#not just in passing or in lore

[hinamie]

off on an adventure ! this au turns 1 week old today

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

pose ref [x]

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing. 

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then. 

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier. 

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility. 

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words. 

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat. 

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it. 

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours. 

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

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat. 

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away. 

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry. 

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–" 

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine." 

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry. 

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting. 

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam. 

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[puppppppppy]

i like him

[zorangezest]

OML YOU REMEMBER THAT HGHFHUSHHFHHHHH

the story and characters have changed a LOTTTT A LOT using this request as an opportunity to show some of the new designs ive been stewing heh heh

don’t worry, while roro might’ve outgrown her hideous wardrobe, it’s all been passed down to her little brother yin!

[what-is-love-babey-dont-hurt-me]

Currently designing this sopping wet cat of a dinosaur ✨🪞🧿

[drenched-in-sunlight]

I know you mostly focus on the Marika/Messmer relationship in your works (which can i just say i fucking ADORE IT IT'S SO GOOD GAAAH) but i wanted to ask, what do you think of the other parent? Who do you think Messmer's (and by extension Melina's) father is and what his relationship is with him? Is it Radagon? Godfrey? A secret third option perhaps??

im glad you enjoy my work!! as for your question, i think Messmer and Melina are like... parthenogenetic offsprings?? they are born of Marika only, which is why the game groups them in as brother and sister and they are the ones inheriting everything closest and most personal to Marika.

but i don't necessarily think they know each other exist, or at least it's my personal headcanon that Melina was born after Marika shattered the Elden Ring (at which point Messmer was already stuck in LoS, so he didn't know).

i actually think Marika only split into Radagon on the eve of Liurnia war, when Messmer had already been a grown young man fighting alongside Godfrey for a while. so technically, Messmer existed before Radagon. but on paper i guess the guy could be counted as Messmer and Melina's dad? cuz he's Marika still? (ugh my head)

but imo to Messmer and Melina they don't consider him their dad (and he doesn't consider them his. i lowkey think Messmer and Radagon despise each other 😭). they only regard themselves as Marika's children. at the same time, Messmer respects and trusts Godfrey, which is the closest he'll ever regard anyone else as a father figure.

[crystallizsch]

🐍: —?! Prefect, is everything alrigh-

💜: Don’t- say anything. Please.

(oh lore? below the cut?)

(cw: nightmares, implied death/suicide <- ONLY AT THE END) — 800+ words — I DIDNT REALIZE IT WAS THIS LONG???

━━━━━━✦

the vice housewarden of scarabia, jamil viper, didn't think he'd be bringing the ramshackle prefect to stay over at his room, and much to his roommate's confusion. then again, the roommate knew better than to question his choices.

it was the end of the day and the vice housewarden was on his way back to his dorm after a late-night errand.

what he didn’t expect was the ramshackle prefect coming out of the shadows and tackling him in a hug.

jamil almost threw down the unassuming prefect out of instinctual self-defense.

but the prefect gripped his back as if she was holding on for dear life— quivering, her head buried in his shoulders, holding back sobs, profusely apologizing over and over and over-

“sorry, sorry, sorry—“

the prefect said she had a nightmare.

jamil just froze, entirely confused.

all this because of a dream? what is the prefect even apologizing for other than whatever this is.

━━━━━━✦

jamil didn’t really know what to make of all of this, but it was hard not to pity the state the prefect was in.

pity. that’s the right word.

he only clarified to himself because the word, concern, briefly passed his mind.

it was not concern. why would he be concerned?

and if it weren’t for pity, jamil would have been annoyed instead. he had to admit, he didn’t know which would have been the worse approach, even though he opted for the former.

plus, this was a side to the prefect that the vice housewarden had not seen before.

vulnerable.

very vulnerable.

as if her walls finally fell. and jamil was able to bear witness behind it.

to choose whether or not to step inside those walls is up for debate in his mind.

no, stop it. not again. there was no point in involving himself more with the prefect this time.

jamil could have walked her back to ramshackle. but they were already in the mirror room, and he didn’t feel like making that trek.

or he might have been too tired and too dumbfounded to think.

yeah, those were jamil's excuses.

