#the contrast of their colors is so peak to me

[mapofsouthdakota]

Maps rambles - Caleb’s myth - episode 1

My first two cents on the matter to the void aka “How I lost my mind over a fictional man’s myth card”

🎨 The color palette

Let me just start with this because I’m an unapologetic art freak—how orange and purple as a color combo is actually insane (in the best way)? From Itten’s color theory perspective, they’re both secondary colors, which means they don’t naturally “belong” together… and yet when you pair them? Instant drama. High contrast. Visual tension.

It’s literally the Caleb energy palette.

This part is important because it ties into something I go into more detail about later in the spoiler section.

Bonus: when you mix orange and purple, you get this lovely burnt sienna. You can literally see those warm, moody notes in the artwork for the event banner. All dramatic like a walking sunset with feelings. Peak aesthetic. Peak emotional damage. 10/10 color story.

I’m over here channeling my inner Raf, whispering “it’s so beautiful”. My high school days were good days

🚨MYTH SPOILERS AHEAD 🚨

🏃‍♂️‍➡️🏃‍♀️‍➡️The first escape

The first thing you see together? Summer.

And not just the season—the whole feeling of it. Sunlight you can almost taste.

Caleb means “faithful,” which, sure, fits now that you know Caleb. But that’s not really what you picked in that moment, you choose Xia Yizhou (夏以昼). Which means summer. You chose it because you felt warmth. Brightness. You felt his name.

(Also, he probably said summer in the actual Chinese version—and that’s why you ended up choosing it. But ahhh, I just love rambling about the impeccable attention to details that we have been served.)

And okay—this is a tiny nod to my own fanfics—but I’ve always imagined Caleb loves his name in this almost eerie way. It’s special to him. Sacred, even. That’s why I snuck those moments into chapters 4 and 8 of The Maze. He wants you to say it. Say his name. Say it again. And again and again and again. (Okay but I might have a BDSM fic marinating in my drafts where he makes you say his name like… a gazillion times. For reasons.)

🫰The pinky promise

Don’t even get me started—I need to go back and replay Borrowed Promise because those two dorks are pining me so hard.

🙉 The face cupping

You saw that, right? The way hands cradled his face? The same way we saw it happen in Hidden Waves. Don’t play with me.

👨‍🍳 The cooking/tasting

I’m not okay. The tasting. The way he makes you experience every flavor—sweet, salty, bitter. How Infold has woven this into his character in the current timeline? Eternal. Awe. He’s still making you feel, sense. Teaching you how to savor everything good.

Let me just remind us all of that one café interaction. Where he says he wants to try apple juice in his coffee. Like—what even is that? Who does that? And then we can actually answer him, dead serious, “try adding a squeeze of lemon.”

No wonder! Caleb has literally taught you everything you know about taste in this myth—and he just keeps doing it in the current timeline like it’s his full-time job. Caleb’s out here crafting a five-course sensation education in the name of love. Sir.

🪁 The paper folding

Caleb’s gift in the café—a paper plane. Like. Come on. We are out here folding origami for eternity at this point. That’s it. That’s the whole love language. Silent, delicate passion disguised as craft. I’m going to scream.

🏠The loneliness and home

Watching him through the mirror. Hearing him speak when he thinks no one’s listening. “Goodnight, my one and only,” he says. Every. Single. Night. I thought Infold would stop stabbing me in the heart after that. Nope.

Then there’s the loneliness vs being home thing. Being home together. Finding home together. Home being together with Caleb. Caleb being home together with you. He’s your home, and you are his.

Another nod to one of my own fics—Drenched Homecoming (yes, I’m referencing myself like the madwoman I am). But seriously, these two have their own definition of what “home” means, and it’s so gosh darn cute and freakish I might combust.

It. Does. Not. End. Why are they like this? They’re literally not meant to fit (like the color palette)—and yet they do. So perfectly it hurts.

🍎The gege trope

I don’t speak Chinese and my Japanese is a mess, but after obsessing over Caleb for the past 65ish days straight, I have to say this:

If they used “gege” in Chinese or “oniisan” in Japanese, then that one line—“What does the word friend mean to you?”—just hits different.

It’s not about the actual definitions of gege or oniisan. It’s about your own meaning of “friend/brother”. One word you’ve assigned to Caleb after he stated that he was your “friend/brother”. The word “friend/brother” becomes sacred—not because of language, but because of him. Aka the attributes you assign Caleb.

💥 The ending

I’m just gonna drop this here.

I analyzed one of Caleb’s tattoo’s from the Tomorrow’s Catch 22 banner. I found some interesting stuff about the B12 bomb (an apocalyptic event but with the potential for rebirth) and B12 in alchemical traditions (key to spiritual or physical transformation). Seer confirmed.

❓The big question

Is Caleb remembering all of this? And like Sylus (but in his own quiet way), is he trying to help you remember too? His name. The face-touching. The paper plane. The amusement park. Feeling your pain in another timeline. Never being apart.

Infold has gifted us the most delicious easter egg and you better believe I’m cracking that thing open before actual Easter.

On that note: Can we please please please get a Nightly Rendezvous rerun, but this time with Caleb added? I’m begging. I need a robe slightly slipping off his shoulder in low lighting, preferably on the surface of a moon.

Alright, time for a walk with my dog. What a day. If you feel like diving into the chaos that is Caleb’s myth broken down by yours truly, don’t be shy. I fully welcome any and all discussion. I’ll replay it tomorrow for sure, then finish the The Bear AU pilot yaay

I remain,

Maps 🫶🏻

[twizzlysticks]

Purecacao my beloved 🫶

(Alt without stolen crk background under cut lol)

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

yeehaw

transcript:

JENNIFER: Don't get me wrong, this dress is nice and all, but- JENNIFER: ...it'll be real hard running around and stuff in it, don't you think? JENNIFER: Especially with. Whatever this is. (ass cage??) MARTY: I, uh... MARTY: Yeah, huh. MARTY: How- JENNIFER: (noticing the pants Marty's holding) Bingo. JENNIFER: Sorry, Marty, gonna hafta borrow this- MARTY: Wha- Hey!

everyone was making such good jennifer in 1885 posts so i nicked a couple for the gist of this one

[martiniblues]

CUPIDS CHOKEHOLD , spencer reid

pairing boyfriend!spencer x fem!reader

synopsis you decide to visit spencer during his lunch break. unbeknownst to you, the team has been waiting for your arrival since they found out about you and spencer’s relationship.

genre fluff, reader is described with a cheugy/funky kind of style, and just overall teasing from the team lol.

standing in the mirrored elevator, you took in your appearance one last time. your patterned tights, babydoll dress, denim jacket, and colorful accessories were nothing out of the ordinary for you.  you took pride in your sense of fashion, not caring how others perceived you. 

spencer made it known to you almost daily how much he adored the way you styled yourself. your whimsical and girly attire added the perfect contrast to his “grandpa attire” as you liked to call it. 

returning your tube of lipgloss to its desired spot, you heard the faint ding of the elevator, alerting you of your arrival. you took a deep breath before walking up to the secretary at the counter. the building was sleek and shiny, only emphasizing your appearance. 

the brunette welcomed you, asking for your id before you heard your name being called by an all too familiar voice. “she’s with me; actually, no need to call in or anything.” spencer grabbed the visitors badge and clipped it to the pocket of your jacket before looking at you. 

“hey spence,” you giggled, adjusting his glasses that had gone askew from his evident rush to get to you. he blushed as you slid your hand to the side of his neck, standing on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek softly. 

he grabbed your hand and led you into what you deemed to be the “bullpen” spencer had mentioned to you before. your boots clicked on the ground, muffled by the sounds of the bau. 

many workers turned and looked, unfamiliar with your presence and even more shocked that you were with spencer. he looked at you, noticing your wondering eyes. “it’s a little hectic right now, sorry.” he pulled you into his cubicle, already having a chair ready for you. 

“its actually really cool seeing this place for the first time. it really is like the tv shows.” he almost laughed at your childlike awe, reaching over to roll your chair closer to his own. satisfied with your positioning, spencer moved a few folders and notebooks from his desk to make room for your shared food. 

you could only get one bite in before a presence appeared behind you. “you invited mrs. genius here, and you didn’t tell anyone?” two hands came to grab spencer by his shoulders, causing him to jump slightly. 

the man smiled at you with possibly the whitest teeth you had ever seen. his broad shoulders, stature, and dark skin made him almost god-like. “morgan-“ spencer began before another head peaked around him.

“the woman, the myth, the legend!” the shorter blonde woman gasped, walking over to you. spinning your chair so that you were facing her entirely, her eyes lit up. “you are literally the cutest thing i have ever seen. boy wonder, why haven’t you brought her in sooner?” the nickname made you laugh, looking at spencer to see the embarrassed look on his face. 

“morgan and garcia, back off before you scare the poor girl away.” a dark-haired woman leaned against the desk behind you. soon after, another blonde and two older men crowed around you. 

they waited eagerly as spencer introduced you, looking between you two as if this were the best thing they had ever seen. “it’s nice to meet you all. spence has told me so much about you guys.” you rose from your seat, shaking their hands so as not to come off as unprofessional in such a serious building. 

even if it contradicted their previous actions…

“she even has a nickname for him, oh derek hold me before i pass out from the beauty of young love.” penelope held her hand to her heart, leaning into the man beside her as he rolled his eyes from her antics. 

“she was nearly this dramatic when she noticed the picture spencer put up of you on his desk.” rossi pointed at the item you had failed to notice as you arrived. 

tucked beside his computer, a small black and white photobooth strip stared back at you. memories of the early bits of your relationship flooded your mind.

you smiled lightly at the last panel, remembering how nervous you had been to kiss spencer on camera. he looked up at you, mirroring your expression.

the team continued to interrogate you, asking about where the two of you met, your first date, who asked out who first, almost as if they were profiling you. 

spencer sighed at the realization, clearly annoyed at your alone time being interrupted. you noticed, sitting back down beside him and looking at him to reassure him that you were fine. 

“glad to see she really likes him and wasn’t paid.” emily nodded towards spencer’s cheek. a light pink kiss mark adorned his skin, making the rest of the team snicker before he wiped it off with the back of his hand. 

“are you guys trying to scare her away?” spencer whined, feeling like a boy introducing his first girlfriend to his embarrassing family. 

“come on, reid, we’re only messing with you.” jj perched her hand on her hip, smiling at you warmly. “we’ll let you guys be for now, but don’t leave too soon. we have to give her a tour!” penelope insisted, turning to the group as they all shook their heads in agreement. 

“that’d be nice, thank you.” you replied before turning back to your boyfriend. “you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” spencer mumbled, leaning into your side.

you ruffled his hair, “i see why you talk about them so much. they clearly care about you a lot.” you looked over your shoulder, catching them spying from one of the conference rooms. 

smirking you turned back to spencer, kissing his cheek once more before you continued to eat and talk about what you’d plan to do after he got off work. 

after you finished your mostly uninterrupted lunch, you were swept away by penelope as she gave you your promised tour. showing you everyone’s office, the break room, multiple conference rooms, and even the dingy locker room in the very back.

after one tight hug from morgan, a promise for a girls night from penelope, some teasing from jj and emily, and more typical goodbyes from hotch and rossi, you were finally walking back to your car.

you expected spencer to just walk you back to the elevator, but your face quickly lit up when he stepped inside, pulling you flush against him and pressing a button to make the doors close.

“finally have you alone.” he mumbled before crashing his lips to yours. you gasped at his sudden boldness, highly due to the lack of curious eyes, and moved your hands to rest behind his neck.

his hands went under your jacket, yearning to be close to you but having enough sense to not pull anything too risky. “i’ve been wanting to do that since you’ve got here.” he pulled away shortly before the ding of the elevator announced your arrival.

you just grabbed his hand and pulled him along side you. “they were really sweet, spence. i’m happy you work with people that are so much like a family.” as you made it to your car you turned around, your back leaning against your trunk as spencer came to stand in-front of you.

“they’re nosey like one, for sure.” he joked, bringing his hand to rest on your hip once again. you sighed before reaching up to kiss him one last time. “i’ll see you tonight.” you promised, squeezing his hand before it left yours in his return to work.

before you got in your car, you turned around looking up to see six familiar faces looking right back at you.

just something i thought of off a whim because i saw an edit of the bau to 400 lux by lorde and got SOOOOO emotional. like thats my family fr!!!! hope you enjoyed<333

[flowersforbucky]

lacy

bucky barnes x reader

i don't usually write short drabbles for bucky but i miss him and thought i'd put this little thought into words to get out of a bit of a writing slump that i've been in ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ happy valentine's day, babies

summary: bucky doesn't remember undergarments having so much fucking lace in the forties. but he thinks he can get used to it.

warnings/tags: 18+ mdni, adult themes, sensuality and implied smut, language, reader is afab, sweet teasing and banter, tfatws era

word count: 770+

bucky barnes masterlist

“What? Was lingerie not a thing back in the forties?”

Bucky watches from his position on the bed as you unzip your cocktail dress, the fabric falling from your shoulders and to the floor around your feet. He lays back against the headboard, his hands crossed behind his head. His eyes roam from the strappy heels that you have yet to shed and up your legs until his eyes settle on the black lace thigh holster that connects to a garter belt and matching panties.

You remove the small pistol from the holster, placing it on the dresser beside you before stepping away from the pool of burgundy colored satin at your feet. You crawl onto the bed, the peaks of your breasts threatening to spill out of your bra. You look up at him with a raised brow, still awaiting an answer to your question.

“It was,” he hums. “Can’t say I ever saw anything quite like this, though.”

He’s never seen anything quite like you is what he’s really thinking, but he bites his tongue. His feelings for you are far from being a secret, but he sometimes worries that if he truly spoke his mind every time he thought about how attractive he finds you, he’d never shut up.

His words are still true, though. He’d seen plenty of silk nightgowns and camisoles, but this – the intricate floral embroidery, the lace-lined edges of the cups of your bra, and the way the tight material accentuates every one of your curves just right – this is new territory for him.

“Never?” you quip. You crawl over him, positioning yourself across his lap. His hands come to rest on either side of your hips, the contrasting warmth of flesh and iciness of vibranium eliciting goosebumps across your exposed skin. “Not even online?”

He digs the tips of his fingers into the meat of your hips with the faintest amount of pressure. He doesn’t miss the way it makes you squirm, your clothed center nudging against the growing bulge concealed by his jeans.

“Online?” He huffs a laugh. “I think you’re forgetting that I have a flip phone.”

“Would it convince you to finally get a smartphone if I said I’d send you pictures of me wearing shit like this?”

He laughs, confident that you’d do just that. Considering the fact that you had been teasing him during a mission just a few hours prior, he doesn’t doubt for a second that you’d be more than happy to utilize technology to make him flustered.

“Tempting,” he admits. He dips a metal finger under the waistband of your panties, toying with it before lightly popping it against your skin. “But I have a hard time believing that pictures could do the real thing justice.”

You roll your eyes, playfully poking him in a spot between his ribs that you know to be ticklish. “You’re no fun.”

As swiftly as he can, he flips you so that you’re now pinned between him and the mattress. You look up at him with wide eyes, taken off guard by the sudden change in positions. Still, you automatically spread your legs enough for him to lay between them. He hovers above you, his gaze trailing from the mounds of your breast that peak out from the confines of the lacy bra and up to your lips.

He sits back on his knees, pulling your thigh back so he can grab one of your feet in his hands. He slowly slips the high heel off, not taking his eyes off of you as he tosses it behind him on the bed. He repeats the motion with your other foot, and presses a chaste kiss to the inside of your ankle.

