#photographers without borders

[tearsofrefugees]

Goma, Democratic Republic of Congo

Women gather on a hill in the Rusayo camp, home to tens of thousands of war-displaced people, on the outskirts of Goma. Since mid-2022, hundreds of thousands of Congolese have found refuge around Goma after fleeing fighting further north between the Congolese army and the Rwandan-backed M23 rebellion. Every month, more than 2,000 women are treated in camps around the city by Doctors Without Borders after being sexually assaulted, mostly by ‘armed men’ while trying to find food in the surrounding forests and fields.

Photograph: Alexis Huguet/AFP/Getty Images

[butch-bakugo]

Why are vetted accounts sending people stuff like this.

I mean it's clearly copy-pasted and sent to multiple people but this isn't even a donations ask. Imma guess the reason people aren't responding is because you're accusing them of not doing enough for Palestine and sending it to multiple people who you clearly don't check because I've been posting about and for Palestine since oct 7th when I learned about it.

Also yes he is looking for donations, you can check his account and find it. Why are you sending this guilt trippy stuff to people and accusing them of not caring enough? You don't know me? You send these to multiple people so your clearly not checking the account in question. This dose nothing to help you personally or the Palestinian cause, it just pisses people off and makes them question vetters.

[sheltiechicago]

Ballet Without Borders

‘The prototype of a classical ballet dancer usually does not fit the characteristic physique of Peruvians: neck, trunk, arms commonly short, short stature … that should not be a stigma or a barrier.’ This is how Maria del Carmen Silva, a retired professional dancer, explains why she started a ballet school for girls whose families could not afford classes. She wanted to break away from stereotypes and make it inclusive, regardless of money or physique. Currently, 13 girls from the low-income areas of Lima receive free classes at Mari Carmen school

by Magda Gibelli

Helsinki Photo Festival

[sayruq]

unicef estimates that a thousand children in Gaza have become amputees since the conflict began in October. “This is the biggest cohort of pediatric amputees in history,” Ghassan Abu-Sittah, a London-based plastic-and-reconstructive surgeon who specializes in pediatric trauma, told me recently. I met him in the waiting room of his plastic-surgery clinic on London’s Harley Street, and we walked to a nearby pub for a glass of water. Abu-Sittah, a fifty-four-year-old British Palestinian with an angular face and tender, deep-set eyes, has treated child survivors of war for the past thirty years in Iraq, Yemen, Syria, and elsewhere. Abu-Sittah is the author of “The War Injured Child,” the first medical textbook on the subject, which was published last May. In October and November, he spent forty-three days in Gaza, conducting emergency surgeries with Doctors Without Borders. He shuttled between two hospitals: Al-Shifa and Al-Ahli, which is also known as the Baptist hospital. The casualty rate was so high that, during some intense periods, he didn’t leave the operating room for three days. “It felt like a scene from an American Civil War movie,” he said. In Gaza, Abu-Sittah was performing as many as six amputations a day. “Sometimes you have no other medical option,” he explained. “The Israelis had surrounded the blood bank, so we couldn’t do transfusions. If a limb was bleeding profusely, we had to amputate.” The dearth of basic medical supplies, owing to blockades, also contributed to the number of amputations. Without the ability to irrigate a wound immediately in an operating room, infection and gangrene often set in. “Every war wound is considered dirty,” Karin Huster, a nurse who leads medical teams in Gaza for Doctors Without Borders, told me. “It means that many get a ticket to the operating room.” To mark the gravity of these procedures, and to mourn, Abu-Sittah and other medical staff placed the severed limbs of children in small cardboard boxes. They labelled the boxes with masking tape, on which they wrote a name and body part, and buried them. At the pub, he showed me a photograph he’d taken of one such box, which read, “Salahadin, Foot.” Some wounded children were too young to know their own names, he added, telling the story of an amputee who’d been pulled from rubble as the sole survivor of an attack.

[princessbrunette]

prisoner rafe who tells u to send polaroids of the dirty things he makes u do… just for proof

⿻╰🎀 . ִ ۫ ⁎ .

“look, you can put it in an envelope and i’ll be able to get it when i collect my mail. it’s not hard, baby.” rafe stares at you through the glass, gaze so intense it borders on a glare. you’d made the mistake of telling him you had been fucking yourself to stay satisfied, and to a man starved — the news was torture. he needed photographic evidence.

“rafe they go through your mail, the officers are g’nna see all my parts.” you giggle, hoping the protectiveness was enough to wear him down. he scratches his jaw in thought — desperately finding ways to see your pretty pussy again.

“i don’t care about that, alright — just need to see you. ‘know i miss you, right? a lot.”

“i miss you too…” you pout, huffing out your nose. “fine i’ll… i’ll find a way.” you relent and he nods.

“good… good girl, baby. you - you understand right? it’s hell in here without you i … i just need a little something.”

“i’ll make it good for you rafey.” you smile, the secrecy of the whole thing kind of getting you off.

“yeah… i bet you will.”

⿻╰🎀 . ִ ۫ ⁎ .

[admiringlove]

persuasion. the way writing this was kind of hurting me too ugh. anyway here it is, another part of my @angstober event this year. again, sorry for the delay. and please watch out for some very slight nsfw themes. masterlist of the event can be found here.

you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself.

this endless teetering back and forth. like a newton’s cradle, every action meeting an equal and opposite reaction, but never any resolution.

the first time you left was harrowing. painful in ways you hadn’t thought possible. your chest had burned, your hands had trembled, and every step away from him felt like you were leaving parts of yourself behind. the arguments echoed in your head long after, looping endlessly, even though all you’d truly wanted was his arms around you.

toji’s arms.

but he never gave you that, not when it mattered most. he always seemed so far away during those moments, like his mind was locked in some impenetrable place you could never reach. and next to him, you felt small. you felt like a child fumbling for answers, even though there wasn’t much of an age difference between you.

when you left that first time, you’d told him you’d come back for your things later. you couldn’t bear to stay long enough to pack your life away from his. instead, you’d grabbed the clothes scattered across his apartment—an afterthought of intimacy you thought you’d had—and left.

your place wasn’t a home; it was a shell. the silence there was too loud, suffocating in its starkness, reminding you with every passing second what you’d walked away from, and who you hadn’t yet been able to let go.

your room had become a husk, hollowed out of the life it once held. the absence of him pressed against the walls like a shadow, suffocating and stark. his things weren’t strewn across the floor in that careless, maddening way he always managed, nor did that strange, musky scent linger in the air; the one that clung to his clothes and skin, a scent you once loathed but came to crave. he wasn’t sprawled on your bed, that half-smirk pulling at his lips, looking at you like you were the only thing worth devouring. he wasn’t there to drag you down with a grip that bordered on desperate, kissing you like he needed you to breathe.

no, now the room was just a room. the furniture remained, untouched, like a stage after the curtain had fallen. the fake vines tangled along the walls, the band posters clung stubbornly to their place, and the photographs on the desk smiled back at no one. the bookshelves loomed overhead, brimming with stories you didn’t have the energy to revisit. everything was exactly where it should be, and yet, it all felt wrong. lifeless.

the man you loved wasn’t there. fushiguro toji wasn’t there.

that night, you sighed into the darkness, and when the weight in your chest became unbearable, the tears came. quiet at first, then relentless, soaking into your pillow until it felt like drowning. you woke up to the salt of it still clinging to your cheeks and the heavy dampness beneath your face. the idea of going back to his place—to face him, to gather the pieces of the life you’d left behind—was unbearable. a week passed. seven days of silence so loud it fractured you. no rough hand reaching for yours in the dark, no shared laughter echoing from your phone’s glow. no wild thrill of butterflies thrumming beneath your ribs.

without him, the world dulled, fading into muted shades of grey. the sharpness of living—the chaos of loving him—had bled out. and you were sure he was fine. you could give him that much credit. he was always good at holding you just far enough away that he wouldn’t feel the sting if you left. replaceable. that’s what you must’ve been to him.

but he wasn’t. he could never be.

he was a fever, an affliction, something that sank into your bloodstream and burned. without him, there was nothing but withdrawal. the ache, the longing, the torment of wanting something you knew would destroy you.

and so, after a week of circling the inevitable, you found yourself standing at his door again. he opened it halfway, leaning lazily against the frame, that shit-eating grin plastered on his face like it belonged there.

"finally came back, didn't ya?"

you didn’t rise to the bait, your expression deadened by days of sleepless nights and the hollow ache gnawing at your chest. "i came back to get my shit, loser," you muttered, rolling your eyes as you pushed past him. you kicked off your shoes at the door, out of habit more than anything else, and made a beeline for the bathroom with your bag in tow. he followed close behind, trailing after you like a shadow, until he propped himself against the bathroom doorframe. his arms crossed loosely over his chest, that insufferable smirk still tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you.

"yer really takin' everything, huh?" his voice was low, a little rough around the edges, as his gaze flickered to the toiletries you were gathering. you spared him a glance—brief, cautious, like looking at the sun too long might burn you—and quickly looked away. you couldn’t give him more than that. your heart had been steeling itself for this moment all week, and even then, you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

he didn’t have to do much. the way he leaned there, the way his voice curled around the words, the sheer nearness of him was enough to unravel you. you kept an arm’s length between you, refusing to let him cross that invisible line.

you dropped the shampoo and soap bottles into the bag with a heavy sigh, your hands trembling just slightly. "yeah, that’s what people do when they break up," you said, your voice flat, though the weight of the words nearly crushed you.

for a moment, the air stilled, heavy with unspoken tension. then you heard it—soft, deliberate footsteps closing the gap between you. you didn’t turn. you didn’t need to. you felt him before he reached you, his presence looming in the small space like a storm cloud.

his reflection joined yours in the mirror, his dark eyes fixed on your face. he could see it. your defeat, the way your shoulders slumped, the resignation etched into every line of your expression. you’d known, hadn’t you? you’d known exactly how this would go, as if it were scripted, as if you’d walked willingly into his hands.

his arms slid around your waist, slow and deliberate, pulling you into the warmth you’d been trying to escape. his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, his breath soft, his voice softer.

"come on, we aren’t really broken up. are we?"

you swallowed hard, gripping the edge of the sink as if it could anchor you. "yes, we are—"

"i apologized, didn’t i?" his words were gentle, deceptively so, the kind of tenderness you’d begged for in last week’s shouting match. but he hadn’t given it to you then. no, toji saved that tone for moments like this, when you were already teetering, already crumbling.

his ego was insufferable. a goddamned egomaniac, that’s what he was. fushiguro toji, the man who knew exactly when to break you down and when to scoop up the pieces, holding them just tight enough that you didn’t slip away.

just like that, you ended up in his bed again. the grey hoodie you’d worn lay discarded on the floor, forgotten, as cold unrelenting air seeped through the open window. it didn’t matter—not when he moved the way he did, reckless and punishing, slamming into you like he was trying to shatter something inside you.

as if he knew exactly what he was doing. as if he knew he was breaking your mind beyond repair.

and you’d gone back. over and over, swearing each time would be the last. it never was, though, was it? the only difference between you and toji was that you loved him for all his broken pieces, while he only cared for moments like these—animalistic, primal, and starving.

how many times had you come back to him? how many times had he been conveniently nearby when the weight of your breakdowns became too much to bear? you’d stopped counting after fifteen—somewhere between your pride and his grin, the numbers blurred together.

and now here he was again, in your room, in your bed. the very bed where you’d spent sleepless nights imagining him after you left. it was almost poetic, in the cruelest way.

you looked down at him, your hands resting lightly on his chest as you straddled him, your breaths still uneven. his grunts had quieted now, replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing, and his arms wrapped around you with a familiarity that made your stomach twist. you were bare to him in every way that mattered, as you always were.

"we can’t keep doing this," you sighed, slipping off of him and onto the bed to lay beside him. your chest rose and fell heavily as you stared at the ceiling, your thoughts spinning.

he tilted his head, a flicker of amusement crossing his face before he rolled his eyes. "ya say that, but then ya call me in the middle of the night for a quick fuck."

his words hit like a slap, but you didn’t flinch. instead, you turned away, pulling the blanket over yourself as if it could shield you from his gaze. "i mean it this time," you murmured, your voice soft but resolute.

he scoffed lightly, a sound that grated against your nerves, but you didn’t look back at him. instead, you closed your eyes, letting the silence stretch between you.

"when you leave this time," you said quietly, "you won’t see me again."

your words hung heavy in the air, the finality of them sinking in even as you felt the mattress shift under his weight. but whether he believed you or not didn’t matter anymore—you were done trying to convince him, or yourself.

"come on, seriously, not this again," he groans, dragging a hand through his hair, the exasperation in his voice palpable. "we had such a good time, and now you wanna dampen the mood with this shit—"

"fushiguro," your voice cuts through his complaint like a blade, sharper and more commanding than it’s ever been. it makes him pause, his spine straightening on instinct, his eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge whether you’re serious.

but you are. more serious than you’ve ever been. "i can’t keep doing this with you. it might be amusing for you, but it’s killing me. yeah? we had a good run."

those words—we had a good run—hit you as hard as they hit him. the taste of them feels foreign in your mouth, bitter and heavy. you never thought you’d say that to him. not to toji, not to the man you still loved with a depth you couldn’t articulate, more than you’d ever admit, more than he’d ever understand. your heart fractures as you sit there, each crack spreading deeper when you see his face harden.

he doesn’t say anything. not right away. instead, he gets up from the bed, the mattress shifting as his weight leaves it, and strides toward the desk chair where his clothes are piled in a careless heap. His movements are brisk, almost robotic, but the slight clench of his jaw betrays the simmering frustration beneath the surface.

