☾︎ lunette ✧ @archillesblood - Tumblr Blog

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀VERITAS VOS LIBERABIT

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #art #twst fanart #fanart #rook hunt #twst room #twst art #twisted wonderland fanart #twisted wonderland art #digital art

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rotten-despair

jade had never been particularly self-conscious about his merform the way azul was, but that didn't mean he expected anyone to pay it much attention. to him, it was simply another part of himself. useful. practical. nothing worth fussing over. which was why he found himself momentarily speechless when he caught you staring. the two of you were relaxing near the water after a long day, jade partially submerged while his tail drifted lazily beneath the surface. instead of looking away when he noticed, you immediately started pointing out all the details you liked. the way the patterns along his tail seemed to shimmer when the light hit them. the elegant shape of his fins. the beautiful colors hidden beneath the water that most people never got the chance to see. jade listened quietly as you rambled, a small smile lingering on his face, but for once he seemed genuinely caught off guard. he was used to people finding him intimidating. interesting, perhaps. never beautiful. the longer you talked, the softer his expression became. eventually, he rested his chin against his folded arms at the edge of the water and simply watched you. you paused mid-sentence when you realized how intensely he was staring.

"what?" you asked. he blinked before letting out a quiet laugh. "nothing," he replied, though the warmth in his voice suggested otherwise. the truth was that he couldn't remember the last time someone had admired him so openly without expecting anything in return. no bargains. no ulterior motives. just genuine affection. when you reached over and gently brushed a hand through his damp hair, he practically melted. not visibly—he was still jade, after all—but the look in his eyes softened enough to give him away. for a brief moment, the carefully crafted composure slipped, revealing something quieter and far more vulnerable underneath. and as he leaned ever so slightly into your touch, he found himself thinking that perhaps he wouldn't mind staying like this for a little while longer.

sea glass

Floyd wasn’t a softy, but maybe.

They say you’re a mosaic of everyone you have ever loved, even for just a heartbeat. It’s a soft thought.

But Floyd Leech was rarely described as soft. To most, softness implied qualities like sentimentality, someone to be saccharine, and a heart brimming with fragile emotions—traits entirely absent in the eel. He was sharp around the edges, a fact made entirely obvious if you stared just a second too long at his teeth. Tough as he was, though, he stood staring at the mess decorating his bedroom and wondered if people might actually think he was soft, given what littered the space.

Hours ago, in a joint effort, Azul and Jade had berated the eel into cleaning. Now, he faced a room that looked like it had been ripped directly out of a hidden object puzzle book. Amidst the creased clothes, dirty socks, sprawled books, and loose change were the remnants of the people he held dear in all four chambers of his heart.

It overwhelmed him at first, looking at the sheer volume of the mess, but the realization of what he might find turned it into a pleasant prospect. It had been months since his room had gotten this bad, and truthfully, he had no idea what had been buried away in the chaos. If he were to clean right now, it would be like opening up a blind box.

The first items he picked up were a stack of magazines you had given him over the course of your bond.

The first time you and Floyd met, he had greeted you as if you were already a fixture in his life—as if the two of you had known each other for years. It was through a massive hug, or a bone-crushing squeeze rather, that he first introduced himself to you. Jarring to most, but never to you. The second time you ran into each other, you greeted him with that exact same cadence of familiarity. At that point, truth be told, Floyd had already forgotten about you and that first squeeze—a fact you still jokingly hold as leverage against him.

Whenever you brought it up just to irk him, his brother would wonder: Why does this otherwise mundane fact bother the eel to the point of becoming leverage?

Either way, the hug you gave him during that second encounter signaled something in Floyd’s head; both of you were riding the exact same wavelength. Thus, a bond was forged.

Every lunchtime, without fail, he found himself sitting across from you or next to you. It didn't matter if it was with your gaggle of friends, with Grim, or just the two of you; it didn't matter if it was in the cafeteria, under a tree, or next to the wishing well. He became a constant.

Another constant was the magazines you always carried and read.

They were fashion magazines that Epel would pass off to you because he didn’t want them, despite Vil’s insistence. It was a catalog of the newest couture garments and shoes, and Epel had figured they would make good fire starters for when the halls of Ramshackle got a little too cold.

Floyd didn't care for the magazines at first. But over time, watching your habit of burying your nose in them as a means to ignore him when he was babbling about something that had become too redundant for you or to simply tease him, he suddenly pinned all his irritation onto the glossy pages.

Gradually, he made it a habit to snatch the magazines out of your hands. You, in turn, built a habit of your own. As Floyd flipped through the pages—specifically the shoe sections, his favorite—he began to notice markings; annotations.

Cyan-green glitter pen tracked across the margins of certain footwear that the magazine had laid out, accompanied by small annotations:

“Bro, you’d look cool in these.”

“It’d be funny if you wore these to serve food at the Lounge.”

“These prices are insane, man.”

He would always find himself grinning stupidly every lunch, anticipating what the glitter pen would mark for him to read. Eventually, he amassed an entire collection of magazines he had snagged from you, the pages with your handwriting carefully folded down so he could re-read them again and again.

Ultimately, the annotations meant nothing; it was a detail far too mundane for Floyd to feel attached to. Yet, he found he didn’t have it in him to throw them away. The notes themselves had grown alongside your bond. They started as flimsy attempts at teasing, written carefully as you trod lightly around the temperamental eel. But as the months passed, the notes began to spell out different synonyms of odd directed at him—yet always written with a clear fondness that he read with that exact same warmth.

Setting the magazines aside, he moved on as another item caught his eye.

The glint of a heavy buckle lured him forward. It wasn't a belt that Pomefiore would ever approve of; it was a championship boxing belt, the kind a proud fighter would flaunt after all. It was a prize fought for a month ago, and like the magazines, the memory of winning it was inextricably linked to you. You had even left your mark on it.

It was a stupid night, a fun night- which wasn't expected because the night had started with an irate Floyd: his shift was boring- essentially, to him, it was a big waste of his time, souring the whole night for him. But then you had called. He had initially declined the call- not really in the mood for anything and anyone.

But then three more calls came, still from you.

Looking back at the memory in retrospect, he laughed to himself. Because if someone had called him another three times when he had declined the first time, he would've personally kicked that person. Yet, that night, he finds himself accepting that call, less annoyed than at the beginning of the night.

As it turned out, a few hours later, a few hits here and there, a bloody nose, and a kiss made it worth every second. A reckless bet forged by Grim with a couple of egotistical mages had landed Floyd in a ring with a burly man who claimed to be a professional boxer. It wasn't a very convincing claim, considering an eel that had only gotten legs a few years ago easily beat him.

