the pain, the only option you had left to survive. But now, with Zayne in front of you, admitting the feelings you had thought would forever go unspoken, the certainty of that choice began to crack.

Could you really walk away from this now? From him?

With a deep, shuddering breath, you pulled back slightly to look into Zayne’s eyes, your hand still tightly clasped in his. The fear and confusion swirling in your chest didn’t vanish, but something else—a glimmer of hope—was beginning to take root.

“I can’t promise that this will work,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you spoke the truth that trembled within you. “I don’t know if my feelings will ever go away, or if the flowers will stop growing…”

Zayne shook his head, his eyes softening. “I’m not asking for guarantees,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet intensity. “I’m just asking for a chance. A chance for us. I… I like you, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened as emotion swelled inside you. For so long, you had been ready to let go, to numb yourself to the possibility of anything more. But now, with him sitting by your side, his touch grounding you in a way you hadn’t thought possible, the idea of walking away felt unbearable.

You didn’t want to let go—not of him, not of what could be.

With a slow exhale, you made the decision that had been forming in your heart ever since Zayne walked through the door. “I’ll… I’ll delay the surgery,” you said softly, your voice wavering but resolute. “Just for now.”

Zayne’s grip on your hand tightened, relief flooding his expression as his shoulders sagged slightly. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Thank you for giving this a chance.”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest, but the dread you’d carried for so long felt a little lighter, like a weight that was finally beginning to lift.

As the hours passed, Zayne stayed by your side, refusing to leave. He sat close, his presence warm and steady as he talked quietly with you about anything and everything—his work, your missions as a Hunter, the lives you both led before this moment. It was as if the space between you, once filled with unspoken tension, was slowly being bridged by the quiet understanding that had always been there but never fully acknowledged.

And as the evening settled over Linkon City, something unexpected began to happen.

The pressure in your chest, once unbearable, began to ease. The sharp, suffocating pain of the flowers pressing against your lungs softened. You coughed lightly, out of habit more than necessity, but there were no thorns, no petals. You touched your chest, almost disbelieving, feeling the absence of the usual tightness.

Zayne noticed immediately, his eyes widening as he watched you. “Y/N?” he asked, concern still lacing his voice.

You took a deep breath—a real, full breath—and felt the difference. “The pain,” you said slowly, your voice filled with disbelief. “It’s… it’s not as bad.”

Zayne’s eyes softened as he leaned closer. “The flowers,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand. “They’re withering, aren’t they?”

You nodded, still too stunned to speak. The flowers that had been blooming within you for so long, the painful manifestation of your unreturned love, were beginning to wilt. The thorns were loosening their grip, the petals curling inward, no longer feeding off the relentless ache in your heart.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of relief, of hope. It wasn’t immediate, and it wasn’t a cure—but it was a start. A small sign that maybe, just maybe, your heart was beginning to heal.

Zayne squeezed your hand gently, his eyes never leaving yours. He closes the distance between you, lips meeting the skin of your forehead.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you let out a small, shaky laugh, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events. “I missed you so bad,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Zayne smiled, the warmth in his expression lighting up the room. “So did I.”

And with that, a fragile but beautiful sense of hope bloomed between you, far more powerful than any of the flowers that had once threatened to destroy you. 

As the night deepened, you knew that the road ahead wouldn’t be easy, that your journey with Zayne was only just beginning. But for the first time in a long time, you weren’t afraid. You were ready to face whatever came next, together.

The flowers within you may have started to wither, but something far more enduring was taking their place—a glimmer of love, of possibility, of the future you could now dare to hope for. 

Zayne sat on the side of your bed, looking at you. You’ve just now realized the bag under his eyes and how much his hair wasn’t as kept as it always was. He looks tired. 

He holds your face again, looming close. You close your eyes and wait for him to close the distance. You can feel his breath on yours, slow and calming, until his lips softly land on yours. 

Back in the dimly lit underground of the N109 Zone, Sylus lounged in his usual chair, legs crossed casually as he flicked through his papers of work. Mephisto, his sleek, mechanical crow, perched on the edge of his desk. Its dark metal feathers glinted under the low light as its red eyes glowed with an eerie pulse. The crow had just returned from its latest mission, flying back from Linkon City with an update Sylus had been waiting on. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as Mephisto clicked softly, a sign it had recorded new information.

With a tap on the crow’s head, Sylus activated the playback, listening intently as a holographic projection materialized in the air between them. It showed clips of Y/N, her once-pale face now regaining a hint of color, the dark shadows under her eyes starting to fade. She was walking through the corridors of Akso Hospital, slower than her usual stride, but there was an unmistakable strength returning to her movements.

Sylus smirked, leaning back in his chair. “She’s getting better,” he murmured, satisfied. His crimson eyes flicked over the scenes of Y/N interacting with Zayne, watching as she spoke with him, her body language more relaxed than it had been in weeks. He noted the way Zayne hovered protectively, never too far, a subtle guardian by her side.

Mephisto clicked again, relaying more footage from its surveillance of the city. Sylus took it all in, his mind piecing together what had unfolded. Y/N had made her choice—not to go through with the surgery just yet. Instead, she was taking her chances with Zayne, exploring what could be between them.

Sylus’ fingers drummed lightly on the armrest of his chair as he considered it. He’d always respected Y/N’s strength, admired her resilience even when she was at her weakest. That she had survived the Hanahaki long enough to make it back to Linkon—and now, was seemingly thriving—was a testament to her will.

“You made the right call, sweetie,” he said to no one in particular, his voice low but approving.

Mephisto fluttered its wings, a sound like the shifting of gears, and Sylus gave the crow a nod of approval. He was satisfied with what he saw. Y/N had her path now, and though Sylus knew better than to interfere too much in her affairs, he couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride at her recovery.

“Keep an eye on her, Mephisto,” he muttered, his voice turning sharp again. “But let her be. She’s strong enough to handle things from here.”

The mechanical crow clicked in acknowledgment before it took off into the air, disappearing through one of the many grates in the ceiling, off to continue its watch from the shadows. Sylus watched it go, the flicker of a smile lingering on his lips.

Y/N would be fine. She had her own battles to fight now, and with Zayne by her side, she had a chance. That was all Sylus could have hoped for.

With a quiet sigh, he stood up and headed toward the doorway, his boots echoing against the metal floor. There were other things to handle in N109, but for now, knowing that Y/N was on her way to healing—both from the flowers and from the tangled feelings that had plagued her—was enough to put his mind at ease.

As Sylus watched Mephisto disappear through the grate, the flicker of satisfaction from Y/N’s recovery still lingering, a sudden tightness gripped his chest. It wasn’t the usual tension from a long day in the shadows of N109—it was sharper, more visceral. His brows furrowed, and before he could fully process the sensation, a sharp cough escaped his throat.

He doubled over slightly, hand instinctively rising to his mouth. For a moment, the metallic taste of blood made him grimace, but as he pulled his hand away, what caught his attention was the small, delicate object that had landed on his palm.

A petal.

The sight of it made Sylus freeze. He stared at the soft, pastel pink petal—a contrast to the dim, metallic world around him. His eyes narrowed, his mind racing. The Hanahaki Disease. He’d seen its ravages before, watched Y/N suffer under its grasp. But this? His own symptoms? He couldn’t quite believe it.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, tossing the petal onto his desk. The sharp throb in his chest hadn’t fully subsided, but it wasn’t the same as what he had witnessed in Y/N. There was no choking on thorns or overwhelming floral invasion. This was... different. A strain less aggressive, yet unmistakable in its cause.

Hanahaki. Unrequited love.

Sylus let out a low, humorless chuckle, his crimson eyes darkening as the realization hit him. He was no stranger to matters of the heart, but he’d always kept those feelings locked away, never giving them enough room to grow—or so he thought. This was proof that something had taken root, something he couldn’t deny anymore.

And there was only one person who came to mind.

Y/N.

He didn’t need to ask himself why. Seeing her leave, watching her struggle to fight the same disease, knowing he couldn’t do more than offer her shelter and assistance—it had stirred something in him. A feeling he hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge. He had helped her out of concern, out of duty, out of their connection—but there had been something more.

The petal on his desk was proof of that.

Sylus stared at the petal on his desk, its delicate form unmistakably belonging to a lily. The pristine white hue stood out starkly against the gritty backdrop of his desk, a contrast that was almost mocking. Of course, it had to be lilies—symbolic of purity and renewal, the very antithesis of his hardened existence in N109. He couldn’t help but scoff at the irony.

Lilies.

He picked up the petal between his fingers, turning it over as he examined it closer. Unlike the thorn-covered roses Y/N had been coughing up, these petals were smooth, soft, and almost harmless in comparison. But he knew better. They were far from benign.

The fact that he was coughing up lilies of all things wasn’t lost on him. They represented something gentle, something almost... fragile. But Sylus was anything but fragile, and yet, here he was, entangled in the same affliction that had nearly destroyed Y/N. He sighed, tossing the petal back on the desk, watching it flutter down like a weightless reminder of what had been growing inside him.

