💌

webweaving and writes sideblog !

[10ve1etter]

takane no hana [ flower on a high peak ] ... someone or something that one desires, but that is unattainable or far away.

you're mine - phantogram / body paint - arctic monkeys / touch - alice phoebe lou

[10ve1etter]

"but, i understand--- there are limits to love." and what limit could there exist when you are already inside me, both in body and heart? this is how our love presented itself. as consumption, as the desire to eat and be filled over and over again.

[10ve1etter]

"i was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend." ... mary shelley's the creature.

last night i dreamt that somebody loved me - the smiths / nobody - mitski

[10ve1etter]

"i called your name and i understood i was alone." ... the maker & the creation.

to forgive - the smashing pumpkins / chop suey - system of a down / show me how to live - audioslave / my way of life - frank sinatra / tower of memories - ivri

[10ve1etter]

"our origins blur into a single birth between us, and so between us, is a world and it's beginning." - the world at its beginning, dustin pearson. ... ace, sabo and luffy.

hello - oasis / blood bros - hayley williams

[10ve1etter]

he looks at her curiously when she grasps his wrist, gesturing for him to mirror her hand. he splays his fingers out and she presses her palm flat to his, lining her fingers up against his own.

shoko's hands are often cool to the touch, dry if she hasn't applied lotion to them yet, fingers slender and elegant.

nanami's hands are wide and fingers long, callouses on his palm still present from wielding his chosen weapon, but have long since softened since leaving jujutsu society. his hands are a little warmer than shoko's but like her, he generally runs cool. which is why he can stand to wear that suit when others might want to ditch it.

"what ritual is this, ieiri-san?" he finally queries, brow arching over the circle of his glasses.

"i'm flirting with you. i've seen all the girls in the dramas do this when they're flirting with their crushes." she scrutinizes their hands as if fascinated and transfixed by his possible reaction.

the arch of his brow sharpens then relaxes, a faint smile spreading across his lips. "is that so? and, what dramas are you watching? are you speaking of the shojou anime you watch every night?"

"hey---" her hand slips away from him and she whacks the back of her hand against his arm. "don't knock it."

"i'm not. you're being defensive." nanami chuckles, reaching for her hand again and lines them up like she had earlier. "and, what is the intended effect of this flirtation?"

shoko shrugs, shifting her fingers so they slide into the slots of his. "no idea. maybe it's an excuse to touch each other and hold hands."

"it sounds like you know exactly what you're doing."

in which, shoko employs the basic arts of flirting.

[10ve1etter]

her hand hovers over the wound in his side, a focused glow of energy that mends his tissue and muscle back together. it’s painless after the initial sting, a comforting surge of energy.

he’s always admired that technique of hers — not because of its rarity, but the power that it took to heal. different from combat. the ability to sew people back together, to make them whole again.

nanami remembers her desperate frustration after he’d brought back haibara, already cold in his arms. she’d asked what took him so long to get him back to the school. then, she’d cursed under her breath that if they would just let her out into the field, she would save more lives than conduct autopsies. he didn’t hold it against her when she snapped. they’d both lost a friend.

there’s a quiet detachment to her when she’s working. like a veil that overcomes her, keeps her separate from herself and the subject. her bedside manner has improved, professional and calm. though she’s always been that way, experience has evened her out.

they’re silent for a long stretch of time. she told him to relax while she healed him, settling him back against the examination table. after she was done with the initial healing, she cleaned the blood on his skin, her touch comforting and careful. he insists he can take care of himself when he gets home, but she swats his hand away.

“not often i can take care of my friends like this.”

so, he lets her, gaze softening as he settles. a beat before he blurts, like a breath he’s been waiting to let out. 

“i’m starting to learn i may never be free.”

her ministrations pause a moment, bronze gaze flickering over his expression. he meets her eyes, another sigh but this one ragged and weary.