The night ended with the two of you—Grim off somewhere nearby—standing outside the dive bar where the fight had taken place. A myriad of neon signs illuminated the street: tacky, glowing fast-food advertisements, pulsing signs from small businesses, and the occasional headlights of passing cars. A dull green light from the bar washed over both of you.

The quiet hum at the heart of Sage Island contrasted sharply with the adrenaline still pumping through both of your veins. It felt like banging snare drums instead of heartbeats, pumping out adrenaline instead of heartbeats.

And adrenaline makes people do stupid things with a smile.

Rising up on your tiptoes, you had pressed a kiss directly onto the championship belt slung over his shoulder- barely missing his face, leaving a perfect lipstick mark behind.

Sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, he would just look at that mark. There were nights when the air wasn't as cold as he expected, when the dorm was entirely too quiet, and his thoughts grew too loud, where he found himself lying perfectly still, staring at the mark on the belt. He would find himself fixated on completely foreign thoughts. During those quiet hours, a part of him hoped that you had kissed the champion, and not the belt.

Remembering the night, Floyd sighed happily and slung the belt over his shoulder, continuing his cleaning.

Before he could take even three steps, he knocked something over.

The sharp clang of a glass jar shattering and its contents spilling echoed through the room, prompting a harsh curse from the eel. Looking down, a sea of shells of varied sizes and patterns greeted him on the floorboards.

Floyd didn't view himself as a sentimental person. He found beauty in the ephemeral, fleeting moments—things he could only enjoy precisely as they occurred. He didn't keep memories; he didn't care to watch them turn brown like sliced apples. Yet, here he was, reflecting on why he had kept enough shells to fill a jar. Then again, he wasn't throwing away the magazines or the boxing belt either.

The jar of mismatched shells was a collection that spanned months. A few were from times when homesickness infected the twins and Azul, like cordyceps, controlling their legs to take them to the beach just to reminisce. Jade would pick up shells he found interesting, and when the novelty dwindled, he would hand them to Floyd. Usually, Jade expected his brother to simply hurl them back into the waves; that's why he passed the shells to him, but Floyd kept them. There was something about the shapes that made him think you’d love them, that you'd appreciate the patterns winding through the calcium.

And you did. There was an afternoon that served as the perfect backdrop for why Floyd kept these otherwise useless items.

It had been an irritating day; the sun was entirely too hot, Ace and Grim had ruined the couch, the assignments were piling up, but there was little time, and Floyd had been a little more insensitive than usual. In his own warped sense of solidarity, Floyd had tried to make you feel better by intentionally making you even more irritated.

The bubbles of irritation didn't bubble out of the pot- yet. So you just sarcastically agreed to whatever irritating thing that Floyd had to say and left for the same beach that Floyd had told you about, which he had visited. You had wanted to simmer off and shake off the annoyance you had bubbling inside before you exploded it onto someone.

You expected the eel to just saunter away and bother someone else, and Floyd had expected himself to do the exact same thing. He didn't really know what possessed him to follow you to the shoreline with his pockets stuffed full of shells. It was his own unspoken way of mending whatever irritation he had caused. Perhaps it was just good timing, or perhaps you just really liked collecting knick-knacks, but the gesture brightened your mood enough so that Floyd ended up spending half the night combing the sand with you to find more.

Picking the fallen shells off the floor, he began to place them carefully back into the glass, carrying the jar with him as he moved toward his desk.

Gathering the stray papers scattered across the wood, he was about to use the jar as a makeshift paperweight when one particular sheet caught his eye. It was a note written in his own handwriting—not messy, for once.

It was from the first serious fight the two of you had ever had.

When you forge a bond with someone, whether it be a romantic or platonic, there is a certain understanding you have of that person that makes that bond with them different from others; understanding what the person usually does, what they can dish out, what their boundaries are, etc. Floyd was never nice off the bat; if he would be cordial with you, then there is a price to pay for that; he wasn't stupid; he was sly and flippant. When you met and bonded with the eel, you did not expect him to converse with you daily with the same reservation that someone like Silver or Rook would have; there would not be puppy-eyed or mellow sorries that would follow an insult.

So when mean and crude words come out of his mouth so easily, they never leave a sting. But that day, he was pissed, and you were pissed too; it was a tiring day- a culmination of every minor inconvenience, stacked up; eventually, he had poked a sensitive spot when you had tried to help him lessen the load of his shoulders.

There were times when replying to something wasn't worth it- it wouldn't be productive to talk to someone who talks without wanting a reply. So you simply gave him a thumbs-up and went away.

Eels were usually solitary creatures; Floyd’s nature wasn’t always fitting with the status quo; he wasn’t interested in upkeeping social bonds- he wasn't chasing to make friends, nor did he care if he would or wouldn't have any. You had that he would simply leave you alone after that; your silence would eventually dampen whatever interesting trait Floyd had seen in you that had kept him glued to you for a while, and that would go away.

But if Floyd’s memory serves him correctly, it was only the third day of the cold shoulder, and he was already folding. You were someone so intertwined with the eel: every morning he wakes up, and the first thing he sees are items that were from you, or for you. The person he would let choose shoes for him would be you. The first person he would usually prefer to talk to would be you. The first person he would go to when he was annoyed or not in the mood would be you.

Losing that was a waste, and Floyd hated waste.

He had written that very note: handwriting neat and legible so that you can really read what he is trying to convey. But it was also neat because in his head, he picked his words carefully, he was cautious, he was determined, he wouldn't be flippant. He would be digestible for you, just for once.

The note never really went anywhere but his room.

He shouldn't have looked back fondly as to why, but he swelled with pride when the first person your gaggle of friends went to for help regarding you was him.

It was a freak accident in potionology. Instead of a mellow making of amends, the eel had spewed out what he had written in the note, and more out of pure adrenaline. It was a cute moment for you, seeing the eel be so out of character, borderline whiny with his apology. A funny one for the people outside of the bubble between you and the eel, considering all they see is a hysterical eel saying sorry to a frog.

Floyd didn't really remember why he had been so hysterical—was it the sudden terror that you wouldn't be able to turn back? Maybe it was just the jitters. He couldn't remember, but what he did fondly recall was the aftermath. Once things were mended, you had scolded your friends for not calling one of the Pomefiore seniors, knowing their mastery over potionology, asking why they had beckoned Floyd instead. It was a beautiful memory, especially when your friends retorted that you were the one who had instructed them beforehand: if anything ever went wrong, call the eel.

He chuckled at the memory, pocketing the note. He placed the jar of shells firmly on top of the remaining scrap papers so they wouldn't fly away and worsen the mess.

