Bones, at your service 🫡

Fanfic Writer, Semi-Professional Doodler, And Very Professionnal Pipsqueak 🍎

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The Writing List

Because the plot bunny won't let me be and it's cool to have it all in one spot. This also includes the things I haven't posted on AO3 yet.

Défaire le Nœud

ᯓ★ No Fandom—Original Work. Rating: E. Status: Complete (the epilogue will come when my abandonment issues leave me in piece). Word Count: 80k and a few infused Everlastings, without the bonus chapters. Relationship: F/M, F/M/M.

ᯓ★ Summary: Mauve moves in her late Grandma's house, and everything is good. Nothing to hide, no missing family member, no crippling guilt, no magic suppressant, no impromptu crushes on two men, that's so not happening. The Ostrich Strategy still has bright days to come, and she definitely won't need any help to keep the past from resurfacing, and the stupid acrobatic number of her heart when she happens to get out of her house in check. Nothing to see here.

Or: How to take three pieces of yourself and make them meet, fall in love, heal, and find their way back to you in the process. One best attempt at trauma recovery through taking the broken pieces of your soul and putting them in the happiest setting of your life, cradle them, and again until nothing hurts anymore.

ᯓ★ ⚠︎ Tags: No Archive Warning Applies (it's good, we're good, everything is gonna be just fine), Romance, Polyamory, Magic, Self-Discovery, Enthusiastic Consent, Past Abuse, Drug Use, Healthy Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Strangers to Friends to Lovers.

You can find it here.

Unsevered Ties

ᯓ★ No Fandom—Original Work. Rating: E. Status: Complete. Word Count: 11k and a few colorful rocks. Relationship: M/M.

ᯓ★ Summary: It's quite hard being the new kid when you already have trouble speaking to your loved ones. A bit lonely, but especially terrifying when the sun itself descends from the sky to ask you if you could please, please come and play hide-and-seek. When you learn that his favorite color is orange, and that his mom makes awesome cakes, and that he has a slight pollen allergy and that's why he's crying, come on, he's not a baby. When he keeps you company although he's friends with everybody, unlike me. People in my class look at me weird because I'm hanging out with a little one, but they don't get it. They don't get home after the day to find a dim, utterly quiet home. They don't fear the weird smell that means one thing and one thing only: I will either eat whatever I can find in the fridge alone, or I am going to get screamed at so bad, I will regret even being born in the first place.

He only shines this brightly because everything else is slowly fading away.

He's all that's good in my life.

Or: The bonus chapters about what happened between Dorian and Camille before Mauve moved to Cobber'Thalade. How to take all you ever knew and all you wish you had, and let them blend until they finally merge.

ᯓ★ ⚠︎ Tags: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings (because it's slightly less okay, but it will be, pinky promise), Romance, Child Abuse, Family Fluff, Self-Harm, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers.

You can find it here.

Ayden's Sanctuary

ᯓ★ No Fandom—Original Work. Rating: E. Status: WIP. Word Count: 17k and a coughing cupboard. Relationships: F/M, M/?, F/M/?.

ᯓ★ Summary: You wake up confused, without any sensations, but you're not dead. A weight on your chest breathes like a pure black mass of compressed shadows, but the mass is you, and the Sanctuary is him, and nothing is where it's supposed to be. You should hate where you are. You should hate magic. You don't. The Thing seems to be sentient when you are not, and Aydenlin Gwenor is man, and bird, and everything you loathe—but also the very reason you're alive.

Or: Take the darkest parts of your soul and give them form, they're scary, but not really, even with their horns and pointy nails. Meet the bright ones that can't reach you yet, but they're also a Sanctuary, and also a man, and also a bird. In all of that, the scariest Thing is still you.

ᯓ★ No tags, it hasn't been posted yet. It takes place in the same world as Défaire le Nœud, but the vibe will be more Ennemies to Lovers, Allegory, Trauma Recovery, Self-Discovery, Upside Down Windows and Spiraling Rivers. And Angst. Of course.