"i’ll wait for yer text," he mutters, tugging on his tight black shirt in one swift motion. the fabric clings to his frame, the same way it did hours ago when you first saw him, but now it feels suffocating.

you turn your gaze away. you can’t watch him like this—not when the sight of him could undo everything you’d just resolved. "i blocked your number, remember?" you remind him, your voice flat but steady. "it’s why you came here today."

he freezes for a fraction of a second, the realization dawning on his face. "oh," he mumbles, his tone subdued. "okay. i’ll wait for you to unblock me, then."

"no, you won’t," you reply firmly, forcing yourself to look at him now. every word feels like dragging glass through your throat, but you press on. "this was the last time. it’s not happening again."

his eyes flicker, a brief flash of something you can’t quite place—irritation? disbelief? something deeper he’d never admit?—before he scoffs, shaking his head as if dismissing your declaration entirely. "whatever you say, doll."

"toji." his name falls from your lips with a weight that makes him stop. you sigh, sitting up straighter on the bed. the loose shirt you’d thrown on clings to your body in awkward folds, and your cheeks burn with an unwelcome warmth. you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to hold it this time. "close the door on your way out, yeah? and leave the spare key."

he blinks at you, as if processing the words takes more effort than it should. for a moment, his posture stiffens, his jaw tightens, and you think he might argue—but he doesn’t. instead, he nods. a single, awkward bob of his head, so uncharacteristic of him that it leaves you momentarily disoriented.

you watch as he moves toward the door, his steps slower now, almost uncertain. his broad shoulders seem to hunch slightly, his usual confidence replaced with something hesitant. when he reaches the corridor, his hand hovers over the gold-colored doorknob, suspended in mid-air.

he pauses there, turning his head to glance at your living room. it’s the same space he’s been in countless times, but now, it feels foreign to him—as if he’s unsure where to place himself, unsure if he’s allowed to linger any longer.

then he looks back at you, his dark eyes locking with yours. there’s something in them you don’t want to decipher, something too raw and too late. your mouth goes dry, but you manage a tight-lipped smile, awkward and full of finality.

he doesn’t say goodbye. doesn’t say anything. he just turns back to the door, his movements slow and deliberate as he opens it, the faint creak of the hinges cutting through the silence.

and then, without a second glance, he steps out.

the sound of the door clicking shut feels deafening. final. like the last note of a song you wish you could replay but know you never will.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎTied With a Ribbon౨ৎ꣑ৎ

౨ৎ꣑ৎ12 Days of Christmas Masterlist౨ৎ꣑ৎ [fem reader] contains: kidnapping, angst pairing: fem reader x billy the kid summary: christmas with billy, fish, and willow author’s note: a kidnapping fic for you in honor of christmas! thank you for reading this month darlings <3 <3 Spotify Playlist

My dearest, Billy,

I've missed you terribly from the second you left me, but right now it feels different. Christmas is nearly here, and I only wish that you're safe and well. My heart couldn't bear it otherwise.

I've included the photograph of myself you've requested. It warms my heart that you want to keep me so close when you're wherever you may be. When you come back I can't wait to smother you in kisses and hold you close again. The door is always unlocked for you my love, in our little corner of heaven.

Every time you return, I hope this will be the time you're able to stay. And I won't give up hope this time, darling. You're worth waiting for, worth hoping for.

All my love.

Your letter was burning a hole in his pocket, a string practically attached to his beating heart. The picture you'd sent was lovely, and your eyes seemed to sparkle through the black and white. He wished he had one to send back.

Whenever work called him away he was reluctant to go, to leave you in your cozy cabin with snow frosting the roof. Before his departure, he'd made sure to pile firewood inside, determined not to let you freeze. His heart was also eased by the fact that he wasn't leaving you alone.

The cats were a great source of comfort to you, and they had been ever since they'd been brought home. Willow, the calico, was a sweetheart, always cozying up beside Billy when he came home. Fish, of sleek, black as midnight fur, was a different story. He glued himself to you, hardly leaving your side. He seemed to have a vendetta against Billy, which was normally annoying, but he was glad something was protecting you now.

Cool wind sharpening his cheeks, Billy tugged at the reins of his horse, trying to move him impossibly faster. You were at the end of this road, and he was determined to make it home. Christmas Eve was today, and it'd put him in a certain mood. You weren't expecting him home, but he'd finished up early, wanting to spend Christmas with his girl.

There was a shift in the air as he made a turn into the forest, the atmosphere silent save for the hooves of his horse in the snow. Frowning, Billy tried to gain back the spirit he'd had all the way here. He summoned the image of you warm in your shared bed, swaddled in blankets with the cats purring at your side, but they did not bring him the comfort they usually offered.

He was cautious as he wove through the trees, trying to find the source of his discomfort. You were safe. Weren't you? When Billy had begun to leave you by yourself, he'd taught you how to use a gun and left one with you, in your bedside table. It was the best he could do.

Despite this, he treaded carefully, trying to rid himself of the anxieties that suddenly plagued him. It was somewhat easy until he spotted the drop of red in the snow.

All the air escaping his lungs, Billy fled the scene, running to make it to you. The second the cabin came into view, he threw himself off his horse, legs carrying him the rest of the way. Your name echoed in his head the whole way, giving him energy to make it without giving out.

The door was half open, and Fish was on the porch, eyes blown wide. He meowed, the sound bordering on distress, and Billy bounded up the stairs into the house. Blood dotted the floor, and his chest constricted. Willow was wandering around, and she meowed at Billy when she heard him. He swore there was distress on her little face.

"Hey." Billy knelt, letting her come to him. When she rubbed against his knee, he exhaled, petting her gently. "It's okay sweetie, it's okay." Standing, he called your name, heart still pounding. then again, to no response. When he entered the bedroom, the covers were thrown aside, the bedside drawer half open. And...

The gun on the floor, stray bullets aside.

No.

Panting, Billy practically tore apart the house, calling for you. "Baby? It's me! It's okay!" The silence was making him crazy, and he panted, stumbling outside. Fish was still on the porch, eyes on the horizon. Once Billy spotted the red in the snow like before, he scooped Fish up, setting him inside and shutting the door despite his meowing.

There were other hoof prints in the snow, and he strained his eyes to see them, noting the faint red surrounding. It could have been the blood of whoever had taken you, but his mind was swimming.

His horse had wandered back, a testament to the loyalty of the animal. Billy took in a shuddering breath, petting the horse's nose and trying to sort out his thoughts. He half thought it out before hoisting himself up onto the saddle, casting one last look at the house before riding off. The cats would be fine, and he was going to have you back before sundown.

Following the hoofprints was a shot in the dark, but it was the only one he had. His heart jolted at the occasional dot of red, but he pressed forward. Over and over, he tried to sort out who would do this. Who would dare kidnap his sweet girl, a person who'd never done wrong in her life? You weren't ever supposed to see this side of his life, and now you were swimming in it.

The footprints led to a gaping mouth in a hill what felt like miles away. There were horses outside, and he tensed at the trail of scarlet leading inside. Pulling out his gun, Billy dismounted and peered around the corner, keeping his steps quiet. Pausing at the entrance, he tried to make out the sounds.

Whimpering. He felt a pang in his chest, but recognized it as a good sign. You were here. You were alive. Tying his horse in a nearby thicket of trees, Billy crouched down, peering through the leaves.

He waited until the men's voices ceased and became quieter, ducking out of sight when they got closer.

"She wasn't any help," one grumbled, and Billy crouched lower behind the trees, frozen still.

"Guess we'll have to check up north again. Somebody's gotta know where he is." A horse whinnied, and Billy held tight to his gun.

"Kinda feel bad 'bout leavin' her here." Boots on the ground, then the rustling of a saddle.

"'S not like this is worse 'n followin' the Kid around," the other one said. With a crack, hoofbeats sounded, and then he heard them no more.

Billy waited awhile, longer than he wanted to, but he knew getting caught would be worse than you waiting a few minutes longer.

When he was sure the coast was clear, he snuck carefully into the cave, looking around to make sure nobody was waiting inside. It wouldn't be the first trap he'd walked into. He didn't have to walk far before seeing you.

Tied up with scratches showing through your torn dress, you were slumped against the cold wall of the cave, shivering with your hair falling over your face. He approached you slowly, not wanting you to be startled by his sudden appearance. "Baby?" He spoke softly, breathing out when you lifted your head.

Tears both old and new streaked your face, and he reached out to cup it, smiling softly when you leaned into his touch. Billy was gentle, voice quiet as he undid your binds. "Hey, sweetheart. Hey, it's okay now. I'm here. I'm gonna get you out."

You mumbled, seeming distressed. "Billy...Billy you're here?"

"I'm here," he promised, pushing the ropes to the side and gathering you into his arms. "Oh, my sweet girl," he breathed, stroking your hair as he held you close. "I'm so sorry this happened. Ain't ever gonna happen again." Lifting you up, Billy tried to soothe you, at the same time as getting you out as soon as possible. He kissed your head, still wary of the surroundings.

Managing to make it out without getting either of you killed, he lifted you to sit on his horse, mounting behind you and keeping a steady arm around your waist. Clicking his tongue, he guided the horse forward, making sure to rub your side every little bit. You didn't say a word the whole way home, slumped into Billy's chest with your eyes shut.

Arriving home, he swung you off the horse and into his arms, gratitude made him hold you closer. Your rescue had been quick, and he hadn't had to end any lives over it even though he would have done so in a heartbeat. You were here with him, safe in his arms, and he would never let anything hurt you again.

The location was compromised now- he knew that. But the men who'd taken you were far away for now, and they likely would be for awhile. Billy silently made plans to contact his gang, to take care of it so they'd never again be able to darken your doorstep. But for now, he had you home, and he was going to get you all better.

He didn't let your feet touch the ground, climbing the porch steps and managing to open the door. The cats came forward instantly, Fish meowing up at you in a way that broke Billy's heart.

Objective in mind, he carried you to the bedroom, laying you down and kneeling to look at your arms and legs. You were perfectly still, as he looked over you, eyes almost blank.

Billy exhaled softly, squeezing your knee. "Alright. Alright, baby. We're gonna clean you up, alright? I'll be right back." As he got up to leave, both Fish and Willow brushed past him, jumping on the bed. He smiled to himself, happy they'd be there for company and distraction.

Returning with a wet rag, Billy held it to your scratches, wincing along with you as he cleaned off the blood. "I know. I know, sweetheart. But you're gonna be okay." Fish rubbed against your arm, and you ran your fingers through his fur.

Willow settled against your leg as Billy lifted your torn dress over your head, replacing it with your favorite of his shirts. His movements were gentle, and he kept an eye on you as he removed his own clothes, opting for his sleep pants and no shirt so he could hold you to his chest.

You cuddled right against him when he got in to bed and opened his arms, and he pulled the blankets right over you as the cats got comfortable. Rubbing your side, he whispered, "I'm sorry, baby. I shoulda come home earlier-"

"I should have used the gun," you murmured, nuzzling into him. "I froze and-"

Billy shook his head, kissing your hair and snuggling you closer. "You didn't do a single thing wrong, sweetheart." Stroking your head, he said, "'m just glad I got to you in time."

"I didn't know you were coming home," you smiled softly, hand splayed on his chest, fingers rubbing lightly. "You're here."

"Wanted to surprise you," he mumbled, and you giggled softly. He relished at the sound, happy that your place in his arms had been reclaimed. Willow meowed above his head, and he reached up to give her a little pet. "You too."

"I love you," you mumbled, and he rubbed your back gently, wanting you to get some rest. There was still much to go over, but he'd save it for later. It wasn't the time, and you still needed to recover.

"I love you," Billy repeated, touching his lips to your forehead. Turning his head, he smiled at the sight of snow falling on the other side of the window. Almost Christmas at last. And he was right where he wanted to be- with his girl in his arms and the cats purring above your heads. Rubbing your side, he murmured, "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

"You're the best gift I've ever been given, Billy," you mumbled, already half asleep. He smiled against your head, tempted to echo the sentiment, but your breathing was slowing and he didn't want to interrupt your body's rest.

On Christmas morning, he would show you his gift, a little box buried beneath his shirts with a promise of forever accompanying it. He would revel in the joy of the day and kiss you without mistletoe and be grateful a thousand times over that you were here and you were his. And that he could protect you.

You were his star, his angel. No gift could ever be as good as the one he'd hardly earned.

[moonxytcn]

I'll protect you. I promise. | part two

Billie Eilish x fem!reader

inspired by the song "The Diner" by Billie

part one - part two

summary – you have a stalker, but Billie is there to protect you, always watching and always there

warnings – angst, fluffy if you squint your eyes, stalker, a little paranoia, and a slight feeling of being watched

English is not my first language so there may be some errors.

˗ˋˏ masterlist

–––

Weeks passed, and Billie’s obsession with you became more apparent. She insisted on knowing where you were at all times, constantly checking your location. Her calls and messages were incessant, and she visibly tensed whenever she couldn't find you. It was suffocating, but you tried to rationalize it as her way of showing how much she cared.