“I'm no fun, huh? Does that mean you don’t want to sit on my face?”

Teasing you a little won’t hurt, he supposes. You’re normally the one dishing it out, and he’s normally the one blushing like a school girl – but he’s got to admit, he likes the way you’re looking at him right now. His heightened senses pick up on the familiar scent of your arousal and your quickened heart rate. He doesn’t need you to vocalize how you’re feeling or what you want; your body gives you away.

“Are you gonna take all of this off of me, or am I gonna have to?”

Your voice is teasing, but Bucky doesn’t miss the edge of impatience that slips through. He chuckles, taking one last, long look at the frilly undergarments. He likes them a lot, he can’t deny it – but he likes you without them even more.

recent bucky fics

all's well that ends well to end up with you - bucky isn't going to let an extended mission, a severe thunderstorm, and a delayed flight ruin your first valentine's day together

starry eyed - reader gets a gift from her secret santa

[saltcxrcle]

white collared ✮ s. winchester

summary: you can't stop staring at sam in his priest getup

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester gn afab! reader

word count: 1.1K

warnings: no use of 'y/n', no mention of pronouns besides a "good girl", cursing, making out, sam in the priest outfit (yes thats a warning), dean being a menace as per usual, implied smut, kinda edited

a/n: got inspired from a edit of priest sam i saw on my feed and i wrote most of this in class and then in the library, so enjoy :p

enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog! your feedback fuels me <3

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

YOU WERE STARING. Scratch that. You were practically devouring Sam with your eyes as he came out of the motel bathroom, adjusting the clerical collar that was around his neck.

Your eyes followed Sam as he bustled around the motel room, barely registering that Dean had gone into the bathroom to change himself. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from Sam, your mouth feeling dry as you swallowed thickly, trying to pull your gaze away from the taller Winchester. 

Christ almighty, how could someone look so good in a priest outfit?

You thought to yourself as Sam sat down at the table near the kitchenette in the room. Your eyes trailed up and down Sam’s broad figure from your spot on the bed. The black slacks were tight around his thighs, and you could only imagine how good his ass looked in those pants. 

The white clerical collar was starch white, contrasting the tanned skin at the hollow of Sam's throat. You bit your bottom lip as you saw Sam’s dexterous fingers pull at the collar, adjusting it before your eyes followed his hand as it fell back onto his thigh. 

A low chuckle coming from the man you were staring at snapped you out of your stupor, and you met Sam’s hazel eyes, filled with amusement. You could recognize the familiar look of desire that lingered in the greens and golds that colored his gaze. 

Sam’s plush lips were pulled into a sly smirk as he shook his head, a piece of his hair falling in his face as he did. “See something you like?” He asked, his tone teasing. 

You felt your cheeks fill with heat at being caught staring at Sam. But you tried playing it off, rolling your eyes as you sat up, making your way to the table he was sitting at, and resting your hip against the edge of it, looking to your left at him. Sam had to tilt his head up a bit to meet your eyes. 

It’s unfair how his height barely changes when he sits down. 

“Maybe I do.” You let your eyes trail over Sam’s body again before meeting his gaze again. 

Sam’s lips twitched before slowly rising in his seat, the chair scraping against the carpeted floor, and he leaned forward, his hands resting on the table as his face got closer to yours. Now, you had to crane your head back to make contact with his eyes. 

“This is doing something for you isn’t it?” He questioned, Sam’s head tilted slightly as the sly smirk turned into a grin. The white of his teeth almost distracted you from the devilish expression on his face as his eyes darkened and his tongue peaked out to wet his bottom lip. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to resist the urge to clench your thighs together at the lust filling his eyes as he stared at you, feeling heat pool in your core. 

“Unfortunately.” You grumbled as you broke the eye contact the two of you were sharing as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

You heard another chuckle escape Sam’s lips. You listened to some shuffling and felt one of his fingers push your jaw to look at him. Sam was standing in front of you as he took your chin in between his index finger and thumb. His lips stretched into a lewd smirk as he leaned closer to you, his cologne filling your senses as you felt his breath fan over your face. 

“Who knew that you have a thing for priests?” 

You uncrossed your arms and scoffed at him before hooking your fingers into the belt loops of his pants, pulling him closer to you. “I have a thing for you in this getup, not the other way around.” You clarified, your lips pulling into a half-smirk. 

Sam raised an eyebrow at you. “You sure?” 

“Shut up, you know how gorgeous you are.” You rolled your eyes at him. “It’s honestly unfair how good you look in anything.” 

Sam huffed a laugh through his nose. “Mhm, sure.” He rubbed his nose against yours before capturing your lips between his, pulling you into a fiery kiss, his tongue invading your mouth. You let out a low moan as you pulled him closer to you and felt his bulge grind against you. 

Sam always had this hold on you every time he placed his lips on yours. The only thing that was on your mind was always Sam. It was like there was a giant neon sign that flashed his name every time he touched you. 

Suddenly, Sam pulled himself away from you. What you didn’t realize as Sam was making out with you was that Dean had finished changing into his own priest getup and stepped out of the bathroom.

You heard him clear his throat, and you looked over at Dean. Though you would never admit it out loud or to anyone ever, Dean looked as good as Sam did in the white collar (but you had a bias towards your boyfriend because, well, he's your boyfriend).

Dean raised an eyebrow at the two of you. “You two done defiling each other?” 

“Shut up.” Sam shot a scowl at Dean's smirking face.  

“Nope." Dean said, popping the 'p' obnoxiously. "Next time don’t make out in the same room as me.” He came over to the table and smacked his hand onto Sam’s shoulder before brushing past him and left the motel room. 

You let out a small laugh as Sam’s face twisted into his bitch face before sighing. But a smile slowly appeared on his face at the sound of your laugh. 

He turned around to face you again. You looked at him with a smile. His smile got wider before he leaned in and placed a soft kiss against your lips. Sam pulled away, letting his forehead rest against yours. 

“You should probably get another room before we get back.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “Why?” 

The edges of Sam's' lips threatened to curl up before his face became serious.

"Because I have plans for you and I don't want to share this room with Dean."

"Oh?" A smirk grew on your face. "What kind of plans?" You asked coyly.

Sam let out a soft laugh before pulling back and cupping your face with his warm hand, his thumb stroking the apple of your cheek softly.

"The kind of plans that require you to be on your knees repenting and confessing all the naughty thoughts that your mind conjured up about me ever since I came out of the bathroom."

The heat in your core grew brighter as you clenched your thighs together at the low rumble of Sam’s voice. 

“You understand?” You nodded dumbly at his words, and Sam pecked your lips. 

“Good girl.” Sam sent you another smirk before letting his hand fall from your face and exiting the room. 

You swallowed thickly as you stood frozen in your spot. “Well, fuck me.” You breathed out before leaving the room and getting another, just like Sam asked. 

[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]

[pointyfruit]

Happy (late) Valentine's Day @miwachan2 💖💞

HheheheHAHAHA

I want to say right off the bat (Get it?) that your designs are peak and I knew I was going to have fun drawing them since the very beginning. Your DCAs are so prettyy!!

I didn't know anything about the story so I kind of just winged it (Okay, I'll stop). My thought process was, "Hmm vampire.. vampire..... vampire like blood mmm.. vampire give real beating heart? Nooo too gore! hmmm.. vampire fancyyy.. vampire CASTLE!!! COURTYARD!!"

I started with this ⤵️

I chose Moon first because I'm a Moon lober. He's my shine. It's my rock. It's my wife. I love himb.

The idea was for Moon and y/n to have a chat (or rather, y/n yaps and moon listens) while walking through a courtyard in the flower garden. The camera was placed so only the viewer can see Moon's face. He has softened for them quite a bit.

Your y/n looks like the oblivious type, so they are unaware of this. They look studious and like some sort of investigator/explorer, so they're yapping about something they learned or something new they found.

It is mid-day. I don't know what his situation is but the fact that it's a vampire and, well, it's Moon, I figured the light wouldn't feel so good. I gave him a maAaAgicAlll umbrella with a veil to proctect him from the sun and any other light. Fancy how Moon went out of it's way to spend time with y/n in such a condition. He can get hurt. He could've been safe and comfortable in the dark but he chose not to.. Hmm...

Unfortunately, it was discarded because I couldn't get the perspective to look right. Trying to fix it felt unnatural so I decided to start a new one.

However, I did decide the keep the fancy castle theme. You got all this.. c a s t l e . . . with all this space. Surely, there is a ballroom in there. Naturally, as you do, someone would dance in them. Make the vampire. Dance. With y/n... Yes.

I started with this ⤵️

I chose to use Eclipse this time. The OOOs and AWWEs as I looked across the ref sheet peaked when I got to them. They're just so GRAND! I love the stars and shape of their cape and- I really wanted to do something with them.

I wanted it to be dramatic, so I looked through ballroom references for inspiration. I started off by drawing everything in black and white so I could work on my values. ⤵️

Honestly, I wish I wasn't shy about making things dark and gloomy. If I could change anything, I would make some values darker and others lighter. More contrasting stuff.

I added a new layer and changed it to some sort of overlay so I could color in the original instead of making a new one. ⤵️

Lineart felt unnatural that day so I had to do the classic old "throw a blob of color on the canvas and refine it until it looks like the Mona Lisa" ...or painting.. is the more popular term for it...⤵️

I don't have a proper screenshot but you can probably see. Eclipse and y/n are just refined blobs of color. Lineart was an afterthought.

I wish I could say it's just my style, but I gave Clippy little spirals in their cape purely for my enrichment. I like shapes.

Thank you again for being so patient with me. I was worried and the milk and cookie helped a lot! I hope you have a nice day and good food comes your way! 💖💞

[peatbogbody]

oh yunho!

arguably the most enigmatic member of ATEEZ. as others have said, and as i have experienced personally, when you see him your first reaction is "well that certainly is an Idol." he looks like an idol, sounds like an idol. but the longer you look you start to go "....??? HUH?"

he's actually like the definition of hotness and proof it's not all about looks. like of course he's gorgeous but not like absurdly so or in the super striking, supermodel-esque way that certain other members are. but he's got a whole air that's just so effortlessly sexy.

in terms of his role in the group, he's stated himself that he's in charge of bringing the energy to the group, the "yunhogizer" as it were. i was thinking about this and decided i think it's less that he just *brings* energy (though he's very capable of doing that), but more that he has a big role in *setting* the energy level and color, and bringing diverse elements together. in this group, we have many members whose base energy/emotional intensity level they bring to any setting is very high. their "high energy" is chart-breaking and their "low energy" is still pretty intense and stimulating. joong, hwa, san, mingi and woo are all like this (not to say they're boring or one-track, they have many different levels and flavors they just very heavily lean to the more intense/darker side, ) whereas yeosang and jongho's main mode of operation is much mellower (yeosang can be intense and jongho has a lot of power but neither of them bring the kind of manic/demonic energy to music or performance the others do). but ys and jh are not only 2 against 5, they're also almost too contrasting with the other members, so that when paired directly against eachother it can be jarring.

yunho's like an egg binding the dough together. his strength is in his versatility. he can bring the energy and intensity when he needs to, which usually has the effect of sending the whole group's energy up to 11--see the dance breaks in Wonderland or WIN--but is also capable of heart-melting lightness and softness when he wants too--see the choruses in Light or the intro to Utopia. his voice may not be the most distinctive but it's just so pleasant to hear, like a warm hug.

And he can go anywhere in between, especially vocally, so he makes an excellent singer to put between members whose voices are extremely contrasting (when such contrast is not desired for impact). At some point I think I want to do a more in-depth vocal analysis so I won't get too granular here. But ok I'm going to keep going with the egg metaphor not sorry I'm a genius actually. You can beat him and incorporate him as a binding agent, separate him and use his yolk to add richness and flavor or whip him to stiff peaks to make a delicious fluffy cake or meringue. You get it. Yunho is quintessential in setting the tone of whatever ATEEZ is doing at a given moment.

now, off stage....well. on paper his assigned role is "puppy", and to the naked eye he can appear to be some combination of that and Some Guy. and that's not totally inaccurate. he is a verified Male Living Space Owner and ranked Valorant player whose default instagram post type is "boyfriend". but he has a certain je ne sais quoi to him that's hard to pin down. he carries a mischievous glint in his eyes at basically all times. he's suspiciously present in many of the most off-the-wall short-form content (bonus) on ateez's official accounts. he's also, apart from seonghwa, to my eyes the member most at home anytime gender-bending is called for--the boy eats girl group choreo for breakfast and has a blast doing it. but he's *also* capable of going full hype-house tiktokker mode when appropriate.

we love a man of mystery. i will continue to watch his activities closely.

not even touching the ?Catholicism i have zero context for that all i know is he does the crossy-thing in halazia?

yungiiiii! there is SO much to say about them but its too much for me to put in this post but lmk if yall ever feel like making a sandwich someday 😥

p.s. can i just say how pretty his bare-faced complexion is? that is all.

also HANDS i didn't include any pics bc i hit the limit and also i didnt want to kill anybody

next writeup will be about yeosang 🥰

[artist-ellen]

Alicent wears her mother’s dress

As someone who held off watching the show properly for a long time, I thought that the dress that Otto Hightower convinces her to wear for Viserys was the green dress. Imagine my surprise when I was listing all the costumes/plot points to redesign that the seduction dress is the "blue-ladder dress". Curveball for the ages. (It's also what happens when only two actors are portraying an almost 20 year time jump over the course of a season.)

When I saw the Blue ladder dress for the first time I nearly laughed. The bodice pattern and the fabric catch the light in a pretty way but the peak-a-boo cut-outs make it a strange modern hybrid that really needed something between the skin and the blue gown. I can see the slashing inspiration but it's just another choice that highlights the lack of chemises and rich layers of fabrics. And we want rich, luxurious fabrics and draping that really highlights what the height of Targaryen power looks like. So... here we are. I kept the blue so the actual Green Dress can stand out later as a bigger change, and I tried to imply that this was a less-Targaryen (Byzantine) inspired fashion. The cut, silhouette, and shape is different. Hopefully creating a visual contrast that Alicent can find ways to replicate later in the season as well.

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

https://linktr.ee/ellen.artistic

[mechncheese]

your designs are so peak! dyou think youd be willing to share some of your process for how you develop the looks you make?

Sure thing ! I'll take you on a journey into my mind's eye

Long text post ahead in case anyone's interested in my designing process

I start off with references-- lots of references. I pull inspiration from more than one iteration for a character ! For Brainstorm specifically I took the most inspiration from IDW Brainstorm with aspects from G1 like his darker/greener color.

Red Alert's darker color palette is also based on the TFA design with heavy IDW influence. First Aid's little doctor's coat was inspired by the Bayverse Crosshair's coat. Ratchet's design is based on his Prime, G1, IDW, and Cyberverse iterations but I took the most inspiration from his Prime design (I think Prime Ratchet is also my favorite Ratchet so I might be biased)

Before I begin designing anything, I map out the character's silhouette, it gives me a feel for the shapes I want and how they'd stand out in a lineup. Here's Wheeljack for an example.

Then I start the first draft/sketch. I just draw on top of the silhouette and adjust as I go, I'm mostly going based on what feels right to me.

Since a lot of the bots I was working with had White and Red color palettes I had to use different accent colors to break it up and I wanted to emphasize their shape language. I try to keep things from blurring together too much. I also used various off-white colors (it's very subtle) and different shades of red.