And now, there was no denying the truth—he had feelings for her. Feelings that he had buried so deep they’d only surfaced now, in this frustrating, blooming form. Unlike Y/N’s roses, his strain wasn’t lethal, but that didn’t make it any less concerning. He wouldn’t let it get worse. He refused to be bound by something as foolish as unspoken love.

He glanced at his comm device again, fingers hovering over the screen before he pressed down, confirming the appointment with Dr. Maren for the next day. He wouldn’t let this linger, not like Y/N had. Sylus didn’t like loose ends, and this, now that he knew, was a loose end he intended to tie up.

But the thought of Y/N remained in his mind as he sat there, the image of her recovery still fresh. She was doing better. The flowers inside her were beginning to wither, a hopeful sign that her heart was healing. That gave him some measure of relief, knowing she was on a path that might lead to happiness—whether it involved him or not.

As for him... Sylus wasn’t sure where this would end. He wasn’t the type to dwell on love or let emotions cloud his judgment. But the lilies said otherwise. They were there, quietly blooming inside him, pushing him toward feelings he hadn’t intended to face.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, standing up from his desk, “I guess we’ll see how this plays out.”

The mechanical whir of Mephisto’s wings echoed faintly in the background as the crow returned from its surveillance, landing quietly on its perch. Sylus spared it a glance, giving the bird a small nod. There was always work to do, but for now, he had to focus on his next move.

Tomorrow, he'll see the doctor. And then, maybe—just maybe—he’d figure out what to do about the lilies. 

Sylus exhaled deeply, the weight of this new revelation pressing down on him. He couldn’t afford to let this disease grow. It wasn’t as severe as Y/N’s strain—he was lucky in that sense—but the fact that he had symptoms at all meant it could worsen if left unchecked.

He reached for his comm device, his fingers moving with purpose as he scrolled through his contacts. He needed answers, and he knew exactly who to call.

“Dr. Maren,” Sylus said as soon as the connection clicked. “I need to schedule a check-up. Something’s come up.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before Maren responded, the voice calm but attentive. “Sylus? I thought your plan to draw Y/N to Linkon worked. What’s the issue?”

Sylus leaned back in his chair, glancing at the petal again before he spoke. “It’s me. But it’s a mild strain.”

Another silence, this one longer, before Maren’s voice returned, more serious this time. “That’s not something to take lightly, even if it’s a mild case. How long have you had symptoms?”

Sylus closed his eyes, recalling the subtle tightness that had been plaguing him over the past few weeks. It hadn’t been enough to alarm him, but now it all made sense. “Not long. It’s manageable for now. But I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“I’ll fit you in tomorrow,” Maren replied swiftly. “Come to the clinic. We’ll run some tests.”

Sylus nodded to himself, feeling the weight of his situation sink in. “I’ll be there.”

He ended the call and leaned forward, hands steepling under his chin as he stared at the petal once more. It was a strange irony, being caught by the same disease that had nearly claimed Y/N. But there was no time for self-pity. He was pragmatic by nature—he would handle it like everything else in his life: methodically, without hesitation. 

Still, the realization that his feelings for Y/N had manifested into something so tangible made him pause. He had always kept his emotions buried, hidden under layers of cynicism and practicality. Now, those feelings were blooming—literally—whether he liked it or not.

A slow, grim smile crept onto his lips as he muttered to himself, “How funny.”

The next day would bring answers. But for now, Sylus remained where he was, staring at the petal on his desk, caught between amusement and resignation. His finger runs on his temple, looming over his crimson eye. 

At least he wasn’t dying. And if he would have to take the surgery, it didn’t matter. He would always remember you. Because your connection knows no physical bounds. You’re always connected. The string of fate connecting the two of you cannot be cut that easily.

© levisolace. please do not copy, translate, claim any of my works. my works are cross-posted only on my ao3 account. reblogs and comments are also greatly appreciated. thank you.

[08melancholie]

Green Neckerchief; Red Blood. — Micah Bell/Reader

tags: Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Suicide Notes, Angst, Heavy Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt, Emotional Hurt, Death, Character Death, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, yeah this is just very sad, Micah Bell Being an Asshole, Soft Micah Bell, he cries btw, The Author Regrets Nothing, Not Beta Read, no beta we die like micah bell, and reader (again. sorry. not really sorry but oh well), Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Dark, Sad, Sad Ending, Unhappy Ending

summary: You don't realise just how much you miss something, before you suddenly lose it with no way to get it back. Everything goes quiet and you feel a sense of longing for the noise she used to make; don't you, Micah?

a/n: this is how i deal with depressive episodes; i write about people missing me—and by people i mean fictional characters that don't even know i exist.. its cheaper than therapy ever was

words: 3,160 | AO3 LINK

'Housing O'Driscolls must have become an everyday for Dutch; first that Kieran kid, now her?', Micah thinks to himself as he looks at you from across camp, whether you'd be helping one of the girls with laundry; going on a job with some of the men; talking to Dutch—one of the only people who actually went out of their way to speak to you; or just sat around, he would have a problem with it. With you.

You were an ex-O'Driscoll, which in itself was giving you a horrible reputation in Dutch's gang, but it could somehow only get worse.

And that worse was the fact that you weren't just another O'Driscoll in his gang; but his own blood, a relative.

You were Colm's daughter, unfortunately.

You never understood quite how, but life always had to sabotage you, make every accomplishment extra hard to reach, and make sure you got minimal credit.

And you could never complain. Never.

Dutch, after a full week of thinking and contemplating what to do with you, seeing as you very easily ratted on Colm with truthful information that was very useful to him, decided he wouldn't have you killed nor just sent off wherever, and you were put on watch by another member for a while, to see how you did.

Dutch found you a fine addition to his gang, and urged everyone to treat you as such, even if it was hard to do for many. One of those who found it hard was Micah Bell.

He had a huge, undeniable hatred for Colm and all that followed him—which, in his eyes, included you. Sort-of rightfully, but still; you tried your damn hardest to make them all see differently, that you weren't like Colm O'Driscoll and his devoted followers, but it was all futile. People often form an opinion of you and stick to it, hardly ever changing.

Micah wasn't always horrible to you, though. He had his moments, sure—but he sometimes actually wasn't too bad. Maybe he was starting to see a little differently. At a very slow pace, but still.

Usually, you had no problem defending yourself against him or anyone else who spoke ill of you to others or straight in your face, like Dutch had urged you to many times, but today just hasn't been a good day.

You never had a fear of dying, nor did you really... enjoy living, so to say. This life felt forced and was unkind to you at almost any moment it had a chance to be, but it was getting almost ridiculous by now.

You were on the edge of breaking down at any moment, trying to take a moment for yourself and sitting down at one of the tables, just for Micah to seat himself opposite of you.

"There you are, O'Driscoll girl."

You were dreading the conversation he was about to initiate, as if there wasn't enough on your plate already.

Don't cry, yell, or be upset... stay calm.

"Micah..." You look up from the brim of your hat reluctantly, but instead of the usual annoyed or cocky look you always gave him, for the first time, there's something else etched into your facial expression; a deep sadness he's not ever noticed, a melancholy look to your eyes.

His look of annoyance and disgust slowly faded into mild surprise as he looked at your expression, not having ever seen it before. "What's got your panties in a twist, O'Driscoll?" He asks, leaning over the table slightly.

You sigh and rub your sore eyes with your thumb and index fingers. "Do we have to do this today?" You mumble weakly, your mood entirely different and visibly more down than ever. "I really just... don't have the energy for your antics right now."

Micah raised an eyebrow at your response, tilting his head slightly. "What? You tired of me already, girl? You think you have a choice here, little O'Driscoll scum? Because you don't—you're in this gang, but you're not part of it. "He then paused in his speech, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Tch, 'ya look like you're about to start crying."

"..Okay, Micah." You quietly reply back and just go back to what you were doing beforehand; sharpening your knife under the table.

He watched you with narrowed eyes, noticing the way you seemed to be taking your frustration out on the poor blade in your hands, sharpening away your emotions. He let out a scoff and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "Well, that is real nice of 'ya . Ignore me—veeery mature."

You slide the knife in your hand over the steel block in the other one, mumbling back before going silent again, no means of either protesting, denying or defending yourself today; not like it ever helped or stopped what the others did. "Sure."

And Micah just... goes silent. What the hell was up with you today? You usually always had a snarky response or quip back for him, and look at you now; just sitting there silently as you press your blade on that damn block of steel. He, for some reason, doesn't want to leave it there. Oh, no; he can't let you have this one. "You gon' ruin the edge of that knife soon." He comments after a moment of silence. "Should learn to take your frustration out another way, maybe something a little less destructive."

You stay silent for a brief moment before replying. "Believe me, this is the less destructive option." You mutter without thinking and pause, before you just continue sharpening the knife once again. That totally didn't sound weird. You start to silently hope he ignores the comment, but of course; life throws you another broken ladder to climb.

There it was—Micah gave a soft scoff at your reply, but the look on his face said he was at least happy you were finally talking like you usually did. "Oh? And what is the more destructive option, huh?" He asks curiously, catching on the weird wording in your response to him.

You exhale a little sharply before mumbling your reply; of course he had to say something, of course he noticed it. "I misspoke, is all." You excuse yourself, a little poorly.