“that makes the two of us.” shoko says behind her mask. she wishes he hadn’t come back. she wishes she could leave and take him with her. if only she could save one person …

once she’s done, nanami lays there a moment longer, staring up at the ceiling. shoko takes it as an opportunity to lean over him. his gaze snaps towards her, brows faintly creasing, questioning. they haven’t been that way in months. he believes his return to sorcery has something to do with it. but, he doesn’t stop her when she leans down and brushes her lips against the bridge of his nose. whenever she was feeling extra affectionate, she would kiss him there.

his hand tentatively reaches and rests against her waist and keeps her close. he feels her relax into the touch. it gives him the confidence to tip his head back, for his lips to brush against her chin.

they can’t stay like this forever. but, he’ll take this solace before returning to the world again.

[10ve1etter]

shoko hates grocery shopping. or rather, she's never found any pleasure in the mundane task of pushing a cart through an aisle of boxed and canned foods, weighing two different tomatoes in her hands, pressing the thin skin to see which was more firm, which would last longer in the fridge, tapping her knuckles against the watermelon to see which would be sweeter ... all of these things that she observes kento doing now.

she asked him once why he cooks when he could order in. they both have enough money to order breakfast, lunch and dinner everyday. after all, his job's relentless capitalism and her job dealing with the cold dead ... both demanding fields. neither of them are exactly frugal people. well, not on purpose at least.

he told her that she only suggests that because she doesn't like to cook. then, in a more sincere explanation, kento explains that it grounds him. a sense of normalcy that he needs at the end of the day or before his week starts. he had asked her if there was anything like that in her life. something that gave her a sense of normalcy. when he turned to face her after waiting for an answer, there was a meaningfulness in her bronze gaze that told him her answer without her having to say it aloud. it made his chest warm.

it's not that he insisted she accompany him. only a suggestion given that their busy schedules this week haven't exactly lined them up for much time together. accompanying him to the supermarket before spending a short night together would maximize their time. she had accepted only because of that point.

so, she leans against the cart, forearms bearing down on the handle while she watches him pick through a shelfful of celery, carrots, then cucumber. watches him as he bags them in his reusable nets and adds them to the growing pile in the cart. it's his produce haul for the week.

maybe the grocery store isn't so bad. maybe it could give her a sense of normalcy.

[10ve1etter]

at the end of the day, shoko had always known she'd be left behind. but, not like this. not standing in front of their tombstones, staring down at their names etched into stone.

she remembers touching their cold skin and the reverence she treated their body with even if from any other onlooker of the procedure, it would look as clinical as usual. shoko was good at that; being clinical.

crouching down in front of satoru's tombstone, she set down a pair of sunglasses that she had stolen from him one day, insisting that she'd misplaced them. he had all the money in the world to buy a new pair, so why was he hounding her about these lost ones? she had them tucked away in her room. on her days off when they weren't around, she would go into the city, wearing them. they were dark and reflective, shielding the line of her vision. she could people watch all day and they wouldn't know she was staring at them. it was a little piece of him when he was always away.

then, she steps in front of suguru's. for him, she kneels, the pebbles peppering the ground dig into her knees like penance. she would be lying if she said this was her first cigarette in a while. her clothes still smell of the cigarette she smoked from last night, it clings to her the same way that memories of him cling to her. she smokes a few drags, blowing the smoke upwards. like an incense stick, she presses it into the ground in front of his tombstone, the lit end breathing in and breathing out, glowing red then dimming. it would be disrespectful to anyone else, but she knows he'd laugh.

shoko sighs. heavy and tired.

she always knew she'd be left behind. but, not like this.

[10ve1etter]

it was more than licking our wounds. it was a mutual healing.

[10ve1etter]

haunted: hollowed out and filled with dead memories.

( lyrics from: wet - dazey and the scouts )

[10ve1etter]

"i was there too, wasn't i?" ... a singular shadow is the shape of loneliness, just as dark and silhouetted.

