Latest Posts by einshi - Page 4
All tragedies deal with fated meetings; how else could there be a play? Fate deals its stroke; sorrow is purged, or turned to rejoicing; there is death, or triumph; there has been a meeting, and a change. No one will ever make a tragedy—and that is as well, for one could not bear it—whose grief is that the principals never met.
Mary Renault, The Mask of Apollo
Hiiii Sexy Dm To Get Spoiled With Weekly Allowance.....
a business proposal without exact numbers? you've become negligent, Satoru.
Psycho pass 10th
Shinya Kogami & Shogo Makishima clock
Noitamina shop
what color character are you?
MUSE VS MUN.
grey/black. you are intense, cool, pragmatic, and incredibly streetwise. you follow your convictions through and are great in a crisis. you are able to get what you want and protect others easily. just remember that letting your emotions take control doesn't make you weak, it only increases what you can do. examples of grey/black characters include cinna (the hunger games, mj (spiderman homecoming/far from home), edward cullen (twilight), and mai (avatar the last airbender)
blue. you're pragmatic and love to learn, and have a taste for the intellectually minded few. you have a good heart and moral compass, and an eternal curiosity that guides you in all of your endeavors. remember to take care of yourself, the world can be a difficult place and you deserve to rest every once in awhile. examples of blue characters are chidi anagonye (the good place), beth harmon (the queens gambit), t'challa (black panther), and alice cullen (twilight)
edit: forgot to tag people @psielapki @cymerae @12reset @hourdive @koseigu
geese I will never not hype you up— your writing blows me away. Your muse of metaphors and prose is so pretty that sometimes I sit there in awe because how did you form words like that. This goes for any and all of your characters, and I also love that you’re not afraid to play the worst of the worst— and still make them so enjoyable / make the reader root for them / wanna know more
You wwould root for geto... Me too. Find me donating to his cult like it was OF. Heeellppp this is one of the biggest praises 😭😭😭 especially coming from you who write Vein and got his madness right from one helppp I honestly love that you don't shy away from exploring these aspects about your crazier muses honestly tysm for ur words villains are my top favorite thing to write 🙏🙏🙏 @12reset
[anon hate] how can i name JUST ONE?! i was so taken by your geto the first time i came across him 😭 he is so far gone in his own beliefs yet somewhere in him his past still resonates and i love those moments where that human part of him still flickers ( like the nagi / haibara comparison ✨). not to mention how i adore when writing paints a picture because stories are always fun when you see the pictures - and having that abstract imagery just further brings your writing to life and i LOVEEEE SEEING IT. then there’s the wit that each character you play seems to have, kaiser, liu xiao, ( gojo too even if he’s not exactly a villain - ) … ALSO I LOVE HOW YOU PLAY VILLAINS!! you’re another writer who isn’t afraid to convey the darker aspects of your muse/s and show off their morally skewed perception. AND - and and and!!!! the fact that you hit the nail on the head with liu xiao when there was like 20 seconds of content of him before yingdu.
bravo, gold star. 20/10 writer would recommend. xia fei hands lx an autographed photo with a kiss mark 💋 ( ignore that im on cxs this is anon hate remember - ) [/anon hate]
There would be no Liu xiao without you and bug making me lock in to finish link click 😭🙏🙏🙏🙏I owe you guys my life. Already told you but I'm a huge fan of ur writing and I love every single crazy au sprouting in the moment. don't think for a second that the roommates au is over there's a lot more muses ready to move in too at this point the whole place is gonna be packed coughs the photo studio coughs. Tysmmmm ILY and everything you create 😻 @hourdive
beloved geese. sweet geese. freaky geese. you have never been afraid to let the flag of our people (again, freaks) fly and that is why i can safely say you're one of my favorite writers ever. i feel like i've said this one billion times but your FUCKING MIND makes me feel awestruck and insane, and even if i'm not even in a damn fandom you can make me interested just by reading a reply. you inspire me to be a better writer with every post. also i'm inside of your walls. xo
me when my fellow sicko tells me to do something 🫡🫡🫡 hedelpp meeee your words are giving me that needed serotonin ngl I really love everything we've built in our different verses and I've said this a lot but it bears repeating and it's that your Sukuna portrayal is literally one of the best I've read across platforms you nailed him so well and you've made me see him in a different light and added to my already big love for him more reasons to continue loving him hehe, sukuboo is only the tip of the iceberg tho. Also I really love ur use of metaphors they're always poetically grotesque in a good way bc it's the kind of prose I enjoy the most 🔥🔥 @koseigu
the way you write geto really stuck with me i remember reading your threads with him AGES ago and going oh my lord i need that engraved on my tombstone that is SO POETICALLY MOVING
stoppppp, this coming from you means a lot to me 😭😭😭 legit gonna follow all your blogs across verses so I can get that itchy feeling when reading your writing I was especially a fan of your dabihawks stuff but U probably already knew that 😏 also one of these days I'll figure out a proper verse for hua cheng and Luka and I'll have them bother your muses somehow TRUST @altarfates
“Anyone whose goal is ‘something higher’ must expect someday to suffer vertigo. What is vertigo? Fear of falling? No, Vertigo is something other than fear of falling. It is the voice of the emptiness below us which tempts and lures us, it is the desire to fall, against which, terrified, we defend ourselves.”
— Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being
What? Want me to thank you?
ゴールデンカムイ 北海道刺青囚人争奪編 GOLDEN KAMUY 2: The Hunt Of Prisoners In Hokkaido
❛ you’re a fucking nightmare. kiss me. ❜ (sugimoto @ ogata) let the rivalmance begin
during winter, when anglerfish was available, his mother cooked for a father that would never come.
in these periods of lucidness, she would always tell him the same “he will come, you see… i have to make his favorite food. it’s a long way from the north, so he will be hungry.”
he’d heard from her, too, about the relentless winter in hokkaido, of the mountains that surrounded his father’s base and he’d always imagined what it would be like to descend from a frozen land to the noticeably warmer weather of ibaraki. he imagined it would go like this: his father, the shining medals — his lieutenant general uniform pristine and ironed as he saw it in the bromide his mother kept atop her vanity, in the corner of their room. wrought in the finest metals, he would step inside, and he’d greet her, like lovers do in books, the stories he’s heard other children tell about their own parents. about the way their fathers kissed their mothers at the doorstep.
and they would sit at the low-table, pouring his portion in their finest plates. would his father nod approvingly after tasting mother’s molten love in the nabe’s broth? or would he go about it silently, like ogata did? quiet enjoyment, because there’s no use saying these things, his mother barely spoke a word back. but maybe this time would be different. she’d be talkative, serene; she often reminded him of a butterfly. fragile and beautiful.
but he’d been around nine-years-old, and naive.
love did not exist. not as people painted it. it’s instinct, swirling egos, the necessity to have something that will bend beneath your palm at will. it’s vulnerability, and ogata abhors anything that puts him at a disadvantage. on some night, sugimto watches him, amber eyes possessing a quiet certainty about something that makes ogata’s stomach turn, an absolute belief that whatever it is that sugimoto sees, what he thinks he sees in ogata, is only but a projection of his own deluded fantasies.
ogata held sugimoto’s gaze, lips taut and his face a blank canvas. sugimoto’s lips taste of sake, of herbs; his scars are more vivid up close, as though slashed only moments prior, like they would bleed at any moment. he could feel the part that split sugimoto’s mouth in halves brush against his skin, humid, forcefully pressing forth, but ogata doesn’t budge. staring down sugimoto’s face, like he would do to a target through the lens of his type 30 arisaka.
what would his innards look like? if he shot sugimoto now, here, in the quiet of the wilderness, with the rest cramped up in the kotan like snakes in a pit, would that rouse any of them up? he could pretend they’d been attacked, that a spy from the 7th division followed their trail, right up here, and ogata had no other choice but to kill both.
load of bullshit, there’s no way that asirpa brat would believe it.
“afraid you’ll bleed?” he settles for this: in a swift movement, ogata’s hand clasps around sugimoto’s jaw, his thumb burying itself deep in the dent of sugimoto’s facial scars, and if he willed it, ogata could probably pluck one of his eyes out. sugimoto’s reflexes are quick, blood-shot adrenalin, an elbow to ogata’s ribs. that’s when his expressionless mask finally breaks, because he knows this, he knows anger, he knows what a starving beast looks like driven to a corner. ogata smiles, teeth showing through thinned lips. “i guess not.”