━━━━━━✦

it’s not like the ramshackle prefect, yuusha tala, understood either. how this all went down.

why the first person she beelined towards was the one who played a part in her nightmare.

why she felt comfort at his mere presence despite recoiling the moment she looks into his eyes.

either because of fear, disgust, or… guilt?

━━━━━━✦

this phenomenon had happened before.

yuusha and ace got off on a horrible foot at the start, deuce was just another guy that got involved with them by chance, and grim was an annoying cat.

and yet, it felt like she’d known them forever despite having only known them a few months.

there was no way they were all that compatible of a friend group to end up that way.

but the soft spot she felt for all three of them was like they were longtime friends in another life.

and now it’s this… bastard. the one yuusha fell head over heels at first only to feel used and betrayed.

why she keeps giving pretty guys a chance like this is beyond her. yuusha knows she won’t learn her lesson for the foreseeable future, however.

━━━━━━✦

in any case, the prefect finds herself resting on the scarabia vice housewarden’s bed when she could have suggested resting in one of the empty rooms instead. to not trouble him any further.

oh wait. jamil could have brought her to another empty room instead. there’s no way that didn’t cross his mind.

did he assume that would bring up memories?

if so, why would he even care?

the scarabia lounge would have been an alternate choice as well. but would it have been considered rude to put a guest there? even though yuusha wouldn’t have mind?

well. that’ll be a topic for another day.

━━━━━━✦

so the night was pretty uneventful. other than the awkwardness.

wait, actually— jamil wanted to bring up how the prefect had the habit of hugging things in her sleep.

namely him.

even when unconscious, the prefect can’t respect personal space.

but then that would bring up the obvious fact that jamil could have easily woken her up and quietly tell her off. and that he didn’t.

because for some strange reason, jamil felt an odd sense of comfort in her warm yet crushing embrace. and thus pretended not to have known instead.

━━━━━━✦

what was the nightmare, so to speak?

yuusha barely remembered all the details.

except for the feeling of the cold wind tearing through her skin, gravity violently pulling her down—

—and the final, haunting vision of a desperate hand reaching out to her, with an intensely horrified look flashing from charcoal grey eyes.

eyes that belong to none other than jamil viper.

[canisalbus]

I think you've mentioned before that after Machete's passing, Vasco would eventually find another partner that he'd live out the rest of his days with. Do you think he'd tell them about Machete at some point? Or would he feel it's safer/easier to keep the stories and memories to himself? If he did tell his partner I'd also understand if he chose to leave out certain details, such as Machete's job, whether it be for general safety or a sense to protect Machete's privacy and reputation even though he's gone

I think the partner Vasco lives the rest of his days with is most likely his platonic wife Ludovica, the one he was already married to at the time he reunited with Machete in their early thirties. I can see him eventually starting to try to see other men again, and he might love them too, but the whole process of trying to open up to other people (after all those years and the way things ended) would be kind of lonely, frustrating and painful for the most part. Chances are none of his subsequent relationships would last very long. He'd probably grow closer to Ludovica and she would do her best to support him. I'm not sure how much of his 10+ years with Machete he'd be able to share with anyone to be honest.

[lady-quen]

"NO! You cannot roast a hotdog over the Commander's personal portal to hell!"

"For the hundredth time it's NOT a portal to hell, Taimi!"

[cementcornfield]

Ja'Marr's grandmother called him Marty 💜

[souenkun]

Judging from these panels, would it mean that there's no other yorishima exorcist that's still alive (since natori said that the yorishima family "was once" a big name, past tense) in the canon timeline, and that the yorishima we know probably ended his family's exorcism business for good by retiring himself? If so, was the reason tied to the youkai living in his left arm, or is there another cause? And when exactly did he retire— was it before or during seiji and shuuichi's high school days, which was why his left arm appeared with the thick bandages when he gave them the loquats in the anime, but he still lived in the estate during that time, or was it after the two became legal adults, which lined up somewhat with him moving into his forest home, abandoning his family estate in favor of living in isolation?