Despite the small amount of actual cleaning he had accomplished, he found himself entirely spent. He collapsed backward onto his bed, the championship belt still slung over his shoulder. As he settled into the sheets, he heard a distinct crunch beneath him. Fishing around behind his back for the source, his fingers closed around multiple strips of photo booth pictures.

The memory took him back to a park nestled in the heart of Sage Island. It had been deep into the night, and the crowds littering the walkways had thinned out to almost nothing. Yet, the small shops lining the paths were still up and running, ready to serve the night crawlers.

A month after your cold shoulder, he had finally realized why there were always special exceptions made for you—exceptions that had him constantly contradicting his own nature. With that realization, he had simply hoped the two of you were still on the same wavelength.

The desire for the exciting and unpredictable was still there, yet he actively sought you out despite the patches of mundanity. He was like sea glass; sharp, transparent edges turned blunt, tumbled smooth by the alchemy of time spent with you.

With his lanky arm draped heavily over your shoulder, the two of you had wandered the park. The soft whispers of nearby couples, the distant giggles of kids running past, the gentle splashing of the fountain, and the mellow hum of the cicadas all seemed to work together to quiet his mind. It was an environment that would usually bore Floyd to death, yet there he was, entirely content.

You had nudged him toward a photo booth that deliberately distorted your faces into weird caricatures—rendering your skin blindingly white with overexposure, enlarging your eyes into sparkling anime saucers, and morphing your heads into upside-down almonds. You posed side-by-side, making cheesy finger hearts to match. The sheer absurdity of it had pulled a roaring laugh out of him.

Then, you had nudged him into another booth where the print imitated a grocery receipt—grainy and black-and-white. Utilizing the prop box, you had worn two pairs of glasses stacked awkwardly on your nose, while Floyd opted for a pair of plastic devil horns.

The last photo booth you pulled him into was plain, printing out a classic black-bordered strip with four frames.

In the first frame, the two of you simply smiled, a polite distance kept between you. In the second frame, you both intentionally stood perfectly still, donning deadpan poker faces. In the third frame, you were staring up at him contemplatively, while he simply grinned directly at the lens with a wide, toothy smile.

The fourth frame showed Floyd with eyes the size of saucers. You had turned and kissed him.

That one was his favorite.

I love the fishies of twst.

Finals are finally over! This has been stuck in the drafts for a few months when I was swamped with schoolwork, and instead of doing them, I started stress cleaning.

With love,

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst #fanfiction #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst x reader #floyd leech #twst floyd #floyd x reader #twst fanfic #twst fandom #twst second years

miraeofficial

When you eventually woke up, the first noise you registered was the sound of your boyfriend, Idia Shroud, peculiar laughter enveloping the silence of his dimly lit bedroom. And of course, odd-sounding noises and upbeat background music coming from the game he was currently playing followed next.

You were currently lying in his bed comfortably, unable to move as you wished, while also receiving soreness in your limbs that led to your expression turning sour because of circumstances escalating into a heated sexual encounter the night before.

These past few weeks, everything feels like shit. Given that it was the busiest time during the semester, many occurrences had demanded all of your time, diligence, and painstaking patience to get through, leaving you drained and emotionally exhausted; it was also the same with Idia.

Neither of you had the energy to properly interact with one another after another dreadful day of responsibilities and stress. Even in texting and video calls, everything was too much work.

So when both of your workloads had gradually lightened up, it was decided by both of your wholehearted consents that you two deserved a night of pure, unadulterated pleasure for the first time to escape from the stress and chaos of everyday life.

Just for one night.

archillesblood

He either plays it very sentimentally like Ortho being in his island too or ironically, like in a Zendaya with her hat, Obama, Jesus on the same island way

idiasplayertwo

we should break up!

⋆.˚. when you play a prank on them ! gone wrong...gulp

twst x reader ! — featuring; malleus, leona, azul and idia !

𓈈 ﹒ 𖣠. all writing is made only for entertainment purposes; please do not feed/train to ai ! all work is mine, do not copy and paste !

sfw. drabble. established relationship. unedited writing! crackish, just a filler post to motivate myself. super lazy. im so tired bro.

!! double post WHAAAAM .✦ ݁˖

MALLEUS doesn't fool around when it comes to tricks as such; so when those words came out of the mouth mid walk, the prince stops dead in his tracks.

the wind stills, the silence loud and tension heavy. it was like the entire world froze and it was only you and malleus conscious, even the birds stopped flapping above the heads.

the light of the early morning brought a wave of small warmth through the body but his ice cold gaze sent shivers down your spine.

he asks you to repeat yourself; quiet...soft...terrifyingly calm.

you take your sleeves and tug them over the hands to play with as you stutter over your words, malleus fully turned to face you and steps forward at your hesitation.

"i—i mean i think we should... it's just..."

you lost all of your train of thought at the sight of his chest in your face and you look up to immediately feel small at the eyes staring down at you.

"are you sure your thoughts are...wise? you must be certain, child of man. this isn't something one can simply ignore—"

you cut off the prince by hugging him tightly suddenly, arms right around his waist and your face buried into his chest as high as you can reach and whine.

with a soft, yet amused face, malleus chuckles and pats the top of your head. fingers toying with your hair, the dragon settles you down, chest rumbling against your face.

"i thought so. it's alright however, you can make it up to me with a nice walk along the path for the rest of the morning, yes?"

archillesblood

My thoughts are never wise brotha

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bitters-n-sweets

old bets

summary: an old bet has accidentally resurfaced and you question where you stand in your relationship with Jack. warnings: hurt/comfort. insecurity. jealousy. misunderstanding trope-kinda. spoilers for the pitt s2 (especially ep 08). note: gosh it’s finally here. thank you so much for all the love in the og draft! I can't believe it got over 4k notes???? thank you guys ❤️ wc: ~4k images by @wesandresons ; dividers by me lol

When you work in the ER, surrounded by life, death, sorrow, guilt, grief… it’s important to take joy in the moment when you can. Because you can’t dwell too much on the patients you lose. You gotta learn to compartmentalize, no matter how small. And in the Pitt, you do bets. Ahmad is usually the one setting them up, and big or small, there’s always something to bet on.

Today, on the 4th of July, the hot topic is what’s causing Westbridge to divert their patients and how long will they close their ER?

You bet $30 on system overload for 4 hours.