“quit playing, sugimoto, and get to what we came here for. i don’t know how long you’ll try to keep playing house, just don’t waste my time.”
my take on makima is that she doesn't love, doesn't understand it, doesn't know how to, even if she'd tried, because she's been raised into compliance, apathy, the type needed for cold-blooded decision making the kind that is rampant in the government as seen through the lenses of csm manga and even before being a puppet of a kind she is also a demon and demons don't love, their hearts are graveyards, their selfishness and whims the cause of much grief and it's a constant in the story that even those who briefly dipped their feet into the mundane, came down and drowned or were ripped apart from it and returned to the never-ending cycle of death and rebirth. anyway, she doesn't love anything and she thinks she loves csm but love as she understands it is control, because she is conquest, she is the embodiment of the theft of agency and she revels in knowing everything beneath her is her property and although she yearns for an equal she doesn't want to let go of what constitutes her: dominance. and it's why at the end of it all, sincere love is what kills her, and she doesn't see it coming because she never cared to learn its smell, never cared to acknowledge it. because loving is giving away control.
my point being: makima doesn't love and she doesn't have anyone she loves, but she does find things cute just like she's developed fondness for her dogs. she will find something cute and in my honest opinion that will be quanxi(?)
★ 【athéko】 「 チェンソーマンまとめ 」 ☆ ✔ republished w/permission ⊳ ⊳ follow me on twitter
i've been walking through a world gone blind . // @ Kogami !
playing clever, isn’t he?
it’s only for a moment - a minute twitch of his hand and a perk of his brow that gives away the absurdity of makishima’s words. blindness. blindness. kogami laughs, curt and listless as he meets makishima’s gaze impassively.
“The longing for Paradise is man's longing not to be man.” he quotes, “it doesn’t make me happy that we agree on something like the stripping of man’s conviction in favor of automatized data processing.”
and of course it doesn’t. he’d left without so much as a warning to keep their guard on, after all, tossing aside his own connections for the pursuit of his own personal devil and though he isn’t precisely at Hell’s doorstep, his heart aches with sickness, hatred that’s boiled for too long, a necrosis of the heart. hoping he might see that batard’s face one more time before it all came crashing down, so he could bash it in, had suddenly turn into reality.
fuck makishima, honestly, for even bringing that up.
but it’s enough to rattle kogami’s nerves. he’s certain that he’d been searching for makishima’s face just a moment too long, desperate for a hint that remorse is foreign and that his ghostly silhouette framed in a polaroid hadn’t only existed in his darkest nightmares - the kind that haunt him at night, curled up under the sheets while sasayama’s memory breathes in the back of his mind. when the dark, oppressive silence leaves him with nothing to do but imagine blood - his, makishima’s blood - coating him like crimson rain. makishima’s eyes are clear, he notices, through the distance, through the gun’s lens and amplified only by nebulous contempt. clear and indifferent and offering more questions than answers.
kogami doesn’t lower his gun.
he’s grateful, suddenly, for the privacy that came after the chase, hiding from onlookers as though there was anything else to bury besides the corpse that he will soon make. he’s not killing time. but he doesn’t dare speak of how desperately he wanted, waited for this - how quickly his hunger was reignited when he saw makishima stumble, ragged breathing, blood-stained and snaking his way out into the empty landscape.
briefly, kogami wonders, if he’ll be disappointed in himself tomorrow, so quick to pull the trigger and shove a bullet into that pretty skull. he’s almost certain he would be as he reveled in the weight of metal in his palm, so different from how a dominator felt when his badge still meant something. the taste of gunpowder. the subtle scent of makishima’s blood in the breeze. the way his back is turned and facing him, brittle as a bird. it’s all and the same, the man in the photograph, the shadow in his memories, the man kneeling in front of him. the helping hand that skinned sasayama alive. kogami lets that consume him. he doesn’t want to think about what makishima wants. not here. not now.
“that’s all you have to say? unless you want to piss me off any more than you’ve done. then by all means, keep talking.”
@achroanimus
The night drags on and yet, restless, Li Tianchen has found no sleep. Fresh emotional wounds haunt his mind. He rubs his eyes and frowns while scrolling further through his phone. His new phone. All ties were severed. He’s learned that life changes at a rate no one can prepare for. No one, except seemingly…
Tianchen lowers the screen and peers at his company. Liu Xiao. His childhood friend — perhaps the only friend he’s ever had — reads on the sofa opposite his chair, also awake. Tianchen doesn’t know what they both seem to be waiting for. Chances are, Liu Xiao has entirely different plans than he does with his fickle procrastination, anyway.
Setting his phone down on the armrest, Tianchen stares more prominently. Almost glaring. A moment passes; in a fit of impulse, he stands and moves to join Liu Xiao, side by side. Everything thereafter happens slowly, cautiously, like a stray animal’s approach. He leans closer so he can read the words on the page with a narrowed focus.
