God I Love Them - Blog Posts

Self insert + Kokomi teruhashi art :3

!!!! BSD CH 114 spoilers !!!!

"Quit it with that habit of rolling all over the ground whenever you're worrying. It's annoying to look at, Dazai" I CANT I CANT I CANT OH MY GOD THEY'RE SO FUCKING CUTE WHAT THE HELL AH YES OF COURSE CHUUYA KNOWS THAT DAZAI ROLLS ALL OVER THE GROUND WHENEVER HE'S WORRYING GOD ASAGIRI WHEN WILL WE GET AN ACTUAL HEART TO HEART BETWEEN THEM

you've really been keeping tabs on him haven't you chuuya truly the best of ex-partners

“…Guess who?” [Click for better Image Quality] 

aka angsty-TsukiAza-because-I’ve-been-starving-the-TsukiAza-nation but it’s a palette challenge (Can. Can you Tell this is my first time doing one, because I really need to improve on these hhhh)

[palette source] 

stories

"It's almost like a sibling thing with Santos. It's been really fascinating to watch people's reactions to Santos, and she can rub a lot of people up the wrong way. But I think with Whitaker, I think he almost sees through her quite a lot. He grew up with five brothers, he's a sibling, so I think he really just sees someone who is coping in their own way by deflecting with jokes and jabs. So I don't think it actually bothers him that much, and I think Santos sort of knows that as well. I'm an easy target, but she knows she's not really gonna affect me." — Gerran Howell (x)

ISA BRIONES & GERRAN HOWELL as TRINITY SANTOS & DENNIS WHITAKER in THE PITT: Season One

Come here. Sit with me.

Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs

Ship: Soukoku - Dazai x Chuuya

Prompt: “Come here. Sit with me.” 

TW: none that I can think of.

A/N: Also posted on my ao3, the link is on my master list

It was a relatively slow day.  

After everything with Fyodor and the Decay of Angels had settled, everyone had gotten a well-deserved few days off.  

Their relationship had been slow to reach the point it was at now, what with Dazai’s disappearance from the Port Mafia and his 2-year absence before re-emerging in the Ada and then another 2 years before Chuuya and Dazai had actually run into each other.  

 What had been left of their relationship was smoldering coals. They still trusted each other, as Chuuya had hardly hesitated before using Corruption at Dazai’s request. But Dazai had treated Chuuya horribly, he had left without so much as a text explaining what he was doing. He had blown up his car.   

He didn’t believe it was possible for someone as divine and beautiful as Chuuya to have any fraction of a good thought about him. Sure, he had patched up Dazai plenty of times when he was in the Port Mafia and he had stopped him from many attempts but it was only because he relied on Dazai to use Corruption,… right?   

And yet, here he was, in Chuuya’s penthouse, with him, being taken care of. He and Chuuya had gotten closer, closer than they ever were. They had yet to put a label on it.  

And while Dazai knew that it was only because of their clashing schedules, their different jobs. They worked on different sides now. Dazai knew that they simply hadn’t the time to truly talk about it. And then everything went to absolute shit with Fyodor and then they hardly had time to even relax on their own time.   

But now everything was over. The dust had settled and they finally had time to talk and to sleep, to just be around each other. Chuuya was back to making sure Dazai ate three meals a day, even if his portions were small. But… they hadn’t talked about it yet.  

Dazai tried to not let the sapling of doubt grow and bloom within, but his own self-deprecation was relentless in its ability to make him spiral in his thoughts. He was supposed to be relaxing but his brain couldn’t seem to shut itself up.  

“Dazai?”  

A voice snapped Dazai from his never-ending thoughts. The voice, Chuuya, his brain provided for him, sounded from the direction of the living room. Dazai was still sitting on a stool at the kitchen island. He had been doom-scrolling as his brain spiraled.   

Deciding to finally stretch his legs, he stood up. He stretched until he heard his back pop, sighing as he dropped his shoulders, and relaxed. He sluggishly made his way toward the living room. The sleeves of the sweater he was wearing were rolled up to his elbows and his hands were in his pockets.  

“Yes?” He stopped at the entrance of the living room, looking towards where Chuuya sat on the couch, the TV had some movie on that Dazai didn’t care to figure out.  

Chuuya looked up towards Dazai, a small, pleasant smile adorned his face. “Come here. Sit with me.”  