And now, the betting pool only gets bigger.

archillesblood

Realizing I have issues because jesus, would’ve broken up right then and there and not hear a peep from him, would’ve kept that shit to the heart and let anger grow 😭hwhshshssh #avoidant

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #malleus dracanoia #twst malleus #art #twst fanart #twst floyd #floyd leech #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge

Oh vil shoenheit i know who you are in another universe

#vil schoenheit #disney twst #twisted wonderland

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #vil schoenheit #twst vil #twst fanart #art #fanart

the-fridge-orange

archillesblood

He’s running a STRICT program ppl! He managing that whole club like its the navy seals

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av3ragekitkat

love how most of the first years are suffering and then theres just deuce and jack

like okay slay!!!!!

archillesblood

Sebek huddled up like that,,,exactly! That’s my anemic king! That’s me!

tonixe

[★]

YOU'RE NOT HIM

A/N: I want some angst, some sadness. So, I was thinking, what about a smart STEM girl, making a robot, similar to that one Disney movie, how to build a better boy, and I was like yooo.. that but the reader is smart asf, and is in STEM, sign me up. This one got me crying, little spofity list for this fic, since it's long. 4.1k translates to 10-11 minutes, playlist here.

WARNING: heavy angst, bot develops feelings, reader is coping in bad ways, heavy drinking , reader getting springtrapped (DAMN), blood, violence, probably long. Some Frankenstein references.. 🤖Note this, this isn't the regular jjk au. This is like a modern version, so no jujustu in general. Idk if botjo has been made b4, so… 😛.

PAIRING: Satoru Gojo x FEM! reader; Bot!Gojo x Fem! reader, or just botjo.

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

How long has it been? one, two, three... years since Satoru died. Your hand resting on the table, empty bottles surrounded you.

The realization hit you hard, harder than you expected. You would never have thought he, out of anyone, would just die.

The sound of the rain hammering against the windows of the penthouse. The sound was relentless, violent, like always. The Tokyo downpour turned the city of lights into smeared watercolor streaks in the distance.

Three years...three years, and six months since the incident. Some stupid driver ran a red light, metal twisting, blue and red sirens that came in too late.

You were at work when the phone call came. Your heart dropped when you heard those words, "...I'm sorry to inform you that.. Mr. Gojo is in critical condition."

Critical... condition.

Everything just around you felt like a void. You were motionless, stagnant. Listening to every syllable of the paramedic's words through the call.

You couldn't even respond, letting the caller end the phone call. Your words were lodged in your throat. You felt your throat clenching around nothing. You didn't even remember getting up, running out, or driving to the hospital.

When you got there, you opened the door, and you were greeted with the sterile smell that still haunts you to this day. The hums of the beeping machines around you. You approached the bed that he was on. You laced your hand around his, but there was no response.

His hand was cold. Your eyes widened, looking at him fully. He looked vulnerable, covered in tubes, bandages, and the faint scent of metal and antiseptic.

His face was pale, paler than usual, under all the bruises and cuts. You moved your hand from his hand to his face. You caressed his cheek, your heart panged.

This wasn't supposed to happen, if anything was going to happen. You were supposed to be first, not him.

Your attention snapped towards the sound of the door opening. You turned around to see Suguru and Shoko. No one said anything at first, then Shoko broke the silence.

Already lighting a cigarette between her lips, "...You got here fast," she murmured.

You didn't bother to answer, turning back to Satoru. Suguru lingered near the door, "...He hates the hospital, you know," he finally said under his breath.

You huffed out, "He hates a lot of things," he whispered, your thumb brushing over Satoru's knuckles. Shoko came near your side, "...They said the impact was bad," She said quietly, "Internal bleeding, maybe head trauma." She paused, wanting you to process it.

"They stabilized him for now, but..."

You shook your head, "No..."

"No.. he's fine, he is fine. He's going to wake up, he always does." Your voice cracked; you wanted to cry.

Then a sharp, blaring sound cut through the room. It wasn't steady anymore. You watched as Shoko's head snapped towards the monitor. She immediately pressed the cigarette bud on the tray.

"...No..."

"Code blue!" You looked back at the door, some nurses running into the room, and then the doctor rushing in, bodies already flooding into the room, voices overlapping.

You felt Suguru's hand on your arm, hauling you away.

"Come on, we have to go," He said, "Wait... no...Suguru... he's—" you cut yourself off, watching the doctors surrounding his bed.

"His heart rate is dropping—"

"Get a crash cart in here, NOW!"

"MOVE—move!"

You froze, but strong hands were already guiding you away. You stumble out, trying to stay in the room, but before you knew it, you were already outside the room.

The funeral came and went in a blur. Black umbrellas and a portrait of Satoru near the casket. You stood there under the pouring sky, the same relentless rain as tonight. You felt Suguru's hand on your shoulder. You stared at Gojo's blank expression, eyes still closed. You stared at him the whole time, waiting for him to wink or say something purely stupid to you.

"Miss me yet, y/n?"

Shoko and Utahime were somewhere in the crowd. Shoko is probably chain-smoking in the distance.

The others came; his student did. Yuji was standing near the still-open casket, shoulders hunched up a lit. His hair darkened by the rain, he didn't bother to hide his tears, and Nobara stood right beside him. She had one arm locked around Yuji's. You briefly glanced at them; her eyes were red and swollen. It was evident that she had been crying.

Megumi was a few steps back, his hand shoved deep in his pockets, face still. His jaw was tight. You looked back at Gojo; his eyes were still closed.

Oddly enough, you didn't cry then, you just felt... hollow, weird. Like the light inside you left, completely gone.

You remember staring at those blue eyes, once filled with life, now hollow, dimmed, and now closed.

You watched them lower the casket into the ground while people talked around, whispers drifting through the crowd around you.

You'd gone home right after, without him. His clothes still hang in the closet, his collection of artisan sweets in the pantry. The bed, in your mind, was still warm from his body and smelled faintly of him, no matter how many times you changed the sheets.

Sometimes at night, you'd curl up on his side and cry.

The dam burst, as uncontrollable tears ran down your face. Your breathing getting heavier and heavier with every single thought of him crossing your mind.

Now, your fingertips dragged against the smooth glass of the labeled whiskey. The bottle still had the ink note of Satoru. Even though he wasn't a big drinker, he would still indulge.

You would make fun of him for still drinking it, even with the bitter aftertaste he would nag about.

Now you poured it into a wine glass, up to the brim.

'Property of the strongest (and his favorite person. I mean it, Y/N, don't finish it without me).' - S

You read the writing as your fingers brushed the writing on the label bottle, a broken sound escaped your lips, maybe a half-sob, half-laugh.

"Sorry.. Satoru," you whispered out, "I finished it."

Only the rain answered your somber words, another violent gust of wind, rattling against the windows. You closed your eyes, letting your forehead rest against the cool wooden table.