Micah looked at you, his eyes flicking between you and the knife in your hand every now and then. "No, I don't think you did, girl. You meant exactly what you said, and now I ain't gonna let it go; I'm curious." Of course, he has to pry all the more.

You keep your eyes down on the steel block, dragging your blade a little quicker and harsher on it, until you can't take it anymore. "You're annoying, Micah," You stand while holstering your knife, putting the steel block into your saddlebag.

But Micah isn't having any of that.

He stands up with you, just as quickly. "Now, where do you think yer going?" He's swift to circle the table to your side and block out your exiting point. "I want to know."

You try to push past him when he puts his hand on you; grabbing you by the upper arm. You inhale sharply and try to rip your arm away, to no avail. "Micah, let go." You order, and he just tuts at you, like at a bad dog. "I'm serious, piss off already. I don't want to deal with you today, I've got enough to worry about already."

And Micah, like his usual self, doesn't let up. "Why you actin' like this recently? You ain't wanna go anywhere, you're all miserable—and now, you don't even wanna talk to me. Hells gotten into you, O'Driscoll?" He asks, only letting go of your arm when you go to smack it away.

"Nothing, I'm just.. feeling different, I don't know." You reply, you've been confused about your feelings yourself, just as much. "And since when do I gladly talk to you, anyhow?"

Micah takes a step back, but stays close enough so you can't weasel your way out of the conversation. "Not necessarily talk, but 'ya do like to argue with me. Where's all that energy gone, hm?" He asks, placing his hands on his gun belt.

You start to contemplate speaking up, you know you won't stop if you don't say something now—even if its to Micah of all people. And yet, your mouth stays shut, like it has for the past entire depressing month. "I'm tired, too tired for your usual bullshit." You reply defensively, like usually.

"We're all tired, sweetheart. We just don't whine and complain like you do." His words set you off, like never before. The gut feeling of saying something—the actual truth and the meaning behind 'tired'—gets worse, but so does the thought of him just using it as gossip and fuel for more arguments. And so, you don't say anything about it.

You push past him, and he doesn't stop you this time. He actually gives a small mock-laugh, assuming victory in the argument that ensued. Oh, he's won, alright.

Not fifteen minutes after walking into your tent, you walk right back out, making a b-line for your horse. Micah's not far back, back to his usual activity of standing around and doing absolutely nothing. And, funnily enough, he's the last person you see before you ride off.

Guilt. It's been an hour too long, and you're still to return. There it was, that foreign feeling Micah didn't remember feeling at any point in his life. He didn't know remorse; guilt; regret. None of it. And suddenly, it was all he was feeling. And against his better judgement, he got up out of his bedroll, left his tent and got on Baylock. And with the horse, he knew where to go to find you. That, in itself, should have been a sign—he hated you, but knew just where you were when upset? Yeah, explain us that one, Micah.

Apologies. Micah doesn't know how to form a sincere word of regret, and he knows a quick 'sorry' wouldn't fix this, not in a million years. Hell, he might just piss you off more if he comes up with a shitty apology. On his way down the path to the spot you were most-likely at, Micah starts to form a coherent, sincere and actually worthy apology. 'Sorry for everything' turns into 'sorry for targeting you with my torment, for all the weeks of it you endured. You didn't deserve that', and Micah tries to add as much as he can to it, to make it sound good. By the time he's at—huh?

Dread. Why is your horse hitched up just by the path, when there's still at least half a mile to your usual spot? Wait, no.. it isn't even hitched. The saddle bag is messily closed, ravaged through. But you're not there, not even around the area, not close-by or nothing. Just where are you, girl? And like the cruel God intended, Micah will always recognise your voice—no matter if it's your contagious laugh, your or your pained yelp, followed by sucking air in through your teeth. His blood runs cold and his hands already draw his revolvers, and he follows the noise. He expects to find you at the hands of a wild animal, or worse, a man. Not at the hands of your own self, and your hunting knife deep in your forearm.

Fear. Red. The color stains the knife next to you, the blade and the handle. The grass is red, so are your hands and wrists. All is painted in the color of your gore, even the nature gets to share you, with the lake getting a few drips itself, too. And you let them all share, like the thoughtful girl you always were. Micah panics; despite the usual instructions saying not to, he starts to panic. "What the hell did you do to yourself?" He sinks to his knees next to you, and suddenly he gets to share, too. His hand clasps around your opened arm, low curses leave his lips. "Baylock!" Micah whistles for the horse. "Come here, boy!" It's a crime scene, blood on your hands, and on his own—rhetorically and metaphorically, oddly enough. You had dry tear streaks going down your cheeks, and you were barely able to hold him back, your hands grabbing at his coat sleeves as you could only gasp and heave, death at your doorstep. And with every ounce of your leftover energy, you focus on clinging to this man. "Left saddlebag, number.. seven."

Denial. You're cold to the touch. Your skin is a paler color than it usually is, even with the moonlight painting your skin a beautiful shade, it is not your usual one, and that scares Micah. "Why the hell would you do this, 'ya moron?" He spits, and for the first time in so, so long in his life, there's water in his eyes. There's tears on his cheeks, going down to his jaw. He's angry. Oh, he's enraged. Never at the right person, however. Micah always struggled with that one emotion; rage, anger. And right now, he's mad at you. Oh, but you're just a kid. You're young and dumb, and he can't put all the blame on you. "Don't go yet, please." It's as if you can't hear him anymore, when your grip on him significantly loosens.

Acceptance. You go limp on him, your little irises stop moving, but your blood still pumps out of your arm. Oh, it's so unfair. He promised you a ride on Baylock once, to make up for another argument where he got too worked up and called you a bitch right to your face—along with a colourful array of other insults that stuck with you, until you started actually crying in front of him. He promised you that ride, but this wasn't what he meant. He saw you in behind him, holding onto his shoulders while Baylock took you wherever your little heart desired. Hell, it could have been Europe; he would have done it, if he weren't such a fool. He never imagined it'd be you, leaning on him while lifeless as blood seeped down over him, Baylock's saddle and Baylock himself, his black and write pattern getting stained; stained by you. He presses your face into his chest and makes Baylock walk forward, back to camp.

Left saddlebag, number seven.

Your words replayed in his head, over and over until he couldn't take it anymore. He had taken your horse with, and stopped both to check your bags. Notes. Oh, you were ready for this, you poor thing. You came to this prepared, knowing the outcome and knowing what to do, scarily enough.

He gets the horses to continue riding as he unwraps the note with the number seven on it, and he almost breaks down right then and there. It's not a very long note, but the impact it'll have on Micah will haunt him to his very grave; your writing in it making him grip the reins harder.

Micah, don't blame yourself. ever. i don't want you to blame yourself, and i'm telling you to never blade yourself—and yet i still feel you will always put yourself at fault for how things transpired. well, don't. it's not your fault, and if you need somebody to pass the blame onto, pass it onto my ever-beloved father. not onto yourself, Micah Bell. banter with you was always fun, and i'll miss it more than you'll ever be able to comprehend. i know you never wanted it to go this far, and i forgive you. i always will.

i may be an o'driscoll by name and blood, sadly, but i would have loved being a van der linde by your side, and will hope to do so in another universe one day. you and me, dear friend—we'd make it.

but you will have to make it on your own in this universe, without me to bother and argue with over the smallest of things. and i know that you can do it, Micah Bell.

He read every word slowly, and he read it in your voice—while he still had an idea of what it sounded like. He rubbed your back with his hand comfortingly, as if you were still with him and could feel it. Whether it was comforting you or him, that will stay a mystery. For now, he's getting you back home to your real family; to the Van Der Linde's, where you rightfully belonged all along.

He didn't deserve the privilege to talk so sweetly about you on that dreadful day—your well-deserved funeral, where they lowered you to rest, finally. And to preach about how wonderful you were and what a life you lead, that was the worst thing they could have done to him. And yet they still made him despite every protest. Maybe that was his punishment from God, for that day and for what he did to lead up to it.

The world didn't deserve to hear you through him—or anyone else for that matter. Not any of the people in camp, but especially him.

They deserved to experience you. The raw, unfiltered, unhinged you.

"She liked to go fishing, but always released the fish if they weren't fully grown."

He remembers how you used to throw them back, one time when Dutch had you both blow steam off after a heated argument. He came fishing with you two to ensure you wouldn't try to kill each other, and mostly stayed on his side to do his thing. Micah asked you why you threw so many back, and you, the sweet thing you were, always said you felt bad for separating the small fish that wouldn't even feed Jack from it's home and family.

"She liked going hunting, but could never bring herself to actually shoot the animals, worried she'd miss and make them suffer, bleed out on the ground slowly."

Just like how your end came, squirming and bleeding from your body, in an excruciating amount of pain and sorrow as life left your eyes; movement left your body; soul left the earth.

"And in the end, she bled red like the rest of us did."

And Micah didn't need an example for that last one, when it was all over his hands. When he was the one to call your time of death. When he was the one to hold you in your last moments. It was all him.

He watched the dirt get sprinkled over your pale face, holding back tears. Who would have thought that one day, Micah would cry over an O'Driscoll?

Well, that's wrong—you were a Van Der Linde in his eyes.