Is that… English? He recognizes bits and pieces, although his lessons were admittedly subpar. The way he snorts, amused, should let Liu Xiao know exactly what he wants to think of all this. Dorky. Weird. But despite that dismissal, he remains by Liu Xiao, trying to make sense of fragmented phrases. There must be a reason he is reading it, right?
❛ read . silently read a book alongside my muse . ( also hi, hello, you are no longer safe from me 🥺 )
a dispassionate read, if he’s ever seen any.
even if he’d waited, he doubted any interest beyond surface curiosity would maintain itself alight and sparkling in li tianchen’s mind. he imagined this is how it would be, from that moment where their paths merged and liu xiao’s space had soon been invaded by a surge of bright hues, contrasting his own dark shades. their opposing tastes regarding hobbies, the books they’d read, everything felt like a makeshift dreamland, and whoever’s dream this was, it certainly doesn’t feed liu xiao’s interest or keep li tianchen out of his boredom.
“it’s a retelling of Theseus myth. you’ve probably heard of it before.” he pauses for a second, turns to face him for the first time, eyes sharp and dark above the rim of his glasses. a look of confusion - or possibly judgement towards his book choice, tell him better than prying would of li tianche’s most sincere thoughts.
and liu xiau laughs, like sand over rocks, dry, throaty. he waits for no response, “well, just part of it. i find it fascinating, that regardless of his glory, an epic hero is still cast aside and into the underworld. isn’t it ironic? that one’s name lives on through the ages, though he’ll never know it while he’s conscious and breathing. they say madness and glory are more alike than we think.”
mirth, wry cynicism, as though he’d seen much of the world and found himself wanting it entirely. he tries to keep it at bay, dormant, because there are better uses for this kind enrapturing confidence. li tianchen’s interest is piqued, or so he believes. liu xiao pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, closes the book with a light tud, “it’s subjective, that’s what i’m trying to say. fame is poison, some drink it, unknowing or not. either way, it’s bitter stuff, is what i think.”
“do you care to read it? i’ve already done it a couple of times. i can lend the book if you ask.”
@timeislikemusic
i'll only hurt you if you let me . / Uta @ Yomo
hurt, by definition, comes together with pain.
pain is familiar. pain is something that ghouls as species have known for longer than they’d remembered each other’s faces, what little they saw of them, when the masks were cast off. renji observes more than he speaks, notices the wounds and torn skin already patching itself together in a gruesome display of rank: back then, they’d been considered a dangerous threat to the CCG, or to the general public.
humans. ordinary humans whose bodies broke and didn’t mend.
bodies that did nothing similar to what uta’s system is beginning to try, under the influence of whatever it is that kept that clownish smile plastered on his face. excitement? seems likely.
he waits until the open tissue is all healed, black ink molten across a pale canvas. there’s a revelation in the way uta’s eyes reflect the dim moonlight. fluorescent signs sprout from the tall buildings, further narrowing the already reduced space in this back alley, cascading them in bright hues and deep contrasts, their shapes a pair of protruding anachronisms in the urban landscape.
this privacy - the pause that follows feels loud enough to drown everything else: noise of artillery, debris moved around and across the asphalt, disaster and what comes with chaos. even the rattling heartbeat in his ribcage which hadn’t ceased to plague him since they first laid their fists onto each other sinks deep into oblivion. he picks up where uta left off, his voice returning to its usual listless baritone, “it won’t be pleasant, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
there’s childish amusement in this, in the thrills uta seeks. he’s never understood it, always drawing a blank when he tried to sympathize with it. what he knows, however, is rage. he’d tasted it on the roof of his mouth, even now, if he searched long for it. on the cusp of an old era, only uta and, perhaps itori, were unburdened by it, his baggage, his vengeful appetite.
they’d cannibalized, and they’d probably done so much worse, sins that follow them each to the grave - but it’s not all there is to it. not all there is to uta and him. perhaps he simply wants to drain it all dry: his options, the reasoning, any word that can keep his friend from self-immolation. renji paces closer.
“aren’t you cold?” he doesn’t know if uta misses him. renji’s never asked. part of him, a shallow part, believes that uta’s unselfconsciousness is indicator enough that he’d do well no matter renji’s stance in his circle. another part - a more selfish, boyish part that hadn’t entirely died out since their rooftoof talks, had mistaken these jabs and mockery for fondness, of a kind. so it often went. he exhales through his nostrils, sharp breeze cutting through loose strands of white hair. the scent of rain, drying blood, this; it’s all a grim reminder that anything could’ve gone wrong, had he not been sincere from the start.