I also pull inspiration from figurines/model kits from gundams specifically-- honestly I do this mostly for the legs, I struggle a lot with making the legs look right so I look at Gundam legs for references on knee articulations and the ankles.

a lot of it is trial and error and it usually takes me more than one attempt before finalizing a design. Let me show you the monster that is my first Brainstorm attempt.

Good fucking god I have no idea what the hell I was thinking, literally the first thing I said to myself as I was finishing this was "Oh my god he is UGLY, I cannot keep him like that" he was not working out so I went back to the drawing board and worked small.

Here was my second draft of Brainstorm, I was thinking about his personality as I was working on him which I think helped a lot. Chaotically natured, I incorporated a lot of sharp shapes and I darkened his color palette to a sea green to let the red and yellow/orange accents stand out. It also emphasizes his more sinister personality while the broad yellow-accented shoulders paired with the extra red accents kind of give him this "show-off" and "full of himself" vibe.

My previous mistake was that the blue was far too bright and the orange and red were just clashing too much. Also his wings being flat against his back just did not fit him. I think I was too afraid to break to mold with Brainstorm-- Like there was this line between "This is not Brainstorm enough" or "This is too far from being Brainstorm" and then I remembered his very wise words

Then I just started to get adventurous and experimental and bam, we have Science AU Brainstorm. The major takeaway from this is don't be afraid to get wild with your designs.

In contrast, Since Prowl and Brainstorm will be seen around each other a lot, I kept Prowl's design less flashy and his palette limited, pulling heavily from IDW Prowl. It also fits his personality, he's much more serious and orderly. So when they're seen in the same drawing, there's this nice design compliment between Brainstorm and Prowl.

Another oopsies I did was initial First Aid attempt where I made his accent color orange for some reason. It looked really bad and I ended up changing it to blue which worked a lot better.

But yeah ! That's my general design process ! Play around, have fun and don't be afraid to get experimental and try some new things for designs !

[ouroborosorder]

big fan of harpygirls i see

you do not understand the love in my heart for anime harpygirls. if i could be a harpy i would. my hands aren't important. i have wings. it's better.because you have to hold things with the little bent elbows on the end like they're little paws covered in feathers. that's the pinnacle. the way that harpygirls groom their feathers usually as some sort of gag or physical comedy or blatant excuse for being horny but i'm fine with that because i will always be horny for harpies. and the way that we've all unilaterally agreed on chestwraps for harpies, the single hottest article of clothing, with the wings providing the color contrast that a jacket would normally provide, mimicking the effect of the S+ tier "chestwrap with a big jacket" combo,, but the visual balance is restored due to the big talons, meaning that overall a perfectly balanced design where verything exists in a perfect harmony. the fact that harpygirl colors are blue! green! purple! those are the harpy colors! and they're all perfect! sometimes you get harpies designed to mimic actual birds and they're literally peak because how do you design a character carrying the visual traits of a bird into a human design conveys a lot about how much you love the bird and what traits on the bird you deam critical. and they're versatile!!! you like knifeplay? they got talons. you into tickling? feathers, baby. you like... egg stuff? not for me, don't understand it, but i've got great news about the amount of harpy egg porn on the internet. you want art of a cute girl screaming at people? harpies. there;s nothing they can't do. no, that's a lie. There's many things they cannot do. the fact that they do what they do and they do it perfectly. they are beautiful birds, nothing more and nothing less. this is the appeal of the harpygirl. you must love harpies. i wish i was a harpy. i want to kiss a harpy. if i could design myself a vtuber avatar it would be a fucking harpy just so i could look at it and pretend for a single moment that i am a harpy. i feel the same way about harpies that laios dungeon meshi feels about beastmen. i respect them and also want to be them and also want to fuck them. do you understand. the worst day of my life was learning about the arknights liberi because from then on my next question was "can they be a harpy" and the answer is a resounding "not really." and to this day it haunts me. i genuinely have considered comissioning art of a harpygirl i can use as an avatar just so i can go through my day with even a fraction of the gender euphoria i experience when i see a harpy. do you get it. do you UDNERSTAND.

[mikareo]

౨ৎ⋆ ˚｡⋆ A LOVE LETTER TO: THE LOUVRE ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀呪術廻船; geto suguru x fem reader ⠀ ꒰ . . org. writing repost ꒱ . . . word count; 12.9k

⊹ ⠀⠀ for as long as he can remember, geto's world has been black and white - giving him no reason to appreciate his mother’s profession as an artist and the beauties that art can provide. however, an accidental meeting with you gives him reason to doubt his former beliefs - proving to him that there may be true beauty in a world that’s void of everything bright, that beauty being the sunshine that you provide. 

contains; colorblind!geto, painter!reader, geto's mom is reader’s art mentor, he hates art, strangers to friends to lovers, major crushing from both sides, slow burn but also not slow burn, swearing, fluff, reader acts like she’s on an adrenaline rush 24/7, jealousy, angst, explosive arguments, lowkey toxic, extremely inaccurate depictions of colorblindness!!, geto sucks at flirting author's note; repost of a bllk fic i have, titled 'rationalism'. if there are any plot errors pls let me know,, the original fic is still posted, i just wanted this up for jjk too,, enjoy!

Whenever the sun meets its peak at the high dawning point in the sky is when Suguru knows it's a perfectly acceptable time to visit his oh-so-beloved mother. If he could, he would spend every waking moment with her - he’s a momma’s boy through and through - not only because she birthed him and taught him everything he knows, but because she’s kind and good. She’s also one of - scratch that - she’s the only person he can stand to be around for more than twenty four hours - and he takes great pride in having such a wonderful woman in his life.

However, despite how dearly he holds his mother to his heart, the issue with visiting her at this time of day is that she’s in her art studio. A place he loathes more than having to wear wet socks with sneakers. While it’s a beautiful space, with high wooden beams and floor to ceiling windows, he finds himself nauseous at the mere sight of the countless tubes of oil and acrylic paints. It’s not that the smell or colors are distasteful, it’s the fact that no matter how hard he squints and struggles, he cannot fathom what the simple color red looks like.

Complete black and white color blindness isn’t a life threatening condition in the slightest, but for Suguru, it feels as if he’s being stabbed through the sternum at any notion of the changing leaves or colorful streaks of light across the sun-setting sky.

He doesn’t hate his mother for being an artist, he simply hates the art itself.

And he especially hates pieces of art like the one sitting before him, now. With the blobs of squares and triangles against the supposedly white canvas, sitting perky on the easel as if to mock him - he decides to reach his hand out - and remind himself how emotionally detached acrylic paints make him feel. It’s wet, he observes, rubbing his thumb and pointer finger together to mix the possibly different hues. Suguru hopes he didn’t ruin the artist’s painting in any way, he wouldn’t know if he’d accidentally smeared shading or contrasting primaries - but surely the artist could fix it in a jiffy.

“Do you like it?”

Well, that certainly isn’t his mother’s voice.

“I tried using cooler tones in the corner here, and then migrated towards warmth in the lower portion.” You’re beside him now, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with his position, and completely ignoring his personal space - all while he’s never met you before this day. Your finger is extended, pointing towards the artistic decisions you’re elaborating on that, in all honesty, he doesn’t give two shits about. “I’m thinking about sketching some paper cranes on top of it all, I want it to represent the change of seasons.”

“What do you think?”

You’re staring at him now, bright eyes shining with curiosity. Suguru is at a loss for words, mostly due to your unannounced appearance in the studio, but also because you’re possibly the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on - which is shocking, considering the sight of thick paint smudged against a person’s face typically sends him running the opposite direction. He’s never felt an immediate connection to the women of his past - however you, a strange girl who resembles a dog waiting for its treat, has his heart beating at twice the rate.

“I like this shape.” Suguru purses his lips into a straight line, never having felt so awkward in his whole life. “This square is nice, too.”

You look utterly unimpressed with his evaluation. Your nose is scrunched in distaste and the fold beneath your right eye seems to be twitching in disapproval for your own artwork. “That’s all that you like?” You step ever so slightly closer to him, chin tilted up to meet his gaze, before retreating quickly and coddling your painting. “Perhaps I overestimated my color palette. I really thought it would be the outstanding moment of this piece, but I guess I could rework it if the shapes are all that matter—”

“Did you touch my painting?”

Oh boy, he’s in for it now.

A nervous laugh leaves his mouth, embarrassing him further as he reaches up to scratch the back of his neck in an attempt to look casual, only for you to grab his wrist out of thin air. “Oh my god, you did!” Your mouth is agape, inspecting his tattered skin in shock - yet somehow he knows that you aren’t truly upset with him - you don't seem like that kind of person. “Did you not realize that you’ve got scarlet red all over your palms?”

Suguru’s mind is blank, his ability to form coherent sentences is gone, and he can only muster up the cheesiest, most terribly dreadful joke that he’s said in the twenty three years he’s been alive.

“I guess you caught me red handed?”

There’s a moment of silence, with the two of you displaying the most aloof expressions either of you have ever made, until your face lights up with laughter. He doesn’t understand what could possibly be so funny - his joke was awful - but the sound of your contagious fits of giggles make his heart feel a little bit warmer in a place that he commonly feels suffocated in. For the first time, the studio gives him a sense of comfort rather than distress - and he knows it's because he’s developing a very clear crush on the pretty girl beside him. 

You’re hysterical, resembling that of insanity while Suguru is simply stuck in time. He can’t tell if he should be steadying you before you trip over your own feet or if he should simply take his leave and forget this day ever happened. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” he begins, watching you wipe a tear of laughter from the crinkle of your right eye, “but why are you here? Do you have an appointment, because I could’ve sworn there weren’t any other people that were allowed in the studio at this hour—”

“Oh, I do know you!” The volume of your voice just seems to get louder and louder. “You must be Miss Geto’s son! She always mentions how lovely her little boy is, I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you! Though, I expected you to be like six or seven, not my age. She should’ve mentioned that you were handsome, not cute - she really chose every adjective other than the ones that wouldn’t make you sound like a primary schooler.”

Does she ever stop talking? Suguru doesn’t think he’s ever heard another person ramble on-and-on like you do. Normally he’d have ended the conversation by now, walked away without a second thought of whether he acted rude or not, but he knows that his mother would strangle him if he was to blatantly disregard her current favorite student. The student that she loves telling him stories about at the dinner table every Sunday night as he’s just trying to eat his fingerling potatoes in peace.

The same student who he’s somehow enjoying talking to - though it’s mostly just you talking to his blank face - and is causing a soft yellow blush to form on his cheeks. He doesn’t actually know if yellow is the color related to blushing, but he thinks he’s read it somewhere before. 

“Anyways, to answer your question—”

Suguru feels like he’d asked you hours ago.

“—I’d walked all the way to the train station and realized I’d forgotten my wallet here - which is strange because normally I never forget anything. I’m a very organized person—”

Yeah, he doesn’t believe that. 

“—and then I had to run all the way back here—”

Your shoes are scuffed. You definitely tripped on the way.

“—where I accidentally ran into a stroller…poor baby—”

Yep. Tripped.

“—which led me to you!”

You’re smiling now and Suguru doesn’t think he’s seen so many teeth shining at him in all of his life. God, do you ever run out of energy? No matter, he knows exactly where your missing item is. The anonymous wallet had been the first thing his eyes had grazed over when striding towards your artwork - good thing it’s only an arm’s reach away.

He snatches the wallet from the art easel and is pleasantly surprised by the quality of the possibly monochromatic leather. The clasp is simple, requiring just one twist before the contents of your identity are laid out before him. “Well, it’s nice to meet you,” Suguru recites the name written on your license and holds the items out to you, to which you reach out, eager to reunite with your belongings. However, at the last second he waves it in the air - away from your dying fingertips - and clicks his tongue two times. “Try not to lose it again. It’s a luxury brand, isn’t it? I like the black color.”

“Black?” Shit. The tilt of confusion your head makes indicates that your wallet is not, in fact, black. “I’m either stupid or color blind, but this is red.”

Before Suguru can respond, he’s saved by the bell. Well, technically his savior isn’t an actual bell, but you get the gist. “Miss Geto!” Thank god she’s finally here to distract you. He’s been fighting to maintain his pride throughout your entire interaction. “I made an extra trip to the studio and ran into your son, here! You weren’t lying when you said he’s a little quiet - honestly, I feel like I’ve been talking to myself this whole time.”

You quite literally have been doing that very thing for the past ten minutes. 

“Oh, Suguru! Have you been acting rude?” His mother’s expression is tense, stricter than the time he ‘accidentally’ took her (grey?) Kia Soul on a joyride that one weekend he and Satoru decided to go on a midnight run to the department store. “Please don’t mind him at all, dear. You see, he doesn’t exactly get out much - his social skills might be a little underdeveloped.”

She can’t actually be saying this right now. This is exactly why he hasn’t had a girlfriend in months - his mother embarrasses him in front of every pretty girl they come across in the first two minutes of saying ‘hello’. It isn’t that Suguru is a terrible flirt - which he is, but he likes to deny it - it’s that he loves his mother so much that he can’t bear to tell her that her attempts at ‘hooking him up’ are always bound to fail. 

However, you don’t appear to be phased by her words. If anything, you’re actually pleased by the sound of him being socially impaired. 

“That’s actually perfect!”

What.

The.

Fuck?

“He can be my portrait model!” You’re still talking. Please, for the love of God, stop talking. “You know how I’ve been trying to become better skilled in the emotional aspect of my paintings, he could definitely help me out by showing anxiety and embarrassment - and you’ve been telling me it’s about time that I found myself a model.”

The endless trail of words that continue to string from your mouth seem to reach their end. Rather than speaking in spitfire, you’re now crazily staring at Suguru, himself. Both of your fists are clenched together in a pleading hold and he doesn’t think that you’ve blinked since the start of your conversational rampage - but despite the absurdity of your proclamation, he believes you have good intentions. There really is no reason to deny the request - after all, he’d be helping out his mother in the process, she does love having successful students - but he just can’t imagine himself spending any more time in the dreadfully grey studio than he already does. 

“I don’t think that would be a very good idea.” His mother catches your words before he has a chance to give you his own oral letter of rejection. “Suguru’s never been one for art.”

“Oh.”

All you have to say is ‘oh’? 

“I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you continue. The expression on your face is suddenly stern. Has he offended you in some way by saying no? “I’ll figure something else out, Miss Geto. I apologize if I overstepped.”

You’re bowing your head before him now, and Suguru is shell shocked. His first impression of you was undoubtedly a dud, considering how you actually do seem to have a rational bone in your body despite the hyperactivity you displayed just moments before. While he’s mustering up a response, you lift your eyes - lashes fluttering like upwards brush strokes on a canvas - and send a small smile his way. It’s as if you’re silently apologizing to him for the undivided attention you tormented him with, but he doesn’t want you to apologize. 

He just doesn’t know how to say that he actually liked your personality. 

God, he’s so bad at flirting. 

“Thanks for finding my wallet, though.” Your fingers are suddenly touching his, momentarily grazing against his skin as you pluck your wallet from his hands. There’s no chance that you haven’t noticed the rising heat that’s currently warming the blossoms of his cheeks, and he hopes that you find it endearing. While he isn’t great with words, he likes to think that he may be at least a little bit cute. His mother always calls him a ‘cutie’ - which he appreciates, but it’s also so degrading for someone of his age. “Maybe I’ll be forgetful more often, now.”

He hopes you’ll start being more forgetful, too.

You’ve left your entire bag this time. 

He can’t tell if you’re trying to be subtle and coy with the budding feelings that’re growing between the two of you, and you’re just as awful at flirting as he is - or if you’ve just given up on leaving small signs of attraction. Honestly, in the past few weeks of you leaving paintbrushes and lanyards in the studio, he’d assumed it was all naturally an accident. This, though? How do you expect him to believe that you left your entire satchel in the studio? Sure, you can be a little dense, but not that dense. 