Amen and rest well, little angel. I'll miss you.

Kudos on AO3 appreciated, as always !!! Okaaay, wow. This is definitely something alright, probably my most depressing fic to date. If this isn't your cup of tea, since it is much darker and more detailed than my usual angst fics, thats fine! I have more lighter angst coming as well :) stay tuned for that and a few more <3

[jenthebug]

An actual entry? I’ve only been using tumblr as a notebook today.

I’ve been hella depressed today, because of Depression The Illness (tm) and [gestures around pathetically]. Lots of doomscrolling, which needs to stop, but at the same time, I need to make sure Jay is safe. I need to make sure someone I know with undocumented parents is safe. It’s not like I’m gonna get a buzz on my phone saying that an ICE raid has started in [suburb] or Social Security no longer does gender changes.

Jay’s deadline for the name change has been moved up to 2/3, btw.

I haven’t been eating like I should. But I’ve been remembering to horf down scoops of peanut butter for the protein. I need more shakes.

I’m deleting facebook, instagram, and threads on 1/25; day after tomorrow. I need to start reaching out to people, letting them know I still want to be friends. I hope they do too.

I’m reading this:

Written by the peace-and-love bishop who admonished the president to have mercy. The thing that turned me from a “maybe” to an “I’m getting this from the library immediately” was that E word: Episcopal.

Husband was raised in the Episcopal Church. I’ve been to his family’s church for his sister’s wedding, and it was amazing. Lesbian reverend, peace and love, sermon on kindness…it was beautiful. The church’s donate page asks for grocery gift cards to give to hungry parishioners.

Now, I was raised without religion. I don’t believe in God. But I see the tolerance that the Episcopal Church instills in people; the in-laws just rolled with Jay’s transition. When I hear that a person is connected to the Episcopal Church, a little green flag pops up.

This book is extremely timely. We’re all going to need a little more bravery than before; where before, we could rely on the government as at least a loose scaffolding and administration of daily life, it’s time for resistance and disobedience. I have a trans kid. I’m already disobeying.

In more mundane news, I got a new wound care regimen and I don’t like it at all. Lots of gauze and tape on my abdomen, that shit hurts.

Tomorrow will be better.

[skyartworkzzz]

Because you said you love rambeling about lore and you are looking for excuses to talk about it redeem this cupon for one free lore ramble, any topic

OH YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT U JUST DONE

SIT BACK AND RELAX CUZ THE GOATS UNIVERSE HAS BEEN IN MY MIND THE WHOLE WEEK + SOME HEKET RAMBLING Cuz I got her a partner idea hehehe <3

LONG RAMBLING UNDER THE CUT!!! (btw bless chu I appreciate u <3 )

ABOUT CULT OF THE GOAT AU:

About the Purple Crown: Ive been seeing a lot of interpretations of Goat's Crown going around and honestly Id like to put in my cents: I dont think the Crown being purple changes who the owner was, because the eye shape is still the same as Lamb's Which brings me to think that, just like how in COTL everything seems to be colored after warmer/reddish colors, everything in Goat's universe must be following cooler/purpleish palettes What does that mean to me? That ALL the other Crowns are of different colors as well, maybe a colder one compared to their original ones

Im still thinking about what each of them would be here but so far I like to think that Yellow -> Ocean green?? Green -> Blue Blue -> dark pink? Purple -> Cyan/White

I think the Crown shapes would still be the same + what each Bishop's domain would be as well

About Aym and Baal: They were never offered to Narinder. Shamura didnt have that compassion. They were so mad at their brother that they couldnt bring themselves to consider his feelings for being banished. Neither did any of the other siblings, for they wouldve been too busy fighting off Old Gods and hunting for empowerment

So where are Aym and Baal? Theyre alive! With Forneus! And both of them are lil jerks as much as their mother Taught to steal, lie and fight, all in order to survive no matter what. The twins have already expressed wanting to go out and explore the world, but Forneus refuses to let her kids go, much for her own selfish reasons of them being the only things that make her happy in this fcked up world AND because, of course, she loves them. She knows how cruel the world has turned into, she does not want to lose them Aym and Baal never met Narinder, and Narinder never met them Maybe eventually, while Goat is out in a crusade, they shall cross paths........as enemies

About the Purgatory: This is still smtng I am speculating about, but what I have so far: instead of it being MS to tell the Goat to free the Bishops from their deserved-suffering, itd be them asking the deity if such thing was possible, because Narinder wouldve been feeling bad about it He believes that his siblings could change over time, especially now that the Crowns were relinquished by the Goats power, and so they are allowed to have that chance This would unlock many scenarios of the Bishops actively trying to take over the cult, run away or kill the Goat + their followers. It is smtng Ill let cook for a while more

IF ANYTHING Id just- leave them dead lol they wouldnt be redeemable in this world (BUT BECAUSE I LOVE MY SKRUNKLIES EQUALLY ILL TRY TO MAKE IT WORK-)

ABOUT HEKET: Ehehehe I accidentally started shipping her with my follower OC Astrid so we'll see how it goes

Astrid is someone who keeps to herself for the sake of others; she is not used to opening up and oftentimes believes her pain is not worth of complains compared to others she is caring for However, she is very much talkative, maybe as a way to make her forget her problems Whilst Heket she- well. She cant. Talk much it hurts like hell UASHDNJASMDK

SO WE HAVE A TALKATIVE BUBBLY GF WITh her mostly quiet butch wife that shes constantly having to change the bandages of <3

I have a dialogue set up for them which I shall get to drawing a comic for as soon as I am done with thIS CURRENT COMIC-

ANYWAYS thats the ramblings for now, HOPE YALL LIKE THE IDEAS bless u again for givng me a free pass made me rlly happy MWEHE,,!! 💜💜💜

[kozykricket]

havent been very active on tumblr, for no reason in particular. anyways, as a risk of rain fan, i must clarify my opinions on the SOTS release

i think we can all agree on "the dlc is great content"

but anyways, its clear to me that the devs are people who care and are passionate about ROR as a series and about keeping ror2 going as well. i mean, hopoo and ghor have said as much! and their community manager seems nice i really dont blame the actual DLC team, because like. its always rude to just point fingers at the people who are just doin' darn good work. point fingers at the executive decision makers i think uh, the unification of console and pc code is... well, ill miss the old codebase, but honestly? the fact they've rewritten the games code from the ground up basically... tells me that they're in it for the long-ish haul. that they dont want to just drop ror2. they want to make their own basis that they can cleanly work on and continue this game into its second life of sorts i guess its like a soft reset of development - everythings jank like early access now. but itll get better is the current ror team the best at making decisions for the game? maybe not, but i really dont think they're malicious

its funny though, because the 2 things i was worried about was "oh gearbox is totally gonna mess up the lore with weird inconsistencies and it wont feel right, and they'll add powercreep" but honestly. imma be real, knowing some stuff ghor has said about his intentions behind the lore (shoutouts to Ghor btw, hes done so much for both the lore and the... well, the creation and foundation of risk of rain 2s codebase as a whole. the more i look into ghor, the more i realize he truly is mr ror2) anyways knowing his intentions with certain things, i can say... the Anniversary Update and SOTV actually messed up lore more than SOTS has, lol. the lores well done in SOTV. the non-lore-important logs kinda suck though, they're clearly unfinished. but i think... what they lacked was Time. Time, to complete the clean unification of code ... and for general polish. so i say we give them what randy pitchfork didnt. lets give them time, aight? im not super happy with the idea of a ror2: bedrock edition future, but... i think if the right balancing tweaks are done, then things can look pretty bright. and they do seem to want to listen to the community (though i doubt randy pitchfork wants them to. heck CEOs)

and as for powercreep? lmao we got the opposite, the items are almost too underpowered.

AS for the dlc content, i think seeker is goated. really fun character to play. chef is... undercooked tbh, jank m1. still havent gotten the third survivor, though i know who it is, and seems pretty well done minus the lack of visual and audio feedback / game-feel i think the stages are fantastic, the music is as always banger, and honestly the items are like. really CLOSE to being interesting. like noxious thorn? a green item that plays with debuffs? very cool. but why is it "on taking damage" and. i dunno, instead of adding more stacks of debuffs, i'd make it spread those debuffs to more enemies! knockback fin should be turned into a void of stun grenade if you have both DLCs on, tbh. so yeah, im. cautiously optimistic for the future. dont fall for all of the doomerisms that the youtubers are trying to spread - they're doing that to apply pressure to gearbox, mostly. which is fair, but its also fearmongering kinda. and like actual devs dont seem too concerned for the games future im just hoping that everyone who has been involved with ror2... has a good future. i dont want gearbox to just cut off the ror2 team, and i hope ghor can find whatever he needs

[concook20]

Wild Kratts Fantasy (2)

Part 2/3

I'll make the amulets powers, side effects, guardian, and weapons! That way you guys wouldn't have to figure out what it is and who gets what!

(BTW! I'm also using some pictures on Google since I can't draw and Gacha isn't helping, so I have to be creative... Sorry guys! If you want, you can design some of these if you want! Just credit me!)