Billie continued to treat you with affection and love, but there was a darker undertone to her behavior. She often recounted her survival stories, how she had to take extreme measures to protect those she loved. Each time she mentioned it, a chill ran down your spine, but you tried to dismiss the unease.

One evening, after a particularly intense day of classes and studying, you and Billie were on the couch, watching a movie. She pulled you closer, her arms wrapping around you with a firmness that bordered on possessive.

“I love you so much.” She whispered, her voice heavy with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I love you too, Billie.” You responded, but doubts lingered in your mind.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed. It was a message from an unknown number:

We need to talk. You deserve to know the truth about Billie. – Daniel

Your heart raced, and you felt Billie’s gaze on you. “Who is it?” She asked, her voice casual but tinged with concern.

“Nothing important.” You lied, putting the phone away.

Billie narrowed her eyes but didn’t press. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“Of course.” You said, forcing a smile. “I know.”

The messages from Daniel kept coming over the next few days. He insisted you needed to know the truth about Billie, that she was hiding more than you could imagine. Finally, you gave in and agreed to meet him at a secluded café off-campus.

When you arrived, Daniel was already there, sitting in a dark corner. He seemed nervous, glancing around constantly. When he saw you, his eyes softened slightly.

“Thanks for coming.” He said, gesturing for you to sit.

“Make this quick.” You said, anxiety clear in your voice. “What do you want?”

“Billie isn’t who you think she is.” Daniel began, his voice low and urgent. “She’s done terrible things. And she won’t stop.”

“I know about her past.” You retorted. “She told me.”

Daniel shook his head. “She told you enough to keep you close. But there’s more. She’s not just trying to redeem herself. She’s… obsessed with you.”

You felt a chill run down your spine but kept your expression steady. “Why do you care?”

“Because I was there.” Daniel replied, his gaze dark. “I saw what she’s capable of. She’s hurt me before, and she’ll do the same to you if you’re not careful.”

“You expect me to just believe you?” You asked, your voice filled with distrust.

Daniel sighed. “I brought proof.” He slid a thick envelope across the table. “Read this when you’re alone.”

Before you could respond, he got up and left the café quickly. You looked at the envelope, fear and curiosity warring within you.

Back at Billie’s apartment, you waited until she was in the shower to open the envelope. Inside, you found a series of documents, photographs, and letters detailing Billie’s past activities. There were reports of violence, manipulation, and even death.

Your heart grew heavy as you read, tears streaming down your face. The man in the café had been right. There was much more to Billie than she had told you.

When Billie emerged from the shower, she found you sitting on the couch, the empty envelope beside you. “What’s this?” She asked, her tone cautious.

“Daniel.” You said, your voice weak. “He gave me this.”

Billie looked at the documents, her face turning pale. “I can explain.” She said quickly.

“You lied to me.” You said, your voice trembling. “You said it was to survive, but this… this is much more.”

Billie knelt before you, tears in her eyes. “I did what I had to do to protect those I loved. I never wanted to hurt you. I only wanted to protect you.”

“Protection? Or control?” You asked, the pain evident in your voice.

“I love you.” Billie whispered. “I would never do anything to hurt you. Please, believe me.”

You looked at her, your mind a turmoil of emotions. Despite everything, you still loved Billie. But now you knew the truth, and it changed everything.

“I need time.” You finally said, your voice filled with sadness. “To think. To process all this.”

Billie nodded, her tears falling freely. “I understand. I’ll wait for you. Always.”

You stood up and left, leaving Billie on her knees on the floor, her heart broken. As you walked through the dark streets, the full moon shining above, you wondered if you could ever forgive Billie – and if you could ever trust her again.

But even as you struggled with your feelings, you couldn’t deny the truth. Billie loved you, in a deep and desperate way. And despite everything, a part of you still wanted to believe that somehow, you could find your way back to each other.

(...)

In the following days, you and Billie began to rebuild trust. Billie opened up more about her dark past, sharing details she had previously hidden. She talked about the dangerous people she got involved with, the things she had to do to survive, and how she always regretted her actions. Each revelation was a blow, but also a bridge to deeper understanding between you.

Billie remained obsessively protective, but now you saw it for what it truly was: a manifestation of her fear of losing you. You set clear boundaries, insisting she respect your space and independence. Slowly, she learned to trust you more, to understand that true love couldn't flourish without freedom.

In the days that followed, you noticed that Daniel continued to try to reach out. He sent messages and attempted to arrange meetings, but you decided not to respond. You didn't want any more secrets; you wanted to resolve things directly with Billie.

One night, Billie suggested you go for a walk together, something she had always avoided out of fear of exposing you to danger. She was determined to show you she could change, that she could be the person you deserved.

As you walked through the park, Billie held your hand tightly. The full moon illuminated your path, and there was a moment of peace you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I know it took me a while to be completely honest.” Billie said, breaking the silence. “But I’m trying. And I’ll keep trying, every day, for you.”

“I know.” You replied, squeezing her hand. “And I’m here, with you. We’ll get through this together.”

The night was calm, but you felt a pair of eyes watching you. A shiver ran down your spine. You quickly turned around, but saw no one. Billie noticed your tension and stopped, looking around cautiously.

“It’s okay.” She whispered, trying to reassure you. But you knew she was equally alert.

The walk continued without incident, but the feeling of being watched didn’t leave. When you finally returned to the apartment, Billie locked the door with extra care.

Once inside, the atmosphere softened. Billie prepared a light meal, and you dined together, the conversation flowing more easily than before. There was a renewed intimacy, a connection that seemed stronger because of the obstacles you were overcoming.

At the end of the night, Billie pulled you onto the couch and wrapped her arms around you, her eyes shining with an intense love, now tempered with a new understanding.

“Thank you for giving me a chance.” She murmured. “I know it’s not easy.”

“I’ve made mistakes too.” You admitted. “And we’re both learning. The important thing is that we’re together in this.”

She kissed you softly, her lips conveying a silent promise of a better future. And for the first time in a long while, you felt that maybe, just maybe, you could overcome anything – as long as you were together.

But as you closed your eyes and snuggled into Billie’s arms, a small voice in the back of your mind reminded you of the shadows that still loomed. Daniel was still out there, and Billie’s past could still bring consequences. You just hoped that when the time came, your love would be strong enough to face whatever came your way.

[gerardpilled]

The Lesbian Carjackers

Above is one of the few existing photographs of a lesbian couple that committed a series of carjackings across the United States in the early 1990s. According to found diary entries and family testimonies, the couple met one summer at a Christian based summer camp and would soon begin a passionate affair. Once returning to their respective homes, the couple would exchange letters which soon turned to plotting their escape from their conservative households to the relative safety of suburban Canada.

In September of 1993, one of the women stole the first car in their collective home state of Florida. She then drove through the night to reach the other's town approximately 3 hours north. The two then began their cycle which would continue relatively unnoticed for nearly a month. According to police records of reported missing cars, the couple was in no rush in their crime, and would frequently use wallets found in stolen cars to rent expensive hotel rooms in cities out of the way from their planned destination. Police would often find missing vehicles without gas, implying the couple would simply move on once it ran out. It is believed the couple reached the Canadian border in early November of the same year.

This photo was emailed to a close friend over a year later. It is believed the two legally changed names once settled which has led to inability to track any potential whereabouts. Canada legalized same-sex marriage in 2005 which sparked new interest in the case when many claimed to have seen the couple formalizing their marriage in a government building outside of Toronto.

[rinnsverse]

MY MODEL: PG.12 - im working, bitch

MY MODEL: jing yuan x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: seems like the Xianzhou has hired a freelance photographer to help with their new magazine. however, this model seems to have fallen head over heels for a certain photographer - what exactly is their story?

my model master list || prev. || next

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 8 2023 — 4:29 PM

FIDDLING WITH THE settings of your camera, you hear heavy footsteps approach — the dirt path crunching with every step made. Lifting your camera along with your head, you see a familiar shade of amber looking into your camera's lens with a glimmer of amusement in them.

Smiling softly at the sight of him, you take a picture of him right then and there.

"Has the photoshoot already started?" Jing yuan jests as you open your other eye to see him properly, without the white grid bordering his face.

"Nope, just wanted a new contact photo for you," you reply, clicking your cameras buttons to pull up the newest photo you took. "Not bad, right?" you turn your back to Jing yuan and raise your camera so he can no longer see the picture properly.

Leaning over your shoulder — breath tickling your ear lobe and your cheek — his baritone voice humming in your ear, "Mhm, it looks nice."

Feeling the tips of your ears burn, you play off the smile encroaching on your face by thanking him for his praises. "So what do you wanna do first? Do you feel like laying in the field, or maybe holding some of the flowers? Which do you prefer?"

"Picking the flowers would be amusing, as we just did that last week," Jing yuan chuckled, following your footsteps further into the flower field.

"I think here is good," you say, grasping your camera.

Humming in agreement, he kneels down closer to the flowerbed as if admiring them. Smiling at the sight, you snap a photo of the back of his head looking down at the flowers below your feet; he looks over his shoulder, giving you a smirk and a hand reaching out.

Thinking nothing of it, you place your palm onto his unbeknownst to the outcome of your actions. Letting out a yelp as he pulls you into the flowerbed with him, managing to clutch onto your camera at the last moment.

Your impact on him forced Jing yuan to sit fully on the grass, hand no longer holding yours but instead steadying your shoulder as your head rested close to his chest. The rest of your body laying on the ground between his legs.

Jing yuans deep laugh filled your ears as you were able to smell the earthy scent much easier now that you were closer to the ground. "Why are you like this?" you exclaim, your head leaving his chest to stare at him face to face with your hands gripping his shoulders.

"The urge was simply to big to resist," he simply states with a lazy grin on his face that most definitely established that he held no regrets.

Rolling your eyes at his response, you hastily get up (from essentially his lap), brushing of the dirt off your clothes. Grumbling, "I'm working, bitch."

FINDING COMFORT IN the shade of a nearby tree, you admire Jing yuan from a distance. He was once more kneeling in the flower field, his amber eyes matching the glow of the sun perfectly.

You mentally argue with yourself on whether or not to take a photo, but that decision has already been made up for you as the model stood up with something new added to his silhouette. "Close your eyes!" his voice calls out.

"I'm scared," you say, closing your eyes nonetheless.

"Are they closed?"

"Yes."

"Good," he replies, voice now much closer than before.

The only thing your senses picked up on was the sound of Jing yuan's shoes stepping on the dirt path to the tree you were under and the smell of the flowers that surrounded every direction.

After a moment, you hear a gentle, "Open."

Blinking once, then twice to become adjusted to the sun's light once more, you're met with makeshift bouquet of daisies being offered to you. "Well?" he asks, eyes scanning your face for your reaction to his gift.

You were helpless against the smile that grew on your face, a light-hearted laugh escapes your lips, "Let me take a picture first."

The sun's rays fell perfectly against the folds of his clothes; the soft white petals of the daisies practically blending in with his shirt. Your camera clicked at the sight, looking down at the digital screen you see the results, "Nice."

"We should get one more," you say, looking at Jing yuan for his opinion on it. He only stares at you blankly, blinking once as if asking you a question in return. Glancing back down into his hand, you softly scoff at his antics and take the freshly made bouquet.

His lips quirk up into a smile, nodding his head in agreement as to what you said prior.

“Cool, now get your ass up on that swing,” you deadpan, pointing your free hand up at the swing made of simply wood and rope hanging from the trees sturdy branch; swaying slightly due to the wind.

“Alright,” he nodded once more, sitting on the swing; kicking his feet on the grass to start swinging on his own.

Stepping back, you lifted your camera to your face with the only thing that could be heard was the chirping of birds and the click of your cameras buttons.

EDITORS NOTES: so… how’ve y’all been ?

TAGLIST: @zyphyrr @ohmyfinggod @not-creativequill @klemen-time @nekobluecute @theautisticduck @aixaingela @kokocae @imma-too-many-fandoms @ceylestia @lunavixia @queencybow @arraxthatsonjah @kiiyoooo @immahuman @ksnu @mael1pastry @kamikokii @rain-and-a-nice-nap @havingnonamesucks @forsh4dow @boomie-123 @ukiyo-ikigai @saetoshi @whatamoodhoney @xiaossocksniffer @sxftiebee @poemzcheng @yawnzbf @organeatter @keirennyx @velovicy @superdark-soul @r4yyyyy @fakeblondies [ if you want to be added, send me an ask or feel free to comment! ]

[cyber-dump-171]

Chapter 3: Insomnia

Objection! Stand your ground! Marvelous! (Twisted Wonderland x Reader)

← Chapter 2 | Masterlist | Chapter 4 →

Word count: 5.3 k.

WARNING: N/A

Note: apologies that this took so long to upload! Thank you for the likes, reblogs, and comments! This chapter is based on chapter 2 of the manga “Disney Twisted Wonderland - Episode of Heartslaby

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The walk towards the vacant dorm is rather quiet, save for the few times you hear Yuuken’s equipment shifting inside his gym bag and Fígaro asking some questions to the crow man, whom you know learned his name is Dire Crowley. You, on the other hand, take some time to cool down, to shut your brain down from the constant downpour of negative and detrimental thoughts, and instead, focus your attention on the fantastical environment.

Night Raven College feels like it came straight out of one of the young adult novels you read. You can even imagine the story of the young protagonist facing challenges, and fighting against monsters and enemies while keeping their school life afloat. A cheesy novel, but damn, you're a sucker for those stories.