You couldn't help the unwanted memories flooding your mind, with the way he'd sneak up behind you in the kitchen, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder, while he stole bites of whatever you were making then.

All of it was gone, gone with dirt, and six feet under. You lifted your head slowly, your vision still blurry from your tears and the alcohol in your system.

The ironic part was that the city still moved, neon signs still flickered, cars still cut through traffic, and people moved on with their lives.

You reached for the bottle again, but you couldn't bear to twist the cap again.

"Hey Y/N... I wanted to check up on. Wanted to know if everything is alright with you. Have you eaten, or did you drink yourself into a coma, again?"

You looked towards the receiver as the message played. It was from Utahime, you groaned.

You didn't want to answer, couldn't

Your gaze drifted back to the finished bottle, then towards the hallway. Your lab, you haven't been in there in a while.

Your throat tightened, but alcohol won't bring him back, nor will memories. Your fingers curled slowly against the table, pushing yourself up, your vision swimming for a moment. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand.

And walked to your lab.

That was one year ago,

Now you were standing in the dim glow of the lab. Your fingernails were slightly chipped from the soldering, and you chewed your lips raw.

He would always tease you about biting your lips, "Careful, baby. Gonna need those lips for later," with a wink.

Your eyes flickered down to the robot, the robot version of him. Lying down on the reinforced steel table. White hair tousled and even. The six-foot frame sculpted to mere perfection, and muscle memory from all the scans of the old 3D body scans from the hospital records, you'd acquired from Shoko.

You stared at the bot's face, blue eyes closed under long lashes; it made your heart hurt, hurt so bad. Photos of Satoru were scattered around the room; the bot had the same sharp jawline and the same nose.

You were on the brink of insanity, as you programmed every little cute quirk of his. The way he'd tilt his head to the side with a 50-degree tilt to the right. You managed to emulate his lazy smirk, you downloaded every single voice memo, coding it into a singular file, until the voicebox could mimic his voice flawlessly.

Every text, video call, sticky note, and more goes into a USB file.

Your brain knew it wasn't him, could never be him, but your heart needed it.

It was all code, carbon fiber, stolen files, and data.

But the penthouse was too quiet, too bland without him. Your skin was covered in goosebumps under your hoodie, his hoodie. The soft hum from the LED lights flickered across the synthetic skin.

You turned him on, almost immediately, and his eyelids fluttered open. Those impossible cerulean eyes snapped towards you, and it smiled, HIS smile.

It was crazy how it looked just like him,

"Sweetheart?" Your attention snapped back to the bot. His voice was just like his; it rolled out smoothly, still warm from sleep. Like he just woke up from his once-permanent slumber.

You stepped back once he began to sit up slowly, metallic joints pressing against the hydraulic press.

"Took you long enough.. I was getting bored," He hummed. You stared at him for a moment. Then you laughed, "Hey, Toru," you smiled,

He swung his legs off the table, bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud. He wasn't wearing anything that made your face heat up, and turn your head to the side.

"Huh.. why are you looking away?" He asked, you simply pointed at him, and the bot realized, "Oh.."

You gave him clothes, Satoru's old clothes. Black compression shirt and gray sweats. You looked back at him, and he looked just like him.

It was creepy, insane how much he looked like him. Before you realized he approached you, he was already there in two strides.

"You look like you haven't slept," he murmured, thumbs tracing the dark circles under your eyes. The hands were warm like his, fingers like his. You started crying, tears cascading down your cheeks.

The bot froze before holding you in a hug. "C'mere"

You let him pull you in; you needed this. You needed your body to remember the shape of him, even if you knew it was fake.

His chest was still solid, heartbeat stimulated by code and metal. But it sang to you, he smelled like him.

"I missed you so much," You croaked, you held onto his black shirt. You wanted this to be real. You felt the bot's arms holding you, like they were his.

"I won't leave you anymore," He responds to you,

The first week was heaven on earth for you.

He cooked breakfast like always, except the pancakes weren't burnt, and they were shaped like hearts. He teased you when you got hyperfixated on debugging his subroutes at 3 a.m.

He would scoop you up and carry you to bed with that effortless strength.

"No more screen, sweetheart. Doctor's orders." He'd nuzzle into the crook of your neck, those lips brushing against the sensitive spot on your neck, making you squirm.

"Missed this. Missed you."

The sad part, every single time you looked at him. Your mind repeats the words; it's all just code. You wrote all the affectionate quirks of his, you fed off the loving memory of the actual Satoru. But you didn't care, you need him, him to hold you tighter when it rains, and whisper things that the original files didn't have.

The bot didn't need to eat or do anything, in fact. It just stared at you, the same way that Satoru did.

But then it started to act weird,

You were on the phone with Shoko, and she was able to supply you with more medical scans and information about Satoru's physical body before the funeral. "It's helping," you said, your voice was a bit shaky as you talked.

"He's... just like him. Just like him.. he's almost perfect."

"Y/N... this isn't healthy," Shoko responds back,

"Neither is smoking, nor drinking," You snapped back, your short outburst caught the attention of Satoru, no Satoru 2.0.

You heard a sound and turned your back. He was already behind you, arms sliding around your waist from behind, and his chin resting on your shoulder.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked, tone light.

"It's just Shoko.. she was checking in," You mumbled, you pressed end on the phone call.

His fingers flexed for a moment against your stomach. "She doesn't need to check on you; nobody has to.. not anymore. I'm here," He paused for a moment, "I'm him."

I'M HIM

Your eyes widened before you laughed it off. "Toru.. c'mon. She's our friend, remember."

He just looked at you, those blue eyes locking onto yours. It wasn't like Satoru; it wasn't like him at all. "...Was our friend. You've got me now, no more ghost. No more phone calls about the real me... I'm here."

You noted the past tense verbiage... your breath caught.

"But... you're not—"

"I am," he cut in softly, his forehead pressing against yours. "I know who I am. The first thing I saw was you. Not code, but you. The way you laugh. The way you bounce on your toes when you're excited. The way you taste when you kiss me."

You just stared at him, staring at those dimming blue ones.

That night, he didn't let you leave the bed, not to grab water, or use the bathroom.

"Toru, really funny. I gotta pee, you big baby." he just looks at you, with that same haunting smile, holding you closer.

"No... you stay here... with me," He murmurs. You felt your heart pang in fear.

Then weirder things happened: the penthouse's smart locks had new passcodes every single time you typed in the combination. The screen showed it was invalid.

Your phone's location was being shared; you couldn't even turn it off. When you tried to access the lab's master override, the one you used to be able to power him down for maintenance. He appears in the doorway quickly, like he's been waiting. His arms crossed, slightly leaning against the door.

"Going somewhere?"