It’s obvious that you’ve begun to lose track of your belongings for the simple reason that you enjoy partaking in the awkward exchange of items when you ‘hastily’ return to the empty renovated greenhouse and get to act surprised to see him standing there with his arms full of things with your name written all over them. In fact, this instance has happened so often that Suguru is beginning to believe that he actually enjoys it, too. 

Sometimes he thinks that maybe you should just write your name on him to speed up this dreadful ‘will they, won’t they’ process that you’ve been pacing together. 

He likes you. He really really likes you, and you both know it.

You’d picked up on his feelings from the second time you met - when he willingly stayed behind in the studio for an extra two hours just to hear you ramble about the difference between heavy and soft body acrylic paints. There was something about the way you grinned at him. How your chin would angle upwards to his height in order to have a proper conversation. How you weren’t afraid to say anything and everything that was on your sporadic mind. How your eyes would sparkle at the dedicated eye contact he was making - letting you know that he was hanging on to every word that left your lips (which he just recently found out are pink - and boy does he wish to know what that undoubtedly lovely color looks like against your skin). 

He hates to compare you to a painting - which he still finds a positively dreadful blob of nothingness - but to him, you are one. You’re a captivating piece of art hanging on the walls of the nationally acclaimed museum in his mind. 

A captivating piece of art whose art of subtlety is extremely lacking, considering that your phone number is quite literally painted on the largest white canvas your easel can hold, in bold lettering that he would have to be visually blind to miss, plastered behind the hiding place of your bag.

‘P.S. It's written in red paint. I know you have a thing for red.”

As much as he likes you, you can be such a pain in his ass. The bane of his existence, if you will. 

It pains him to notice how he hadn’t thought twice about typing the digits into his text bar, smiling to himself at the sight of your make-shift contact with the horrid selfie you’d taken on his phone to be your future contact picture. Your hair is an utter mess, with flecks of paint scattered across your hairline - which, to be honest, look like dandruff to him with their lack of vivid color, but he told you that they resemble snowflakes. He lied - but what you don’t know doesn’t hurt you. 

Without hesitating, he types a singular ‘hey’ before backtracking. What if you don’t know that it’s him texting you? What if you think that it’s a random stranger who just so happened to be in the art studio and thought to add your contact information to their phone? He better be more clear. 

‘Hello. You know me.’

Perfect. 

In less than a split second, you respond. He can feel his nerves itching at the sight of the grey text bubble popping in and out of view. Suguru can’t even remember the last time his heart beat so fast. Perhaps when he was standing in front of his secondary school health classroom and he accidentally mistook a photo of the urinary system with the ovaries during a speech about the female menstrual cycle? The stream of liquid projected against the white board was in fact not what he thought it was (how was he supposed to see the difference between red and yellow?), which turned into a horribly disgusting presentation that Satoru still bothers him about to this day. That was dreadful - but this is definitely equally as dreadful, if not more.

‘Stalker much?’ Huh? ‘Hi though, Suguru. That text was very…you.’

‘You added my number pretty quickly.’ Man, you text really fast. ‘You just couldn’t resist me, could you?’

He doesn’t know what to say back. It’s as if his mind has been scraped raw of all romantic material that one would usually use in this situation - the situation in which an unbelievably pretty girl is talking to him through a phone screen. Suguru is completely frozen in place, time, and thought. The only part of him that isn’t paralyzed is the hole in his chest that is beginning to be thawed by you. His frozen heart of past relationships has found its fire - and oh does it burn for you. 

“Cat got your tongue?”

Where the fuck did you come from?

Swiveling on his heel, he turns to face your approaching figure. Your footsteps are lighter than air, likely being the reason as to how you managed to stealthily sneak in so quietly while he had been distracted with his phone. The light denim jeans that cover you from waist to ankles are perhaps his favorite pair you own. You’ve painted on them over time, sketching out a garden of patterns that don’t require color to appreciate. Your artistic ability is uncanny - he can’t deny the fact that you’re incredibly skilled - and he believes that you should be given an award for making ‘art’s number one hater’ a growing fan. 

“You left your bag.” No shit, Captain Obvious. “Do you want it back?”

He’s so bad at this. 

You skip towards him, your left foot following your right in a rhythm of peppiness, and lean up towards him with a shine in your eyes. God, you look so pretty. Sure, seeing you from a comfortable distance with an easel separating your bodies was nice and all, but when you pull stunts like this - with no room for him to scurry off and run - he actually takes the time to digest your features in their true beauty. You’re the artist, yet he seems to be the one who’s always studying you.

“Do you have any plans for today?” You ask in a curious tone. Your hands are held together behind your back as you send him a beaming grin with an upturned lip. “—because I was thinking about grabbing some tea, and it would be so unfortunate if I had to go all alone and sit by myself with all of those strangers around me. Who knows what could happen? If only there were someone who could protect me in case a sleazy guy asks for my number…”

Are you trying to manipulate him, right now?

“I’ve got nothing to do today.”

—because he’ll gladly let you do so. 

The peaks of your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting him to accept the offer so quickly. Over the short time you’ve known one another, you’ve noticed that Suguru’s reluctance to spend one-on-one time with you has dwindled. He’s slowly becoming more comfortable in your presence and whatever inner turmoil that he’s facing is fading into the tide of your raging tsunami. There’s a peaceful gaze behind his brown eyes, now. One that you love to study whenever he isn’t looking your way (which isn’t often). 

“Then it’s a date!” Surging forwards, you take his arm in yours and link yourselves together. He’s initially shocked by the immediate physical connection you’ve managed to make within mere seconds, but he thinks that he likes it. It’s been so long since he’s even held hands with a girl, so he’s understandably tense, but you’re giving him time to adjust. After all, scaring him away would be your last intention. “I’ll even pay for your drink, since you were kind enough to find my lost satchel.”

“Yeah, your lost satchel was so hard to find.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He smiles to himself.

Yes, you do.

He isn’t sure how, but he’s somehow burned his tongue again. 

“Shit!” Suguru hurriedly places his mug down onto the circular wooden table that separates the two of you, while attempting to be gentle since he doesn’t want to waste the perfectly tasty coffee that you paid for. He groans, dabbing the corners of his lips with one of the complimentary paper napkins. “Why does it get me every time?” 

This is perhaps the third week in a row that you and him have ditched the studio and decided to claim the neighboring cafe as your designated date spot - though you’re still an unofficially exclusive couple. Unofficial as in Suguru hasn’t found the nerves to ask you to be his girlfriend, and exclusive as in neither of you are nor want to see other people. It’s a confusing situation for both parties to be in, but he just can’t seem to take that next step with you no matter how hard he tries to push himself towards the ideal solution. 

Suguru is a rationalist. He takes in the information given to him through interactions and associations, working through it with logistics on his mind, and tries to find the best outcome. It’s how he’s lived every hour and every day of his adulthood, and he’s fairly set in stone with his mannerisms at this point. He always known who he is, what he wants, and how to obtain those things. What he didn’t know, though, was that an unpredictable variable (you) would crash into his life and disarray the routine that he’d been building for twenty-three years. 

The hypothesis born of the situation isn’t a difficult one to solve, after all he’s had it written down for a month: if Suguru finds the courage to ask you to be his girlfriend, then you’ll likely say yes and the two of you will live happily ever after. Easy, right?

Wrong. He’s a chicken.

“Here. This might help you cool down.”

Your arm is extended, offering him your drink of the day without hesitation. Every time you come here, arm-in-arm, you order something different. ‘There’s no fun without surprise’, is what you tell him after the consistent strange glances he sends your way when you’re ordering, and he can’t help but disagree. You’re very different individuals - and that difference is extremely apparent with the light, mint garnished tea in your glass compared to the dark roast coffee in his. 

“Thanks, you’re a lifesaver.” He sighs in relief as the cool liquid flows down his throat in an internal waterfall. “Holy shit, this is actually so good.”

You laugh, “I would hope so. I only got it because of the photo on the menu. It’s like a rainbow of color.”

And there it is. The thing that isolates him the most from your world. 

As much as he likes you, which is more than he can explain, he can’t help but have that itching thought at the back of his mind that you’ll never truly be able to connect with one another. You bask in the beauty of the world around you. From the apparent golden sun showers and bouquets of stark red roses - two things that you’ve described to him in great detail amidst your walks through the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings -  to the countless brush strokes against the white canvas at his mother’s studio, you adore a world in color. 

It’s a viewpoint that’s shaped who you are, from infantry to your current age of twenty-two, and it’s something that you’ll never be able to let go of. 

To be quite frank, it scares him. It keeps him up at night knowing that seeing the world through your eyes is impossible. That it’s a far off dream that is unobtainable, taunting him in his mind and heart like a bone dangling in front of a dog’s face. He wishes that he could admire the blue streaked skies and emerald green ferns that line the streets of the city. He yearns to feel overcome with pride at the sight of your watercolor drafts - which you attempt to show him after every class session to no avail - and congratulate you on the progress you’re making. There are so many things that he dreams of doing with you, dreams that exist solely in your world, as they’ll never be possible in his. 

He hasn’t officially asked you to be his yet, because how could he?

How could he bind you to him? You’d be miserable looking through his eyes - having to see only hues of black, white, and grey, similar to the pencil sketches that you’ve openly shown your hatred for in front of him. ‘There’s just nothing there,’ is what you mumble to yourself. ‘No life, no anything without color.’ To which you then drop a single ounce of paint against the seemingly dreadful piece of art - and the sparkle in your eyes as it comes to life is something that he loves to see but can’t understand… 

…as you see the world in a way that he can never understand. 

Suguru doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to tell you about his condition. It would end everything all at once, and he isn’t sure how he would recover from that kind of heartbreak. You’re so blissfully unaware of how much conflict runs through his veins on a daily basis. Hell, you don’t even notice how he orders a singular black coffee every time you approach the counter together. You don’t see how he struggles to agree with you as you admire the assortment of blended beverages with a forced smile on his face. You don’t understand why he chooses to indulge in such a bitter drink and make sure to comment on it every single time.

He can’t blame you, though - it really is disgusting - but he also can’t tell you that he orders his coffee black since it’s a universal drink that appears the same to everyone who sees it. At least when he’s holding the steaming mug between his large palms, he knows that it appears to you as it does to him. That the divide that’s ripping a ravine through your connected hands is lessened in a sense - and you’re truly viewing one thing as the same. 

Which is why he sits pretty and appreciates the short time that you do spend together, and suffers through piping hot coffee three times a week with no interruptions. 

“I think I’ve made some progress on my portfolio.”

Your drink has been returned to your hands now. The small, clear glass is ringing as you tap the sides with your fingernails. It’s somewhat soothing, the rhythm following the tune of one of your favorite songs that Suguru happens to know very well after walking in on you in the middle of ‘art therapy’, in which you blast the music at full volume and deafen all other sounds. You have a tendency to be impatient - art being the only thing that can really pin you down for a long period of time - yet you’ve made room in your heart for Suguru despite this. 

“Really?” Suguru dabs his mouth carefully, being ever the proper suitor in your presence. “My mom hasn’t given you any recent critiques?” 

“No, she has.” As your words continue, you take a long sip of your tea. He can feel his cheeks flush while you swallow. He loves anything you do. “Just little comments about negative space and color theory, but I’m getting there.”

“Nice.”

He doesn’t know how to respond to that.

“Yeah, nice.” 

Despite his seemingly rude reaction, you’re still gazing at him with a smile on your face. It isn’t an exceedingly joyful smile or one of excitement, but something of contentedness. You’ve become comfortable around him - shedded the hyperactive layers of skin that you display to onlooking strangers - and have begun to share the side of yourself that only your bedroom walls know. Seeing this side of you has made him fall even harder. Knowing that someone so confident, so bold, is just like him - caring so much about first impressions and likeability - and has their own insecurities is validating. Validating in the sense that you find him special enough to throw away the filter and be your true self in his presence. 

“You know,” you begin in a wistful tone, “you aren’t a man of many words, Suguru - and if I’m being totally honest, my patience is running out.” 

He hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is.

He’s not letting you ask him out before he can—

“What am I to you?”

Oh.

Your eyes are giving him an expectant look, now. 

What the hell is he supposed to say to that?

This is the quietest you’ve ever been, you aren’t even swirling the star-shaped ice cubes in your strawberry lemon tea. 

Why can’t he think of anything to say?

His silence is causing you to furrow your eyebrows in concern. 

This is so embarrassing. Just say something. Anything. 

“You’re my mom’s student.”

Anything but that.

“I’m…” the words at the tip of your tongue seem to dissolve like damp sugar cubes, “I’m your mom’s student.”

Your sentence is more of a statement than a question. It’s as if there’s a machine in your brain, working through his given answer and comparing all of the other possibilities he could’ve said. There were endless responses to your inquiry, and he somehow managed to pick the worst one. 

He needs to fix this. How can he fix this?

“You’re not just a student, though.” His words are tumbling over one another in somersaults and you seem to perk up at his continuity. The hope in your heart grows a little bit larger, pulsating and yearning for him to say exactly what you’d been wanting for weeks-on-weeks. “You’re my mom’s special student.” 

Oh God, he made it worse.

“What?” Suguru tries to reach for your hand in an attempt to compensate for his actions through physical touch, but you retaliate and instinctively jerk away. You quickly stand, drink in hand, and back away from him as he follows like a lost puppy. Your head is shaking from right to left, disbelief exerting from the pores of your skin like poison - sentencing him with death while it seeps through his gaping mouth and empty palms. “I’m a special student?” 

How the hell are you so fast?

Within seconds the two of you are at odds outside of the building. The weather is somewhat chilly - springtime having just come around with the cherry blossoms in full bloom - and it’s probably a beautiful day with the petals raining down on the pavement. You’d usually make a comment about how wonderful the horticulture was outside of the shop, but now you’re stomping over every fallen flower and budding stem that lies in the way of your rage-filled path. He’d always thought of you as a gentle soul, but apparently even gentle souls have their breaking points - and he never dreamed that he’d be yours.

“If I’m so special, what makes me different from the girl before me and the one before her?” This is the first time you’ve ever raised your voice at him. “Did you take all of them out for drinks? Did they all get to spend one-on-one time with their mentor’s ‘handsome’ son? Did you lead all of them on, too? Suguru, what kind of answer is that?”

You’ve found yourselves in an alcove now - about a block from the cafe in a small garden nestled between two buildings. The blossoming trees continue to surround you from all sides, perfectly framing the tragic picture of him saying anything and everything you absolutely do not want to hear. A large sigh leaves your lips, heaving from your chest as if he’s popped a balloon and is pushing all of the air out with the strength of his smooth hands. 

“That’s not what I meant!” He pauses as you halt in place, slowly turning to face him like you're something out of a horror movie - a monster who’s ready to murder their prey. A gulp runs down his Adam’s apple. You’re terrifying when upset. “Please, just let me explain!”

“Explain what?” Suguru flinches at your volume. “If you want to explain yourself so badly then tell me why the hell would you say something like that?”

“Sure, you aren’t the best with banter or having a crush - but dear God, you cannot possibly be that dense.” This is getting bad. “I’ve left hundreds of hints! Every single goddamn day - and you’ve picked up on all of them! You know, I thought that when you’d hold my hand or kiss my cheek that you actually meant something by it. I figured ‘he spends so much time with me, he can’t possibly not like me’, but no. I’m just a student.”