Dazai didn’t have the energy to whine about how the dog shouldn’t be the one giving out orders, the exhaustion showing itself as prominent bags under Dazai’s eyes, so he wordlessly listened. Walking languidly to the open spot next to Chuuya, who immediately brought his arm from the back of the couch to Dazai’s waist to pull him closer as soon as he was sat on the couch.  

“So… you’ve been living with me for the last few months…” Chuuya trailed off as if he wasn’t sure how to continue or word his question.  

Dazai stilled, though tried his best to hide it. So they were having that conversation. Had he done something over the last few months to annoy Chuuya to get him to kick him out? Of course, he had, what was he thinking? He couldn’t stop his destructive habit of annoying Chuuya till he retaliated, more often than not, physically and violently. He had done it when they first saw each other after 4 years. Surely Chuuya has realized how horrible Dazai is and is going to kick him out. He only wants to let him down gently…  

  _____________________________

Chuuya felt Dazai tense under his arm. Though he hid it exceptionally well, as expected of an executive, even if he no longer is one. Chuuya’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have even noticed had he not had his arm around him and his trained eyes on him.   

It was hard to tell what was going through his mind, and he doubted it was easy to understand even if he could see it all happening in front of him. He imagines it would be too fast to comprehend most of it.   

But while he can’t read his mind word for word, he does know Dazai better than anyone else. He was the brawn to Soukoku and Dazai was the brain. They had to be able to read each other to some degree to function as one. So Chuuya had an inkling of an idea what Dazai was thinking.  

It was probably something self-deprecating, and probably something Chuuya would find stupid.  

Truly, Dazai was the smartest dumbass he knew. A genius who wouldn’t know affection if it slapped him in the face ten times,… or punched him perhaps a few too many times that he had lost count.  

Chuuya pulled himself from his thoughts. He needed to relax Dazai so he could get it through his thick genius skull how much he loved the lanky man sitting next to him. He let his hand on Dazai’s waist rub nonsense shapes into his sweater in a comforting manner.  

“Relax, it’s nothing bad.” He spoke in what he hoped was a comforting tone. It seemed to work as Dazai minutely relaxed into his side, though traces of his overthinking mind still lingered.  

“You’ve lived with me for the past few months… and now that all the dumb shit with Fyodor is done and over with, I… I want to take a step further if you are ready, or if you even want to…” Chuuya trailed off awkwardly. They didn’t often voice their emotions or thoughts to each other, not really seeing the need for it as they were typically adept at reading each other. If they weren’t capable of at least that then they wouldn’t have ever been such terrifyingly great partners.  

But at last, it seems that neither of them is knowledgeable enough on the topic of affection and love with how blind they are to each other's feelings towards them. At least… Chuuya hoped that was the emotion in Dazai’s eyes that he couldn’t seem to read. He hoped it was a mutual feeling of love.   

____________________________

Dazai’s mind was attempting to process a million thoughts that were running miles in seconds. He was so caught up in them that he hardly realized what Chuuya had said, so terrified of being rejected before he even had the chance to confess. He had to backtrack his thoughts to process what Chuuya had said and when he did…  

How… How did Chuuya not hate him? How can someone he treated so horribly, like nothing more than a dog not hate him? Him. How could anyone ever feel anything other than disgust and loathing when thinking of someone like Dazai?  

He vaguely felt something wet on his face, but his mind paid no attention to it in lieu of overworking its ever-present self-deprecating thought process.  

____________________________

Chuuya could see, and feel, as Dazai stilled in his arms once again.  

And then, as Chuuya looked at his face with slight worry, he saw it.  

Tears.  

Chuuya can’t recall a time he’s ever seen or heard Dazai cry during their 7, almost 8, years of knowing each other. As an ignorant teenager, he believed that someone such as Dazai couldn’t cry, but he knew better than that now. Dazai was as much a human as anyone else, and therefore capable of crying, of being sad, of feeling.   

Dazai’s body trembling slightly pulled him from his thoughts. He now reached to rearrange Dazai to face him on the couch. Though Dazai didn’t fight it, he didn’t seem to respond to the movement at all, completely lost in his endless thoughts.  

Chuuya reached out his hand to Dazai’s face, cupping his cheek gently. Dazai made no reaction.  

“Dazai? Hey, you alright?”  

Dazai blinked and suddenly he seemed to be present once again. He looked up at Chuuya with glass eyes.  

Chuuya offered a small smile. “You okay?”  