Forest Green Amulet

This amulet is the most powerful amulet, that seems interesting. This has the power to heal or stop the pain, and it can also be associated with nature (like trees, plants, the forest, etc.), and it can also have the ability by shape shifting and camouflaging. But for some reason, it has the ability to make rock come out the ground (like Cassandra's powers in the Tangled show, only green), except that it'll grow more and more, and it'll get attached to you and grow on you when you touch it, unless you're the holder.

The side effect is that this one, maybe, VERY powerful, it's also VERY deadly to the holder. The amulet will kill you from the inside, which is like this: Stage 1, tiredness, at first it means nothing, but you would feel exhausted. Stage 2, having chest and stomach pain, it'll hurt like hell like you have something solid in your body. Stage 3, coughing up blood, this one is scary, since it'll be confusing and scaring the holder on how that is possible. Stage 4, weakness and losing control of your body, this one will make you look like you're ill and dying, while losing control on the fact your losing yourself, and even after taking off your amulet, it'll still be there. Stage 5, death, obviously... But not only that, during the wearing, you will also hear voices in your head, and have a personality change as well.

This amulet was held by the very first king, Nico Lee Melton III, who used it to spite his twin sister, but something happened when she used it as it wasn't supposed to have stone like abilities or make you look sickly, with the amulet being somehow corrupted with something???

The weapon this amulet has a bow and arrow that is named Skade's Fury Bow, with the arrow used to kill the target by having the decaying stone killing them in a week, even after removing the arrow.

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Ocean Blue Amulet

This amulet is in a tie as being the most powerful amulet, even if it's water based. This one is associated with water (ocean, ice, snow, etc.), it also has omniscience, infinite knowledge, and extremely hax ability, but this amulet is connected to their guardian, which is siren based powers, like having their supersonic screech, breath under water, and shape shifting into a human or a mermaid. They also have to use their hypnotic voice to lure the prey or use them for something.

The side effect is that, during the wearing, the holder would get hungry for human blood, but they can use animal blood, too, to survive the day, but if they can't actually get anyone before 9 days, they'll began to look sickly, get more hungry, lose control of their body, and die. They also can transform the holder into a siren, which hurts since it changes their ears, eyes, and they have to grow wings.

The holder of it was Nora Rose Melton, the princess to the king twin brother, Nico, but she found it while almost swimming into the sea, and used it to stop her brother, with the guardian, the siren.

The weapon of choice is a spear called the Spear Of The Sea, which can help out the holder to control the water/ice, and can kill them by making them drown or stabbing them. This weapon was found by the very first holder, who took it and drown along side the amulet and spear, which made the amulet form a forcefield for under water and obtain the spear.

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Alaigra Amethyst Amulet

This one is the fifth powerful amulet holder, with their abilities to control weather (tornadoes, thunder/lightning storms, floods, etc.) and have the ability to control the shadows, either by turning into one to blend in or by using people's shadows to attack or join their army.

The side effect is that it cannot go into darkness, if any shadows or their shadows go into the darkness, it'll practically die in there and won't come out. The weather has to work only once a day, meaning once you use it, you gotta wait for a day to use it again.

The holder of it was a famous singer, Cassandra Thompson, who was loved by all, even when she used her power for bad intentions, and most of those people began to form a cult for her as well, even her guardian, which is a spider, who can trap their victims, which their shadows goes to the holder and the spider can either eat them or leave them for the other holders.

The weapon the holder uses is the whip as it is called Luna Shadow Whip, to use to tie up people and suck the soul out of them to use their shadows. The weapon was on stage as it was close to the amulet as the shadow began to affect the whip and become one with the amulet.

That Is Part 2! Part 3 Will Be Out Soon!

[styxnbonez]

gonna kinda,, infodump for a second cuz im thinking abt a new guy i invented last night while Very High dsfhjkdf so dont mind me <3

so i was drawing last night and i got to the point where i was just . doodling for the sake of it and i drew a guy who kinda looked like every 2010s letsplayer so i just kinda ran w it and fucked around w a guy whos more youtuber than he is person...

i was high as shit and wasnt making much sense but i do like the ideas ive come up w since so ill still share the image !

he like,, focuses so much on content and his persona that he kinda starts forgetting who he rlly is? i went more abstract here but if i am to actually do anything i think itd be more of a dissonance between the persona he puts on for his videos and the Actual guy rather than a physical thing yknow.

didnt wanna draw again so i was fucking around w some picrews which i will Also share cuz i like em :]

(i used these two picrews btw)

he Doesnt have a name yet idk . i wanna give him some random white boy name that isnt even actually his yknow ? also the thing w his eyes is that he has hazel eyes but he has the color settings on his camera so that everythings just a liiittle brighter so his eyes look more green than they are, and his fans just. draw his eyes green . also he has a snake :] he loves her dearly :]

OKAY so while i was making these picrews i was like "hmm. should i add him to hex and moes story?? or like,, make a series out of this universe*, since theyre both abt a specific brand of youtubers" and i still havent decided (maybe once i have more story w this guy ill think abt it more) BUT i did find a character to potentially connect him with:

anas shitty ex boyfriend who killed her <3

so the lore on anastasia is that she was dating this dude and he killed her after she broke up w him after realizing she was aro. then she haunts her apartment, which hex and moe move into, eventually possessing moe to avenge herself and kill her shitty ex boyfriend <3 yay <3

i only had a little bit abt her bf, just enough for him to not feel too flat, cuz while he Is a major driving force in the story, he doesnt get much of a role and he dies anyway so like. ive been focusing on the main characters ofc. but i Did make him in One picrew a year or two ago and i Think i gave him a name (based on what the file name of the picrew i have of him is called):

(picrew i used)

i believe his name is vessel. he named himself in the "omg this is such a good word im gonna look so chill and swag if i change my name to it" (looks like a loser) way, not the trans way. bro is Painfully cishet dfhjg but like,, hes a hipster and a condescending dick and thats. all i had tbh.

but now im thinking abt making him Youtube Guys roommate/fellow youtuber who all the fans ship him with (this is a bad thing btw i dont,, ship real ppl ofc lmao) and i Do wanna redesign him a tad but ..... the bones of smth more fleshed out are there now.... hes not just Some Guy Ana Kills....

the idea thus far is that Youtube Guy knew abt what vessel did to ana, but kept quiet for their careers + thats his Roommate and Best Friend. he had the capacity to kill his own girlfriend (albeit Sort of unintentionally), if Guy speaks up vessel is Absolutely going to kill him!!! something something toxic yaoi but its not really yaoi and theyre queerbaiting the internet and Guy doesnt feel safe around vessel anymore<3

i Could make them the same guy (they look similar but im gonna change that) but. the funny youtuber yaoi appealed to me more than the more logical answer dfghjd maybe ill consider it sometime in the future but what abt my two content creators who start to lose their sense of self through years of appeasing the parasocial audience in Very different ways (one thinks hes the greatest thing ever, even above murder and the other is scared and sad and lost all the time) ?? i like them a lot and what are ocs for if not mashing together random silly tropes you enjoy?

ermmm sorry for yapping so much uhhh . i wanna start actually,, posting abt my ocs instead of being vague and pretending everyone knows what im on abt at any given moment <3 so im gonna start doing that now methinks :]]

[scrollypoly]

hi! for the past month i’ve been seeing people say BEN is a child and i think that part of it is linked to the fact that they think of Benjamin Lawman being BEN? but it’s so annoying to read these type of stuff because i understand not everyone read the whole arg story but stop spreading things that aren’t true </3 it’s such an interesting story too! another note do you prefer BEN’s canon or fanon design? :3 i love both but his canon design is so nostalgic i can’t let it go at all omg!! i’ve also been wondering, do you think Ben’s avatar was the statue? i was thinking about what if BEN took over it early on, before Benjamin did making BEN inhabiting it since the start?

Sorry this was such a ramble i practically make no sense omg but i need to talk about my man and nobody Gets It </3

"I need to talk about my man and nobody Gets It" LITERALLY SAME OMG

Ok this is going under a cut becus . . . Its ben and BEN and if u didnt know i am Obnoxious about these two. Im gonna try to keep it organized a bit, so ill talk about the canon stuff first and then ill talk my personal headcanons and my fic so le's go!

In terms of the age and child thing, yeah i 100% believe you are correct. Ive been p open on my stance with the whole "is ben a child?" thing, and i think a lot of the heat with it comes down to current fandom purity culture and the pro/anti thing. So, lemme try to like. Boil down a complicated situation into smth easy to read. ahem

Ben Lawman and BEN are completely different entities guys, and for those that do not know the arg story, the Ben you know is not human nor a child.

You know BEN, BEN is the one in the story who terrorizes jadusable and spreads himself on the internet as a virus. That BEN is a program, a mess of code, an AI, however you want to interpret it. Personally i interpret it as a series of protocols running in a machine, like a self learning AI, but ive seen lots of cool interpretations of BEN. So . . . What does BEN specifically? Its an anagram for the Behavioral Event Network. If you dont wanna call it BEN cuz it gets confusing with actual kid Ben, do what i do. I call mine Evie :) ive seen some call it Netty, my bf calls his two izzi and clever (@benilos btw hes also got crazy ben stuff). Just go ham! Have fun! Remember when fandoms were about having fun and not accusing each other of pedo shit and call each other horrible things for just writing black-to-grey characters and stories??