A cobblestone path leads the way, moss and dirt seeping into the cracks, countless orange, red, and yellow leaves fall from Hawthorn and Maple trees planted at the border of the path and as the cold wind passes by the branches, they bump into each other and create a lulling melody. The courtyard is empty, save for a few students in robes running toward their dorms or faculty members returning to the gigantic castle, carrying stacks of documents and portfolios. 

The atmosphere is calm, it’s such a whiplash from the tumultuous event you experienced mere minutes ago. Everything feels completely surreal, it’s as if you just became hyper-aware of your surroundings and everything that your body is experiencing. It feels strange to walk, to think, even to breathe. So much for quieting your thoughts.

Your hand automatically wanders towards your pants' back pocket, seeking the comfort of your technological device. Your feet move forward without much thought, your attention shifting to mildly paying attention to the three men in front of you as your right thumb presses rather harshly on the power button, your lock screen flashing brightly and creating a small source light on this chilly night.

The hour and date on your phone are frozen, it doesn’t move a second forward or backward, on the top right corner a large “X” sits on top of the empty gray reception bars right next to the battery that showcases it only has 89% left. What brings you comfort is the photograph that sits behind your notifications of unread messages and social media updates. It was from a recent three-day school trip to Katsurahama a few days before finals, when your friend and desk neighbor, Momoko Umemoto, dragged you to see the recently inaugurated jellyfish display inside Katsurahama Aquarium.

"Momo, they're not going to run away or disappear, you know?" you laugh at your friend's palpable excitement as she tries to weave you and herself through the crowd of students from your school. 

Her freshly manicured hands gently but firmly grasp your right hand as she drags you towards the aquarium, though she paused momentarily at your comment, her blue eyes swiveling to look at you, a pout forming on her glossy lips. "Shush! I want a good picture before we can't reach the glass!"

You highly doubt that your classmates are as excited to see the fish as you are, as you study their bored and sleepy faces. Most of them have already left for the beach, floaties and coolers in hand, while others have found their seats in the restaurants near the shore after the teachers gave orders to stay in the area and promptly dismissed everyone, the elders walking towards the open bar.

In reality, you know that the gyaru is excited to see for the first time in person the cnidarian creatures that you have seen in books since you were both little. You can't blame her, sea creatures are fascinating and the excitement is eating away at your stomach to see what other unique species are in the aquarium.

You mumble a few excuses as you bump into a guy who's too engrossed in his phone to move out of the way, while Momoko pulls you towards the building, entering the large glass doors and you sigh as the air conditioning inside kisses your warm skin. At a fast pace, the two of you don't stop to admire the other fish as you navigate the winding corridors of the building, you'll do that later.

Finally, as if connected, your eyes find a standing sign, blue and teal construction paper letters spelling out "Jellyfish Exhibit →" accompanied by an adorable paper handmade crystal jelly. In a matter of seconds, your walk turns into a full sprint as you both giggle loudly, interlacing your fingers, excitement bubbles inside you as the room with various glass cases and blue lights comes into view.

You feel like a little kid again. How long has it been since you felt like this? Carefree and excited? It's been so long that even as a child, weighed down by responsibilities and forced independence, that feeling of pure happiness was absent. You can only count with a single hand the fleeting moments that recreate that warm feeling you're feeling right now.

The two of you come to a stop, hands still clasped together, taking in your surroundings. Black sea nettle, lion's mane, blue blubber, Japanese sea nettle, and Mediterranean jellies move in a hypnotic dance in the various glass cases. Their long limbs stretch as far as they can reach and their heads, also known as bells, bob and stretch in different directions, dictating their path.

But what catches your eye is the small glass case of moon jellies. They're ethereal, their translucent, milky-white bells a clear reminder of Earth's only natural satellite, the one that comforts you on lonely nights as you gaze at the starry sky. Momoko lets go of your hand as she pulls out her cell phone to take a few pictures; you copy the same action but focus on the small creatures in front of you.

Minutes pass as the two of you bask in the calm atmosphere of the room, you and Momoko now stand side by side, watching the jellyfish in their natural state. Outside you hear the muffled conversations of passersby and the heavy footsteps of children running through the aquarium.

Suddenly, Momoko’s arm shoots up from her side and quickly grabs your shoulder opposite to her, pulling your body as you place your hand on the middle of her back. You bump your head against hers, smelling the cardamom and vanilla perfume she sprayed on during the bus ride to the beach and you find your eyes reflected on her phone screen as she gives the camera a wide smile. “Say cheese, (Y/N)!”—

Immersed in your thoughts, you fail to notice the trio has stopped in front of a pair of worn gates until you end up crashing into a certain blonde man's back, your phone being crushed against your chest. "Daydreaming, dear (Y/N)?" in a melodic yet teasing tone, Fígaro chuckles as he looks at you over his shoulder. His icy blue eyes stare intently at you and it makes you feel miniscule, as if you were being examined under a microscope.

This man is starting to unnerve you. During the long walk to the dormitory, you noticed several times out of your peripheral vision that Fígaro's icy blue eyes were like pinballs, his gaze drifting from you to Yuuken to the path ahead before repeating the same pattern after a few minutes. He only stopped watching you when Crowley piped up with a question or when Fígaro became curious about something.

You think that maybe he's being cautious around you, examining you and the kendo student to get a good idea of how you behave. But a small thought inside your brain tells you that it's something else because he doesn't seem to be on guard when he's around you, or even to hide his expression like he did when you told him about the missing people.

"Shit, sorry," out of embarrassment and flustered by the way he addressed you, a red blush spreads across your cheeks and you quickly put your phone back in your pocket, skidding away from the man. On the contrary, Fígaro relishes in your sudden awkwardness, wanting to tease you further to get more out of you but his bones are still aching from the fall and he’s in desperate need of a bath. He’ll save it for later.

Instead, he simply chuckles once more before gently poking your forehead with his index finger. “Come now! Just a bit more and you can dream as much as you want,” with that, he turns on his heel before walking towards Crowley, who fiddles with an antique keyring while murmuring under his breath.

“Well, we’re here! What do you think?” the crow man announces before returning to the task at hand. Your eyes scan the gothic building before you, the various cobwebs covering the fence and the dead flora around it adding to the charm and atmosphere of this being a haunted house. However, fear creeps in as you notice the rotting wooden boards covering the dirty windows and the large doors barely holding on to their hinges.

And suddenly, your curiosity about the previous inhabitants of this place vanishes as a thought dawns on you. You’re going to have to sleep in there. Look, you’re more than grateful for this opportunity; the fact that you get to sleep somewhere in exchange for work after being transported to an unknown world with magical beings is nothing short of a miracle. 

But the problem isn't that you're picky or ungrateful... It's the health hazards that lurk inside this house that frighten you the most.

Black mold and mildew, stagnant water, rodents, bugs like spiders, cockroaches, and ticks (your worst nightmare), collapsing walls and roofs, rusty metal, and even asbestos, since from the looks of it, the dorm is pretty old, could potentially lurk inside. Is asbestos even a thing in this world? Suddenly you're wondering when you last had a tetanus shot and if you still have your KN95 mask in your bag.

“It’s a very charming building,” Yuuken suddenly announces beside you, his very flat expression and neutral tone not sounding convincing at all. Yet, Crowley turns around delighted with a closed-eyed smile and you swear he even puffs out his chest proudly. 'He's not beating the bird allegations any time soon.’ 

The worn metal gate creaks loudly as it swings open, one of the doors nearly falling to the ground, but the crow man simply walks forward, his walking cane sweeping the dead leaves from the path. "Right? It is quite a beauty! Well children, let’s head inside."

Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. So you might as well just suck it up and try to find a way to fix this health hazard and building code violation before it collapses on you. You reluctantly follow the three men in front of you as you head towards the house.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The inside is just as you expected. Dim hallways illuminated by the night sky are decorated with dusty or broken furniture, the wallpaper has started to peel off the wall due to the humidity, cobwebs tucked away in the corners of the walls sway gently with the wind and the air feels heavy. The four of you make your way deeper into the dorm, with the crow man leading the way.

“It’s a little broken down, but it can probably withstand the rain and wind,” as soon as Crowley finishes his sentences, Fígaro, who quietly walked beside you admiring a painting caked in dust, lets out a shriek followed by a loud cracking sound that startles you. His decorated hands shoot from his sides and quickly find your arm, gripping your shirt in need of support.

You automatically hold on to his left arm and torso, as you look down towards the sound:  part of the floor has caved in and his foot is now stuck between some floorboards. In a panic, Fígaro begins to harshly pull out his leg, attempting to free it, though you quickly stop him as the sound of his — very expensive — pants begin to rip, the fabric caught in between some splinters. 

“Calm down, breathe in and out. If you move like that you’ll just hurt your ankle further. Here, hold onto my shoulders,” not awaiting his response, you gently let go of his limbs and kneel on the floor, your hands gently grasping his leg to get a better look as to what got caught. A few seconds later, a warm pressure settles near the juncture between your neck and shoulder, as your nimble fingers slip out the fabric threads from some wood pieces.

In a matter of seconds, you’re able to free his foot from the confines of the floor, and you hear the blond above you breathe a sigh of relief. However, a small gasp slips past Fígaro’s lips as you slide up his pant leg to inspect the damage. “Don't worry, nothing’s bleeding or scratched. Can you move your ankle?” your lukewarm fingers softly trace the red mark left by the splinters and you don’t miss the way Fígaro shudders in response. ‘Heh, I’ll take it as payback from earlier’.

Feeling a sudden heat pool in the apple of his cheeks, the blonde turns his head to face the opposite direction, shielding his embarrassed look from the curious gaze of Crowley and Yuuken. Clearing his throat, Fígaro swivels his ankle from side to side, feeling no discomfort other than a slight burning sensation left by the mark, as he places his foot back on the ground. 

“T-Thank you kindly, (Y/N),” he stammers out as you pat his leg in response before standing up and once again facing the other two men, your expression neutral as if nothing happened. “Ah… do be careful… Anyways! Regarding your souls having been summoned here, we are also partially responsible. After all, the carriage brought you here,” Crowley taps his cane on the dilapidated floor before you and Fígaro approach him. 

“As such, while we figure a way to return you to your world, you’re more than free to stay in this place. Of course, as I mentioned earlier, you’ll work around campus to be able to pay for food and clothing,” you nod at his statement, eyes droopy as the events of the day come crashing down on you like a cold wave of water. Yuuken, on the other hand, smiles brightly at the crow man's words, sticking his legs together and slightly bowing his head down with a straight back.

“Thank you very much! We appreciate it!” as the kendo student's eager reply echoes through the empty halls of the abandoned house, another sound catches your attention. A creaking noise, followed by the echoes of glass softly clanging against each other. At first, you dismiss it as the wind moving loose debris or the house settling. But as the sound grows louder and more constant, your head swivels toward the source and your stomach drops:

A dusty metal chandelier with misty glass bulbs, eerily similar to the one in the entrance hall, hangs from the ceiling by a single rusty screw that is slowly being loosened by an unknown force.

“WATCH OUT!” your sudden scream immediately alerts Fígaro, who swiftly jumps out of the way, his nimble movements reminding you of a cat. Yuuken also turns to look at the ceiling, his eyes widen in shock as his hands quickly grab your shoulders and in a matter of seconds, the black-haired boy maneuvers both of your bodies out of the way of the chandelier that, in a matter of milliseconds, falls to the ground with a loud bang. 

Small pieces of glass fly everywhere, though thankfully none of them hit or scratch you, instead they land in front of your feet. The impact of the metal leaves a huge hole in the middle of the foyer and raises large amounts of dust, which sneaks into your mouth and nose, causing the three of you to cough and sneeze, flapping your hands in the air to push away the huge gray cloud.

You try to control your heart, which is beating frantically, your brain is still processing the fact that you almost died from being crushed by a chandelier and the sound of the metal tearing off the roof is still echoing in your ears. Trying to control your breathing, you turn to look at Yuuken, whose face has turned pale with fear, although he maintains a neutral expression.

"HEE HEE HEE! What a shame... it missed~," an unknown voice laments in a mocking tone as the now destroyed chandelier shakes violently. As if a switch suddenly turns on inside his head, Yuuken's brow furrows as he almost rips off the cover of his kendo swords and pushes you behind his back, causing you to gasp in surprise. "Who's there!?" he bellows, tightening his grip on the wooden sword and pointing it at the chandelier.

You didn’t even see it shoot up from the floor, too distracted as your eyes flitted around the room searching for the source of the voice, instead, you felt it. A white misty figure suddenly phases through you, your stomach twisting into cold knots and you feel nauseous as the creature laughs mischievously at your expression. “Welcome to our castle~.”

Your heartbeat picks up again as Yuuken steps away from you, watching in horror as the ghost that's still halfway through your torso flashes him a wink and tips his hat. His attention is torn away from you as another transparent figure phases out of a nearby painting and starts a game of tug-of-war, trying to steal the black-haired man's sword. He’s momentarily shocked at the amount of force this misty being has.

On the other side of the room, Fígaro swats away at a thin, tall ghost that messes with his hair, anger coloring the blonde’s face as the cold figure harshly pulls at his locks while laughing maniacally. “Paskiainen! Crowley, some help over here would be nice!” he shrieks in pure rage, blue eyes glaring holes at the bird man who has not moved an inch and simply watches the chaos unfold in front of him.