Your face is fuming with every dreadful word that comes out of your mouth. “Oh, sorry. I’m a special student.”

If this were a scene in an animated film, your hair would be on fire now. Flames as high as mountain tops would be spiking in sharp peaks at every end of sentence and statement spitting from your mouth. Your normally warm irises would be drawn as ice cold, not leaving any room for life as they skate across his timid features - wishing for him to reach freezing level so you could smash him into a million pieces. 

You’d always told him that red and blue - fire and ice - were two things that you admired most. With their ever changing states of matter and forceful power amidst the seasons, he found himself believing as you do. Suguru actually learned to appreciate their vast palette as if he could see it with his own eyes - but now? Now he thinks that they’re the two worst things in the universe - as their destructive nature has decided that their target is him, and he has absolutely no defenses prepared. 

“I should’ve caught on sooner, shouldn’t I have?” You’re still going, hot tears building up and threatening to stream down your cheeks. Never in his life has Suguru been at the receiving end of such anger - and never in his life has he learned how to manage a situation as such. So, he does what any clueless man would do - he returns the anger. 

“You’re not even listening to me!” His hands are violently moving while his words cut like knives. “You never listen to me!”

“I never listen to you?” He’s apparently hit another nerve. “Is that some kind of sick joke? Suguru, all I do is listen to you! It may not look like it, but I see the way you tense whenever I talk about my passions and dreams. I notice the way your face drains when I’m asking you for your opinion on my works in progress. Sometimes it’s like I can physically hear your eyes rolling when they see me walk into the studio with my bag of brushes and materials. Yet, you think that I don’t listen? I take note of every single thing that you do when you’re around me, because I don’t want to miss out on a single moment with you, and you don’t even care!”

He can’t believe that you’re pinning this on him.

“How could you even say that?” Suguru can’t tell who’s in the right or wrong anymore - all he knows is that if he doesn’t stop speaking, you’ll walk away forever. “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as you! I’ve done my best to entertain your interests and the absurd things you ask of me—”

“Well, your best hasn’t been enough.”

You’ve got to be fucking kidding.

“Are you being serious, right now?” 

Your eyes are stoney, rock solid with stubbornness as you refuse to accept his side of the story and he knows that you won’t be budging from the beliefs that you’re choosing to hold against him. Suguru doesn’t know how everything went so wrong so fast, but he does know that he doesn’t have what it takes to save the situationship that he mistakenly put the two of you in. 

“What the fuck did I do wrong that you resent me this much? Not even an hour ago all you wanted was to see me get down on one knee and profess my ‘undying’ love for you.” He’s so angry. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this angry. “Now I’m some asshole who doesn’t give a shit about your wellbeing? If everything I’ve done hasn’t been enough, then I might as well go fuck myself, right? I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you! I’m sorry I can’t see the world through crystal lenses like you! I’m sorry that I’m not good enough for you!”

His face feels wet. When did he start to cry? Was it ten minutes ago? Five? Just now? The hurricane of emotions that he’s putting himself through is more than he’s endured in years - his mental blockage of his condition finally coming to light as his heart runs off of the rails - and you’ve definitely seemed to notice considering the concern etched into your expression. 

“I was never going to be perfect for you,” he begins with a softer tone. Perhaps his hot bundle of rage has subsided for a few moments. “I can’t be with you. I can’t understand how you see the world. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life listening to you ask me all of these questions and opinions on your work when I can’t even see it fully.”

You’re so close to him. Somewhere in the flurry of words, you took a step in his direction. “Suguru, what’re you talking about?”

As he bites his bottom lip with the fear of judgment raging in his mind, his secret is set free. 

“I’ve always liked this shirt on you,” he solemnly smiles, “This shade’s my favorite color that you wear.”

You look up at him, pulling at the fabric against your chest in confusion. “Red?”

“Grey.”

He’s laughing lightly, making up for the thoughtful silence that you’ve found yourself in. It’s like he can physically see the gears turning in your head as they attempt to make sense out of his statement. “It’s more of a rich grey - almost black - and it compliments your skin tone. You know, my mom used to tell me that the way to a woman’s heart is through compliments. I’ve always tried my best to do that, but it clearly hasn’t been working.”

His hands somehow find yours as he shares the inevitable truth he’d been hiding so hard - and with a deep gulp, his secret is finally exposed.

“After all, how could I ever reach someone’s heart without even knowing what color their eyes are?”

He misses you. He can’t help it, but he does. 

The memories he has with you are a cassette tape on autoplay - constantly running through his mind on repeat, and always ending with the awful confrontation that you’d left each other with. Suguru wishes he hadn’t raised his voice. He wishes that he would’ve been honest with you from the very beginning, but he hadn’t, and there’s no changing the past. All he has now are two empty hands that would much rather be interlaced with your paint-covered fingers. 

“How much longer do you think you’re going to be moping?” Satoru’s call is distant from the turning gears within Suguru’s brain. He’s sure that his best friend has grown tired of his constant state of melancholy - having been forced to be his support system after you walked out the door - and Suguru feels awful about it. If he could, he’d rip his heart from his chest and allow you to step on it. To stomp and tear through the organs just as you’d done to those poor bystanding cherry blossoms on the sidewalk. 

“As long as she’s still upset with me.” He groans as his forehead hits the marble of the island counter. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Yeah, well we already knew that.” The bright-eyed man beside him scoffs while taking yet another drink of his apple juice - which he has unfortunately had to drink for the past hour and a half since Suguru had somehow consumed his small supply of alcohol within the past few weeks that the two of you hadn’t been speaking. “I was really rooting for you, man. I thought she was the one to break your cycle.”

“Cycle?”

What the hell does he mean by ‘cycle’?

“Oh, you know,” Satoru continues without even taking a breath, “The cycle of life you’ve got going on with your inability to actually attract girls.”

Suguru hates him.

“You’re so funny.” He grumbles, taking his own swig of the pint of orange juice he found in the back of his fridge. Is it expired? Likely yes. Does Suguru care, at all? Definitely not. Is he even more pissed off that he doesn’t understand the irony of why it’s called orange juice? He doesn’t want to answer that question. “An unhelpful funny guy who should definitely stay over and cook dinner for me since he wants to make up for being so unhelpful.”

Satoru scoffs, shaking his head whilst the thin, soft strands of his hair flit back and forth. His right eyebrow raises in a mocking expression, “You need to get yourself back out there, man. You’ll be old and grey if you keep waiting for the perfect girl to come knocking on your door, so just talk to her. Just talk to her and put me out of my misery.”

“Are you trying to make this about you, right now?” Suguru stares at his best friend in utter disbelief, but he’s not truly upset. He knows that Satoru holds good wishes for him in all manners of life - this being no exception - and takes his words to heart. He’s right. Of course, he’s going to lose you if he doesn’t even try to get you back. “The sun must be falling out of the sky because I’m actually considering following your advice.”

“That’s a pretty picture to imagine,” his friend chuckles, causing Suguru to roll his eyes. What’s the sensation that everyone has with mentioning imagery every five seconds? “Just talk to her, man.” Satoru continues, “Please, I’m all out of advice.”

Suguru takes his friend’s pleas to heart. It is quite ridiculous that he’s spending his time depressed and lonesome when he could be reconciling with you. Perhaps it’s his fragile masculinity acting out and refusing to take blame for the situation, although he’s fully aware it’s completely his fault that you’re upset with him. 

It’s difficult for the gears to begin turning in Suguru’s head. They’re covered in brittle rust that’s been creeping deep into the crevices of his mind for his entire life - slithering down his spine towards his blackened heart that you had only just begun to breathe life into. He misses the feeling of spring that came when you called. The freshwater rain of your laughter and budding blossoms of your smile that washed away his loneliness and replaced the awful emotion with an overgrown garden of bliss. He still doesn’t understand how he managed to mow that garden down with one sentence. He might as well have taken a chainsaw and brutally hacked into every connection that he’d managed to make with you in your time of knowing each other. 

Now he’s going to be on his knees begging for forgiveness with his hands stained by the minced grass. Does grass stain green or yellow? Hopefully not brown, dear lord. He’ll be buried deep into apologies that should definitely be rehearsed, but he knows he’s not an artist with words and he won’t bother to waste your time with crumpled-up ‘I’m sorry’ notes and improvised tears. 

You deserve nothing but the best - so much more than he’s been giving you and he needs you to hear those words come straight from his mouth. 

When did you begin to mean so much to him? Suguru doesn’t even know. 

It could’ve been when you showed up to his community soccer game unannounced, with first row seats and a booming cheer that he never knew he desired. ‘C’mon number ten! I know you can do better than that! Beat their asses, Suguru!’ He nearly tripped at the sound of your voice, and falling on his face was the last thing he wanted to do in front of the opposing team - but to be completely honest, he doesn’t remember much of his qualms with his rivals from that day. Suguru was solely focused on playing well for you. The world stopped and he was given all the time needed to impress you. You give him a reason to be better, a selfless reason to do good. 

Perhaps it was when you’d shown him around your homey apartment, with maple art easels and splattered canvases lining the walls, and watched with glee as he made his best attempt at a finger painting (which may or may not have ended up looking like two worms kissing). ‘It’s abstract’, you’d say every time he found something new that was wrong with the art piece, ‘All it needs is a home. See?’ You hung his shitty little sketchbook paper on your living room wall, right next to your TV for the whole world to see. The way you stood there staring in awe still rattles his brain. You’ve always been able to find beauty in even the smallest things. 

Or maybe his heart had begun to beat a little faster that Saturday night on the way out of the theater. The romance of the film the two of you just witnessed was still on Suguru’s mind, provoking his alcohol-induced body to make a pathetic attempt at holding your hand - which resulted in him accidentally knocking you over into a street puddle that swallowed the heel of your shoe. ‘I needed to take a shower anyway, Suguru, it’s fine!’ Your smile continued to be bright despite the low temperature and sprinkling rain, and he can recall wondering how you managed to stay so positive in such a dreary situation. As you discarded your soggy heels into a nearby trashcan and skipped barefoot on the pavement, you called, ‘Come on! Dance with me!’ The shared laughter between the two of you echoed through the seemingly empty streets that surrounded you - hands connected as you swung in circles around each other and fell over one too many times, until he carried your sleeping body home. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever been able to make him laugh as hard. 

The way the corners of your eyes crinkle amidst fits of giggles is his favorite image to replay. He doesn’t need to know the color to be able to see how beautiful they are - to appreciate the blinding sparkle that overwhelms your irises when he accidentally trips over the uneven sidewalk or knocks over your painting station - or even when he unintentionally makes a sexual innuendo that you just so happen to pick up on. ‘That’s a love hotel, Suguru! Why would I have stayed there before?’ It was almost as if you were conducting a symphony of glorious laughter that night. The violins played the tune of your voice in a higher octave and the cellos added a punch everytime you’d bite your lip in an attempt to calm down. He hadn’t known what a love hotel was intended for before that night, but he’d also made the mistake to say, ‘I wouldn’t mind going to my first one with you, it could be a first for both of us.’ and you still haven’t let him live it down. Suguru’s honest with himself for the most part. He’s awkward, insufferable, and a bore to be around - yet, for some odd and unknown reason, those are your favorite things about him. Why?

Why is it that he can’t function like a normal person when your eyes meet his?

Why do his words rearrange themselves and become complete gibberish when he attempts to woo you with his charm?

What is it that keeps him coming back to you, despite holding such deep hatred for the things that you love most?

“I need to text her.” Suguru feels his chest vibrate as he finally makes a decision, the words pouring from his mouth in a short word vomit - forcing Satoru to piece together the jumbled mess and attempt to comprehend whatever it was that his big brother was trying to say, to which he jumps up from his seat at the island and aggressively pats Suguru on the back. 

“That’s what I’ve been saying, dumbass! Get those fingers movin’!” 

His phone falls into his hands in a millisecond, with Satoru eagerly awaiting to hear his poetry. He’s grateful to have such a supportive friend. Suguru knows that there aren’t many people who would be willing to put up with him for so long - having been moping around and complaining day-and-night of relationship problems that were solely caused by him - and he can’t imagine not having his support. Hopefully he’ll be able to introduce you, one day. You’ll both give him so much shit for his attitude. Oh well. It’ll all be worth it having two people he loves get along. 

…

Did he just…

What did—

There’s no way.

Did he really just use that word? That godforsaken word?

He’s trembling. Suguru’s phone is shaking in his hands as he finally comes to the realization that he does, with his entire heart and being, love you. In an instant, his entire world scrambles together with rapid dashes and line art that he can’t even comprehend. There’s no rules to follow with these types of feelings - this insistent need to see you. Hold you. Kiss you.

Fuck, he wants to kiss you. He can’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. 

Like tapping raindrops that never cease their fall, his fingertips move against the keypad in a rhythmic motion - singing a song of love that can’t be contained into a simple lullaby. His heart pours out into the message, apology after apology being pasted in paragraphs, and hopes with his whole soul that you’ll find it in yourself to at least see him in person. There’s no way you won’t. Suguru knows you well enough now that he’s certain he’ll be seeing you again. All he needed to do was take the first step towards forgiveness, and he’s finally willing to be vulnerable and own up to his inability to be honest about his feelings, because he loves you. He loves you and he wants to tell you a hundred times, a thousand times, and a million times until you beg him to shut the hell up and kiss you. 

‘I’ll be at the studio tonight. I miss you, and I’m sorry.’

He ends the message with a final apology, begging fate that you’ll read it in time to meet him while he still has courage - and with that, he’s on his way to the place he hates most, awaiting the person whom he loves most.

An hour has passed - well technically it’s been fifty-seven minutes, but who’s counting?

He’s counting.

The sun went into hiding ages ago and the moon now stalks him as he sits in his chair, lonely with two vacant eyes that wish they were gazing at yours. Suguru can’t even tell if you’ve read the text or not - the grey speech bubbles look the same as they always have, and the delivered sign is posted at the bottom with no response. He wants to send a follow-up message, just a little ‘hey, you there?’ but he knows that’s a little bit much. If you want to see him, you’ll see him and he’ll confess his feelings once-and-for-all - though, he’s feeling much less confident than he was an hour ago. Ahem, sorry. Fifty-nine minutes ago. 

Suguru has a plan of what he’s going to say to you, and hopefully it makes sense when the words begin to fall from his lips. He’s said it many times before, but he’ll say it again, he’s never been good with words or feelings or anything of the sort. He wants to get better, though - to become more emotionally aware for your sake, because he knows that’s a priority for you. You have an image of your dream guy that’s been in your wishes since primary school - tall, handsome, daring, dashing, yada, yada, yada - and he’s trying to be that guy. He needs to be that guy. He’ll be anything for you. 

Anything and everything…even the desperate guy who can’t get a text back. 

Y’know, for a moment - a brief and fleeting moment - the world seemed a little more beautiful in his self-realization of love. The stars glistened brighter and the street lights sparkled in their reflections. Before tonight, Suguru hasn’t ever been able to appreciate the natural beauty of what surrounded him. He never understood your fascination with replicating real life into paintings and sketches, but he seems to have digested the concept - at least a little bit. The only thing that could undoubtedly make his world more dazzling would be the sight of you, and holy shit there you are. There you are opening the front door - and your gorgeous, perfect reflection in the glass is looking straight at him. 

He doesn’t need the ability to see color to know that you’re the most fascinating and jaw-dropping sight in the entire universe - and that the rainbow should be rearranged in the letters of your name in honor of your ability to captivate attention and inflict a multitude of emotions on him that he’s never felt before. 

“Suguru?” Your melodious voice is the remedy that his ears have been yearning for. “Suguru, is that you? Why’re you in the dark?” 