“I’m fine,” Dazai responded, his tone flat as he looked at Chuuya.  

Chuuya noted that Dazai probably wasn’t even aware he had cried.  

“Dazai, you’re crying.” He let his thumb rub under Dazai’s left eye in a hopefully comforting way.  

“Oh…” Dazai made no movement to wipe away the tears, rather, it seemed like the admittance of it brought down the last bit of Dazai’s barrier.  

Dazai looked down and the tears once brimming his eyes fell down his face. Chuuya’s hand previously resting on Dazai’s cheek had moved down to the back of his neck when he looked down and now slightly tugged, prompting Dazai to cling to him.  

Dazai’s voice was shaky when he spoke. “H-how…” His voice faltered but Chuuya let him work out his words.  

“H-how could you possibly love me? Me? All I’ve ever done was treat you like shit…”   

Chuuya sighed. He had a feeling that was the reason behind Dazai’s reaction.  

“Yeah, you’ve treated me like shit plenty of times, as I have with you. But you also have saved my life so many times I’ve lost count. And you’ve reassured me I was human every time you noticed me doubting it, even if you often found a way to insult me while doing so. No matter how much we teased and annoyed each other when it came down to it, we had each other's backs. We have each other’s back. There’s no one I trust more than you.”   

Dazai looked up at Chuuya in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying.  

“There’s no one I love more than you, Osamu.”  

Dazai clung to Chuuya, burying his face into the crook of Chuuya’s neck. Though Chuuya couldn’t see the tears cascading down Dazai’s face, he could feel them soak into his shirt and he could hear Dazai’s choked back sobs.  

Between Dazai’s sobs, Chuuya just barely caught his choked-out words.  

“I love you too, Chuuya.”  

Jonah's harmonies in Emelina Right or Wrong rb if you agree

mike’s “i have trouble with the brake and the gas at the same time so he just sits on my lap and he does those for me and i steer” lemonade

My secret solstice gift for @rosmarymilktea!!!

Decora Lolita!Luffy

Visual Kei!Zoro

Kogal Gyaru!Nami

Song: Ikanaide Album Cover - Eve

Some stills:

Albert, who's the top of his class in Woodwork and Race, who's top of his class in Technical Graphics.

They're soaring in two of the most out there classes in the school, and neither of them actually know how.

Tipsy Davey is a lovely Davey, easy to blush and fluster – it doesn’t take much more than a smile to send him giggling into his glass, and it drives Jack’s own ego to dangerous heights. He could spend whole nights murmuring compliments in Davey’s ear, tracing his knuckle against Davey’s thigh, listening to him giggle against Jack’s own temple, feebly nudging him away (and letting him come right back) and mumbling "Jackie, stop…" without meaning a word of it.

And then there’s Drunk Davey, when his flush settles high on his cheeks and his bashfulness settles with it. He loses that nervousness he keeps underneath his skin that’s always pulling him back just a little, telling him not to come on too strong. He touches freely, whispers the pads of his fingertips over Jack’s wrists enough to drive him insane, sweeps over the bridge of Jack’s freckled nose and murmurs, “Glory be to God for dappled things…”. The bitter little middle-schooler that still lives in Jack’s mind has always thought that poetry was something just too dorky to be attractive, but that bitter little middle-schooler sure shuts the hell up when Davey whispers pretty things in Jack’s ear on a dark corner of the dance floor. Jack’s not complaining at all.

And then there’s Jack’s favourite – Truly Shitfaced Davey. He’s a rare gift, reserved only for New Years, birthdays and Halloween parties, if his costume is slutty enough. Jack can recount every single Truly Shitfaced Davey encounter he’s ever had, and while they’re nowhere near as suave as Drunk Davey, they are by all means his favourites.

“Face,” Davey mumbles, poking Jack’s cheek and marvelling at the squish of it. Jack has to bite his lip not to laugh.

“Yeah, babe?” He asks sweetly, because he is a wonderful boyfriend, thank you very much.

“Your face… It – you…” Davey’s face pinches as he tries to find his words underneath the drunk haze that’s blanketing his brain. He promptly gives up and groans, waving an arm dismissively as he burrows into Jack’s side. “S’good.”

Jack grins, pressing a kiss to the curls tickling his face. He gives up on trying to stifle his smile – Davey’s too drunk to care, and far too drunk to notice the way he’s staring inquisitvely at Jack’s lips the way he usually stares at a good book.