“do you remember” renji asks, “the first time we met? it wasn’t much different than how we are now.” normally, teens outgrow their fixations. renji doesn’t think uta has dropped it entirely, but it’s still difficult to figure him out in a way that won’t piss renji off. even now, he feels annoyed. there’s time for the two of them to try and hurt the other. that entirely depends on how well uta fares from here on. a creature of terrible potential. renji lowers his knees until they’re touching the ground, hooks uta’s arm around his shoulder, working as an achor, and eases him back to his feet, eye to eye, just like it’d been a decade or so ago.
“it was like this, too.” his lip twitches, the birth of a smile, one that he’d thought long lost. “you can walk, let’s go.”
@antinomos
had to come here to post this extremely Liu Xiao thing. and while we're at it let me tell you this is also Mukuro and Luka.
holy crap , you're alive … / Kagari & Kogami, after their roughest task yet!
were you always this loud?
kogami tries to keep his voice even; to give off the facade of level-headadness beyond sickness, the illusion of fast recovery that brings him closer to leaving this all-white plastic room for good.
as he swallows through a dry throat, the thought that, perhaps, maybe, kagari might be here not to deliver good news but to sentence him to another night of smelling antiseptic and disinfectant, sets into his shoulders as a familiar stiffness that he hopes won’t be so obvious through the fabric of his hospital clothes. without sparing a second thought, kogami makes his unamusement obvious, tugging at his wristband for lack of anything better to do.
“it doesn’t feel like i am.” even if he’d tried, kogami doubts he could have stopped the tired exhale that escapes his lips. “it might be a joke to you, but i’ve seen the nurse’s faces more than i’ve seen yours or ginoza’s for that matter.”
coming and going, the vague sense of control slipping through his fingers is enough to rattle his nerves.
no. that’s not the right word. it would be more accurate to say weakness frustrates him, franctically looking for answers where there were none to be found. it gives him something else to worry about, just as he’s been drawing close to the target he’s been chasing for so long. kogami lets out a terse breath, forehead falling loosely against his own fist. “any news? i don’t suppose we’re both here killing time. don’t tell me you want something else. it’s not like you. so just deliver the message.”
@yeonban
did you really think this is the right thing to do ? ( @ geto w/ nagi and his soccer-based jujutsu that i haven’t fleshed out yet lets go 🙂↕️ )
‘ correctness is based on the whims of whoever stands at the top. usually, the strongest get to decide. ’ after all, it’s easy to fear things that one doesn’t understand.
that is how institutions are created.
that is how monsters are born.
suguru paces around the room, tatami creaking beneath the weight of each step. though nagi’s question would have garnered any other person a violent end, something about his words feels sincere in ways that suguru hadn’t seen since… well, since his last conversation with haibara. it makes him wary.
nagi seishiro is relaxed in ways he shouldn’t have been, languid when he should have been cautious. uncanny in his boldness, though not so far that suguru’s senses would call it a threat. suguru reasons it’s little wonder that nagi is loathed even amongst their allies, or the followers. the sound of his footsteps is obscured by the prayers coming from the other room. the smell of burning incense, of ashes; he wonders how longer he’ll be able to stand listening to their drifting voices before something in him collapses.
suguru exhales a breath, watching nagi grow more comfortable in his position, bathed in the gentle midday light coming through the paper-thin walls. the look of innocence, treacherous in a way that he’s learned to discern.
‘ i can find a more creative way to pursue my goals, but i doubt it would be anything pretty, by anyone’s standards. uncooperative beasts are tamed. i don’t hope you understand what i intend with this. ’ the rational part of him knows that he should have ended this conversation before it even began - shouldn’t have humored this meeting in the first place. if he’d been anyone else. but when the bleary eyes of a newborn sorcerer look at him in that familiar way that he’d thought forgotten, impossible to mirror once more, suguru finds that can’t finish what he’s started.
he wonders if haibara - if anyone resents him for that.
these overlapping images are a headache. he lifts a hand, right from under his sleeve, signaling towards the open door. ‘ is that all you had to ask? you’ll have to forgive me, nagi. you see… i am a very busy man. ’
@trapshot
@limel1ghts
Xia Fei and Liu Xiao watching that fuckass movie
↪ 𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝑺𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑨𝑻 𝑴𝑬 . ( a collection of lyric starters from an assortment of billie eilish songs . adjust phrasing as necessary . )
you scared me to death .
there's nothing left to save now .
i don't think i caught your name .
i like it when you take control .
you're sacred and they're starved .