[10ve1etter]

Dawn breaks through the clouds, splintering the sky. Her head remains on his shoulder, the scent of roses and cinnamon clinging to his clothes. It’s not enough and yet it’s more than enough. To long for anything more would be greedy of him, untoward. Still, he begs for the sun to take its time rising. These warring thoughts are stunned into silence as her head tilts back, her breath warm in the crook of his neck. 

She whispers that she doesn’t want to leave yet. 

She’s expected at breakfast, he reminds her, for another suitor to come visit her and vie for her hand. Her only response is to grasp his hand tightly, a refusal to let go. 

They can wait, she says. They can wait forever because all that she wants is right here. 

An ache stirs deeply within him. It’s unfair to exchange these sentiments knowing that their desires are far out of reach. They are dreams woven into smoke; ones that dissipate into thin air like they didn’t exist at all. The flavor of them growing bitter and dry on the tongue the more they realize that it’s unattainable. 

He feels her gaze intent on him, a silent plea to return her sentiment. To prove to her beyond these stolen moments that he wants this too, that he could allow himself to want her. It’s a selfish request, but a princess is accustomed to demanding what she wants. Even if true desires are often the ones that aren’t granted. 

His lip quivers around an unlit cigarette. Face turned away to the south, watching a drifting cloud. If he looks into her eyes, he will fall apart. He will gather her up in his arms and kiss her senseless, promise her his days and his minutes and his seconds, and that he would take her far far away from here. Far from proposals, dowries, and kingdoms. Far away from duty. He knows well enough he could protect her, provide for her, cherish her. He’s a capable man. Far more capable than each one who has begged for her hand. He loves her more than each one. 

And, yet, the promise swells and dies on his tongue. 

This is all he can have. Stolen moments until she’s made her choice. Until she’s eventually just like those dreams woven in smoke, gone and forever unattainable.

[10ve1etter]

a war torn woman with mud in her hair and blood on her face drags herself down the path to her home on the water. her home that floats and gently rocks her to sleep at night. where the only quiet in this world exists.

a war torn woman's blood curdles with guilt that she hasn't done her part. that she hasn't given herself up for the world to flourish into its new age and to be rid of the supposed founders that corrupt this entire system of things. instead she's chosen to go home. she's chosen a selfish solace.

a war torn woman reaches the edge of the path, and just a few feet away her home glows through its windows with light and warmth. a silhouette passes by, pacing back and forth, there and gone. her heart aches. her home is just within reach. a home that's been made complete. does she deserve the warmth that awaits her?

a war torn woman hesitates. who will she be without the crusade she's undertaken? without the burden on her shoulders? will she be a woman worthy of him after all this time? she's rooted to the spot until the door swings open and she sees him out on the deck, face tilted to the setting sun and his back is turned. she could still turn away. he wouldn't have to know she's come.

a war torn woman is seen. he turns as if sensing her indecision, his face slackens with relief, with agony, with everything that exists between them. he walks slowly at first, careful with his steps and she just stands motionless, unaware of the tears that have streaked through the blood on her cheeks. before he reaches her, he flies forward and falls face first at her feet.

a war torn woman falls to her knees before the man she loves. the man she's chosen to return to. his hands cup her face and his kiss is gentle, coaxing and she wonders if he can kiss the war out of her. if he can kiss the taste of iron and dirt from her mouth. maybe she can damn the world.

a war torn woman lets herself fall into his arms, to be lifted up and gathered and held close. if she stays like this, can she begin to mend? can she trust again? he kisses her eyelids, cleans away the remnants of bloodshed and violence, fingertips slowly tracing scars that tell of all the time spent apart, and slowly... little by little, she thinks she can leave the war behind.