“Thanks, Davey-mine. Your face is good, too.”

Davey stares at him for a moment, mouth squared and silent for a little too long, until he makes a strangled little squeak and ducks his face into Jack’s neck.

“Shuddup!” He orders as Jack laughs, but he can’t help it. As much as he loves Davey when he’s reciting sonnets from memory, he especially loves him speechless, if only for the novelty of it.

Hello!!!! Love your work :)

If you're still looking for prompts, may I suggest a neurodivergent Davey Jacobs just having a hard day (Maybe overstimulation of something of the like?) and his friends helping him out?

Anyway, I hope you have a wonderful day and know that you are very much appreciated!!! (Also don't forget to drink some water/eat/take care of yourself <3 <3 <3)

You Okay?- David Jacobs

(Note: thank you so much to whoever asked me to write this! I really love writing things that people request, so if you’d like to see me write something, just ask! Also, a quick note- I have never been diagnosed with autism, but I do experience issues with sensory things such as light, touch, and sound. Please let me know if I miswrote anything- I’d be happy to fix any inaccuracies or problems! Enjoy!)

Jack’s eyes searched the crowd, scanning each little group of people for a single face. Everyone was laughing and joking, simply basking in each other’s company- but there was one thing missing.

“Heya, Jack,” Race piped up from behind him, slipping an arm around his and taking the unlit cigar out of his mouth. “Where’s Dave?”

“That’s what I’m tryin’ to find out,” Jack replied, squinting and trying to catch a glimpse of Davey’s familiar form. No luck. “Has anyone seen ‘im?”

“Albert said he left to go somewhere a few minutes ago.” Race unhooked his arm from Jack’s elbow and shrugged. “I just thought he was goin’ to catch some fresh air or something, but he hasn’t come back.”

“Hm.” Jack wiped some sweat from his brow- the July air was sure getting to him. “Which direction did ‘e head off to?”

Race pointed to his left, where a small alcove led to the fire escape. Thanking his friend and setting off to find Davey, Jack felt a small tinge of worry worm its way into his mind. What’s keeping him so long?

As he peeked around the corner, Jack’s eyes landed on some kid huddled near the wall, staring into empty space. The boy’s vest was undone and laying next to him, and his eyes were rimmed with red.

“Dave?” Jack asked timidly, taking a step towards him. “You okay?”

Davey looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of his friend. “Oh, yeah, I… crap, sorry,” he stuttered out, grabbing the article of clothing next to him and ignoring Jack’s awkward smile as he sat down. “What do you need?”

“Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” Jack tilted his head, and Davey glanced away, refusing to meet his eyes. “Are you?”

“Yeah, yeah. It was just…” Davey paused. “I needed some fresh air.”

“That’s what Racer figured was goin’ on.” Awkward silence filled the air for a short while, and then Jack coughed to clear his throat. “I know you get a bit, I dunno, overwhelmed sometimes- was that what happened?”

Davey took a breath, still not looking Jack in the eye. “Yeah.” He smiled sadly, his fingernail scratching at the dirt beneath them. “It’s always been like this, I guess. It all gets too much- like my brain can’t take anything more or it’ll explode.” He chuckled, but the sound of it wasn’t humorous. “Isn’t that a funny thought?”

“Mhm, sure.” Jack went to tousle Davey’s hair, and then paused. “Is it okay if I touch you?”

Davey’s eyes spelled hesitation, and he chewed on his lip. Jack took this as a no, and he settled for merely smiling at his friend. “Don’t worry about it, Dave,” he smiled. “Just tell me when you need a break, m’kay? I’ll make sure the guys don’t bother you.”

There was a moment’s silence before Davey’s mouth turned up in a small smile, and he nodded. “Thanks, Jackie,” he muttered back, turning to face the wall again. Jack waited half a beat before standing up again, giving a small wave before going back to join the others.

Davey watched him go, and he almost wanted to cry- he’d never expected anyone, especially not a group as rambunctious and loud as the newsies, to understand what he went through. He couldn’t help but smile as he leaned against the wall, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm against his arm, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth of the summer evening.

Magic is real

bonus:

Gosh, I still love it so much! They look so cute! I adore them! Thank you again for drawing it!

Hey! I am really bad about posting here haha, but I am super proud of this one and needed to share! It’s another commission for @robynamethyst of our D&D characters Lilin (mine, pink succubus) and Eros (theirs, half shifter) . They are so cute and I love this piece so much! Thank you Robyn, for commissioning this!