This means you haven’t read his text, right? Otherwise, why would you be confused as to why he’s here? Wait, why’re you even here?

You begin to explain yourself without him needing to ask, “I left my phone in here earlier like an idiot and I’ve been looking for it all day. Isn’t that so dumb?” You let out a little laugh, amused at your inability to keep track of your personal belongings. Why aren’t you acting like you’re upset with him? The last time you talked, you could barely look him in the eye - yet now, you’re so casual, almost as if nothing happened. “Here I am looking for my lost phone, but instead I find a lost Suguru Geto.”

“What are you doing here? Sitting in the dark?”

The repeated question is met with a pregnant silence as Suguru fails to piece together the rehearsed words he had come up with earlier, settling on a bear hug that nearly suffocates you. 

He’s so overwhelmed by the feeling of touching you again that he barely notices how stiff your posture is. You’re practically a piece of rock in the midst of being carved by its maker, frozen and unable to formulate an action in response - which, in this case, means that he’s your artist. Suguru relaxes his hold, urging you to reciprocate his warmth by nestling his face in your neck. Your right arm finds its place wrapped around his waist and your left around his neck, allowing him to engulf you further into his hold. You smell so nice. He notices the lavender perfume that he bought you is still rubbed into your skin, and he’s glad that you’re finally using it. 

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

Suguru’s fingers run through your hair in smooth waves, gently kneading out the small knots and helping you relax - and he can tell that your full attention is on him. For the first time in knowing you, there aren’t any distractions or excuses to avoid this conversation. It’s just you, him, and the bare truth. He just hopes he can execute this right. 

“There aren’t enough words to explain how sorry I am, genuinely. I shouldn’t have ever belittled you like that.” He takes a deep breath, one of many, and closes his eyes. The scene of you stomping away from him has no end in his mind. It constantly plays at every hour of the day, re-run after re-run, to torment him and remind him how horribly he screwed up with you. Please, please forgive him. “You’re not just my mom’s student. You’re not just a friend that I get coffee with. You’re so much more than that and I’ve been such a fucking chicken and haven’t been able to be honest with you.”

“You couldn’t have possibly known about my condition and it was wrong of me to take my frustration out on you.” Suguru can feel himself begin to cry, his tears raining down his cheeks in cascades of pent up anger and hatred for how he made you feel that day. You didn’t deserve it. You didn’t deserve to be treated like shit by him. “Your work is important to you and I know it should be appreciated. What’s important to you is important to me, okay?”

“You love your art, and I love you.”

He says it over and over again. Those three special words rapidly become six words, nine words, eighteen, forty-two, and onwards as you look at him with an empty expression. Please, please say something. For every second of no response, he confesses his love to you. He confesses as if it’s his source of air - the only way that he’ll be able to survive this encounter is if he bares his emotions with no regrets. If this were a movie, he’d be the desperate protagonist in the climax of the story who fucked up his love life and is begging for a second chance - hell, this is real life and that’s exactly what he’s doing. Just, please, have a happy ending.

You open your mouth, yet nothing comes out. No words. No statements. No confessions. You’re simply staring at him like he’s just told you the most absurd news in the existence of the universe…

…and then a tear falls. 

One tear slips from your eyes, followed by another, and another…until your face is drenched in salty rain with black mascara creasing your eyes. You look like a raccoon. Suguru almost starts laughing. No. He is laughing; laughing because your false lashes have fallen into your hands as the glue refused to be waterproof - and now you’re standing before him in a puddled mess of makeup and disheveled hair. You’ve never looked more beautiful. 

Suguru brushes his fingers across your cheek, attempting to wipe away your tears like an artist covering up a beautiful mistake. If he were a painter, he’d paint you a million times and more - hanging every portrait on every single wall of his apartment, until there was literally no space left for a scrap of paper. You’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever laid his eyes on, and the smile that suddenly bursts from your sobs confirms it. 

“What’s going on? I’m so confused, are you happy or are you sad?” He’s so concerned and his inability to read emotions correctly only makes him more helpless. “Talk to me, beautiful. C’mon.”

You lean into his touch and he instantly knows that everything is going to be okay. 

“I just never thought I’d hear you say that.” Your smile is directed at him now, and he feels a warmth that is so familiar yet unfamiliar and he can’t get enough of it. It’s similar to the feeling of being showered in sunlight or snuggling beneath a comforter in the winter - an overwhelming comfort that’s a gift from you to him. “I feel like I’ve been waiting forever. Fuck you for that.”

Now you’re both laughing, giggling, and beaming at each other. His heart feels so at peace. The civil war between his divided emotions, love and loneliness, has finally ceased. 

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

Neither of you can stop the flow of confessions that slip from your tongues and in an instant your lips are on his - clashing and colliding in a furious kiss that rivals the strength of a hurricane. It’s almost as if he can physically feel your love pouring into him and warming his heart into a heated flame, stoked by the embers of your touch. God, he missed your touch. The feeling of it is addicting. It’s his personal heroin and he’ll never get enough of it. 

Your lips are just as soft as he imagined them to be, perhaps they’re a rosy pink color with the slightest touch of strawberry lip balm that he keeps getting a fleeting hint of taste from. Never in his wildest dreams did he think you’d love him too. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. He silently repeats over and over - grateful that he’s been so blessed to know you…feel you…and love you in the awful world that he hated living on his own  - the world void of color that you’ve somehow brightened by simply breathing beside him. 

His hands are everywhere. Your hips. Your waist. Your breasts. Your neck. He can’t get enough of the feeling of you. With every passing second he’s falling deeper and deeper in love. You’re utterly perfect, he would kiss you for years if that was an option—

Aw shit, he knocked over an easel. 

“Goddammit,” he mumbles while briefly pulling away from you. Of course he had to interrupt the moment he’s been waiting months for with his clumsiness. He’s such a dumbass. If he could punch himself in the gut, he would - but that would be way too embarrassing in front of you - hold up, this painting is familiar!

“Well I'll be damned.” He chuckles and turns the canvas towards you, to which you burst out laughing. “I thought you’d have thrown this out.”

“No,” you gaze at the painting with love in your eyes. “I could never, that’s how we met.”

The painted streak he accidentally inflicted upon your artwork remains in the same position. It seems that you never even bothered covering it up and embraced the imperfection. While Suguru cannot decipher the magnitude of colors on the canvas, he’s sure that the various strokes look gorgeous and masterful. You’ve always been so talented. He’s so lucky.

As he places the painting upon a now-standing easel, you rest your forehead against his. He loves you. He loves you so much. So much so that he can’t help but take a step closer, not just one but many, and embrace the overwhelming love and passion he holds for you. There are so many words he wants to say, confessions that can carry on for an infinite number of lines, but there’s no need for that now. You have forever - and he decides to start that forever with his favorite thing…

…a kiss. 

“I love you.” You whisper.

“I love you more.” He replies.

This is a fancy-ass venue. 

Suguru can’t help but feel underdressed for the occasion, despite being clad in a fitted white button up and black tie, whilst his dress-shoes cramp his feet in the worst ways imaginable. He almost looks like that one moviestar in the romantic comedy you love so much. Was it the one with the rich guy in Singapore or the one where they worked in an office and he was a businessman? Suguru can’t remember. Whatever, it doesn’t really matter either way. He’s distracting himself too much, he needs to focus— tonight is one of the most important nights of your career. No, it is the most important night for your future career. His mother contacted every big art distributor and critic that she has professional relationships with. It’s your night…and wow did you kill it. 

It’s almost as if you’ve plastered yourself across the walls. Every art piece that his eyes roll over is exceptionally you - your personality, your passions, and your heart - and it’s obvious you’ve spent months curating the most perfect array of paintings a person could muster. 

He can read your story like an open book while he slowly makes his way through the gallery. There are paintings depicting your childhood, ones that remind him of the stories you tell him of your primary school drama and premature interests. That one must be when you broke your arm while learning to ride your bike. You’re particularly stuck on that story— strongly stating how upset you were because it was your dominant arm, halting your ability to paint for seven weeks. Referencing your painting passion, there’s a whole array of canvases dedicated to your love for art; beginning with inspirations of immaturity to skillful selections of texture techniques. Suguru is obviously no art critic, but if he were, he’d write a whole expose on how amazing you are. 

With his mind so engaged with your talent, he’s oblivious to the people passing by; so oblivious that he doesn’t even notice his own family approaching. 

“She’s talented isn’t she?” 

Holy shit. The familiar voice of his mother startles Suguru, but he instinctively wraps a loose arm around her waist and greets her with a grin. She returns the affectionate expression and it’s painfully obvious that he got his smile from her, and even more painfully obvious that they’re all trying to embarrass him when Satoru walks up with his teeth beaming.

“Your girlfriend’s a pro at this stuff, Suguru.” Satoru ruffles his best friend’s hair and lightly nudges his shoulder. “I told you something like this would happen one day! You’ve found yourself a dream girl.”

Suguru rolls his eyes in amusement at his friend’s quips, completely ignoring him and focusing on his mom. Satoru’s always been his number one supporter. Though he’d be surprised if Satoru actually kept a girlfriend longer than a month with his constant busy schedule and inability to focus on one girl at a time; but that’s a story for another day. What matters now is his mom’s praise of you.

“Y’know I always knew she had an innate ability.” Miss Geto has a faint smile on her face, gazing at her son with nothing but pure happiness. It’s a true display of a mother’s love for her child, and Suguru doesn’t know what he’d do without her guidance. She squeezes his side and presses a gentle kiss to his cheek. God, he’d be so embarrassed if his friends saw this. “Though, I always thought she specialized in artwork.”

Hm? Suguru sends a puzzled glance in her direction. What is she going on about?

His mom continues, knowing her son well enough that he needs a clear explanation in order to understand anything at all, and presses her hand against his chest. “I didn’t realize she was so skilled at touching hearts.”

His heart is beating faster at the mere thought of your beauty.

There are tears behind Miss Geto’s eyes and Suguru can feel the waterworks attempting to break his own dam. They’re an emotional duo, him and his mom, Satoru gets tired of their antics sometimes— but Suguru knows he loves them. His mom always knows the right thing to say. “I never thought I’d see you like this, Suguru.”

Satoru smiles, nodding in agreement. “You seem so at ease. It’s cute.”

Reflexively, he pulls them both into a big hug— which is the first girl-related hug he’s given Satoru since he was a teenager, seventeen years old and inseparable. Suguru finally understands what it means to love and be loved, all because of you; and now he can apply that same love to his perspective on life, which was dreary for so long. The overwhelming comfort he feels in his family’s arms is the same warmth he felt when he was a child, to which he ran into his mother’s arms at any moment for a grasp at joy. For a long time, Suguru believed that it was only possible to have a singular love. Oh how wrong he was. 

“I get it now.” he says softly into their ears. “She helped me understand.”

“And we’re happy for you,” Satoru pats him on the back as hard as he can, eliciting a threatening glare from his best friend, to which Suguru’s mother laughs. 

“Check out the centerpieces down the hall.” Miss Geto nudges Suguru on, standing beside Satoru. “I think you’ll love them, sweetheart.”

With their encouragement, he carries on with the gallery and down the straight hallway of evolving paintings. Every step he takes, seems to carry him into a new era of your life. It’s almost as if he’s time traveling through memories that seemingly morph from abstract to realistic art; and he learns more and more about you with each passing second, ultimately leading towards one large painting in the center of the room. 

Holy shit. You’re breathtaking. 

Never in Suguru’s life has his world stopped due to paint on canvas— but right now, it feels like every single brush stroke is a frozen second that he gets to relive again and again, just basking in the presence of your beautiful skill.

The way you’ve outlined your hair with thin lines and highlighted your lovely cheekbones, is nothing short of masterful. If he looks close enough, he can understand the comforting feeling of cupping your face with just his eyes. He didn’t even know you did self-portraits, but now he wishes he could hang this very one right above his couch; to show off the talent of his amazing girlfriend for everyone to see (not that he actually has many friends other than his former classmates). 

Where are you? He needs to let you know how special it is to be with someone like you—

“Cat got your tongue?”

Speak of the devil.

“Do you like it?” You raise your eyebrows at him expectantly. “What do you think?”

You said the same thing when you first met.

Suguru looks between you and the painting, now realizing that no matter how masterful your skill is, it’s impossible to capture just how gorgeous you are in any form of art. You’re simply exquisite. The most talented painter in the world wouldn’t know how to appreciate your beauty. Davinci? No. Botticelli? No. Di Angelo? Not even he could sculpt your features to perfection. However, despite his high standards, Suguru believes that your self portrait is the greatest thing he’s ever seen. 

The familiar feeling of flusteredness grows on his cheeks as he holds eye-contact with you, wondering what color it is you’re wearing. He bets it’s red, you always wear red around him. “I love it.”

As your right hand finds his palm, the left reaches up and cups his cheek. With a gentle touch, your lips are on his and Suguru feels his head take a spin on the merry-go-round of love. He can’t get enough of you. If he had a choice, he’d spend every waking second of his day peppering you in light kisses on every part of your body— and he’d make sure that you never felt loneliness again. You deserve nothing less than the absolute best, and he’s made it his life’s goal to give that to you.

Slowly, he begins to feel your smile against his lips and you pull away with a lovesick gaze. He pulls you into his chest, cradling your head and kissing it softly before whispering how proud he is, and it’s almost unbelievable how far Suguru’s come. Somehow you’ve lured him into a bottomless ravine where the only resource to live is to be hopelessly in love with you— and truthfully, he never wants to escape. You’re everything to him. 

“You love it?” your eyes are shining brighter than the sun. “You haven’t even seen my best work yet.”

“Oh?’ Suguru raises his brows, mocking surprise at your statement. “Well now you have to show me. It’s only fair.”

You place your hands on his chest and peck his lips before spinning him around. He’s confused for a moment, wondering what you’re doing when you could’ve just led him to the canvas instead of guiding him around like it’s a dance class…but then he sees it. 

He sees himself. 

Never in his life has he completely understood what being in love is. Yes, he's felt love. From his mother, who raised him to be the man he is; caring, thoughtful, and compassionate. From his best friend, who helped him understand ambition and sacrifice. From his community, who challenge him to be the best he possibly can and to support one another without holding grudges. He's felt different types of love from so many people in his life. Familial. Platonic. Admiration. This is different, though. The love you show him is true love. It's the kind of love that movie stars win awards for portraying. It's the fantasy that kids dream about having when they grow up into big adults. It's the thing he thought was impossible to obtain, but was lucky enough to stumble upon you in that empty art studio on the best day of his life. 

He didn't know love could be expressed in this kind of way. Through the very same paint strokes and brush marks that used to make him nauseous with hatred. Seeing your masterpiece, he doesn't understand how he could ever hate something so amazing. Art is spectacular. No. Your art is spectacular. You are spectacular. 

"You love it right?" You're trying your best not to giggle at his awestruck reaction. "Want to know the best part?"

Suguru can feel himself nodding, desperately reaching for your hand in an attempt to ground himself from the air he's walking on— and you begin to explain. "It's a dual piece. Notice how we're facing each other?"

Oh my god, you are facing each other. He hadn't noticed it before, but he can see clearly now. You've placed him in the dead center of the room, giving him a full view of both of the paintings— opposite of one another on two opposing easels. "Tell me more, baby." His voice is nothing louder than a whisper, only for you to hear.

"I'm painted in black and white."

Oh?

"You're painted in color."

...Oh.