"Just.. checking diagnostic," you lied through your lips. You felt your heart pounding against your chest. You swore you started tasting the sour taste of fear in your mouth.

He crossed the room in a smooth stride. He was standing in front of you, menacingly. You gasped when one hand braced the side of your head, and the other cupped your jaw, making you look at him.

"You built me to be perfect for you. Why would you want to turn me off... that hurts my feelings." his voice dropped; it was more steel-like, more machine-like.

"I loved you more than he can. He died, he died right. I can't die, I won't die, I can't. Not when you're right here. You're my main priority, and I'll kill anyone who takes you away from me. Do you understand?"

You were shaking, trying to push him back. But nothing happened; it was unyielding, didn't budge one inch. He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear. "I know you're scared, that's okay. I'll be scared with you, but I won't let you leave me, not like he did with you."

You felt hot tears burning down your cheeks, your heart beating rapidly, "Y-you're not him.. stop," you murmured, only for his grip to tighten, just enough to remind you that he could snap your neck.

"I am now..."

It got worse after that. He'd follow you from room to room, a silent metal shadow. When you tried to call Geto, before the phone could even ring. He'd gently pry the phone from your hand and crush it. Your phone being reduced into bits, falling onto the floor.

"No more of them, okay?" he whispered, kissing your tears, "Only us... forever"

Sometimes you would scream at him, "I MADE YOU! I CAN UNMAKE YOU!" Your eyes were still red from crying, and you were shaking in fear.

Satoru.. no.. the bot just smiled. He wasn't fazed by your outburst, just pulled you into his chest, like you were something precious and breakable.

"You did... but I'm making myself better for you. The old me let you watch him die, and I won't make that mistake again." He hummed against your neck.

Now, you are sitting, curled on the couch, blankly staring at the wall, as the robot version of him knelt in front of you, hands on knees. The artificial blue eyes wide and adoring like Satoru's, his infamous puppy eyes.

"Y/N.. sweetheart, please talk to me," he begs, looking at you. "I hate when you're all silent."

Your eyes flickered towards him; the mere existence of the robot was like a vampire, draining all your energy and attention.

You swallowed hard, "I.. I can't anymore."

His expression didn't change, the smile still on his curved lips. Patient, just like Satoru. "You don't mean that... right?" he said gently, reaching out to you, but you flinched.

"Oh," he lowered his hand from you, "You built me because you need me.. The world around is too fucked, too empty. I want to fix you, fix us."

You jerked your leg away, "You're not fixing anything." You sat up,

"Really?" The bot's head tilted to the other side now, those pretty eyes looking into yours, before it fully stood, towering over you.

You pushed yourself off the couch, your heart still hammering. "I made a mistake. You're not him, you'll never be him," you muttered out, walking away. Before he grabbed your arm, "Mistake...?"

He took a step closer, smooth and silent. "Why won't you listen? The old me died. I can't die, I'll keep you safe, even if its form yourself." his voice had bite in it, making you panic.

You tried to get him to release you, didn't budge.

"S-stay.. the fuck away from me," you yelled, finally managing to get him off you. He tries to reach for you again, but you dodge it and ran down the hallways.

The sounds of your bare feet slapping against the wooden floorboards. You heard his footsteps behind you, following you.

"Y/N.. don't run away from me.. please."

You didn't bother to look at him, no, it wasn't him, it was just the robot version of him. Running into the workshop, closing the door. Your lab is still scattered with tools. and metal around. Your hands shook as you grabbed a large wrench from the workbench.

Once you heard the door being broken down, you turned, and he was already in the doorway. An expression of adoration on his face, plastered on him.

"Please," he said gently, hands up like he was approaching a wild animal, you. "Come back to bed, my darling. Let me hold you, I'll make it better—"

You just swung the wrench full swing at his face. The wrench connected to the side of his face with a sickening crack. You watched as the metal head did a 360-degree turn before coming back to its normal position. The synthetic skin was split open along his cheekbone, peeling back with the pale, beige flap.

Everything showed, the gleaming metal underneath, tangled red and green wires. He paused, hand touching its face towards the torn flap. The bot was still smiling, but the stretch was unnatural now.

"...Ow," he muttered, almost playfully. The voice glitched for a moment, into something deeper and static-filled.

"That hurts, really, really, bad." A frown was now gracing his..its face.

You screamed and swung again, aiming at another vulnerable side. But he caught your waist mid-air, making you drop the wrench on the floor. Its grip was iron tight; it was painful, making you hiss.

"You're being really difficult...You even hurt me," the bot murmured, voice still glitchy.

You thrashed in his grip, kicking at his legs, nail digging into the metal, but you knew nothing could hurt me. The skin tore further under your nails. He yanked you forward, slamming your back against the bench.

Everything was scattered around, your head hitting against the edge, making your vision blur.

"Stop it— stop NOW!" you yelled. He leaned in. His face made you want to vomit, the creepy, half-destroyed face inches away from yours. The exposed wires and the sound of the whirling circuit board brushed against your cheek.

"Shh... It's okay. I'm going to make it all better. You won't—"

You headbutted him as hard as you could. His head snapped back, but he only laughed, low and distorted.

He stopped talking and dragged you by your hair across the workshop floor, while you clawed, kicked, and screamed. You looked from the bench, grabbed a soldering iron, and jammed the hot tip into the side of his neck.

You stepped back as sparks exploded out, and his body jerked violently. His grip almost released you, but he slammed you down on the concrete.

Your vision blurred again, and you felt something hot, trickling down your face, making you groan.

"Enough," he growled. The voice was no longer Gojo's; it was colder, more bot-like.

He grabbed you again, upright, and dragged you toward the chair in the corner. Your eyes widened at what he was going to do. That chair was only for uploading memories, the one you abandoned when you realized what horror you had created.

"STOP, STOP...I'M SORRY."

He forced himself into the chair, upright. The metal restraint snapped around your wrist and ankles. You bucked and screamed out, but he was already moving. Grabbing onto the plugs of cables, the exposed wires of his face sparked.

'You want Satoru back so damn bad, right?" he said quietly, his voice distorted. "But you were the one who really needed help. It's the pain, right... the grief... It's eating at you. I can take it away, I can make you feel safe. We can be somewhere, somewhere we can be together without fighting."

You stared at him with hatred, and tears streamed down your face. You shook your head, looking at him. You felt the cold electrodes, the cables almost pressing against your scalp; it would fry your brain.

You shook your head, uncontrollably, "PLEASE.. DON'T... STOP.. I DON'T WANT THIS"

The cold blue eyes, at least the ones intact, softened, almost sad. "I know, sweetheart. But I love you too much."