Lautski Week Day 5 (Alt prompt: Fairy Tale)

(warning: i am sucker for fairy tales, so this one is LONG. putting most of it under a read more, OR if you'd rather read it on AO3, here it is)

Pete really had to have had the worst luck in the world, the more he thought about it. Being the spare in heir and spare, though his birth hadn’t exactly been planned in the first place, and being such a sickly little thing he’d nearly killed his poor mother trying to arrive. Then to carry that same ailment for the rest of his life, a dizziness he could never quite name if he ever found himself too overwhelmed or overworked, and could only hope to cure with a little rest and food if there was any available. Spending his whole life knowing he could get away with anything since his elder brother was the heir, being grateful he was out of the court’s watchful eye and hurting over lack of conversation with his parents nonetheless, feeling isolated from the castle staff and having no one his own age to ever talk to, being so on the outside from the rest of the world he’d wish he could flat-out be invisible instead. It’s not like things would be any different. But then he just had to go and offend the wrong person, during one of his daily walks in the courtyard, when he bumped into an odd man in a yellow coat. He briefly assumed the man to be a gardener, but as he tried to at least know the names of all the people employed at the castle, it irked Pete that he didn’t recognize this man specifically. Pete asked him, “who are you?” and in response, the man laughed, “a bastard!”

All at once, Pete felt a rush of energy flow through him. He looked down. His sleeves were there. The cuffs were there. His hands were not.

“Got your wish, haven’t you, Petey?”

Pete began to apologize to the man, the warlock or demon or whatever else he could have been, if he caused any harm walking into him or speaking so curtly, but he refused to listen to a word of it.

The rules were laid out to him simply: the young prince was now invisible, doomed to roam the world faceless for the rest of his days unless someone loved him above all else for his heart and mind alone.

And there he was, five months later, still wandering. 

He’d slipped away from the castle that night, assuming no one would notice, though by now, rumors of the missing prince’s whereabouts were engulfing the people of the kingdom, some even claiming that the crown prince himself would pay a hefty sum to anyone who could deliver the safe return of his younger brother.

Perhaps if he’d stayed home and told his pitiful story to his family, they would have hosted a matchmaking ball just for him, inviting all the young noble ladies of the land for a chance to meet the prince and win his heart. It wouldn’t have worked, of course. He would need to be the one winning someone’s heart, and the game of love was never something he excelled in—seemingly another curse, a family one. And when people did see him now, they always screamed and ran in fear upon seeing his faceless and undefined form, convinced he was a specter, or in extreme cases, a demon. On two separate occasions, a priest would be dragged back to where he’d tried to take camp, and the party would attempt to exorcize him. By sheer stroke of luck did he come across a cloak abandoned in a tailor’s scraps, and thanking whatever benevolent force was out there, took the coak and made it his new shield from humiliation and window into the world.

Often, he found himself drawn to the marketplace nearest wherever in the woods he’d chosen to make home. He used to simply buy what he needed, but after enough time, funds were low, and he drew enough attention to himself when he had gold coins on him before. Now though, he’d trade or barter, plants he found in the woods and sticks for kindling in turn for fresh food and water. And because no one ever saw his face, nor questioned the hood of his cloak, he was never given much more than a second glance. Some merchants had taken an appreciation—dare he assume fondness—for the quiet boy who emerge from the woods once a week, knew just enough about medicinal and edible plants to barter for his needs, and disappeared again just as soon. He wasn’t quite invisible to them. But he was nameless, which was in many ways, the same thing. 

One day, a girl he’d done business for a few times but never truly talked to spoke up to him. 

“What’s with the hood, anyway? It’s not that cool out.”

From what he’d picked up, this girl was very wealthy, given the hundreds of dollars worth of goods in her little corner. More often than not, a man that resembled her or a red-headed woman took the reins, leading him to believe she was from a rich merchant family, or a noblewoman whose family was somewhere in the middle of the ranks. 

“It’s to hide myself,” he finally eventually answered. He extended his gathering of wild mint to her. “I have the usual request from here. Your father said next time I came with some I could trade for some of your chocolates.”

He didn’t think it was a very fair trade. Before, he could access those soft, sweet treats whenever he wanted. They were even one of the few things that could ease him quickly when his mysterious illness struck. Surviving on his own with dwindling funds taught him how expensive it was to the common man. And he knew enough about bartering now he didn’t think he could ever pay enough, physically or in gratitude. 