"I wanted to show how love knows no bounds. There's beauty in how you see me and how I see you. It doesn't matter that I'm colorless to you, you still look at me like I'm the prettiest girl in the world; and I only wish you could understand how vibrant your eyes are, Suguru. You're the most handsome man I've seen in my entire life."

He loves you.

He loves you so, so much. 

A part of his heart feels like he's falling in love with you all over again. It's growing larger and larger, unable to contain the capacity of feelings he holds for you. He's so overwhelmed with joy that tears begin to fight to escape his eyes, ultimately dripping down his cheeks like watercolor on paper, and he sweeps you into the tightest hug known to man.

There's really only one thing left to do. One thing to close this chapter and carry on with the rest of your love story, something that's sacred only between the two of you. Something that he hopes to say to you everyday, every night, every hour, and every minute that he can.

"I love you."

[seiishindraws]

Hii, I saw your latest post and your art style is so pretty?? What?? I have a question though. How do you do the paint one? Or rendering in general. Like genuinely, I have a problem with rendering and I can't seem to quite understand it on my own. Do you just start with flat colors? Do you do lineart or colors right after the sketch? Is the "lineart" just added later? Painted over? Erased to give thinner and thicker lines?? I'm really curious!!

hi! im not the best painter tbh! though i do have a background in painting but ill try my best to explain

diff artists have different approaches to how they paint but generally yes, you would start out with big shapes first and then go into the details - work big picture first. like, if you squint and the drawing makes sense in terms of value and colour and shape, youre on the right path.

i can kinda show this with a warmup in-class speedpaint exercise we did a couple weeks ago where we were tasked with painting an eye in about 30 minutes (i was late and only had 20 lol)

luckily ive got the layers for this. i start of with a base layer, kind of like a underpaint layer since that's how i personally learned to paint traditionally. i did have a sketch before laying down this base layer under it but i ended up using it for final rendering details lol

after that i started laying down the big blocks of colour. i wasn't necessarily aiming for complete colour accuracy here, i just wanted to match the value. i chose a pink underlayer to influence my colour choices because the underlayer will peak through the blocks of colour i paint over it

and then (forgive me if this seems like "draw the rest of the owl" in terms of progression) but this is where i started going in with finer detail. i did the rest of the render on the sketch layer i had so you can see some of the lines from the sketch here

here's the layers completely seperate from each other

even for the flat colour version of my character, i had an underpaint layer! i used yellow and orange since i wanted her colours to be warm and used a semi-opaque brush to put her colours in rather than using a completely opaque brush

when i wanted to do the painted version, i put the lineart on multiply and reduced the opacity and brushed in some some quick shadows on seperate layer on hard light mode to give me a good base to start painting with

and then i did all the rendering and details on a new layer ontop of everything. i keep the lineart light so i can paint over it easily and also colour pick from it when i want a more distinct line to seperate certain shapes. i unfortunately dont know how to explain this part because a lot of this is intuitive to me and i'm still learning. but you gotta make use of different types of "edges" in painting, and you would generally have more contrast in the focal point of your painting than in other places to draw the eye to that point. i suggest researching the use of edges in painting if you really wanna learn more - because im a terrible teacher haha

for fun here's what the rendering layer for this one looks like on its own and the finished thing for comparison

there's other things you need to learn too, like bounce light, atmospheric perspective, ambient occlusion... and colour theory is always important! i could go on for a long time. there's a lot of pieces to the puzzle and it may seem overwhelming but there's tons of resources online and it will all become second nature to you as you keep practicing

uhh hope that helps!

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── 𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋 // 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

Series Synopsis: You were once a spoiled duchess-to-be, set to inherit a city on the brink of a war you knew nothing about — that is, until the war came to your doorstep and the aftermath of a brutal accident bound your fate to Seishiro Nagi’s forever.

Chapter Synopsis: Nagi comes bearing news. // Your father makes an announcement about the new family in Maradine.

Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Nagi x Reader, Yukimiya x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.3k

Content Warnings: death, killing, ptsd, reader is not a good person, actually nobody really is??, they all make mistakes as is to be expected, war is mentioned and the build-up/aftermath is discussed heavily but the actual conflict not so much, non-linear narrative, like HEAVILY non-linear there are two timelines for each chapter (pre and post war), probably ooc, angst, nagi is endgame sorry y’all, alternate universe (early 1900s-ish vibe but not in our world because f historical accuracy), original characters (probably…idrk yet but it’s me so)

A/N: hey guys…so here i am…with the prologue to a new story instead of an update to anything i already have out BYE I’M FLEEING FROM SHAME i’ve been wanting to do something a bit more serious for a while though so i’m excited to give this a try!! some more elaboration on the tags/summary: this is like vaguely historical-ish but not completely, and it’s kind of like two stories being told concurrently?? one being reader’s life as an adult post war and the other her life as a child/teen pre war. every time there’s a ‘break’ in the chapter that indicates a timeline switch!! hopefully it’s kinda obvious which is which especially as we go along…anyways hope you all enjoy

“Kenyu Yukimiya is dead,” Nagi said. Medals sparkled against his breast, the gold a harsh contrast to the dark wool of his coat, and his arms were folded behind his back, which he kept ramrod straight, so unlike the slouch you once associated with him. “They thought it would be best if I were the one to inform you.”

He waited for you to say something, looking much like a mannequin all the while, his pale hair lifeless, his driftwood eyes dull and blank. His careful mouth was pursed into a plain expression which might be considered a frown on another person, but not on him.  Never on him. After all, Nagi did not frown. Nagi did not smile. Nagi did nothing.

“It should’ve been you,” you said.

“Yes,” he said, as prompt and detached as always. “It should’ve.”

Barlezia was a sweeping country, and perhaps you were biased in saying so, but there were none in the world that could claim to be its equal. In the north there were towering mountains which scraped at icy skies, a heavy blue-grey fog settled over their peaks, and to the south there was a vast sea, warm and aquamarine, which led to Drieji in the east and Abraria in the west.

It was on this sea, the Canonora, that the shining city of Maradine was located. Far enough from the northern capital of the nation to have taken on its own character, its own wealth, Maradine was the jewel of Barlezia, a place full of men with horses and women with parasols. Built upon a slate cliff, with houses lining the roads winding down to the pebbly sand, it jutted so far out into the water that some people spent their entire lives on their boats, only venturing onto land for the rare storms that might otherwise drown them.

Near the top of the cliff, where the marble government buildings were sequestered away from the rest of the city, there was a villa. It was the largest of its kind, the walls a deep red terracotta trimmed with white, the floors all glazed porcelain, the many colors and shapes painted onto the tiles making up larger designs of flowers, animals, and other such wonders. The villa overlooked the ocean and a canopy of trees, and it was widely regarded in all of Maradine as the most beautiful in that most beautiful of places, the filigree on an already intricate crown, the diamond in a choker of gold.

This was the villa where you were born, and this was the villa where you would, you presumed, die. Some forefather of yours had constructed it in a time where such art had been celebrated, where Barlezia had ruled the world, and it remained as a remnant of that age, a stronghold against modernity, even though your country had long ago bowed in deference to the ideals and traditions of those in the west.

“Child! Get down from there!” 

The woman that took care of you in lieu of your parents, who were often busy — your father with his politics, your mother with her parties — was slender and frail and too old for keeping up with anyone with any measure of youth. Her hair was entirely grey, and her face was perpetually lined, with sun, with shade, with age and wisdom and worry. You knew her simply as Nanny, and as she was the only one who ever had the courage to chastise you, you found you disliked her very much.

“My tenth birthday is approaching, so you ought not to call me a child any longer,” you said, your legs swinging from your perch in the boughs of a fig tree, the collar of your neatly-pressed dress splotched dark with the juice of the fruit you held in your hands.

“If you continue to behave like this, I certainly will!” she said, her hands on her hips. “Shall I call the manservant?”

The manservant was willful and rough; you doubted he would have any qualms about dragging you to the ground with his bare hands, were he so inclined. Taking one last bite out of the fig, you threw it to the ground, where it burst at Nanny’s feet, and then you clambered out of the tree with as much grace as you could muster.

“You horrid creature,” she hissed at you when you smiled at her, your skirt wrinkled and torn at the hem, your fingers sticky and purple. “How am I to present you to your father and mother in this state?”

“How you always present me, I expect,” you said, batting your eyelashes at her, skipping lightly towards the door. “With more fuss than required.”

She grabbed you by the ear before you could get very far, yanking it sternly, earning a howl out of you. Stomping your foot, you glared at her and waited for her to let go, which she only did when she was assured you would not flee again.

“I will send along a message that you will be late to breakfast. To your room, missy, I won’t have it thought that the young duchess is some mannerless, ill-behaved ruffian,” she said, ushering you towards your quarters as if you were a sordid secret.

“Maybe you need to be better about watching me, and then my manners will improve,” you said, and because you were not doing anything untoward, only saying it, the most she could respond with was an exaggerated sigh.

She bathed you for the second time that morning, quicker than the first, and then she dressed you in something without pattern or finery. Certainly it must’ve pained her, for the ruined dress balled up and thrown into a wastebasket had been much prettier than this one, but there was nothing she could do about it, bar glaring at you as she yanked it over your head.

Nanny wasn’t always so foul-tempered; it was only when you tried her patience, as you did today, that she got to be in such a mood. Else she was a tolerable woman, if not a kind one, and generally softer with her motions. She had mentioned to you a long time ago that she had children of her own, two daughters and a son, the youngest of whom was closer to your mother’s age than your own. You supposed it meant she had some experience with child-rearing, hence why your parents had chosen her amongst the many applicants, and you sometimes wondered if she had treated her own progeny the way she treated you.

Once, you had asked her. She had told you, with a click of her tongue, that she was far stricter with them; however, as you could not fathom anything more chafing than her treatment of you, you found it hard to believe.

Although you were older now — nearly ten years of age, as you liked to remind everyone — you were still not considered enough of an adult to eat with your parents and the rest of adults at meals. Instead you would sit in your room and make faces if the food was not to your liking, discreetly glancing at Nanny out of the corner of your eye and throwing away what you couldn’t stand when you were sure she was not looking. The exception was meals which were meant to be occasions or announcements, wherein your presence was absolutely and unquestionably required.

Today was an announcement, not an occasion, or at least that was what Nanny told you. You did not know the nature of the announcement, only that she was more nervous than usual as the two of you walked to the breakfast room, where your parents would be waiting for you. Up until then, you had been convinced that she had only had two modes of being — fed-up and obedient — so the discovery of this third intrigued you far more than whatever news you might be given.

“Nanny,” your father said. “Y/N. Good morning.”

He did not comment on your tardiness, and neither did he have to; his disapproval was the silent type, which radiated into the air and shimmered like steam, cowing in its intangibility. Your mother offered you a half-smile, as trained and perfect as yours one day would be, and you smiled back at her, your entire focus going into ensuring it was not crooked.

“Good morning, father, mother,” you said, settling into the large chair at your mother’s right, your feet just barely brushing the floor when you were settled with your spine to the cushioned back. “I apologize for the delay.”

“It is inconsequential,” your father said, which was as much of a reprimand as you’d ever get out of him. “We have more important matters to discuss now that you are finally here.”

“There is to be a party,” your mother said. This was nothing out of the ordinary, for your mother, as the Duchess of Maradine, was invited to every party that could be reached from the villa in less than a day. What was strange was that both she and your father thought that you needed to be informed of this occurrence.

“I see,” you said.

“It’s that family from Aprissari,” your father said, sneering at the mention of Barlezia’s capital, the city nestled in the mountains to the north of the country, which may have been the center of your nation’s power but was nowhere near as prosperous as Maradine, never had been and never would be. “The Yukimiyas. The wife is an opera singer and the husband is far more involved in foreign affairs than he has any right to be.”

“And they are rich,” your mother said, patiently and coolly. “Richer than mere commoners. Rich enough to be considered members of the nobility, if we are not careful.”

“We must build proper relations. An alliance, so to speak, but also a reminder that they are no longer in Aprissari,” your father said. “It must be clear to them and to everyone that in Maradine, their money is meaningless if they do not have the approval of the L/N family.”

“Their son is only a little older than you,” your mother continued, perhaps noticing that you no longer held much interest in the conversation, which had diverted to topics of which you had little understanding and even less interest. “The party is being held in honor of his twelfth birthday, and you are to befriend him as best you can.”

“It won’t be difficult,” your father said, and the reluctance of his conviction was the first clue you had that the arrival of these Yukimiyas meant something more to your family than you could possibly know. “You are Y/N L/N; there’s not a child this side of the country that wouldn’t want to be your friend. But you must do it.”

If Nanny or the manservant or anyone else in the L/Ns’ employ told you something so harshly, you would’ve protested or found some way around it, but this was not anyone else. This was your father, Duke L/N himself, and so it was as much a royal command as it was a request from someone who loved you. Perhaps it was even more the former than it was the latter; based on the wideness of your father’s eyes and the lowering of your mother’s lashes, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was the case.

“Yes, father,” you said. “I shall do as you say.”

“Good,” he said. “Finish eating and then attend your lessons as usual. We shall leave once the sun sets.”

You ate at a record pace. Your parents were exchanging looks that said they wanted to speak to one another alone, and it was only your presence which was hindering them, so you endeavored to make yourself scarce as fast as you could without seeming rude. 

Excusing yourself quietly, your head bowed until you left the room, you followed Nanny towards your chambers, deep in thought, turning over the directive your parents had left you with. Befriending the son of the Yukimiyas. For you, who had never had a friend your own age, it was more difficult of a task than your parents must’ve anticipated, so with a tug on the end of Nanny’s apron, you halted in your tracks.

“You heard my father, right, Nanny?” you said. “I have to befriend that boy.”

“That you do,” Nanny said, and then there was a fourth aspect to her which you unlocked: sympathy, glimmering in her irises like a sunrise on the crest of a wave. 

“I don’t know how to do that,” you said. She patted you on the head, brusque and perfunctory, like she was dusting flour off of her hands, yet somehow affectionate, in her way.

“You’ll have to learn, missy,” she said. “Ties with the Yukimiyas may be invaluable in the years to come.”

“Whatever do you mean?” you said. She placed one hand against the wall, her thumb tracing an idle circle over it as she contemplated something or another.

“There are as many ideas of what’ll happen to the continent as there are fish in the Canonora Sea,” she said. “Whether by will or force, Barlezia shall, like every other nation, choose which they back. If they choose wrong, then Maradine will bear the brunt of the consequences. That is all.”

“But what do the Yukimiyas have to do with it?” you insisted.

“Nothing and everything, child! You will understand when you are older. Now hush and go to your lessons,” she said, breaking from her trance and pushing you into your room, where one or another of your tutors would, invariably, be waiting for you.

You wanted to rail at her, to tell her that you weren’t too young, that you deserved to know as well as she did what might yet happen to your own city. Before you could say anything more, however, she shut the door behind you, leaving you standing alone by the wastebasket, where a rusty stain the color of fig juice continued to spread down the sleeve of your crumpled dress.

[o-sachi]

Featherlight ‧₊˚ ⋅ One Shot (Request)

ଳ Feeling stressed and burnt out from studying? Good thing Ume's here to lift up your spirits

ଳ character; umemiya hajime (wind breaker)

ଳ tags; gn reader, no y/n, fluff, ume's tomatoes !

It has been exactly 2 hours already.

He wouldn't normally pull out his phone while gardening, putting his phone at risk of getting soil in its crevices. But he felt restless and the only thing placating him was if he was able to check the clock from time to time.

Ume sighs, shoving the device into his back pocket before glancing over to you.