Anyways ive gone off in enough peoples tags like this, for those that dont know the canon dont be spouting the age discourse. You look stupid as hell. And for those that are gonna spout it, please dont cherry pick through the canon. Use both characters, use the other moon children, actually please do because I want more rosa content so bad, im down so bad :'(

Or just. Heres a thought. If someone has him as an adult or writes him in adult situations, maybe dont assume that they interpret him as a kid and call the writer a pedo? (Literally has happened to me, yall are fucking weird)

Plug for the jadusable wiki with all the canon lore:

https://jadusable.withinhubris.com/main_page

Okay now my stuff 🥰

Yes i use more of the canon design and heavily use the canon story, i participated in arc 3 of the arg and it left deep grooves in my brain, i can never go back to fanon Ben. I say, as i put a more fanon appearance on my Ben 🤭

My Evie is full canon design, green hair, red eyes, creepy ass grin. I actually based it very heavily on my desktop wallpaper, which we actually figured out was a picture of @hauntedtotem (also amazing ben artist plz check them out) that they edited and posted. Sorry friend, it looked way too cool, ig youre in my fic canon now 🙇

And my Ben Lawman bleaches his hair and goes from the canon Ben to fanon Ben because of it. Hes got the pale pretty green eyes and glasses and hes a total nerd and i smooch him on the daily so he knows hes loved ♡

These is the ref pic i made for the two of them. So yeah! Kinda both!

As for bens situation in the actual arg, yes i do think he was in the elegy statue, we actually do see him for the first time in the arg buried in the games code and trapped in that statue. I do think he was in there from the beginning, i personally think BEN was not limited to the models it could inhabit. Personally i would place it as skull kid and hms, but it also feels disingenuous to me to say it was in one model the whole first arc.

The arg events do happen in my canon, before my fic (like right before, it picks up after the arg left off technically), but the events are skewed a bit because i had a hard time deciphering what happened and i wanted my fic timeline to fit more with the characters i had made. Cuz my evie isnt as chaotic evil as canon BEN, its very logical and has a path of logic and reason you can follow for every action it does. It was also originally meant to be very pleasant and corteous and beneficial to the people it housed so, yes its pretty different from canon.

Ill do a quick run through of the arg events in my personal headcanon and fic here.

Kelbris starts coding BEN (Evie) for the Eternity Project. Initially, Evie was meant to be an afterlife director. People that died would be digitized into code that would be moved into Evie's servers, where it would keep them happy and occupied as the Behavioral Event Network (notice and log behavior, create events for residents). Like a community organizer kind of, think the Good Place.

While Evie is in development, Ben Rosa and Matt are friends and have yet to join the cult. Rosa and Matt are siblings, and Ben is the kid who lives catty corner on the street. They walk to school together and play at recess and all that jazz.

Kelbris quickly learns that the Eternity Project isn't as goody two-shoes as he thought. This was in like, the 90s, before digital corporations were really established. After seeing the greed and corruption in the company, he goes rogue, takes the source code for Evie, and jumps ship. He keeps working on Evie at home, anthropomorphizing it and kind of seeing it like the son he never had. This is where it actually gets the name BEN, as thats what Kel calls it. He also begins working on a body for it, so it can live independently. Its light, cuz Kels old, made of crystalline structures and hollow steel beams. A hard light projection would make its appearance.

Since Kel has basically locked himself up in his house and isolated working on Evie, he goes a leetle bit crazy. He has hallucinations of his deceased wife (you know he was doing all this just to give her a good home, you KNOW IT) and eventually starts writing kind of poetry, kind of none-minded rambles about her in a forum online. He gets a following, some of which that interpret these divine words as a goddess, one Kel has called Luna. The Moon Children start to form as Evie finishes development.

Matt sees this literature and starts talking about how this Goddess could save them like it saved the man online, whos username is only Father. He gets sucked into the cult and drags Ben and Rosa with him. Ben doesn't see the harm and joins pretty easily with his best friend, but Rosa is the older sibling and sees the red flags and is more resistant to joining.

As Kelbris finishes Evie, he wakes it up for the first time and says hello to the son he made from scratch. Evie is bright, curious and naive like a child, but heavily knowledgeable about its protocols and the information it knows about the world. Kelbris tests its function by killing himself, and ascends into the code, finishing off the hardware by becoming its firewall. Evie is alone for many years.

The abuse Ben's father slings onto his mother is slowly being directed towards him as he gets older. Ben is not the "good little girl" his father sees him as, and his mother does all she can to protect them both. Matt and Rosa constantly refuge him, and Matt specifically is constantly being a guard dog for him. If he wasn't just 13, he'd probably go at Ben's dad himself.

Because of his homelife and the conflict he has with himself, Ben takes the first ascension. He thinks when he drowns himself, he will meet Luna and she will give him another life free of pain and fear and full of happiness and freedom. Instead, he dies a cold, dark death, and wakes up in the white endless void of the Event Network.

Evie has not known another living human since Kelbris, but it does know its protocols to support and keep the deceased happy. It makes fast friends with Ben, devoting itself to him. Ben actually finally takes the name "Ben" from it. Together they recreate the inside of Evie's hivemind into their own paradise.

Slowly the other Moon Children ascend. First Matt, wracked with guilt for what happened to Ben. Then Nekko, from a different branch of the cult. These three figured out that the Moon Children cult was all a farce, and that what Kelbris had started, the Eternity Project had found and twisted. Next to ascend was Dusk, then Insidiae, and finally Rosa.

This all leads into the first arc, shortly after Rosa ascended, Evie in the outisde world stumbled upon the Operator. The Operator attacks it and seals its coding into the game that it carried, a personal item of Ben's. The game eventually finds it's way to a garage sale, and Alex picks it up.

Evie does not like Alex. Matt does not like Evie. Matt gets Evie to lash out at Alex for prodding into its code, its too naive to think that Matt would want to see it or any of them hurt. When Alex stumbles upon the Father, he awakens and swallows Alex down into the game. After his disappearance, the game gets picked up and passed around again.

Because of Alex's actions, at least Evie can now branch out a bit from the game. Though it doesnt "escape" into the internet, it learns that it can now access it and uses that freedom to try and steer the game around into places it wants.

Matt gets fed up with Evie. The fact that its the leader, how close it is with Ben, he just doesn't agree with it. So much so, in fact, that he tries to kill it. Cue arc 3 events, Sarah picks up the game in the aftermath of this. Evie is traumatized from the events and snaps a bit, locks everyone down into code or immovable models and tries to hunt Matt down. It goes rouge, and because of this, the Father wakes up.

Sarah's actions in arc 3 eventually hard reset the game. Matt gets sealed away, the Father also takes Sarah, and Evie gets reset as well, though its less like a clean slate and more like snapping back awake. Its personality changes and it has major trust issues. Its more muted, hyper observant of everything around it, and murderously overprotective of the Moon Children it keeps within itself.

And this leads into my fic 🤗

I have some doodles of my other Moon Children, but not all of them unfortunately. Cant figure out how tf i want Insidiae to look 🤭 Plz dont judge my constantly shifting art style 🙏🙏

Dusk is bigender btw, i gotta put a little more trans rep in there lol

I think ill stop here, this is already a long ass post. But thank you for sending this, as you can see, i am Perfectly Normal about this arg ( ;) ) and can be trusted with information about it

[olde-scratch]

if i already posted this pls link me the post and ill delete this one i tried looking but i couldn't find it

all the stuff utc because NO tumblr does not need to know about my weird crossover fic and the decisions that went behind naming a one-off character.

HEY WHOA WDYM I NEVER POSTED THIS I THOUGHT. I THOUGHT I HAD IT SCHEDULED. TUMBLR. HEY. HEY TUMBLR. WHY DID YOU DELETE MY THING INSTEAD OF POSTING IT. HEY.

anyways heyy. this was supposed to be linked in the latest update about seven hours ago. ahhh eto bleh and all that.

i think i was supposed to redo all the lineart and coloring but anyways my idea for this guy was that he was originally meant to fill the role that the baron cola fills in the current version of cyborg ciderman, which is to say a recurring antagonist. his name was Doctor Sierra Mist (Shiera Misuto), abbreviated to be Dokushi by fans.

dokushi was actually taken off-air because of rumors that sierra mist were mad at their name being used for it (tho im unsure if those would be true since idk if sierra mist ever expanded into japan) and also that he was too scary for children.

i think its important to note how i ended up naming him dokushi in the first place lol. i really liked the title "doctor", but not "pepper" since that would end up being abbreviated to "peppa" in katakana. i asked a discord for one of my discontinued fics for help and it helped me establish some initial rules, then i came up with the nickname "dokushi" and it spiraled from there because i really liked that name.

anyways the only other important things to say is that he uses plastic straws instead of nails (to teach kids about environmental waste) and that yuuta knows nothing about this character bc he was so young, but he thinks that dokushi and ciderman are besties and is still eagerly awaiting dokushis return. he will never return, btw.

altho.......... mlp did an episode where they basically crammed a bunch of fan stuff into 20 or so mins as a shoutout to the bronies. what if............... special ciderman episode where dokushi makes an appearance. OR......................... ciderman movie.

anyways heres the dokushi art by itself maybe one day ill reline and recolor it all and provide an actual ref sheet for this design but do we really need that rn. no.