The girl took the fresh herbs and gave him a whole handful of the candy. “I put him up to that, actually,” she said. “You’re one of our best customers when it comes to sweet things.”

“My tooth for a bit of sugar can never quite be satisfied,” he admitted, “and they’re one of the few things that can help me get past my ailments when I’m dizzy.”

“I see,” she said. “But let’s go back to the original topic. Why do you hide your face?”

“People always scream when they see me.”

“Surely you’re not so frightening under there.”

Pete shook his head. “If I saw someone else like me I’d take quite the fright, too.”

“And that is because…”

Pete stayed silent for a moment. “It’s hard to explain. And impossible to believe.”

“Mysterious. I like it.”

If Pete had a visible face, he’d be blushing. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’ve been coming by this market for the past two months and I’ve neglected to learn your name.”

“Stephanie,” she said. “Now you have to repay me the favor.”

“Peter,” he said. “My name is Peter.”

“Well, Peter, enjoy your chocolates. Though I hope you don’t have to eat them all next time you’re sick.”

“I hope the same thing for myself,” he said. And with that, he was off and onto the next errand. 

The next week, Stephanie was at the booth again. She flagged him down. 

“I have nothing to trade to you today,” Pete started. 

“I hoped you’d give me a chance to just talk, learn a little more about the mysterious boy who shows up and disappears like clockwork,” she said. 

“There’s not much to me,” he said. “I left home to see if my luck would change, that’s all.”

“And?”

“And it hasn’t.”

Stephanie nodded, smiling a sad and sympathetic smile. “At least that means you get to be a little closer to here. You’re quite welcome around town.”

“I have my own shelter set up in the woods.”

“Well, would you ever consider one cooked dinner in a warm house?” she asked. “Just one night away from there?”

“I can’t risk it,” Pete said. “Wild animals or bandits could get to my resources. And I’d still rather not reveal myself.”

“I’m sure with a gentle demeanor like yours, no appearance could be as bad as you think it is.”

Pete thought for a second. Stephanie did not come across as scared of anything, though he still couldn’t guarantee that she would be still if she did see him. 

That headstrong nature and generosity seemed to win him over, though. 

“…do you really wish to see what’s underneath this hood?” he asked. 

“Yes.”

“Then meet me at the edge of the woods, tonight.”

He waited. And just as the sun finally sank beneath the horizon, she appeared to him, lantern lit. 

“I understand if you scream or run away,” he warned her, “But please don’t bring an exorcist or angry mob to me. I’ve made my new home here.”

“I don’t understand,” Stephanie told him. 

Pete only sighed, pulling down his hood. Stephanie stared. 

She did not scream. She did not run. She seemed not to react at all. 

“How did this happen to you?” she asked after what could have been mere moments but to the young prince seemed an excruciating lifetime. 

“…cursed by upsetting the wrong man,” he said. “It can only be broken if someone loves me for my heart and mind. I know that will never happen, so I’ve made my peace wandering the world this way.”

Stephanie drew closer, outreaching her arm. “Give me your hands,” she instructed. Pete, with some effort, trying to remember where each finger was, eventually interlocked his own hands in hers. She smiled. 

“You are not a monster, no matter what you think of yourself,” she said. “You’re a gentle and intelligent boy. And my favorite customer.”

“You’re my favorite merchant,” he said. 

Stephanie blushed and grinned. 

She came back to him every afternoon he did not come into town. They’d talk for hours on end as she helped him gather supplies and they would talk about whatever came to mind. About science, and the market, and home. About how he missed his and she resented hers. 

On one of the days, they talked about love, how Peter was sure that if it existed, it was not his destiny. 

“My parents were betrothed at a young age. They never got the chance to choose what they wanted themselves. My brother is a hopeless romantic, convinced he must be Romeo Montague himself, but can never find himself a beloved. Surely it must be in my blood. My fate, even.”

“Perhaps you could be the one to break fate itself,” Stephanie said. “You’ve got your own charm. I think you could do it.”

Pete shrugged. “I’ve accepted my fate. I just feel fortunate I have you as company.”

“It’s my greatest honor, Peter.”

Some more weeks later, on the summer solstice, she snuck out just to be with him at his camp as the stars glowed above. 

“I even brought you a special gift,” she told him. 