“Ah, I forgot to tell you. Some mischievous ghosts took up home here,” Crowley states in a blasé tone and your fingers suddenly ache as a strong urge to strangle the crow man overcomes. But, on second thought, better to not murder him, because if ghosts are real in this world there’s no way in hell that you’d want his annoying ass haunting you for the rest of your stay here.

The ghost continues its incessant giggles, as they fly towards the ceiling and slowly spin in circles, Fígaro taking their distraction as a chance to bolt towards where you and Yuuken stand, with shell-shocked expressions. The blonde man grabs your arm in a rather harsh manner, as he pulls the black haired man to stand in front of you two, acting as a human shield. “It’s been a while since we had any visitors! Please, make yourself at home!”

“Oh, I know! I know!” one of the misty creatures pipes out, the smaller one out of the three. The ghosts exchange various knowing looks for a few seconds, before their expression turns psychotic, with owlish eyes and wide grins staring directly at you, sending shivers down your spine. “Why don’t they become ghosts? We’ve been looking for new friends, after all!”

The three figures dash at you, pushing their faces together as they bounce with maniacal excitement, their faces almost merging into each other from how close they are, creating a Lovecraftian visual nightmare. You feel Fígaro squeeze your arm even tighter and watch in horror as Yuuken’s hand goes limp, his wooden sword clanging loudly as it falls on the floor. 

“The afterlife is a real blast! There’s no death or suffering! Join us! HEE HEE HEE!”

What!? Fuck these guys! Angry that these ghosts think they can rob you of what little life you have left (you know that today's chaos has probably shaved a few years off your lifespan, but damn it, you still have a bucket list to complete), you duck down, almost dragging Fígaro down with you as you grab the wooden sword.

Just as you're about to push Yuuken out of the way and beat the living hell out of these creatures, a laugh from the black-haired man interrupts you. “This is awesome! So ghosts are real in this world!” filled with glee, the Kendo student approaches the three misty creatures who quickly back away in confusion, murmuring to each other about the bizarre reaction.

Meanwhile, you feel your jaw drop to the floor as the man's words slowly work their way through your brain. You are amazed at his childish reaction, doesn't he remember that just seconds ago these beings tried to murder you by dropping a full-size chandelier on you!? Or that they toyed with your bodies, encouraging you to give in to the sweet release of death?

You think for a second that maybe being in this world for too long has made him go mad. “I have to decline your offer to become a ghost, but I hope we can get along as roommates!” his cheerfulness is not contagious, as the ghosts stare at him in bewilderment, fiddling with their fingers and lowering their heads almost bashfully. It's this reaction that reminds you of the person standing in front of you.

Kotohira is a small place, so that meant word got around quickly, and when the Enma’s moved into the apartment above you, they were the talk of the town for a good while. Especially Yuuken. His intimidating and burly appearance was a huge contrast to his sweet and charismatic nature, and your neighbors were constantly cooing about how helpful and determined he was.

But you never really got to know him, you didn't bother, even after your parents encouraged you to. It wasn't that you found him irritating, it's just that you were so busy keeping your house afloat, working a part-time job, and studying to maintain your scholarship that you barely bothered to pursue friendships or interpersonal relationships.

Your group of friends was small, and you were happy with that. So to you, Yuuken Enma was the rather intimidating big dude who took the same bus you did to get to school. He got off first and you two stops later. He knew your name not out of curiosity, but by circumstance. You were neighbors and that was that.

So, to see him in this light, to hear once more the way Chiaki, the elder housewife that lived next to you, spoke about how Yuuken was so adorable and charming is completely… astounding. So much so that you don't even notice when a breathless and incredulous "What?" comes out of your mouth. At your question, Yuuken turns around with a broad grin and points at the ghosts.

“Right!? It’s my first time seeing one… I wonder what other cool things are in this world!” he quietly laughs. For the first time since getting here, you can’t find a response in you and you wonder why this side of him leaves you speechless. 

The phantoms continue to mumble and slowly float away to huddle in a corner of the foyer as Crowley clears his throat to get your attention. “This is quite impressive. Many students tend to steer clear from this place due to the ghosts, but, seeing your reaction, you’ll do just fine!” he laughs merrily before turning on his heel and heading for the door.

“Tomorrow, I’ll come by early and give you your respective jobs. In the meantime, feel free to use the library to gather more information on how to return to your world! I am so gracious!” you quietly scoff as he auto-compliments himself; you have a hunch that his rather eccentric attitude will cause you headaches in the future.

Crowley starts to walk but stops a few steps later, snapping his fingers as if he just remembered something. “Goodness me! Where are my manners? I forgot to ask you your names!” he turns around, his beady golden eyes peeking out from behind his crow mask as he looks at you expectantly.

“I’m Yuuken Enma.”

“(Y/N) Pembroke, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Fígaro Koskela, at your service.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Fucking chronic insomnia.

You’ve been tossing and turning around the hard mattress for about an hour now, the exhaustion and sleepiness from the day suddenly disappear as soon as your head hits the old pillow you found hidden inside one of the hallway’s closets. You quick off the comforter, groaning in frustration as you open your eyes to stare at the ceiling.

Not long after the obnoxious bird man left the building, the three of you got to work cleaning the house, or at least the rooms you wanted to use in the meantime. You were able to locate three bedrooms and two bathrooms that were in a decent state, so you got to sweeping and dusting various pieces of furniture, and placing those that were beyond saving in a neat pile in the backyard, hoping to dismantle them for materials in the near future.

Unfortunately, you found out the hard way that you can't use the water system in the dormitory at the moment. It all started when Fígaro decided to test the sink by opening the valves, which caused a terrible sound to pass through the pipes as brown, almost black, water came out of the faucet. It was accompanied by a foul smell that made the three of you almost vomit as you ran from the bathroom.

The next problem was the lack of food. The communal kitchen was a complete mess, with the stove missing several burners, the door of the refrigerator falling off as soon as Yuuken opened it, and several cupboards missing drawers or falling right off the wall. Everything was empty, ransacked by unknown persons, not even a grain of salt left. There was no way to reach Crowley to beg for food, and the cafeteria was closed at this hour.

Tired, dirty, and hungry, the three of you decided it was best to go to bed. And so now, an hour later, you found yourself wishing you could have foreseen the future and packed your melatonin, temazepam, or something strong enough to knock you out and get you through the night. 

An angry sigh leaves your lips as you sit up, your nails raking through your head as you look out the dirty window, the branch of a dead tree tapping gently against it as it swings in the wind. You might as well take advantage of Crowley's "generosity" and check out the library, maybe reading will make you sleepy.

Your padded feet tap lightly on the wooden floor as you make your way to a chair in the corner of the room, where your boots and bag sit. After stumbling a bit, you successfully slip your shoes on and sling your back over your torso, quietly exiting the dilapidated dormitory and making your way to the massive castle that looms in the distance.

After about fifteen minutes of walking in silence and climbing who knows how many stairs, the night air kisses your warm skin and the moon illuminates the large doors of the school that are open. You enter the building and find that a few meters from the entrance, illuminated by green lights, is a map of the entire layout of the building. ‘Nifty.’

However, when your eyes examine the sheer size of this one castle, you can't help but cover your mouth in shock. There are six levels in total, with the first floor mostly containing important rooms like the cafeteria, the infirmary, the library (which occupies at least four levels of the building), and a bizarre room called the "Hall of Mirrors". The second floor and up is where the fun starts, as not only the classrooms and club rooms are on these levels, but also various laboratories.

Your eyes scan the words: Alchemy, General Computer Lab, Robotics, Biology, Physics, Botany, Home Economics, Astrology, Art Studio, and even an Enchantment Room. The list goes on and you can’t help but quietly geek out. If you ever get the chance, you won't hesitate to check these places out. For now, though, your best bet is to check out the first floor of the library.

Fixing the shoulder strap of your bag, you make your way down the corridor and take a sharp turn to the right, your eyes studying the portraits of fantastical landscapes and famous historical figures unknown to you. You also pay close attention to some of their features: animal ears, tails, fangs, horns, colorful hair, and intriguing eyes. It is like something you would read in a fantasy book.

But your admiration is interrupted as you pass the infirmary, a loud crash followed by a series of muffled curses stops you dead in your tracks as you turn to face the door. You're about to head toward, worried about someone getting hurt when a loud ringing in your ears forces you to close your eyes and nearly sends you to the floor in pain.

(̶̺͂Y̸̧̅/̷̨̊n̸̼͒)̸̨̀,̷̖̌ ̵̼͘ǹ̶ͅô̶͍w̶̮̔ ̶̹͗ȋ̷͖t̶͔̄'̴̥͆ș̸̑ ̴͖͂n̶̻̾ó̸̩t̴͊͜ ̷͖̈́t̴̜̚ḧ̷͇́e̵̹͠ ̵̬͐t̴̮͂i̶͎̊m̶͛ͅe̵̲͆ ̸͔̊t̵̠̾o̸̅ͅ ̵̳̉p̸̫̓l̴̻͐a̸̭̐y̸̩̎ ̶̪͗h̵̼̓e̵͎̊r̶͚̓o̵̩̅.̵̘́.̷̞́.̷̧̓ ̴̣͐h̷͎̾i̶͜͠d̸̫̂e̸̗̍.̵̢̐.̴̯͋.̷̻͐

Something tells you to hide, and you don't hesitate to run behind a nearby pillar, your eyes carefully peeking out from behind the structure to look at where the sound came from. 

Look, you should be scared by the sudden voice in your head, but at this point, you've read enough horror stories and played enough games to know that when something tells you to hide, you hide. Besides, after today's fiasco with the weird mirror talking inside your head, you should start to get used to these things.

Although, the voice does sound kind of different from the one you’ve heard before.

You can't linger in your thoughts much longer when the door to the infirmary bursts open and a figure steps out of the darkness, wearing one of the black and purple robes the students used during the entrance ceremony. In his left hand, the figure tightly clutches a syringe, a strange dark liquid moving inside. The hallway is eerily quiet, so you can hear their accelerated breathing as they look around paranoidly.

The figure is trembling, lips quivering as if about to burst into tears. Their behavior is incredibly suspicious, and your stomach twists in worry as you wonder what is in the syringe they are carrying, so you start to mentally note down some details about the person. 

In the dim light, you notice that the figure is a man, judging by the Adam's apple that bobs up and down his throat as he swallows, he has pale skin, a few tufts of either black, dark purple or blue hair peeking out from under the hood, and his eyes are either green or brown, though you can't see them well because of the distance, but you do notice that his gaze is soft. He looks docile, almost weak.

He whimpers in fear, biting the tip of his right thumb as he stares down at the syringe, which almost slips from his grasp due to his nervousness, though he's able to catch it quickly and breathe a sigh of relief. “This... Master will be proud of my work,” he whispers before making up his mind and running in the opposite direction from where you are standing.

Unnerved by his words, you step out from behind the pillar. Your hands nervously fiddle with the strap of your bag as you run for the stairs. Forget the damn library...

You need to tell Crowley what the hell just happened. Something doesn’t feel right.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Tag list:

@rotknox @agaygothicmushroom @sherryclover @mielle-estelar @yuriluvr2000 @Shironakuronatasa @yourlocalhot-simp @stvrbrighttt @tearsofgenshin @mewmew-dream

[bee-can-art]

[ "Fighting off the vignette" ]

Vignette - A brief evocative description, account, or episode

Vignette - A small illustration or portrait photograph with fades into its background without a definite border

• Click for better quality (07/06/2024)

[ohmenai]

La Isla Bonita Berenjena

The sea breeze caressed me as I walked on the golden sand. I will never forget my adventure on Eggplant Island, a place known for its lush landscapes and men with massive attributes. Then, Mandla emerged from the jungle like an ancient god, a warrior with colossal hips, prominent belly, muscled huge legs, and a beard that promised endless stories was the very image of power.

His afro hair, a perfect crown that set his imposing silhouette against the infinite sky. The wings of his armpits, adorned with dark, dense curls, exhaling the intoxicating fragrance of testosterone, effortlessly seducing. And there, among the vast thicket of his pelage and the voluptuous balcony of his belly, stands the legend: a superb deep purple cock, a living icon, swaying with each step like the mast of a ship challenging the waves. For him, the eggplant between his thighs is not just an emoji, it's a banner of his lineage, the glorious insignia of his sovereign virility.

With his hands on his head in a gesture that denoted power and pride, Mandla was the epitome of virility. I won't lie, I felt intimidated yet mesmerized. The myths were true; his cock was of epic proportions, a sweet berenjena that hung between his legs, as imposing and proud as its owner. I was a privileged spectator of a photo session that bordered on the most exquisite obscenity. Mandla looked at me, and his gaze was an implicit invitation to join the fauna of this island of unspeakable pleasures. His poses were a series of obscene declarations and the veins of his dick like paths inviting to a moist and warm journey.

It was like seeing a god among mortals, a lord of the shadows impregnated with the elixir of life, a throbbing fantasy turned flesh and sweat. Without a doubt, for those who, like me, delight in excess, in unfiltered passion, this encounter was a feast for the senses, a feast that started and ended with the monument of lust he flaunted with impunity. Nothing was modest here; everything was excessive, overflowing, and I was there to document every second of the frenzy that only these lands could conceive.