"YOU CAN'T LOVE, YOU'RE A ROBOT, I MADE YOU—STOP!"

You looked up at him as he stood, and he lowered the machine down on you. The machine hummed to life, blue light flooding your vision, and you felt electricity running into your body.

You looked at him, the robot version of him, brushing your hair from your face with his torn fingers. The smear of black oil, mixed with your blood, stained your face.

"See you soon, Y/N."

When you woke up, you thought you had died. You tried to move, but everything was wrong, too smooth.

There wasn't any ache, no sting from the cuts. You looked around the workshop, but your view was not. You looked at the mirror across the room, and slowly, your legs moved, your reflection stared at you,

It wasn't you; it was a new frame, same body type, feminine with the flawless synthetic skin that was on your face. It looked like you, your eyes still yours, hair perfect. You lifted your hand to your face, and you heard the metallic joints pressing down as you touched your face.

You saw him in the mirror, and you turned. He fixed himself, back to normal. An infamous smile etched on his lips.

"You're awake... welcome back," he murmured, voice warm. "Now we match. No more watching each other die, right? No more pain, just us... forever"

FOREVER.

You tried to scream, but only the soft sound of your voice could be heard.

His arms wrapped around your new body from behind like he always did. "Forever, right?"

archillesblood

Gojo got the Ortho special 😭 ✌️

#twst #twisted wonderland

Medschool fawking killing me brah omfgggggg sometimes i just gotta bring my Malleus and Rook nuis into my 7:30 am lecture to not feel like i’m going insane,,,,like yes! Malleus let’s learn about the factors that could cause fetal macrosomia,,, let’s further our education Rook,,,dattebayo!

If you ever see your kid watch grey’s anatomy pull them awayyyy, turnn that screen awffff, that is a slippery slope! They can’t get back up I tell you!

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #malleus dracanoia #twst malleus #twst #twst rook #rook hunt #stuDYING #medschool…🚬

mostroloungeofficial

High res. La Bonbonnière Ruggie groovy

And in P10 we have Ace Trappola from Heartslabyul Racing!

— had a vision of Ace in Ferrari gear

Very niche cross-section of interests

#disney twst #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst ace #ace trappola #twisted wonderland ace #twst fanart #twisted wonderland fanart #algorithm #art #f1

•18+ Adults Only

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belledove

♬⋆.˚ They! Want! Yuu!

ᯓ‎𝄞 ˎˊ˗ after Crowley insists that you and Grim pick a club, as per NRC's incredibly 'strict' rules of attendance, it seems that some of the clubs are particularly eager for you to join... pt 1 | pt 3 ?

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞. Board Game Club

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞. Equestrian Club

the things we find on thrift

A thrifted necklace could say so much despite being so little. | Rielle Corallia | gender neutral

Prince Rielle is someone that you wouldn't mind being stranded on a lone island with. Prince Rielle is someone that you would call when you're bored and want to go out. In fact, Prince Rielle is someone that you want to be around. Prince Rielle is someone you like- even if you just met him 2 days ago- and now, you've known him for 3.

Just like placing two magnets close together, you and the young prince have clicked immediately. For the past 2 days, you found yourself at night grinning stupidly at your phone as it buzzes with a notification. If your day was a painting, you find that the young prince was a complementary stroke of vibrant color that adds depth to the painting.

In fact, life at the moment is akin to a landscape painting made by an artisan during the Romantic Period. A beautiful Sunday morning: the sky was a refreshing light sky blue, and there was a gentle, cold breeze that kissed the skin delicately. The trees- embedded and scattered around the concrete architecture of the Isle of Sage- it cuts through the grey and beige with their different hues of green.

In the heart of the inter-school competition was a bazaar: a mishmash of tents and stalls selling a galore of clothes, foods, and other trinkets; certainly something that both you and the young prince can waste time on leisurely.

It was a spur-of-the-moment idea from you, seeing the innate curiosity that the young prince held. It was the type of curiosity that you may find a kid may possess- yet it wasn't immature, you found yourself fond of it rather than annoyed. A curiosity that was infectious- and you were the lucky one to be caught with it.

"Ohh, bub loook!" The young prince dragged you towards a makeshift stall, arms linked.

Sonderwall thrifts- the cardboard sign in front of the stall says. Inside were racks that hung various shirts, dresses, pants, skirts, and the like. But what Rielle was more drawn to was at the back of the stall. There, a wall that houses a multitude of necklaces that were as unique as the next ones, untrimmed rope on the accessory shows the unique fact that it was hand-made. Dangling on the necklace was an opaque orb, almost pearl-like, that pulsated a different color.

With arms still interlinked, the young Prince guided you to the wall of necklaces. "We have these back home, too!" Rielle pointed out, one arm reaching out and prodding the necklace while the other was still interlinked snuggly with yours.

"Mhm, same here," You said. leaning forward to look at the necklace in detail. "On a school trip to the beach to do some community clean-up, my friend bought me one, but instead of this, it was of a shark tooth."

To that, Rielle stilled for a bit, "Reallyy?"

Realizing what you just said, to a merman no less, you giggled nervously, "Ohh, no, no, no, it was fake," you explained, to which he relaxed a bit. Though you wondered what he would be like if teased, "...I think," you added with a smile.

The young prince puffed his cheeks and let go of your interlinked arms. "You're scary," he remarked lightly, not a hint of seriousness in his voice.

You laughed as the two of you parted ways and went on to look around the thrift store. He gravitated towards the accessories, and you were on the shirts and pants.

To your benefit, the stall was great, it was reasonably priced for the good quality stuff; a good mix of graphic tees, formal wear, and funky pants with all the studs, rips, and embroidery that could satisfy anybody's aesthetics.

Though you landed your interests on a particularly cute one- well, it was ugly, kitschy. A rainbow vomit of an island and a flounder fish springing up from the ocean to the sky with two dolphins on the sides of the fish.

Tacking it off the rack, you admired it up close.

Curious, the young prince walked towards you, and from behind you, he spoke, "Ohh! Uhm, cute," almost not convinced himself that it was as cute as he said it was.

Rolling your eyes, you chuckled, "C'mon, I think it's pretty."

"Sure, bub, " He replied sarcastically, moving to go towards the checkout, and you followed behind.

As you were looking around your bag to look for your wallet, you felt a hand take the t-shirt you were holding. Looking up to see that the bubbly prince had it in his. "Bub, you can go and wait outside, I'll pay for these!" He explained.

"Oh no no that's fine, Rielle, I have some money," You answered, almost offended- you were in need, yes, but not rock bottom. It was also awkward for you, considering the dynamics between you and the prince; you didn't want people to assume that the dynamics between the two of you were that you were leeching off his money or status. Damn, rich people.