[10ve1etter]

we accept the love we think we deserve ... stephen chbosky.

lyrics: curl up and die - matt maltese / step on me - the cardigans / i bet on losing dogs - mitski / break - alex g / 505 - arctic monkeys

[10ve1etter]

prompt 18 of pininglongingyearning ... late night phone calls // iselda x franky. (@voidcenturyseashanties )

she rests the compact snail phone on her chest as she lays back in the grass, hands tucked beneath her head, fingers tangled in a mess of curls. it's late now, but it's pretty much the only time they can really speak without raising any suspicion or interrupting their respective missions. even then they have to be careful. more on franky's end than her own.

"i miss hearing your voice." he says from the other end, and she can hear the sniffle he tries and fails to suppress. his own voice has gone all watery, and maybe because he can't see her, it's easier to allow a soft smile to stretch across her face.

"it's only been a couple days since our last call. get a grip." even as she says that, her tone is playful, not actually dismissive.

communicating with one another as only voices on either end of a call is not the same. it's not like her to express as much, not as often as him. most times, he emotes enough for the both of them. which in time, iselda has found to be comforting rather than her initial frustration. but, she feels that tug in her chest that tells her she's been away from his company too long.

try as she might to be aloof, her attachment to franky is undeniable. even on her worst days, when she would rather not see another living soul around, his is the only one she wishes wouldn't ever leave her side. of course, that's gradually extended to the rest of their crew. but, none were as special as him, everyone knew that too.

it reminds her briefly of their long stretch apart after the events on sabaody. which reminds her too of how she'd planned to leave, how she'd confided in him of her plans to explore on her own, that her time playing pirates had come to an end. he had implored her to reconsider, not only for the sake of who they were to each other ( even if that was a heavy point ), but that being with the strawhats was more than being pirates banded together on the same crew. but, something bigger than they have fully realized. being on her own ... it's what she thought she wanted until she lost them one by one. the ache of it tormented her ... losing him had tormented her.

she hears his hesitant breath on the other end, a silence that isn't quite tension but obvious enough that it swells until she sighs, a low chuckle following.

"i miss hearing your voice too, franky. ---i miss you."

[10ve1etter]

prompt 9 of pininlongingyearning ... long distance relationship // shoko x suguru.

the stretch of time between when they've last seen each other and the now feels both like an impossible expanse of time and a very short one.

like yesterday, they had just been sharing a meal made in her kitchen made by him. but, it also felt like it's been years since she's rested her head against his chest and felt the thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek, the lapping of his cursed energy in her home.

traces of him were gone except for the lavender wash he kept at her place in the bathroom. sometimes, she would bathe with it and carry around his smell with her, leaning her face into the crook of her arm when she tried to take a small nap at her desk in her office. that is, before she'd be interrupted by satoru and he would lounge around her office, stretching his tall body around. he would give pause sometimes, glance at her knowingly but strangely wouldn't needle. it makes sense that he would notice, too.

the postcard comes in the mail and she's almost giddy when she clutches it in her hand, trotting up the stairs to her apartment, shutting the door behind her and collapsing into her couch. it's not a very long note on the back, but one that's written in his hand and giving a short but detailed account about his recent travels, then a sentiment that only she can understand.

shoko isn't much of a writer, but she'll dedicate the words she can muster to a handwritten letter that will likely need to be forwarded to his next available address.

she misses him the most when she can't sleep. when bleary eyes peer towards the harsh red digits on the digital clock next to her bed and it read some horrible hour. it was always easier when he was around. everything was easier when he was around. but, she tried not to think about it too hard, to spoil herself into depending on another person. she's gotten by this far on being mostly alone --- not to discount the times spent in company or in reliance of her friends. but, isolation is something she's used to, and it once could even be a comfort.

when did being in the company of another person replace that?

she entertains the thought that he's ruined her in hopes that it would make her resentful and she would miss him less. it doesn't work. if anything, shoko wants him there so they could pretend to argue about it, so she could blame him and he would strike her with those fox-like eyes of his, cunning and knowing. imagining those things made the absences feel longer.

soon, the ache of it would dull out. present but not as sharp and she could manage breathing. she'd tidy up her mind, focus on her work, and try not to dwell on the void left behind.