And, speaking of retirement, I wonder if we'll ever know why midorikawa told us that the takis were "famous" (which presumedly meant they were strong enough to be well-known) as occult diviners, since tooru herself only ever mentioned what their previous family business entails, and never about their status in the exorcism community? We don't really need this extra bit if she wanted to further establish how tooru has an aptitude for spell-casting, either. Again, there's another "strong" family (whose members are still alive in canon) that went into retirement, but did the taki family lost their power because the ability to see (if they were needed for diviners) disappeared for at least the last three generations (if we assumed that tooru and isamu's parents couldn't see youkai too), or was it due to another reason? How close was shinichiro (tooru and isamu's grandpa) to the matobas that even the current clan head came to pay his respects during his sixth death anniversary; was his relationship with seiji's father strictly resolved around exorcism business, or was anything else involved? Does tooru herself doesn't fully understand the prowess her family once had, hence why seiji was the one who told takashi (and us readers) about it? What would this tiny bit of lore mean for tooru with it revealed this late into the manga, when tooru herself only talked sparsely about her ancestors in previous chapters?

[demeterdefence]

kept meaning to make a post and kept FORGETTING to because i'm dumb but i cannot stop thinking of all the loose ends / introduced plots that got dropped without any warning and one that has been sticking out is persephone's "new" abilities after she "lost" her powers

we get a lackluster hint in episode 267, when apollo uses some random magic deus ex machina to "restore" persephone's powers. he starts bleeding from the nose and ears.

also apologies for the terrible quality, i forgot that lo went under daily pass and had to scour my own screenshots lmamdgjsf

it's not explained at the time whatsoever and in fact, the vagueness of the narrative kind of half-heartedly implies that it's an effect of ouranos' magic - it's also completely handwaved away, since no one bothers to ask why apollo is suddenly bleeding from the orifices and able to use persephone's powers.

it's not until persephone and hera decide to visit kronos in tartarus that persephone explains she somehow knew all along what this strange power was! she can apparently make a god rot from the inside!!!

it's not explained at ALL how she figured that out or like ... why she has that specific power. it is mentioned during the solstice where she creates winter that she can only make "decay," but that's a pretty obvious and visual thing - she's quite literally blistered the mortal realm in snow and ice, with all the plants dying on their physical surface.

important context, but other than persephone's attack on minthe, she is never seen using her powers on another person. her abilities are always on herself, or using plants / growth in some way. the fertility goddess nonsense does mean that hades and kronos are able to use her powers to strengthen themselves, but beyond that plot point being ridiculous, it's also something they don't just figure out overnight. kronos being able to escape control the underworld, and hades going godzilla mode during the trial, are clues used to eventually figure out what persephone's fertility goddess powers can do.

in regards to her new winter powers, persephone either figured it out somehow before the scene with apollo, or she figured it out after. with no explanation how.

moving from the how, we then get the last mention to this power, when persephone attempts to stop kronos

spoiler: it does not work. the power is never referenced again.

in terms of lore olympus' many crimes, it's a small thing, but it stands out to me as such a flailing attempt to write some wiggle room into the finale. rachel was struggling to get to the end, that much was obvious, and she was padding out the episodes as desperately as she could so that she could pull on any random thread and find a way to keep the plot moving. in better hands, this might have been a legitimately interesting power to explore for persephone! the goddess of spring, capable of rot, capable of such bone-deep destruction, and how she reconciles that with growth. it could have been a powerful juxtaposition, but it got abandoned as soon as rachel figured out how to give persephone her powers back. presumably, persephone still has this ability, but it is literally never brought up again. we have no idea if there was lasting damage to apollo, if it did anything in particular to kronos, what it can do to a god (the assumption is nothing, since both apollo and kronos seem just fine in their final scenes.)

it's just. amazing to go back and look through all the various strings rachel was knotting together, seeing stuff that might have been genuinely fascinating to explore in some other writer's hands! tiny little things like this, added up together to just be crapshoot after crapshoot. it's no surprise at all that rachel finished the last episode barely an hour before it went live. what a mess.