Today, the camera is a witness to the truth behind the myth, and the island plays at being Eden, where the forbidden fruit is not an apple, but the salacious promise of an eggplant.

Available now at Fanvue and Patreon!

[angstydevil]

The map is not the territory. In regards to geopolitics, this means a map of the world is a representation, not reality itself. Borders change. Landmasses change. The words used to label depictions of certain regions reflect temporal motivations. The landmasses labeled North America and South America are named after an Italian mapmaker and have not been named as such for many millennia. The names on the globe reflect historical ideological movements.

The concept of a world map entirely covered in nationstates with well-defined borders is relatively new. This reflects a particular ideology in which states are things that occupy landmasses and contain people, rather than material realities constructed by social agreements between individuals.

Even satellite maps are photographs: they are representations of reality, and they are distinct from the real world in various ways. If satellite maps are presented as the most cutting edge and accurate way of depicting Earth as it really is, that too reflects a bias toward seeing what the world “really is” in a particular way.

The map is not the territory. In regards to psychiatry, this means that a catalogue of behaviours maligned as syndromes written by clubs of predominantly white western cisgender men is not a holy almanac of extant neurological deviations from some universal standard of reason.

Psychiatry is a violent institution at its roots. The concepts of sanity and madness are inextricable from racism and colonialism. American psychiatry emerged from the practice of allowing slaveholders the “right” to have captive people they held in involuntary servitude declared “mentally unfit” or “insane”.

Psychiatry remains a violent institution. It is an extension of western fetishization of “rationalism”; it rationalizes unpersoning. It holds that madpeople are without “reason”, a notion that for many intents and purposes is a sanitized synonym of soul, and therefore madpeople must be caged. It offers a “scientific” and “rational” dogma of “degeneracy”.

Psychiatry is interlinked with the prison industrial complex and is one of the principal institutions to which the term “institutional racism” applies. American psychiatry diagnoses black bodied people with oppositional defiant disorder, antisocial personality disorder, schizophrenia, and cognitive disabilities at higher rates than white bodied people, simultaneously villainizing and constructing blackness as a social and material reality, villainizing and constructing particular categories of disability as categories to be marginalized and medically neglected, and perpetuating racialist ideologies while frequently aligning with eugenicist initiatives. Psychiatry is a part of a system that determines who is free and who is unfree, and that system serves and protects inequalities as its foundational purpose.

Psychiatry creates an idea of mental illness that's very attractive as a pejorative among liberals and conservatives, e.g., Conservativism/liberalism should be considered a mental illness (and therefore conservatives/liberals should be unfree). This kind of thinking also appears on the auth-left, e.g., I think money should be considered a delusion (and therefore capitalists should be unfree). Psychiatry constructs, enforces, and regulates categories of “undesirables”.

No one derives rights and validity from the DSM. American queer people did not feel protected by homosexuality's status as a diagnosis in the DSM, and they rioted and organized until it was removed as a diagnosis in 1974. Trans people deserve freedom and rights because everyone deserves freedom and rights, not because the American Psychiatric Association recognizes gender dysphoria as a diagnosis.

Psychiatry does not champion the rights of people it diagnoses. In the words of Frantz Fanon, “Psychiatry is an auxiliary of the police.” Psychiatrists police communities, and they do so with the same violent racist, sexist, cisheteronormative prejudices endogenous to police departments.

Psychiatrists, like police officers, have the right to arbitrarily detain people. Psychiatrists are gatekeepers between people and inalienable rights to medicine and drugs. Psychiatrists participate in the othering and erasure of people who experience trauma, especially generational and societal trauma. Psychiatrists actively construct a colonial narrative in which there exists an ideal (white, sane, able bodied) rational human standard from which there is (“degenerate”) deviation. Psychiatrists kidnap and imprison people. Psychiatrists swear oaths to kidnap and imprison people. Psychiatrists rarely face charges or even lose their licenses to practice when their abuses are well documented - and, in general, most abuses are not well documented.

Psychiatry’s existence as an institution opposes absolute rights to bodily autonomy. Psychiatry prohibits poor, sick, and disabled people people from accessing lifesaving medicine. Psychiatry disproportionately denies people of color access to treatments entirely by applying “untreatable” diagnoses.

Medicalist gatekeepers are bullies shilling for a cruel establishment. They routinely accuse their harassment targets of faking disorders, being delusional, and having personality disorders, and they routinely invalidate people using a variety of slurs originally directed at people diagnosed with psychosis, autism, cognitive impairment, and paraphilias as pejoratives.

All these pejoratives are associated with diagnoses in the DSM. Medicalist gatekeepers use them to invalidate and harass others because they’ve integrated the beliefs that psychiatric propagandists peddle: that belonging to those diagnostic criteria makes you ontologically worth less and less “rational” than a sane, abled being; deserving of unfreedom; “degenerate”—without “reason”.

At the crux of their arguments, they say, you’re not like me, you’re like those bad madpeople – or, even more insidiously, I don’t believe what you say about yourself as much as I believe what psychiatry says about you.

If you find yourself thinking, “well of course we have to have an objective viewpoint to really understand this phenomenon - people like that aren’t fully rational!” then you believe unpersoning propaganda.

[yuri-is-online]

When He Sees Me: Azul Ashengrotto

a/n: this is supposed to be part of a series about the boys who start out with a less than good opinion of Yuu falling in love with them anyway. Azul wasn't supposed to be first he was just the most cooperative. I will add a link to the rest when they become available, but it will take a while because this is really fucking long. Like 6,261 words long.

notes: SPOILERS FOR CH. 3 AND AZUL'S BACKSTORY. Azul is thirsty for Yuu, nothing explicit just mild mild spice. They/them pronouns used for Yuu, but there is a reference to things "girls find attractive" that isn't meant to be aimed at Yuu and discussion of the myth of Princess Kaguya. Morons in mutual denial/pining, references to the events of Azul's labwear and Ruggie's ceremonial robes vignette. Edit: other fics can be found on my masterlist here.

Azul has always been a dreamer, in both senses of the word.  When he wants, he wants with intensity that borders on insanity, it is only natural for those thoughts to invade his dreams.  When he was younger his subconscious would engage in a painful loop of equally impossible scenarios, sometimes positive but mostly extremely, horribly negative.  They read more like memories being played on a sickening repeat, harassments and insults that he can’t run or hide from because his dream won’t let him move at all.  Now that he’s older he seldom has those dreams, tucking the hurts away behind mountains of successful plans for the future.  Tucked away but not dealt with, his overblot clearly proved that.  Azul is no stranger to having dreams, no, but lately he has been experiencing something new.  A dream that plays on repeat, never changing but with an underlying feel to it that makes him think if he just had a bit more imagination he could direct the flow.  It is a memory, sort of like those other, painful dreams though this one doesn’t hurt quite the same, less painful and more… pining.

He’s standing in front of the photos at the Atlantica Memorial Museum, eyes steady on the photographs.  “You have talent.”  the Ramshackle prefect says with such enviable confidence.  “You are amazing as it is, even without stealing anyone else’s powers.”  He looks at them, he searches desperately for the lie, for so long he misses the timing for his line but the dream keeps playing yours.  “You work so hard, determination is much harder to master than magic.”  

“You think that?” he asks, begs really because in this dream he gets to wrap himself up and live in this moment where someone sees him as his subconscious plays your words on loop.

“You have talent… You are amazing… You matter…” 

He rises from slumber, but doesn’t wake.

“Nyaaah who does Azul think he is!”  Grim whines and you sigh, for what feels like the eight hundredth time but is probably just the third.  “He can’t just scam us outta money like that!”  You give a noncommittal grunt and Grim takes his grumbling to under his breath where it belongs while you ruminate on the morning’s events on your way back to Ramshackle.  You had woken up to Azul knocking on your door with a photograph of Grim… fighting with Lucius?  You weren’t entirely clear on the details, Grim stole some food or something you couldn’t really care less, but Professor Trien certainly would, which was the point Azul had made with a smile on his face and an outstretched hand.  He needed a “small favor” he said, just follow him to Ignihyde and help him and Idia out with a project Idia was working on.  He tried spinning it to you as helping out Ortho, which hey you did care about, let it not be said that the prefect of Ramshackle did not care about sweet little Ortho Shroud.  You just… didn’t trust Azul as far as you could throw him, so when the part he asked Grim to retrieve was revealed to be worth a gajillion thaumarks you were not surprised and you did not care.  Grim, of course, freaked out and the two older students laughed at him.  Laughed at you both really, and sent you back to your dorm with a can of tuna for Grim’s trouble and a coupon to the Monstro Lounge for yours.

That you decided as you stared down at the little golden ticket, did piss you off.  You were tempted to light it on fire, but that stupid part of your brain that got excited when you heard laundry detergent was on sale at Sam’s wouldn’t let you.  Like you would offend and be permanently cursed by the gods of couponing if you did; so you tucked it away in your wallet and ran through the list of students you didn’t currently want to beat with a steel chair for someone who would actually use it.  “Hey prefect, you got a moment?” 

“Ruggie.”  You snap out of your thoughts to see an angel standing outside Ramshackle’s door.  He looks at you a little confused, but still peppy.

“That’s my name!  Now as I was sayin, you got a moment?  I’ve got an opportunity for you.”

~~~~

In a game of chess the player who moves first has an inherent advantage.  That advantage, however, is not absolute which is something Azul is cruelly reminded of when RUGGIE BUCCHI waltzes into his restaurant, whistling, with his carefully played opening in his hands.  “Hey, is this thing real?  Prefect said you gave it to them but that sounds fishy.  Why would Azul be giving out things for free?”  

“That’s confidential.”  he pushes up his glasses and Ruggie simply leans back on his heels, hands behind his head grinning like a well fed cat.  “What I am anxious to know is why you have it?  It was not meant for you.”

“What’s it to ya’?” he has enough sense to keep his annoying laugh to himself but it’s echoing in Azul’s ears anyway.  His gaze flickers to Floyd, weighing the pros and cons of involving the twins in this… admittedly private affair but that seems to be enough for Ruggie.  He drops the easy going act,  “No seriously what is it you’re trying to do, they seemed seriously pissed.”  

“Who says I’m trying to do anything?” Anger was… not the reaction he was expecting but the look on Ruggie’s face is making him feel especially like he should have.  Like there was something incredibly obvious he was missing here.  His sigh just punctuates that.

“Because you're Azul.”  He says flatly.  “Look it’s not my business and I don’t want it to be, are you gonna give me a free drink or not.”  Azul takes the coupon with his best customer service smile and tries to make another plan.

~~~~

“You are amazing.”  He gets to look at them this time, see their honest admiration.  He wants to reach for it, hold it up to the light and admire it from every possible angle.  His hand moves, agonizingly slow like he’s reaching through jelly, desperate for purchase as it lands on their cheek, running his thumb along the curve.  Azul is a merfolk, utterly unaware of what it feels like to drown.  But he surrenders himself to the tide as he guides them closer, closer, to him and the realization he never wants to let go.

Azul wakes up alone and upset, a good thirty minutes before his alarm which just adds to his frustrations.  He fumbles for his glasses and goes for the safe next to his bed, if he’s awake he can work, he should work it will take his mind off of… whatever this is.  It isn’t important, his bad dreams always fade away over time, he will conquer this, he has to.  A notification lights up his phone.  It’s from magicam, from Cater who he usually ignores but he opens it anyway.  The post is a dump of short videos of Heartslabyul students messing around in the maze, there was an unbirthday party yesterday complete with pastries and those weird games he never understands the appeal of no matter how many times Riddle explains.  There’s Trey posing like a middle aged man with his flamingo, Cater running around conducting mock interviews with the flowers, and a number of students making nonsensical toasts with admittedly nice looking china.  And in the final video, if he pauses it at exactly 7.23 seconds there’s the prefect.  They look clueless, disappointed even as they watch Grim demand he be allowed to play croquet, it’s cute but that’s not where his gaze goes.  Tiramisu.  It’s difficult, painful even to make, but they seem to be enjoying their slice.  It really would be an excellent item to add to the Monstro Lounge’s limited time menu for numerous reasons completely unrelated to… whatever this feeling was.  If he keeps the paused video up and next to his paperwork while he draws up his plans, no one needs to know.

~~~~

  You wake up with a sneeze a good two hours before your alarm and if you were actually awake you have no doubt the timing would fill you with righteous fury.  The moon still peaks through your window, soothing your hypothetical temper slightly as you meander out of your bed towards it.  Ramshackle has always been a good place to watch the stars, at least according to Tsunotarou.  You’ve always been more partial to the moon, there was something comforting about its constant presence.  No matter where you went in your old world, even if the constellations changed the moon would always stay the same.  If you focus on this one’s shape, if you ignore the snoring monster in your bed or the shape of the window you’re looking through, you can almost trick yourself into thinking that things are still the same.  That you will get back to sleep and see your loved ones when you wake up tomorrow.  A strange bile builds up in your throat and you turn away from the window towards your desk.  The photographs that decorate it are filled with things that should be impossible.  Leona standing on a flying broom somehow bored out of his mind, Jack and Deuce posing at a track practice, Ace trying to teach Grim a card trick, but if you were giving awards for the most out of place… There’s eight people in the photo, three humans, one monster, one beastman, and three merfolk, but only two sport tails.  Azul looks exactly the same as the day you met him, dressed in a neatly pressed dorm uniform with that stupid hat covering his beautiful, perfect hair.  You can’t decide what’s more unreal to you, the Leech twins' appearance or the location of the photograph, but well they sort of go hand in hand don’t they?  Your eyes settle on Azul.  He had refused to show his true form during the trip, if you didn’t know any better you would assume he was human like you but not like you.  There’s something undeniably magical about him, beautiful even.  He belongs there, in that photo under the sea, in this world.  The moon illuminates the photo with her gaze, cold, distant, completely out of your reach but oh so very beautiful.  

You take a deep, shuddering breath and try to throw away your thoughts.  