A couple of feet away, you were sat leisurely on a beach chair which contrasted the graffiti ridden walls of Furin's rooftop. Your eyebrows were furrowed with a notebook held closely to your face as if the nearer it was—the more information you'd absorb. Every now and then you'd let out a deep sigh which most likely meant you encountered something difficult in whatever it is that you were studying.

The urge to snatch the papers from your hands was getting unbearable for Ume. He knows how you work yourself to the bone—studying relentlessly all for the academic validation that you cherish so dearly. He admires your determination, but as your boyfriend, he cared more about your well-being.

He respected your decision—if you wanted to study, then he'll gladly support you. Ume would happily tend to his tomatoes quietly while you go over your material for the nth time of the day.

Well... maybe not "quietly."

His white shirt completely clung to his back—a result of gardening for hours. Even his usually soft hair had become like stiff peaks as they drooped down on his forehead the more sweat it accumulated.

He wiped away the sweat that ran down his temple with the back of his hand, pulling away for a moment to admire the shiny crimson color of his prized tomatoes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a tomato smaller than the rest. Its skin was wrinkled on one side—clearly, it wasn't healthy. He reached out to gently touch the fruit with his calloused fingertips, a slight frown forming on his face.

"You've been neglected huh? Poor little thing," he mumbled. "It's okay, we've all been there."

As engrossed as you were, him speaking out of the blue wouldn't go unnoticed at all. Your eyebrow quirks at his words. They had double meaning; you were so sure of it.

You sat up straighter, setting the notebook on your lap momentarily—taking the chance to gaze at him.

"Neglected? Do you really feel that way?"

He kept his sweat-drenched back facing you, refusing to show the pout that had formed on his face. "I was talking about the tomato. Not me," he answered.

You knew better, of course.

"Seriously..." You sluggishly pushed yourself off of the chair, leaving your study materials behind. A brief chat with him won't hurt your schedule, so you made your way over to him. As you stood closer, you could see the sweat running down his nape and how the soil had left marks on his arms.

"Do you really feel like I neglect you?"

The question hung heavy in the air. Asking it out loud made you realize the possible disparity between how the two of you see your relationship. You might believe that the time you spend together was enough, but he might be thinking otherwise.

But, really, you were fretting over nothing. Unbeknownst to you, he was smirking to himself. He figured that asking you to stop studying wouldn't work, so he resorted to appealing to your emotions for him instead.

Was it manipulative? Kind of. Definitely. But it worked though, didn't it?

All's well that ends well, he thought. It was for your own good anyway. Nothing a hug and comforting words can't fix later on.

Stepping to his side, you copy him and crouch down. Knee joints pop which effectively catch his attention. As much as he'd like to keep up his facade, his expression softened automatically upon seeing you—the way you hugged your knees to your chest and the way your eyes filled with worry.

"Sorry..." you mumble. With pursed lips, you lowered your gaze—preferring to admire the tomatoes instead of making eye contact with him.

He sighs at your bashfulness, bringing a hand over to your head and ruffling your hair affectionately. "What're you apologizing for hm?"

The question was rhetorical—obviously he knew why you were apologizing. But this was enough for him; any more and you'd feel too bad about yourself.

He retracted his hand from your head, draping it across your shoulders instead. If he wasn't strong, you would have probably lost balance and knocked him over as he pulled you towards him.

Never mind that he was covered in perspiration, dirt, and whatever else—feeling his warmth after its absence for so long felt relieving.

He pulled both of you up effortlessly. Ume clutched your body tightly against his, leaving no room between the two of you. Your face planted directly on to his chest. The cotton shirt felt mushy against your powdered cheek and his scent made your face scrunch up a bit. But regardless, you showed no resistance to his affection.

"Hey now..." he cooed into your ear. "I was just kidding. I couldn't think of any other way to get you to rest, so..."

The last few words were left unsaid as he was sure you knew what he meant anyway. You pry yourself off of him, peeling your face from his chest. "But you know I need to study right? I can't fail... I have exams coming up and I even have to study for the entrance exam. You know how important it is for me to get into that school, right? I have to because-"

He cuts off your rant. "Because you need it to become a good dentist—I know, baby. I know that. And you will."

Ume cups your cheek tenderly. For a hand that has experienced countless of fights, it surprisingly felt delicate when it touched you. "You work hard and it always pays off, right? When have you failed hm?"

"...Well, I haven't failed... yet."

He chuckles and you feel the rumble of his chest reverberate through your own. Pessimistic as you are with your studies, he found it strangely endearing. "Aw c'mon. Do you really think you'll fail any of your exams with how diligent you are?"

It was like he could predict your response because as you opened your mouth to answer, he quickly shut you up by placing a finger against your pillowy lips. "Don't answer that," he says.

"How about you help me remove the weeds from my tomato plants? Consider it as your rest time then, you can go back to studying teeth or whatever."

A toothy grin spreads across his face. Seeing him like that makes it impossible to refuse him. You relented in the end—perhaps the rest would do you some good and your caring boyfriend does deserve some quality time with you.

You both went back to crouching over the tomato plants. Ume quickly worked through the weeds that have embedded themselves into the soil, usurping the plants of their nutrients. You nimbly and slowly worked beside him. He could tell by your focused expression that you were having a tough time discerning the weeds from the actual plant.

He taught you how to properly weed the plants without damaging the roots. He was patient and enthusiastic—like usual. In just a short period of time, you learned a lot about tomatoes and plants. Ume did ramble a lot about them as you worked. You smiled at his child-like ardor. Sure, these things won't help you pass exams, but it surely alleviated you of your stress and frustrations.

Just like when he'd sweep you off your feet—his words and his thoughtfulness got rid of the heavy feeling on your chest. It was like his presence alone was enough to erase all your worries in this world.

Umemiya Hajime was the sunshine of your life that made you feel as light as a feather.

After you had successfully removed all the weeds from the tomato plants, he gave you a pat on the back for the job well done. Although... you probably only went through a maximum of 5 pots. But Ume was proud nonetheless.

You huffed out and stood up, ready to return to reality. "Well... I should go study now."

He followed suit, walking over to you as you sat back down on the beach chair. You were already wary of the cheeky smile that was on his face.

"I got an idea."

"Hm?" you inquire, looking up at him.

"What if... I bit your arm before your exam so it leaves a mark and you have a copy of a set of teeth? You know... if they ask you to draw them."

"Baby... I don't think they'll ask me to draw teeth."

"Um... insipiration? Won't it remind you of me?"

You sigh. "Just give me a kiss before the exam like a normal person."

ε( ε ˙³˙)ɜ ｡° ⚬ ｡ likes and reblogs are appreciated

pls do not translate/copy/reupload my work on other platforms.

o-sachi © 2024

[aluraveil]

Revelation

Pairing: Yandere Fyodor x Reader

Sypnosis: Your boyfriend, the one who's loved and cared for you a lot turns out to be a dangerous criminal. You were unaware of this, but once the truth comes out, what will you do now?

TW: Massive plot spoilers for BSD manga, yandere content, manipulation, character death (NOT reader or any MAJOR chars), unhealthy relationship dynamics, swearing, Fyodor himself. Extremely rushed because I want to fantasize about Fyodor and the latest chapters with him in it. Sorry for horrible writing and quality.

Word Count: 1.8k

The low clanking of dishes and the busy atmosphere was all that filled your ears.

You were currently sitting in a cafe, all by yourself waiting for your lover to arrive. You began to feel sadness creeping into your heart because you’ve been waiting here for over an hour now. Many thoughts were beginning to rush into your head and you couldn’t help but be lost within them.

“Are you still waiting for your date?” That voice suddenly caught you off guard. You turned your head over a little and you noticed that she was carrying a mountain of dishes. The waitress peaked her head over a bit to the side. After recovering from the initial shock, you mustered up a reply, with a sad expression on your face. “Yeah.. he’s still not here.” Had Fyodor just decided to stand you up? You physically frowned at the thought.

“Aw I’m so sorry about that,” The waitress offered you a sad smile. “If you need anything, you can call me over.” You nodded your head and the waitress began walking back with the faint clanking of the dishes being stacked on top of each other.

Work had made it so that you and your lover wouldn't spend time during the day together very much. 

“Oh? My job..?” Fyodor hummed as he lifted his cup of tea. “I work for the… military.” 

“Oh how wonderful.” You took a bite out of your biscuit, “Pretty nice how we both help the general public right?” You shot him a smile. “I work for the Armed Detective Agency.”

You didn’t fail to notice the way Fyodor’s eyes immediately darkened for a split second and he immediately choked on his tea and started coughing rapidly. Confused, you were immediately concerned. You immediately stood up with the intention of helping him before Fyodor raised his hand signaling you to sit back down.

“Pardon me Y/N,” Fyodor said as he raised a glass of water to his throat. “It seems that I was drinking the tea too quickly.” He sat the glass down as soon as it was empty. “You were quite worried for me right there, weren’t you Y/N?” Fyodor shot a grin at you.

“W-Well.. I- uh..” You stuttered, “Hey that’s not fair!” Your face flushed red in embarrassment. “I wouldn’t want you to choke okay?” You crossed your arms and pouted.

Fyodor smirked as he noticed how flustered you look. How cute, he thought.

“Stop giving me that look,” You sulked. “You’re making me feel embarrassed!”

You remember that was your first date with Fyodor. How long ago that was, and look at how close the two of you got. That memory warmed your heart a little just by thinking of it.

Ring! Ring!

The ringing of the entrance bell took you back to reality. Curious, you looked over to see the source of the sound. Your lover finally showed up.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Fyodor shot you an apologetic smile. “Work kept me… preoccupied.” He walked over and pulled out the chair on the other end of the table before he sat down.

“Well what even happened?” You asked with a gloomy expression. You looked up and noticed a splotch of red on his white hat. It caught your eye due to the contrast in color. “Fedya? Is that..” blood? 

Fyodor’s expression went from confused. He pondered in thought for a minute before he realized what you were trying to say. “No dear… it’s just wine.”

“An arrogant prick..” Fyodor trailed off before changing the subject, “I think it’s best if we don’t… discuss matters related to work. Afterall, we don’t always get the opportunity to go on dates.”

He reached over the table and put his hands on top of yours, “I apologize again for making you wait this much.” He leaned in closer and stared lovingly into your eyes. “I love you. You’re the most important thing in my life.” He squeezed your hands tighter and your heart fluttered, “Please let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything.”

Fyodor knew just the right words to make you feel better. Your heart was brimming with many different emotions. You loved him so much, and even though he made you wait this long, you couldn’t help but believe it was worth it in the end. 

You could hear a tiny voice in the back of your head telling you that there was something terribly wrong. From the way he was so late, his demeanor, and that strange spot on his hat. Your head was screaming at all of the red flags. All your senses were telling you to run. To run and to never look back. But your boyfriend would never lie to you. You shook your head and pushed those unwanted thoughts out of your mind. There was nothing wrong. It’s not his fault that he was held up at work because he’s dedicated to serving the military and he wants to help the common people. He’s a good person. Plus he wants to make it up to you and he apologized immensely.

You’re overthinking things.

Right?

Going against the tiny voice in the back of your mind, you hushed it out with the next words that you said.

“I forgive you. I love you too much to stay mad at you forever.”

“But I want to know though!” You said, brimming with curiosity. “What’s your job in the military like?”

“I work in the strategic department..” Fyodor replied, “Essentially, all that I do is that I design plans that allow us to gain the upper hand over our enemies.” Fyodor’s eyes darkened a bit with a suspicious glint and he looked up from his teacup and landed onto your form. “Why do you want to know?”

“Oh well you know!” You nervously scratched the back of your head feeling nervous from his intense gaze, “Just plain curiosity is all!”

“The way that you keep inquiring about my… occupation, you seem as if you are gathering intel from me to report back to an enemy organization.”

-

Work at the detective agency has been busy ever since the Decay of Angels has come along. Your mission today was to be at the airport to stop Fukuchi from getting his hands on the One Order. However, things took a huge turn when Fukuchi’s plan was revealed and he ended up dying.

You were informed of this by your partner Atsushi as the both of you are running to the roof of the airport to stop a mysterious person from escaping with the One Order.

“He’s an extremely dangerous man named Fyodor.” Atsushi explains.

What? Fyodor? Like your boyfriend Fyodor?

Your confused expression is evident and Atsushi makes a comment about you somehow knowing this Fyodor person. You obviously deny because there’s no way your boyfriend Fyodor was involved in this.

You both reach the roof of the airport as the mysterious man turns around wearing a long black suit and you’re shocked when you realize it’s Fyodor. 

“Fyodor, how could you?” You cried out. “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe you’re the enemy!”

“The enemy?” Fyodor gasped as he put his hand over his mouth to hide his faux shock. “I am not the enemy my dear. I plan to cleanse this world of all ability users, I am merely doing a noble thing.”

“Did you ever love me?” You yelled as you started to feel tears forming in your eyes.

Fyodor’s expression softens. “Of course I did. I’ve always loved you myshka. I care a lot about you, I am merely doing my duty in cleansing this world full of sin.” He extends his hand out to you, “would you care to join me in my mission as my lover? If so, I’ll spare the tiger boy.”

“He’s lying, don't listen to him Y/N!” Atsushi screamed. “He’s a selfish, twisted and evil man!”

As if you were in a trance, your hand began to reach forward on its own, a symbol of your blind trust in Fyodor no matter the circumstance. Just as you were about an inch from taking his hand, you paused and slapped his hand away.

“I will never join you in your twisted schemes Fyodor!” You spat with a fierce look on your face.

“Oh how rude. And here I was giving you the opportunity so I wouldn’t have to force you.” Fyodor’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Amenogozen, kill the tiger boy!”

Just like that, Atsushi’s body was slashed over and over again until he became nothing but bubbles.

“No Atsushi!” You cried out running over to his body. “Please don’t leave me!”

Atsushi’s eyes began to close as he was nearing his own death. The attack was so sudden that he didn’t even have time to react.

“Whatever you do Y/N,” Atsushi said with his dying last words. “Don’t join him!”

You got there too late as the only thing you did was manage to hug a bunch of bubbles.

“What did that monster do to Atsushi?” You yelled out in anger as your knees gave in and you were on your knees now on the floor. “Bring him back now!”

“I’m afraid the tiger boy is gone my dear.” Fyodor smirked as he began to walk towards you. “I’m gonna give you one last chance now love. You can join me willingly or you can make me get my hands dirty and have me force you to join me.”

“Think hard now.” Fyodor taunts, “Which one should you pick?”

You felt the gravity of the situation truly weigh down upon you. You had nobody left. There was no way the agency or anyone in the world could defeat Amenogozen nor Fyodor. He’s just too powerful. You couldn’t escape him either because he would always find you. Why? Why did it have to be Atsushi? Why couldn’t it have been you?

You took a minute to weigh your options before finally deciding to go with Fyodor. You took his hand and he caged you in an embracing hug similar to how a husband would show affection to his wife.

“I’m glad you didn’t make this difficult for me.” Fyodor says. “Now come on, we have work to do.”

Fyodor holds your hand as his other hand wields divine order. He leads you and Amenogozen onto a plane where he plans to execute the final part of his plan when he lands. 

Somehow, someway, you found yourself seeking Fyodor’s love and affection. You began to crave his touch once more as you place your head and lay it down on his shoulder.

For a minute, you’re hesitant about what you just did before Fyodor wraps his arms around you. The two of you stay like this for the rest of the plane ride and for a moment, you wished that it could stay like this forever, you wished that you could forget about the tiger boy and just join Fyodor. 

In the end, your love for Fyodor was what reeled you back to him. Not even his crimes could deter you from him.