[seiwas]

SEL MY SEL …….. crawling over here for the ask game …………… you already know . who i’m going to ask for phdkdjdkdb IN MY DEFENSE I WILL NEVER GET OVER YOUR VERSION OF HIM !!!!!!!

….. sugu ….. with ’sun’ ……. maybe 👉👈

(🍵 <- a little matcha for your troubles … good luck with the writing exercises my loveee <33 i’m cheering you on!!!)

ARI 🥹🥹🥹🥹 hehe ofc i shall write sugu for u! writing him is always so fun 🥹 thank you for the prompt, and for the matcha!! i will be sipping it as i write this 🥹 it is not a trouble at alllll!! esp if it's for youuuuu 🫶

contains: beautiful, gorgeous, sexy neighbor suguru, mood can be a bit unsettling... honestly a little stockholm syndrome-y (does this count as dark? idk 😭), skewed concept of reality and time

suguru + sun

you move into a new neighborhood on your 24th birthday.

it's a quaint house, fully furnished with wooden panels lining its contemporary build. you consider yourself lucky for finding a place this well-kept at the price point you offered. you're honestly surprised that suguru, your now landlord, accepted your application.

the area sits a few kilometers on the outskirts of the city, but it feels neither too quiet nor too busy; a perfect balance with an impressive view of the rising sun this early in the morning. that, and the people seem friendly, greeting you as they pass by. they even offer to help you haul things out of your car and into the house.

to the right of your house is one that holds the same design elements at yours, although a bit darker in its tones. it's sleek and modern, befitting of a bachelor.

"you must be the new tenant," a voice speaks from behind you, syrupy and smooth. you didn't even hear his footsteps.

when you turn around, you're met with a tall man who greets you with his arms held behind his back as he tilts his head low. there's a calmness that radiates off him, a sort of gentleness that signals he’s someone you can trust.

you nod, introducing yourself with your hand outstretched towards him.

"suguru," he replies as his fingers grab yours delicately. your eyes widen in surprise, recognizing the name, and he merely chuckles in return, a soft laugh that brings out kindness in his eyes.

"i should greet you properly," he lets go of your hand, placing it back behind him. "hello, new neighbor."

.

over shared breakfasts by your porch and impromptu dinners over at his, you grow a liking to suguru. he's polite and thoughtful, often knocking at your door in the mornings to offer you a cup of tea to watch the sunrise.

"you'll only find sunrises like this here," he leans back on the wooden chair you set out as outdoor furniture. his head tilts towards you slightly, impossibly close as you notice the corner of his lips curl up into a small grin.

hues of pinks, purples, and orange blend to illuminate his face perfectly. the sun is beautiful in front you, peeking between clouds as it inches away from the horizon, but something about him is infinitely more magnetic. your stare is immediately drawn to his lips, smooth and supple, before it meets his gaze.

you don't know what's worse―wanting to lean in or be pulled by the look in his eyes.

he fixes things that break in your home, always somehow knowing just when to show up. at first, it was your windows, the one by the attic, too high and dangerous for you to climb; then, it was your kitchen sink, its pipes regurgitating the water going down the drain. he's begun to bring you your groceries too, often asking for a list of what you need when he makes trips out of town.

your days blur easily when you're with suguru, and time passes almost fleetingly as you find your hours filled with soft laughs and touches so delicate you sometimes wonder whether they're real.

it should be noted, you think, how much time has passed since you first met him―an anniversary of some sort.

.

you learn that he owns both houses―his and the one you're currently renting. it once belonged to a friend who had to move for bigger, greater responsibilities elsewhere, he'd said.

"why did you decide on renting?" you ask him one night, over wine and candlelight.

your fingers fiddle with his as he sits you on his lap, this thing between you growing more intimate lately. he rubs his thumb along your thigh, resting his chin by your shoulder.