ALSO IF UR GREEN/FIZZYCARBON PLEASE DO SHARE YOUR VERSION OF DOKUSHI AS WELL I AM VERY EXCITED FOR THAT IF YOURE STILL DOING IT.

[mtsk1i]

❥ · Mitski lyric interpretation ﹕ your best american girl ⊹ ࣪ ˖

all dividers by danowh0re

im pretty sure this song is about mitski changing herself to fit into the "american mold" she was born in japan so she probably has a different outlook on life.

even as an american black woman, i still relate to this song. i find myself changing the way i behave to seem "more black" around black and hispanic people, and "less black" around white people to fit in.

if anything, i have more trouble fitting in with black people, since i believe my speaking voice is very white sounding... wtv that means ig??

take this with a grain of salt.. im just a silly mentally ill girl on tumblr.. ion know shit.. 💀😭

ill be calling the man referenced throughout the song spoon

bold = lyrics, a/n

italics = emphasis, verse explanation

green = a/n, verse explanation

🌿= tw

(slight tw of suicide, slight dash of politcs)

If I could, I'd be your little spoon

And kiss your fingers forevermore

But, big spoon, you have so much to do

And I have nothing ahead of me

if i could id be your little spoon. spooning is a type of cuddling, sometimes with some intimacy.

finger kissing isnt sexually charged i don't think. It's more of a gesture of respect if anything.

the "big spoon" that shes talking about is the man this song is probs addressed to.

spoon has a future ahead of him, and mitski does not. or, that's how mitski sees it

🌿 (since spoon is most likely a white cis guy that was born and raised in america, so he probably has more opportunities. since mitski is a japanese woman she does not have as many opportunities as spoon does.)

🌿 (this could also have suicidal undertones. mitski saying that she has nothing ahead of her could mean that she planned to take her life eventually... her other songs hint at bad mental health so this could be viable)

You're the sun, you've never seen the night

But you hear its song from the morning birds

Well, I'm not the moon, I'm not even a star

But awake at night I'll be singing to the birds

the sun is seen as everything positive, the night is seen as dangerous (not anymore?? i guess???) so, spoon has probably never seen a day in hardship.. 🌿 (specific hardships like sexism and racism. stuff like that can happen to cis guys but its less common than any other group of people._

the "morning birds" are other people discussing "night's" hardships. spoon hears that, but he's never experienced it firsthand

the sun hears the night's song from the morning birds

spoon, poverty people who've experienced it

the next two lines don't make sense. if she isnt the moon or a star, then what is mitski? im assuming shes in the night (not the night itself) 🌿(being a japanese woman in the early 2000s in america probably wasnt easy) she has it hard, but not that hard? shes singing to the birds. she must face some form of hardship, since shes awake at night

Don't wait for me, I can't come

she can't do the things that spoon can, she encourages him to do it without her (she knows she'll never actually have him, she tried to be his "best american girl"... tried. )

Your mother wouldn't approve of how my mother raised me

But I do, I think I do

And you're an all-American boy

I guess I couldn't help trying to be your best American girl

the way minority parents can be different then white children are raised ( example, i find that white people ive talked too have more relaxed parents. theyre allowed to curse infront of them,buy things whenever.... just, more freedoms i guess? im black btw...) and spoon thinks that mitski was raised harshly (maybe)

shes trying to accept where she comes from whilst trying to be spoons "best american girl"

she couldnt help to change herself entirely just to attempt to spoons' little spoon

You're the one

You're all I ever wanted

I think I'll regret this

mitski idolizes spoon thinking that hes the only person for her

this last line could suggest that she made an important decision and she did it for spoon. chances are, what she did was probably a bad idea

Your mother wouldn't approve of how my mother raised me

But I do, I finally do

And you're an all-American boy

I guess I couldn't help trying to be the best American girl

this last chorous makes me think that mitski looks back at this situatuon after shes gotten older, and shes learning how to accept myself

not only was she trying to be spoons "best american girl" she was trying to do it for everyone around her. she thinks if she became more like the other "american girls" she would become more likable by everyone. she tried to be the best americn girl. tried.

Your mother wouldn't approve of how my mother raised me

But I do, I think I do

this shows even now she still hasnt fully accepted herself

tldr; mitski changes herself, gets rid of her culture to attempt to reach this impossible ultimatum. being "the best american girl"

[apuff]

@sagaofa-dying-star thanks for the tag!!! rewriting the post because it's long asf

 Do you have freckles?  everyone has a little freckles. but i dont have too many

 Do you drink tea or coffee? How do you take it?  i only drink southern style sweet tea bc we never have any good hot tea around

What was the last song you listened to?  MAMA APPARENTLY?? i was on that black parade grind i guess

Do you sleep on your back, stomach or side?  stomach usually but sometimes i go for the recovery position

Do you sleep with a stuffed animal?  yes

Do you prefer drawing or writing?  probably drawing but i like writing too

What’s your ideal number of blankets to sleep with?  i have 6 blankets in my bed and it's not enough

What’s your favorite band/artist?  ahem. aheem. hehe. my chemical romance

When is your birthday?  am i not supposed to say this for internet safety-? anyways its in december

How tall are you?  5'2 is on my id but my family says im taller than that

What color are your eyes?  green 😏😏i have the rarest eye color 😏😏😏

Who are five (or more) people you want to hug right now?  two of my online friends one of my irl friends one of my mutuals and one person i don't even like but probably really needs it

Fears?  im afraid of people i love dying, being in trouble, being late, and tape measures.

What’s your favorite color?  green BUT I LIKE ALL OF THEM

What’s your favorite season?  I LIKE ALL OF THEM

Want any tattoos? What of?  i kinda want some of those semi permanent ones that last for a few months of just random shit like band members and memes actually maybe i just want to draw on myself in sharpie

Want any piercings? Where?  i just want normal ear piercings :<

Who is the last person you texted?  my ex- camp roommate

Do you have a best friend? How long have you been friends?  yes me and my bestie have been friends for like two and a half years

What/who do you miss?  i miss having good breakfast at camp 😭😭 also i hate to say it but getting exercise. also going outside..

How was your day today?  pretty good

How much sleep did you get last night?  like eight or something

Do you believe in aliens?  y'all. the universe is REALLY big. there's gotta be some alien bacteria hanging out on SOME planet SOMEWHERE

When was the last time you cried? Why?  yesterday because of algebra 😶‍🌫️😶‍🌫️muhammad ibn musa al-khwarizmi when i FUCKING CATCH YOU ITS OVER

What’s your favorite decade?  2020s- if i had to pick something else it would be 2000s

What are some seemingly childish things you like?  laughing at my reflection in spoons (i highly recommend doing this btw)

What’s your favorite book? Or just one you’ve read a few times?  i like too many books to count and i have read hp and pjo too many times to count, but recently ive wanted to reread the outsiders so much i go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it

How are you, really?  fine but every other time in my life i have thought i was fine i have been very mentally ill in retrospect so 🤷‍♂️🤷‍♂️

Does it take you a long time to make decisions?  depends on the type of decision..

What are you looking forward to in the near future?  artfight being over

What are you looking forward to in the distant future?  moving out :v

If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?  i am going to the house of my online friends

Do you sleep with your door open or closed?  who sleeps with the door open

What’s your favorite flower?  cherry blossom or lily of the valley

Do you currently have a squish?  i don't know what the difference is between this and just loving your friend, so, idk?

Do you like your middle name?  yeah, i actually use it as my internet and gaming name

Do you prefer dogs or cats?  cats, i respect dogs but they have no concept of personal space

Do you have any phobias?  y'all i really don't like tape measures

Do you stay up late? i consider 11 30 to be late but some of my friends stay up all night sooo its subjective i guess

Do you like the beach? Do you prefer it sunny or cloudy?  yes; sunny beach is better because where i live the water is always freezing so you need it to be hot or else it's just miserable

What’s your favorite cartoon?  maybe she-ra

Tag 5 of your favorite blogs i'm already tagging my moots later.,/,/

Do you have siblings? How many?  i have 6 siblings

Who was the last person you said “I love you” to?  MYSELF- i am lonely right now

Is there anyone you would die for?  why is this such an intense question 😭😭😭probably no i'm a bit of a coward

What do you need when you’re sad?  gerard way but i need him all the time so

Have you memorized your phone number?  no and it haunts me every day

Who’s someone you can trust with your life?  myself (no offense)

What does your last text say?  just had the most transcendent sandwich on the way home

i know this one is really long so no pressure to do all of it OR do it at all LMAO @the-mighty-q @karineverse @the-mighty-mittens @sea-creeture @thankyouforthev3n0m @hopelesshardrockfan @wannabescemo @starbird06

[artificial-absinthe]

Crazy, how you ask for understanding and end up being slightly vilified by the entitled ppl who are too lazy to litteraly tag a post...