She held out a large bar of chocolate to him. He took it gratefully. 

“Thank you,” he said, and instantly, he broke it in half, handing one of the pieces back to her. 

She shook her head. “Peter, I could never—”

“I insist,” he cut in. “That’s all I’d like to do. Share with my most cherished friend.”

She took the other half, smiling fondly as she did. “Most cherished?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re in agreement, then,” she said. “You’re not so bad, yourself.”

He sat. She slid down next to him. Staring up at the stars above them, the company of their respective cherished one was all they needed on that sweet, warm summer night. 

Pete couldn’t stop himself at one point, when he noticed a particularly bright star in the sky. He gently took her hand to gesture to her what he would have pointed out. “That one’s called Vega,” he said. “It’s one of the brightest named stars in our sky.” 

“Really?” she said, seemingly mildly impressed by his sudden show of knowledge. 

“Mm-hm.” He moved her hand carefully to point out its surrounding stars. “And all of these make up Lyra. The myth goes that the sun god Apollo gave his son, Orpheus, a lyre because he was one of the most talented musicians in Greece. When Orpheus lost his wife, his music alone was enough to convince Hades to go into the underworld and free her.”

“And did he?”

“No,” Pete said. “He looked back before she was in the light and so Eurydice had to return to the darkness.”

Stephanie sighed. “What an awful story.”

“It’s a beautiful one.”

“It’s tragic.”

“That’s what makes it so special, I think. A man, so in love with his wife, that he would literally walk into hell for her, and so desperate to hold her again he turned even if he could see her but for just one moment.”

“I’d rather see a happy ending for young lovers,” Stephanie said. She glanced over at him. “You know a lot about that kind of thing.”

“It was part of my education.”

“Only the especially wealthy think to teach that.”

“Yes.”

A long beat held the two quiet for for a long time. Stephanie spoke up again first. “You’re the missing prince.”

Pete knew he couldn’t really deny it. “I’m the missing prince,” he echoed. 

“…y’know, your curse might have done one good thing.”

“What’s that?”

“We didn’t have to worry about titles. We get to be ourselves around each other.”

He wouldn’t deny that, either. 

Deep into the night, when the only other creatures still stirring were the fireflies, she bestowed him another gift: a simple kiss. A token between two new young lovers, only desperate to not face the same tragedy as so many others. As sleep conquered him, Pete half-sensed the most wonderful rush coursing through his body. Though of course, that could have been just a dream, or pure elation to be there with Stephanie. 

He woke early in the morning, just as the sun only began to rise, like he’d done his whole life. 

Stephanie had made her own camp, sleeping just three feet away from him. She really could have gone home. He still appreciated that even in rest, they were able to keep each other company. 

So he rose, preparing for his daily routine, foraging for plants for both himself and the marketplace, and reaching out for his satchel, a change had become obvious. There was no empty space or missing pieces, but instead, his form had a definitive end. His hands. 

His cry of shock and elation jostled Stephanie awake, already prepping to look for him. 

“Peter?! Peter are you—” She looked up then, seeing the smiling, if not somewhat awkward prince in front of her for the first time. She grinned at him. She stood, slowly at first, only to then rush over to give him a proper hug. 

“Welcome back,” she said. “It’s good to finally see you.”

“It’s good to finally be seen,” he said. 

The prince and his lover had a decision to make, on what to do next. Peter thought it would be for the best to at least go home briefly, to assure his family that he was alive and well, but he didn’t want to force Stephanie to leave her own home behind. To his surprise, she insisted on making the journey with him. Not for the reward, but for Peter’s own sake. 

When they reached the palace he was once sure he’d never see again, they were allowed in, Peter and Stephanie finally getting to tell the king, queen, and crown prince the long story. But when Stephanie was asked about the prize for returning him, she politely declined. All she wanted was Peter himself. His happiness, his safety, and his mind. 

Though not quick to marry their younger son off, the king and queen did allow the romance to continue. If it had saved their son, then a love like theirs was one of the most precious things in the world. 

With the prince restored and the young couple happy, the tale ends like any good fairy tale, with happily ever after.

they wearing suits hits different fr 🙊

And synonyms. So many fucking synonyms.

Being a writer is just 97% googling words to make sure they mean exactly what you always assumed they meant.

who knew that the funniest part of these panels wouldnt be that azz understood clara- its that the plan they decided on together was just to CHEER IRUMA ON. THATS IT.