"you could have sold it or something."

he presses his lips gently on your collarbone.

"i could've," his fingers trail up to your waist, crossing your chest before landing on your chin, cupping it lightly to face him. your heart is hammering in your chest, senses on fire as his nose kisses yours. you think you can count every mole that dots his face beautiful. then, he inches closer, lips grazing yours as he whispers, "but i was waiting for you."

.

you mark each day at sunrise.

your digital clocks and calendars stopped working after some time, but you don't mind. suguru always tells you what date it is when you ask.

this morning, you wake up in his bed, and the sun is still as breathtaking as you remember it, the same pink, purple, and orange hues streaming through his window. when you look closely, the clouds―

"good morning," he brings you tea in bed, his hair topped off with a bun, a half-up-half-down.

your stomach fills itself with something warm and fuzzy as you smile at him, "morning."

"slept well?" his hand reaches for your waist under the duvet, and you giggle, ticklish.

"very," you crane your neck to land a soft kiss on his lips. "what date is it today?"

"october 28," he supplies.

your eyebrows shoot up as you realize, "i have to bring my car to the mechanic."

it's been 6 months now since your last check, right before you moved, and though you barely use your car anyway, it's best to be safe.

you quickly move to get up but suguru's hand keeps you in place, firmly pressed on your waist.

"i'll do it," he says with a smile on his face, "you rest here."

.

you barely see your other neighbors except for the girl who smokes a pack of cigarettes a day and the twins down the street.

when you ask suguru about it, he dismisses the question quickly, saying, "must have moved," as he urges you to take another sip of your tea.

you dream of them that night, on bare streets; it wakes you in a cold sweat, the image of your neighborhood reduced to just your house and suguru's.

.

this is the 200th sunrise since you started counting, which means this is the 200th day since you and suguru officially got together. kind of.

your gift for him is a painting of the sunrise, because it reminds you of him; and because it's become your favorite thing to look forward to, too.

the pinks and purples blend together beautifully as it contrasts with the orange hues, and the sun continues to peak above the horizon as it settles between clouds.

suguru kisses you when you give it to him, the taste of tea right on his tongue.

he frames it on his bedside, and when you wake in his room the next morning, it greets you along with the back of his head, fast asleep.

your eyes flit to the view outside his window, the same pinks, purples, and orange hues. you tilt your head curiously, brows furrowing. the sun stays at the same spot above the horizon, and when you look at the painting again, the clouds hold the same position and shape.

a chill washes over you, your hearbeat pounding.

.

"what date is it today?" you ask suguru as you wash the potatoes in the sink.

another bag of groceries from suguru. now that you think about it, you don't think you've ever gone to the grocery store since moving.

"is it important?" he responds, slightly snappy. you've begun to notice that he hates it when you ask lately.

you eye him from the side.

"i was thinking of preparing a menu of what we'll eat during the holidays, if it's near."

the furrow on his brows smooths out as you give your answer, and so he says, "december 5."

and you know something is wrong, because that can't be it. it doesn't make sense with the sunrises you've counted.

.

you dream again, more and more as the days go by―dirt roads and your house and suguru's, run-down and empty. more things start breaking in your apartment, and suguru always knows when they need to be fixed.

there's a deep, twisting feeling in your stomach that intensifies, festering under your skin; it worsens in the mornings, when you sit with suguru at your porch and you think you see a crack in the sunrise.

.

sunrise valley the place where the sun never sets! ─── beautiful, bright, and destined for people who live just like you! find your new home here.

[DISCONTINUED] — FOR DEMOLITION ON DECEMBER 7. under investigation for suspicious spiritual activity and missing persons.

[puppppppppy]

AND I MET THE CHANGE GOD TOO. OKAY. COOL OKAY

[ohitslen]

College (uni??) AU catering to my own interests as it should always be hehe :)

[dragonsongmakhali]

makhali + khasan's gridanian cottage Mateus | Lavender Beds | W27 | P59 re-opened for visitors! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