how dare you ? and how could you ?
one of us is gonna lose .
i don't even really know how it happened .
i'm out of sympathy for you .
just let me hold you .
don't talk about me like you might know how i feel .
try not to abuse your power .
i wish someone had told me i'd be doing this by myself .
it's not like me to be so mean .
you just want what you can't have .
would you like me to be quiet ?
i haven't slept since sunday .
i don't want to want you .
it hurts , but i know how to hide it .
i'm the only one who does it how you like .
you better keep your head down .
a lot can change in twenty seconds .
why aren't you scared of me ?
i thought that i was special .
you're looking at me like i'm see-through .
you were a hero , you played the part .
i never really know how to please you .
see what you wanna see .
gold's fake , and real love hurts .
no way , i'll call the cops .
maybe you should leave before i get too mean .
i just wanted to protect you .
you only listen to your fuckin' friends .
they're never gonna give you love like ours .
all you wanna do is kiss me .
don't you know too much already ?
it's weird that we care so much until we don't .
i didn't change my number , i changed who i reply to .
i don't know what feels true .
did you really think this is the right thing to do ?
i would hate to see you go .
i'd never treat me this shitty .
i'll only hurt you if you let me .
you made me feel like it was my fault .
now i know what you are .
i feel more and more like i was made for you .
you wanna kill me ? you wanna hurt me ?
don't try to make me feel bad .
wait , you know what ? maybe just forget it .
was i made from a broken mold ?
you want me to be yours , then you've gotta be mine .
tell me "nothing lasts" , like i don't know .
wait a minute , let me finish .
you know i'm not your friend without some greenery .
my demands aren't high to make .
stop , what the hell are you talking about ?
we both know i'm worth waiting for .
you ruined everything good .
you really know how to make me cry .
your love feels so fake .
i wanna be alone . alone with you , does that make sense ?
spit it out , what is it exactly ?
i'll never let you go .
if we were meant to be , we would've been by now .
you can pretend that you don't miss me .
just fucking leave me alone .
don't say i didn't warn you .
it's pretty cool , right ?
i think i might have fallen in love .
i tried not to upset you .
do you even feel anything ?
don't ask questions , you don't wanna know .
i've been walking through a world gone blind .
i just wanna make you feel okay .
i know you don't care , but can you listen ?
don't you know i'm no good for you ?
the store had been adorned with plenty of different chocolates, arranged by colors or by price. blue is the color that suits Xia Fei most - it makes him think of the sea, its unpredictability, its whims and beauty. Liu Xiao picks a blue box, golden ribbon. He hands the box to Xia Fei as he rings the coffee he's ordered. No words exchanged besides thank you, bye. He doesn't really wait to confirm whether the gift is tossed to the garbage or accepted. In a sense, it's better that way.
unprompted. ╱ @einshi.
there’s an effort to temper his impatience, holding back his frown from pulling any lower. with his arms crossed and burning golden eyes, he stares intensely at liu xiao. of course, he takes his sweet time, browsing chocolates in a high-end cafe that doubles as a chocolatier. a roll of his eyes. rich people. soft conversations and rows of confectionaries add to the calm atmosphere. but his voice certainly did not. “ couldn’t you have done this after? i have other places to be, ” a blatant lie, meeting with him was the last task on his agenda for the day, “ if you’re gonna keep me waiting, you can’t tell him i wasn’t playing nice with you. ” there’s a glimpse at the hand that chooses the sweets, but xia fei lets a sigh drag from his lips to make a point that he was on borrowed time. his time. time meant to be spent with himself after an exhausting day.
gradually, his eyes wander, passively taking in his surroundings. the shop itself was far beyond maintained. despite playful decor to fit the valentine’s theme, the design echoed bridon’s aristocratic roots. a few portraits depicting these streets from centuries past, a plaque honouring the founder. nothing flashy, but there’s a tasteful touch of historic flare. perhaps he’ll stop by again on his own in the coming weeks.
“ —eh!? ” his distracted self is the receiver of a gift box. one he never asked for, or necessarily needed - or cared to get, for that matter. “ what is this?! ” he blurted the words without hesitation, causing a few curious glances his way. liu xiao briskly takes his leave from there, but xia fei isn’t done yet. “ hey! you can’t leave me here with this! ” the click of a phone camera drains his complexion pale. he turns, noting a few heads retreating and thumbs tapping away on phones. did they recognize him? oh no… “ liu xiao!! get back here! ” the entrance bell softly chimes as xia fei pushes past, hurrying after his troublesome client…