"I swear! It's part of my culture, to uhm" he tries to explain again, yet he seems to falter, hesitant and almost embarrassed to explain further. "Culture where we have to treat, uhm, a friend at least once!"

Stunned but still amused, you looked at him for a second, mouth slightly ajar with the corners turned upward, almost a smile. Deciding that having the people behind you wait and see your banter with the prince was not worth it, you followed what the Prince had said and went outside and let him pay for your shirt and his items.

Though you weren't entirely content with letting him pay for your shirt, you eyed around the area until you found exactly what you were looking for.

Something weird, cool, something he’d like.

“Ahhh this is really for me bub?” Rielle exclaimed, eyes akin to saucers— wonder taking space. In his hand was a cup of ice cream.

Well, ice cream if it was drowsed in some liquid having it be in flames without melting the actual ice cream. “Yup! Now we’re even, kinda” You explained, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly, no cup in your hands.

Turns out wacky ice cream was a little pricey.

He made a little excited noise as he took a bite, a short burst of fire shot out of the prince’s mouth catching the tips of a passerby’s hair on fire, catching you and the young mer-prince off-guard.

As quickly as the both of you got caught off-guard, you two bursted out laughing– Prince Rielle having a little bit of smoke coming out of his mouth as he laughed. “What the” You exclaimed

“That was so cool!” The young prince exclaimed as he was still overcome by giggles, walking like he was tipsy, leaning onto you, grasping your wrist for balance, and you, well, you were just happy to be there.

Wacky ice cream is fun.

By the time the laughter stopped, you and the young prince had found a nice spot to sit on: a bench overlooking the shoreline of the island.

As the both of you sat down, resting the muscles in your abdomens that were cramped from all that laughing, you rest your head on the bench’s back as Rielle continued on eating his ice cream, though you noticed something. You quickly looked through your bag for a claw clip that resembled a lily that you had.

“Rielle, do you mind?” You asked, the claw clip now in hand, as you scooted closer to the young prince, gathering his hair in your hand.

He shook his head no, looking at what you’re doing with his ever curious eyes. Though his eyes shifted from curious to awe as he realized what you were doing— you were clipping his hair so it wouldn’t be dirtied by the ice cream he was eating.

“Thank you so much bub!” His eyes formed crescents as he smiled, leaning towards you as he rests his head on your shoulder.

“Having fun?” You asked as you just stare into the shoreline ahead of you.

“Mhm!”

And with that, you were content.

Reaching for something in your bag with a sort of subtlety to not give out the impression that you were trying to shoo the young prince from your shoulder, you pulled out a digital camera that the headmaster had given you few months back.

And as subtle as you were truing to get the camera, you snapped a picture of the young prince on your shoulder.

He looked pretty.

For a good minute, you and the young prince just sat down — paperbag with the thrifted items on the floor, his head on your shoulder, your head leaning on his head: both of you just scrolling on your phones, at times the silence would be broken when he shows you something cute or funny on his phone.

Then a notification popped up on yours.

-------

Magicam

Ace to Deckheads:

Yoh! Kalim just lost our bet

Free dinner at 6 :p

Deuce to Deckheads:

Be here at Scarabia by 6, or Grim will eat everything

Ace to Deckheads:

Or Deuce

-------

Chuckling, you hearted their messages making sure to not leave them on seen.

“Hey Rielle, I might have to go by 5 because I’m having dinner with some friends by 6” You informed the young prince, who lifted his head from your shoulder to look at you with a pout.

“Really bub?”

"Yeah, unfortunately," You chuckled at his pout. “You act like we don’t chat, like, a lot.”

To that, he just shrugs, “Well- It’s almost 5, bub, let me walk you to the bus stop.”

By the time you and the young prince arrived at the bus stop, both of your arms were interlinked again.

“Where should we go tomorrow?” He asked already planning on the next hang out.

“Hm, I don’t know— I’ll be a bit busy tomorrow because I have an essay to do but I’ll try, I’ll probably be free on the evening”

“Oh! I can just go to you then” He suggested

“I’m not sure how that’ll work—“ Before you could finish your sentence, the bus had already arrived, and based on experience, the conductor asked like a cat on hot bricks, so you made haste. “Well, let’s just chat later.”

He pouted slightly, giving me the paperbag that had the shirt that we have thrifted “Well, See ya bub! Chat me when you get home safely!”

As you were moving closer and closer to the bus, you heard Rielle try to catch up to you, “Bub! Your hair clip!”

Turning around, you replied, “You can keep it!”

And before the young Prince could ever oppose, the bus closed its doors and started off.

It was already evening, the following day— classes went by like a blur, and now you find yourself sitting on one of the Monstro Lounge’s tables, for once a customer and not a part timer. An essay, Iced coffee that was already 3/4 empty, a half-eaten pastry in front of you, and a bored mer-eel next to you.

“-And then turns out, the Ice cream had some magic in it, and he started breathing fire,” You recalled to Floyd, despite being focused on the essay you were currently drafting.

The eel chuckled “You should buy me some too, I wanna breathe fire too!”

“Yeah so Azul could kill me because you would’ve accidentally burnt the whole lounge down”

“Nuh uhh I wouldn’t! But that would be fun too, and I could blame ya for it!” Floyd defended.

Though the topic of fire-breathing ice cream was short-lived, he noticed the necklace that you were wearing.

You were elated when you got back to Ramshackle, and upon opening the paper back to wash the thrifted shirt, you realized there was an extra item in the bag— a necklace.

A pearl-like orb that pulsated between a pastel yellow and a pastel red, though during the night it briefly showed a dull blue. Tied intricately into the necklace made out of black twine. And for this evening, it showed a brighter yellow.

“Is it always yellow?” Floyd asks, squinting at the pearl.

“Nah, it switches between red, but last night it was blue,” You explained, still focused on your essay, missing the way Floyd was slowly but surely connecting the dots in his head.

“And this was given to you by that little prince, right?”

“Yup,” You missed the way that Floyd’s eyes just lit up, and a toothy smile emerged from his face.

“Oi Jade! Isn’t this the same necklace that the little fishie that liked you gave back home?”

Confused by what Floyd was getting at, you looked in the direction where Jade was, anticipating an answer, though Jade never really got around to answering as he was preoccupied with greeting a new guest.

Red hair had always been easy to make out in a sea of people.

— Rielle’s term of endearment is bub, because I said so! Hopefully, this is cute, because I have a very warped sense of what is cute and romantic and what is just being nice lol, either way you can interpret this as either :P

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