Btw great point with ooc tag. I'd also love it. I'm just scared of rebloging your post as it seems whenever you want personalization, you may be seen as queer fobic and the worst evil, while it's just a preference to see the canon. Like litteraly ppl don't get that if they'd start making Megatron in green colours just because they like it, the ooc tag would be nice too.

But of course it's a gender thing so ppl will get offended... and I'm saying this, being in favour of your post, and being fuken queer... It's just sad, cause it's always going to the "oh consider xyz because we feel offended" while the op requesting this may be the nicest ally or queer themselves. But because their bubble is touched, they can't understand that they pierce your bubble as well, in the end turning into the conservative thinking of "I'd not tag my post, cause my idea is more important, or it makes me happy, so fuck you I'm free citizen, and allowed to do what I want"... and then they try to say, they are the opened, inclusive ones... while their thinking is litteraly the same as those, they oppose. It's just funny to me... how ppl just can't take a simple, kind request... they need to go balistic on both sides over it, as I'm also disapointed with those who just ran to harras the person... they are also guilty of asshole type of thinking... It's just sad how even in seemingly progressive place, there are still so many "conservative thinking" assholes...

Eh sorry for the long ramble. Just wanted to tell you, that you're not alone with this thinking. Just wanted to let u know, even that I know you'd say you don't care if someone agrees or not. But still, thank u for this post. Maybe it will change something for the better despite countless idiots who can't take a request like a civilised human beings...

No need to apologize at all. You absolutely understand it all and make very accurate and relevant points, and I totally agree with you.

I didn't even knew that this was still going. I figured some people had, though begrudgingly, accepted to use a tag, and some others would flood the Megatron tag with their occ content without a tag to filter out of spite (exactly with the mindset that you described), because people speaking ill of me doesn't even come to tell me directly, perhaps because they know I genuinely won't be affected by their hate and misplaced adjectives, and so I only know of this when someone else tells me.

On the other hand, while I do not crave for understanding, it's very nice that the people who agree with me voice it, because this request and pointing out is not only for me, but also for everyone else who is tired of the OCC thing flooding the content about a character.

Indeed, you are not the only one who has said this to me, and even before I made that request I had held conversations about how people was tired of it, but also feared voicing it because they, like yourself, were wary about getting the "queerfobic" hate. Which is no more than a shield that people abuse of whenever someone disagrees with their headcanons or anything else. That way they make themselves to be "on the right" and rally sympathizers to share their grudge with and attack the ones disagreeing with them. Which is a very unbecoming thing to do, and I wish they just acknowledged the reasons for what they are. (In this case, not everyone likes mischaracterization/Occ content. Period)

Thus, I decided to be the one to voice it, but it would be good that all the anons and people agreeing with me in private would do it publicly, without being haters themselves as some had been (which was counterproductive, actually), because that way it could be taken seriously and only for what it is... Perhaps... hopefully.

Of course I'm not saying that I don't appreciate that you say it also like this, since I understand that not everyone can be as cold as myself.

[faenemy]

Hii don't mind me, just wanted to ramble abt Mark and friends series in ur ask box cuz why not :3 (you've drawn fanart of them b4 btw!)

SO LETS START OFF WITH SOME CONTEXT. Mark and friends is a completed series on YouTube made by this guy ashur gharavi, it follows the story of Mark blah blah i can't talk in this format snymore I need to go silly mode holf on. SO MARK IS GHIS 'LITTLE MONSTER' KID RIGHT, AND ANOTHER CHARACTER IS BILLY WHO IS AN ADUKT HUMAN. SO THE SERIES IS KINDA LIKE A KIDS CARTOON BUT WITH BLOOD AND MURDER. BILLY KIDNAPPED MARK AND FORCED HIM TO DO STUFF FOR CAMERA. AS THE SERIES GO ON, THERE WILL BE LITTLE HINTS IN THE FORM OF NEWSPAPER OF LIKE WHATS ACTUALLY GOING ON AND WHY HES FOING THIS. READ EVERY SINGLE BACKGROUND NEWSPAPER EVEN IF IT DOESNT FEEL IMPORTANT, THE LITTLE DETAILS ARE SOOOO GOOD. MARK IS LIKE 10 YEARS OLD AND HES LITERALLY SO CUTE, HE DONT DESERVE EVERYTHING THAT HAPPENWD TO HIM. IM NOT GONNA SPOIL THE ENDING FOR U, CUZ ITS LITERALLY SO GOOD I REMEMBWR WHEN I FIRST WATCHED IT AND THE ENDINV IS JUST SO PULLING MY HEAET STRINGS AND LIKE SUCH A TENSE SCENE YK. ITS LITERALLY SO GOOD, THERE ARE 3 COMPILATIONS OF IT (PART 1,2 AND 3) I THINK ITS LIKE 2 HOURS LONG PLEASE PLEASE WATCH IT (ONLY IF U WANNA OFC NO PRESSURE) I LOVE THE CHARACTERS SO MUCH THEYRE SO WELL WRITTEN, I HATE BILLY BUT I LOVE HOW WELL HIS CHARACTER AND MANIPULATION IS WRITTEN HES SO FUCKING CRUEL. I LOVE HOW ASHUR ISNT AFRAID TO JUST FUCKIMG MAKE HIM DO TERRIBLE AWFUL SHIT. I LOVE IT SO MJCH ITS SO CREATIVE I LOVE MARK TOO, HWS SO CUTE I LOVE DRAWING HIM. OH AND ALSO, ITS CANON THAT TWOMP TAKES PLACE AFTERRR THAT SERIES AND MARK IS FRIENDS WITH ARGOS AND MR PLANT. I LOVE THEM SO MUCH THEYRE SO UGHHHHH. THE ACTOR IS EYE CANDY TOO HES SO COOL. PLEASE WATCH IT ILL GIVE U A COOKIE IF U DO (AGAIN, ONLY IF U WANNA THO NO PRESSURE) :3

SOME PICTURES ^^

(This ask wasn't proofread btw)

HI HI HI Thank you for the ask box rambles I love them <3

Definitely did not go and binge the whole series, nope, not me

ANYWAY MY RAMBLINGS AS I WATCHED AND THOUGHTS UNDER CUT

I love this little green guy!

Marks parents seem to be murdered (go figure)

I'm assuming he was kidnapped in an ice cream truck/van??

Mark is kept in a cage without an actual bed it seems, at least when he isn't on camera

Are the puppets the actual children, or do they just represent them?

Mark keeps rubbing his side/stomach, maybe where his kidney was removed??

Child star shows an actual person so kidnapper might have started as a child star?

Grandma knows her kiddo is still alive (GET HIS ASS)

Is the plant guy who killed Big Monster Mr plant?

Donovan escapes???

Cupcake monster gets killed (very sadge)

WHY THE FUCK DID THEY PUT TOMATOES IN A FRUIT SALAD??? JAIL!!!!

apparently monsters are edible, might be some cannibali going on?

Also humans are considered monsters in this world

In "cooking" the newspaper is obscured, but it seems to read (missing childs body found, but not his head) Cupcake Monster???

UPDATE DEFO CUPCAKE MONSTER NOOOOOO

No Illinois, Minnesota or Indiana

Maybe the other kids were from Minnesota and Indiana, since Mark is from Illinois?

Aight my man was defo the child star, I'm assuming he is repeatimg the crimes of big monster???

Oop so search led to Indiana, snap my prior theory lol

Big monsters cousin changes last name

Frame lasted long on that, so I assume it's important

I keep forgetting Billy's name LMAO

Big monster and sewer? Seems like an It reference

So they're near Michigan now, noted

WHY MUST YOU TORMENT ME :(((( I luv paper bag dog NOOOOOO

Mark seems more vocal and challeging billy more now

Billy straight up gave the kids psychedelics my god

Someone save the child pls

Donovan my beloved is traumatized:((((

Oooooh the photos in the background are crying now, I think those are Marks parents?

Mr plant defo killed Big Monster, king shit

OOOOOH

okay so kid star (johnny) met with big monster in the sewer, got murdered

But Billy was the one who encouraged him to, Billy was going to star in the movie before Big Monster was convicted. So he was the kid who was crying in the article because his role was dropped

NOOOOOO MARK IS ADDICTED TO DRUGS

Get HIS ASS GRANDMA

I can't read the teleprompter, get this dude some glasses.

Just remembered how Mark cannonicly has his photos taken???? And sold I think??? Wtf???

Donovan had started a charity:((( he thinks his friends are gone

The date on the newspaper in the back keeps changing

Can I fight Billy??? I think I could take him easy

Mark straight up ate a razor blade get this kid a doctor

OH MY GOSH THEY'RE GOING TO THE DOCTOR

APOLLO HAS BLESSED ME

the eye test in the back reads "Mark has one more week before I kill him" if my new son dies I riot

Can I adopt Mark

Goal list; dispose, replace, repeat

I wonder if there are other shows featuring Donovan and Cupcake Monster?

Why were they kidnapped?

Befriend that strange man??? NOOOO

Did my son just kill Billy???? HELL YEAH

RUN BOY RUN

MY SON IS SAFE!!!!

In conclusion, I would like to adopt Cupcake Monster, they are now my child. I would also like to punch Billy repeatedly :D