~~~~

“Hench-human!  Look at me look at me!”  There are many days you feel like Grim’s parent as opposed to his… dorm leader?  Classmate?  Fellow traveler?  Whatever you were actually supposed to be.  

“I’m looking Grim, I promise!”  You cheer him on, waving up at the monster who is happily flying above you on his little broom.  “You’re doing great!”  Coach Vargas had gone out of his way to find it for him so he could “train his muscles” with everyone else in flying class.  It was cute, soothed the wound of not being able to participate yourself just a bit.  The list of exercises Vargas handed you certainly didn’t.

“Slacking doesn’t build muscles!”  You knew it was stupid to want to participate in a class that’s literal purpose was to teach students to channel magic, but it still sucked to be expected to do yoga in the corner of a field while Ace, Deuce, and now Grim get to zoom around above.  At least you know Deuce isn’t making fun of you and will give you a ride if asked.  “Hey while you’re at it would you mind keeping an eye on Azul?  He’s supposed to be practicing over next to the bleachers.”  You blink, stupidly at Vargas. 

“I’m sorry?”  Vargas points towards what is usually your exile corner and see- a sight.  One you can immediately tell Azul would probably rather you never have ever seen.  Your beautiful merman, rival?  Acquaintance?  Object of affection?  Is pathetically hopping up and down with a stern look of determination on his face like he’s trying to negotiate with the broom rather than fly it.  Your heart beats uncomfortably close to the front of your chest.  Cold.  Out of reach.  And yet so blindingly pathetically beautiful you have to choke down bile as you make your way over to your little corner and begin clumsily stretching and keeping your gaze firmly on Grim out of habit.  You hear rather than see him notice you.

“Prefect!”  he splutters, chokes really and you have to physically bite your tongue to ground yourself enough to speak normally and completely lose it when you turn to face him.  Azul’s winded, the tentacle waves of his hair are shimmering in the late afternoon sun with what’s probably sweat, but he doesn’t smell bad at all.  His glasses are slanted and he’s clinging onto his broom so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

“Azul!  Sorry I didn’t mean to scare you.”  It comes out as a squeak and you break eye contact immediately.  “I just-” you don’t want him to think you’re spying on him.  “I usually-” well that just sounds like an excuse.  “I can’t fly!”  The smile on your face has got to look stupid but when you look at Azul he doesn’t seem to mind.  If anything he relaxes in both posture and expression.

“I can see that.”  He smiles and his eyes shimmer for a brief second before reaching to push his glasses and his persona back into place.  “Does Coach Vargas always have you exercise during flying class?”

“Pretty much.”  You don’t feel like you should complain really, it would be a bit unfair on paper if you were the only one relaxing during a class filled with physical activity.  “Crewel convinced him to let me do yoga because I ‘need to relax more’ or something like that.”  

“Do you not find exercise relaxing?”  It’s a relatively simple question but this is Azul asking so it feels like the start of a survey that ends with you agreeing to sign away your immortal soul.  So naturally, 

“Not when everyone can watch.”  you answer as honestly as possible because according to the dark mirror you don’t have one anyway.  If Azul notices your skepticism it doesn’t stop him from plowing on ahead.

“I can understand that.” He lets out what you think is his best performative sigh, hand over his heart in a manner you are sure even Vil would compliment as well crafted showmanship.  “Really there’s no reason for this school to force us to participate in activities we simply aren’t meant for.”  You have to swallow a giggle at his use of “we,” that earlier display must not have been a one time thing.  Sure would be a shame if you asked Floyd about it, he definitely wouldn’t tell you embarrassing things about his best friend.  “Do you not find the lounge relaxing?”  He asks the question with the same tone as his previous monologue, but it catches you off guard.  You had expected this line of questioning to go in a different direction.  Maybe he wanted to know just how close you were to the staff and see if he could use you as an in, not a google review.

“It’s very relaxing.”  You aren’t just trying to flatter him, though you won’t object if he decides to puff up with pride from your praise.  “There really is- well I certainly haven’t ever seen another place like it,  I just have other places I should be spending my money.”

“You know I can help with that right.”  You must look extremely unamused because he deflates slightly but doesn’t falter.  “The National Track and Field Meet is coming up relatively soon, and I’ve been making some… changes to the menu.  It’s meant to appeal to a different clientele than we typically serve.  As a human from a completely different world your perspective on such a switch could prove invaluable.”  You stare at him, hard, trying to figure what angle he’s working and can’t really hit on one.  Well beyond the obvious; he thinks this will make him money.

“Are you sure you don’t just want me to wait tables during the event?”  Azul’s offered you work before, usually through Floyd dramatically arriving at Ramshackle unannounced to slack off in your guest room because “Azul will never find me here.  Not if I close my eyes and hide behind little shrimpy.”  But you weren’t too sure if that arrangement could apply to an event.

“I’ve already secured Ruggie’s assistance with that, but if you’re interested in a paid position Jade will certainly need some help in the kitchens, well assuming you’re better at washing dishes than Grim.”  You both have a bit of a laugh, though yours is significantly less mean spirited.  “I can give you more details about the menu tomorrow night, assuming you are free.”

“I suppose I could find some time.”  you give your best impression of Azul’s own shrug and hope he isn't too insulted.  “Any fine print I should be concerned about before I completely agree to this?”  He pauses, you are tempted to say because he didn’t expect to make it this far, but realistically he’s probably just trying to pick out what part of his plan is safe to tell you.

“The waitstaff will all be wearing their ceremonial robes as a special uniform for the event, but since you would just be washing dishes I would recommend-”

“I’m sorry, do you mean those things everyone was wearing at orientation?”  You don’t mean to interrupt him, really you’re just confused.  “The Octavinelle dorm uniform looks just fine.”

“I’m pleased you like them.”  He means it, you can tell by how he stands just a little bit taller, stopping your heart for what you tell yourself is the briefest of seconds.  “Our school's ceremonial robes are extremely popular with the local girls, so I am hoping they will draw more outside attention to the lounge.” 

“The ceremonial robes?  Seriously?”  Not that you could ever have been considered an authority on what types of menswear was objectively attractive but you were a person with preferences and the ceremonial robes looked a bit difficult to take off.  Not that you have thought extensively about them or anything else you’ve seen Azul wear.

“Do you not find them attractive prefect?”  The fact Azul’s asking you seriously, with a touch of distress doesn’t register until you’ve inelegantly vomited up your response.

“Not really.  I mean from what I remember from orientation you looked good in them but I can’t say I like them better than your dorm uniform.  You even make the stupid hat work.”  You physically bite down on your tongue to keep from saying anything else incriminating but the damage is already done.  The poor man looks like a boiled octopus, red from the tip of his ears to the point of his nose.  “Azul?”  He coughs into his hand.

“Well, disagreements about fashion aside, I take it we have a deal?”

“Sure.  Just send me a message on magicam when you need me and I’ll be there.”  

~~~~

The location flickers in his peripheral vision, his focus wholly consumed by them.  He’s never touched them like this, they’d never let him hold them like this but those thoughts fizzle in the face of your memory.  “You are amazing.”  He kisses them slowly as he gently cradles their face.  Closer, he wants them closer but tauntingly, agonizingly they pull away as the scene settles.  He’s on land, in the vip room of the lounge arms wrapped tightly around their waist while they’re sitting in his lap.  Closer they’re not close enough to him they can still move away, but they show no sign of leaving.  They just stare down at him, into him seeing him for who he is and not flinching at the sight.  Closer.  They lean back into his kiss and he pulls, surprisingly strong, into a tighter embrace.  Closer.  In dreams you don’t need to breathe, he’s free to move his hand behind their head and maneuver them down.  Closer.  He pins their hand next to their head, intertwining their fingers.  Closer.  “You look good, you look beautiful.”  He shudders into them, and-

Wakes up dry heaving into his pillows with a scream.  He’s panting, desperately trying to convince himself it’s out of disgust but he knows that’s not the case.  Azul’s known for a while now just how he feels about them, he finds it ugly.  Not them, sevens never them, he doubts he could ever truly find them as insignificant as he did before losing his contracts ever again.  He untangles himself from his sheets and reaches for his glasses and phone, searching for the picture they’d taken at the museum.  They look so happy, in awe even, and if he wants to lie to himself he can pretend that’s his doing and not the allure of the sea working its magic on yet another human.  But Azul is a merfolk, he may admire the sea witch but he knows the tale of the mermaid princess just as well.  The love between her and her prince was always portrayed as pure, innocent, devoid of things like thirst and greed.  That’s the sort of love he thinks they deserve, the kind that’s not burdened by insecurities or possessiveness.  Who would love someone who constantly lies?  

“You are amazing as it is, even without stealing anyone else’s powers. You work so hard, determination is much harder to master than magic.”

If he closes his eyes he can still see your face as you say it.  You meant every word, he knows you did.  Even now you don’t really treat him all that differently than you do your other friends, his efforts are appreciated and respected according to the work he puts into them just like he’s always wanted.  A wry smile works his way to his lips.  How poor and unfortunate he is.

~~~~

“When you need me” came sooner than you expected.  As soon as you made it back to Ramshackle you had two messages from Azul, one letting you know it was him and the other saying he had a space available for you to buss tables tomorrow if you were still available.

“I haven’t forgotten about my original request, once closing tasks are complete you can expect a truly unique reward.”  

He texts like he speaks, professionally.  If you didn’t know he was still a student you’d assume he was twice his actual age and already established in an office somewhere.  Part of that was true you supposed, he did own the Lounge and was probably texting from his office.

“(* ^ ω ^) I’ll make sure to be on time!”

“Hench-human.”  You look up from your phone to see Grim sitting on his favorite armchair, he sounds deathly serious and his face is bent into a look of disappointment he usually only reserves for Ace.  He’s even crossing his arms like a disappointed parent.  “We need to talk.”  

“Did you puke on the bed again?”

“No!”  He drops the act for a brief second before remembering he’s supposed to be “the one in charge” or something like that.  “But if you keep gigglin’ like that I’m gonna!”

“Like what?” you attempt to mimic his energy by folding your hands across your chest.

“Like you got a crush on that stupid octopus.”

“Oh.”  Oh.  You hadn’t really thought much about that.  On purpose really.  “Well you don’t have to do that.”  You had thought many things about Azul, felt a lot of things too.  Frustration, no one got to treat your friends that badly and then laugh about it.  Disappointment, someone so talented shouldn’t be wasting his time bullying others to feel better about himself.  He should be secure in his own successes.  Pity, but then again how else could he be expected to feel with his childhood having been what it was?  Anger, that made his actions all the more inexcusable, you didn’t really regret putting him in his place even if the method was… less than ideal.  Awe, you were aware most of your friends were still stuck firmly in anger.  Sure, Ace and Deuce didn’t have much of a problem buying things from the Lounge or using their point cards, but there still was a bit of a sting to the whole arrangement.  Grim might not have been capable of much but he could hold a grudge.  Especially when someone hurt you, it was exceptionally sweet.  You however…

It started with his overblot form.  Floyd never should have told you that’s what he actually looked like, you swear you forgot how to breathe for a solid minute.  Azul was beautiful, ethereal, and awe inspiring.  You didn’t even mind that he was actively trying to choke you with his tentacles, you were that tempted to let him.  Once he came to and came back to his human form, you were forced to swallow those feelings.  Tuck them away in the hopes that Azul would go back to being that distant pretty face he had been since he ran down Grim at orientation.  You told yourself you were content being friends with Riddle and the Heartslabyul gang, you didn’t need the acceptance of other dorms.  

But he hadn’t.  The trip to the museum apparently made the twins decide you were a friend; Floyd would follow you around when he got bored and demand you play with him, and if Jade had your schedule memorized no he didn’t prefect him ambushing you with an invitation to check out his club was completely coincidental.  Azul remained distant, only ever really approaching when he needed something or to make an offer.  It hurt that small part of themselves they’d been beating away with a stick, it hurt even worse when he reached out harder when they ignored him.  This world’s already hurt you enough, you don’t need to be pining over an emotionally unavailable guy who viewed everything in the world through material value.

“Mmmmm.”  Grim’s staring at you, clearly unconvinced and trying to not come off as worried.

“Really Grim.  I promise, no kissing fish for me.”  your phone pings and you see another message, from Floyd this time, and swipe to unlock just as the front door of Ramshackle nearly cracks off its hinges to announce his arrival.

“Shriiiiiiimpy, I’m so bored and Azul’s makin me work.”  A loud obviously fake whine rings through the foyer and you sigh.

Looks like you will be seeing Azul a bit sooner than expected.

~~~~

The lounge is chaos by the time you sprint through the mirrors into Octavinelle.  You scan the lounge frantically for Jade and settle on his retreating form heading towards the back office.  It would be undignified to sprint towards him so you force yourself to speed walk through the waves of customers towards Floyd’s usual section.  Another first year, one that actually belongs in this dorm, is floundering around trying to figure out why he’s even alive and nearly jumps out of his skin when you tap him on the shoulder.  “Sorry I’m late, can you let Azul know I’m here?”  He abandons you faster than a sinking ship and you barely resist the urge to scream at him to show a little gratitude.  The Monstro Lounge is a “gentleman's establishment.”  It doesn’t employ howler monkeys, but it sure does serve them.  You snap your best customer service smile into place and glide over to one such cherished customer whose glare is threatening to freeze you to the floor.  “I’m sorry about the wait, how can I serve you today?”

Meanwhile, back at the office, Azul is attempting to convince himself that he isn’t mad.  Really, he’s just disappointed and really how could he be that when Floyd has been such a cherished friend for so long and-

“Oya, Azul, you’re starting to resemble a boiled octopus, are you sure this hasn’t complicated your plans at all?”  Jade is usually, key word being usually, just as inconvenienced by his brother’s mood swings as anyone else.  But this time, this time, Azul thinks while his left eye threatens to spasm out of its socket, he has a slight feeling that Jade might have encouraged this one.  He’s smiling way too wide.

“Nonsense, I always have back up-”  Jade doesn’t let him finish his thought.

“Ah but we can’t just go calling the prefect for this can we?  Not when things aren’t perfect yet.”

“Just what are you getting out of this?”  He really shouldn’t have to beg, Jade seems surprised he’s even trying.

“Maybe I’m just a bit better at reading things than you are.”  And before Azul can try strangling Jade for that comment one of his students bursts into the back room panting as if he’d just run a marathon. 

“Dorm leader!  The prefect came over to take Floyd’s section.  Said to let you know they were here.”  He doesn’t respond immediately, he can see his plans going up in dust around him while Jade laughs beside him.

“There you see, Azul?  No need to worry.”  And as if the night couldn’t get any worse that damn moray bows to whisper in his ear.  “They came for you after all.”  

It really is a good night for unagi.

~~~~

The walk back to Ramshackle is quiet.  If you just keep your eyes on the path in front of you, the only thing you can hear is the chirp of an occasional cricket.  The sigh of an owl.  And of course the light click of the footsteps beside you, if you were extra quiet, you could maybe even hear Azul breathing.  It’s soft, if you could bring yourself to look at him maybe you would see that he’s just as nervous about this as you are.  

Not that “this” is anything special really.  You’ve worked closing shifts at the lounge before, and someone always walks you back.  Usually it’s Grim, he never actually helps with the work but he’s more than happy to show up at the end and claim some share of the reward for shepherding you home.  But this time the little weasel had decided not to show and, for some reason, Azul had asked to accompany you.  “For my sanity if nothing else.”  You hadn’t been able to speak since hearing that for fear your heart would leap right out of your mouth, you aren’t even entirely certain how you managed to nod an approval.  Not that Azul’s been much better, he hasn’t made eye contact with you since you started the walk back.  Or spoken.  You’d almost think he’s annoyed, or angry, if not for how the closer you get to your dorm the slower his steps get.  Maybe he doesn’t want things to end so soon either…

“The moon is beautiful tonight.”  He breaks his silence with a sigh and you choke slightly, eyes darting towards him warily even though you know for a fact that phrase doesn’t hold the same meaning here.  

“Ramshackle always has a great view of the night sky.”  you look up at the moon to avoid Azul’s quizzical gaze.  “It looks almost exactly like the moon in my world.”

“You enjoy watching it then, I take it?”  You don’t answer immediately, the question swirling up a myriad of contracting emotions and answers.

“Sometimes.”  You settle on a thought, haphazard as it feels.  “It’s funny, the longer I look at it the more it makes me think about a story I used to really like.”  

“Used to?”  You don’t have to look at Azul to know he’s doing the thing he always does while probing for information.  Yet you do anyway, the little unnecessary push he gives to his glasses is too cute.

“It just feels a bit too close to home now.”  It feels silly to say that, but then again, this is Azul.  He could also technically be considered to be from another world, so maybe he’d understand.   “There’s this bamboo cutter who finds a baby in one of the bamboo stalks he cuts and raises her as his daughter.  There’s always something just a bit off about her, when there’s a full moon out she stares at it and cries a whole lot, like there’s something up there she misses.  She’s extremely beautiful though so everyone kind of brushes that off, and after finding her the bamboo cutter starts finding gold in every bamboo stalk he cuts.”

“That’s unrealistic.”  scoffs Azul.  “There has to be a catch.”  You can’t help but laugh, of course this is where he’d choose to interrupt.

“It’s a story, Azul.  And besides you literally live in a world where magic exists calm down.”  He snorts and you quickly start talking before he can begin his protests.  “Anyway he starts finding gold inside the bamboo and becomes wealthy enough to be considered important.  His daughter grows up to be an otherworldly beautiful woman and gets a bunch of attention from all over the country, people call her a princess.  She’s so popular the emperor himself comes to see her and they get to talking. The two of them find they have a lot in common, so when the emperor proposes he’s sure she’ll say yes.”  Azul’s smart, you’re pretty sure he’s figured out the plot twist already by the way he’s set his jaw, but he makes no attempt to stop you.  Almost like he’s hoping you will prove him wrong.  “But she doesn’t.  She says she can’t marry him because she isn’t from his country and can’t be his queen.  He’s heartbroken but the princess agrees to keep in touch so he thinks that maybe he could one day have a chance, but then the princess’s strange behavior’s start getting more erratic.  She starts spending every night outside looking at the moon, and when her father finally asks her why she tells him a secret.  That she is from the moon, and that soon she’s going to have to return.”  You look back at Azul, expecting his eyes to be on the moon only to find them centered pointedly on you.  It’s a heavy gaze, suffocating almost.  

“I can’t imagine the emperor was accepting of that.”  He’s trying to make a joke, at least you think.  The words fall sort of flat.

“When the princess tells him that, he tries to send soldiers to her house.  To prevent the moon from taking her back.  But it doesn’t work, when the time comes for her to return everyone in the house falls into a deep sleep while the princess is swept up by the moon people.”  You both stand in silence for a moment before you think to add.  “That’s not really why I started disliking it though.  There’s- when she goes back to the moon they wrap her up in this cloak that makes her forget everyone she met on earth.”    

“Do you think that’s what will happen to you?”  There’s an emotion in his voice you can’t quite place.  If you had to describe it you’d say he was teetering on the edge of desperation, over what you can’t quite tell.  “Do you want that to happen to you?”

“No!”  You surprise yourself with how forcefully you shout.  “I don’t think the lady from the moon did either.  Pretty much every version of the story I ever read really made it seem like she wanted to stay, but-”

“Why didn’t the emperor go himself?”  He’s getting closer to the edge, similar to how he sounded when his contracts got turned to dust but thankfully not yet that desperate.  “If he was in love, why didn’t he demand they stay?”  And that aura from flying class is back;  he’s talking but he isn’t saying what he means but this time you think-

The way he looks at you has changed.  Azul’s smiles have started reaching his eyes, you belatedly foolishly realize, and now his carefully concealed doubts have too.  “Maybe he was afraid.”  you don’t have to phrase it as a question, there’s no real question about what’s keeping you both silent here.  He flinches, trying desperately to steady himself.  You take a deep, shuddering breath as Azul squares his shoulders and steps closer to you.  “That they wanted to leave all along and he couldn’t bring himself to deny them.”  Closer.  “Maybe he thought somethings were more important than taking a risk on someone from another world.”  Closer.  Not quite yet as close as he could be but firmly within reach, but he doesn’t dare move any more.

“He’s a better man than me.”  It’s a warning, or at least it should register as one.  Make you reconsider the smile that escapes your lips and settles firmly into his poor unfortunate heart.  “I don’t think I could let such a rare person go if they shone so clearly against the night sky.”  You want to laugh.  Really you do but you’re too busy reveling in the newfound light in his eyes to do anything other than choke back a sob.  

“Then I guess you’re lucky I’m not from the moon.”  And finally, finally, finally you move to close the gap so you’re standing chest to chest under the light of the moon, warming the cold beat of his heart into something far less shallow.  Finally, finally he sees you, and knows he doesn’t have to look away.

*Jade encouraged Floyd to ditch so Azul wouldn't be in control of the conversation. Partially to mess with him and partially because I think someone as obsessed with perfection as Azul should be forced to realize love isn't something you can plan every aspect of and I think Jade would agree with me because I am the author and I say so.

**In the original translation I read everyone is blinded by a light. I changed this for correlation to chapter 7.

[injuries-in-dust]

What concerns me with the humans are space orcs stuff oddly enough was humanity's clothing,

Looking at mass effect and other SciFi games and films the clothes suck, boring and basic design all round.

Then I look at what we wore around the 1800s, where did our sense of fashion go?

Security chief Thron frowned as they looked down at the human, classified as; "Stowaway" in the holding cell.

Xe didn't know how the conversation had spun around to this topic, but it was engaging enough to pass the hours until they reached the next spaceport to hand the human over to the proper authorities. "Human fashion is so boring."

Jupiter classified themselves as a "Hitchhiker" but after a few hours in the cell and settled on an "agree to disagree" mentality with the security chief.

They shook their head. "You've clearly not met the right humans."

Thronn shook xyr head, "I have met many humans during my service."

"Oh service," Jupiter rolled their eyes. "You can't judge human fashion based on those guys in the service. Uniforms don't count."

"It is not just humans within the service I have met. We are a cargo vessel, we bring many useful supplies to many fledgling colonies, human ones included."

Jupiter shook their head, "new colonies? You're judging fashion by what you see on the new colonies?"

"Then what of your garments? Dull colourings all over your person. Little accoutrements to be seen. Very boring. Very typical of human stowaways."

"Hitchhikers." Jupiter corrected. "You can't judge hitchhikers and colonists. They don't have the resources to waste on fancy stuff, and I've got to travel light. It's all about keeping it simple. Hardwearing stuff that lasts a long time and could be easily replaced or repaired. And the dark colours help me hide when I'm stow... hitchhiking."

Thronn decided xe would let that slip of the tongue pass without comment.

Jupiter looked xem up and down. Even in a uniform, the alien had been allowed a few accessorires of cultural significance. It certainly added splashes of colour to the usually dull grey security uniform. A small headdress with a bright embroidered pattern, a sash around the waist with a matching design, and an epaulette on the shoulder made of small conical seashells stitched onto silk and painted in bright colours.

It was certainly more than Jupiter had going on. They had a navy blue bomber jacket, dark shirt, dark khaki trousers, brown hiking boots, a black and white shemagh wrapped around her neck and a dark green and black rucksack usually slung over her back, but right now it was sitting outside the cell in an evidence locker. The closest to an accessory they had going on was a few ID patches sewn onto the jacket and bag. Name, species, blood type, and world of origin.

Photographs and memories were their souvenirs.

"Have you ever been to any of the long-established colonies? Any that have been around for a century or more?"

Thronn shook xyr head, "I haven't. The ship's duties only take us around the border worlds."

"Then you haven't seen what humans are really capable of when they get comfortable." Jupiter pointed over to the locker holding their bag. "There are some pictures on my datapad. I managed to visit Port Marinda, Alforanza, and New Barcelona last year, they're all human colonies, all about two hundred years old. Go on, get the pad and I'll show you the pictures."

Against xyr better judgement, Thronn opened the locker and retrieved the datapad. Xe opened a small hatch in the holding cell, usually used to pass meals through.

Jupiter scrolled through the pictures until they found the folder holding the pictures of their visit to New Barcelona. The pictures showed the wonderful countryside of rolling hills of silver and purple grass, scattered with trees with leaves of bright orange. Sunglasses were a must when walking in the countryside because of the risk of violent headaches, especially on sunny days. The sunsets were simply stunning, and they had amazing local fruit that looked like a red banana and tasted like raspberry and dark chocolate.

The capital city was also a sight to see. Tall, wavy and twisting buildings that looked like bright coral growing right out of the ground. Each one was a different colour so every district contained a rainbow of either bright or pastel shades.

The people were equally bright and ingenious in their clothing. Jupiter turned the screen to show Thronn a picture they'd taken of a picturesque street market.

Thronn looked at the handful of humans in the picture. One human wore a colourful dress that looked almost like millions of feathers sewn together. Even in the still image, xe could imagine how they would shimmer in the light.

Another human, a male, he wore a bright green suit, covered with silver, gossamer-like webbing which rose out of the shoulders, spreading behind him, resembling small wings.

Xe spotted a person Xe almost thought wasn't human at all until xe realised that their skin was painted from the neck down. Covering the paint was a simple dress that looked like a net. Where each thread crisscrossed with another, a brightly coloured jewel had been sewn.

One human being, who looked to be talking with a shopkeeper over some sort of food, was dressed in an elegant gown of a bright colourful fabric that looked like a sunset itself had been turned into the material that made the garment.

There was a tall adolescent human was dressed in a tight full-body outfit with an elaborate headdress which covered their entire face with a snake-like mask. You couldn't see the human and it gave Thronn an almost unsettling impression of a large bipedal reptile moving among the humans.

"You see," Jupiter said. "Forget uniforms, travellers and frontier colonies. Just give humans time to settle down, get some resources to spare and watch their imaginations fly."

Thronn had to admit it. Human fashion was not boring.