Twice as Much

ᯓ★ Fandom: Stardew Valley. Rating: E. Status: WIP. Word Count: 16k and some of Sam's stickers. Relationships: F/M, F/M/M. Characters: Sam/Sebastian/Female Player.

ᯓ★ Summary: Willow just went through a breakup that has her searching for new roommates. Sam and Sebastian finally found their way out of Pelican Town and to Zuzu City. The interview goes as well as could be expected, and truthfully, she really needs to pay that rent. What could go wrong?

Or: Take your living arrangement and collect all of its sweet memories, place them in the hands of characters you love and watch what happens.

ᯓ★ No tags yet, it also hasn't been posted. But the vibe will be No Archive Warning Apply, Idiots in Love, and slightly AU in the fact that the farmer hasn't taken Grandpa on his offer and is still in Zuzu way after the beginning of the game. Aged up characters, also.

Gravitational Decoherence

ᯓ★ Fandom: Love and Deepspace (Video Game). Rating: E. Status: Complete. Word Count: 82k and some of your panties he stole before going to the DAA (Gideon saw, and said nothing). Relationship: F/M. Characters: Xia Yizhou—Caleb/Reader!MC.

ᯓ★ Summary: Your heart cleaves open. Your body can't move, not while he's using his Evol, but you just know it would have been if given the chance. The only thing you can do is look, eyes wide in disbelief, as the Colonel plunges cold, nebulous eyes into yours. You know those eyes, even if you've never seen them so cunning. You know them in a million different ways: crinkling around the corners as you poke his waist, wide in worry right after you fall, fragmented behind a glass door as you scream, flashing before your eyes before you sleep while hot tears stream down your cheeks.

Caleb's eyes.

Caleb, who is standing right in front of you, taking you to an interrogation room.

Alive.

Alive.

Or: Get through another episode by falling in love with a fictional character, question why you find more emotional support through words in a page rather than in real life—oh right, trauma, and make those two go through hell to stitch themselves back up and you with it.

ᯓ★ ⚠︎ Tags: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings (because it's not gonna be okay, not yet, but you can trust in the happy ending), Romance, Codependency, Pseudo-Incest, Canon-Typical Violence, Torture (Both Physical and Psychological), Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Trauma Recovery, Mutual Pining, No Use of Y/N for Reader Insert (because your name is Pips; of course it is).

You can find it here ✨️

All of my works contain smut. Some of them contain violence.

Be mindful of the tags, I have done my best not to forget any on AO3, and also added trigger warnings in the top notes.

Also, my native langage isn't English (I've obtained a C1+ proficiency but that doesn't mean I don't get confused sometimes). Thankfully I do have a beta now, so things should get better ✨️

If you read any of this and want to talk to me about it, my DM's are open—writing is a lonely hobby. A healing one no doubt, but I'd be thrilled to have someone to yap about fandom stuff. Or the other stuff. All of the stuff, actually, pssst pssst pssst c'mon, lettuce be fren ✮⋆˙

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Hello there! Big fan of Gravitational Decoherence here. I can't remember if I've commented on AO3 because I tend to binge read and comment when I catch up, but every time I found something so breathtaking about anything in the fic I got distracted because it was INSPIRING and I have that author's curse between wanting to read vs work on my own WIPs and end up not even doing either because I can't find the right words so I just end up daydreaming instead. 😭 So it took me longer than usual to catch up and I'm afraid now that I'm dreaming up things that didn't happen because I might be mixing up little details with other fics, so I can't be too specific but the things I remember for certain are that the codependency and the BOND between Caleb and MC is beautiful and I love it and I love that their first time was under an apple tree in a place only for them, giving real Adam and Eve vibes. I'm so glad to see we're healing now and the last chapter was so sweet 😭 there was something that really struck me in chapter 12 I've been thinking about for several days now.

"The answer was always within.

If it can replicate frequencies, that means it probably also can replicate yours. Surely, that's what it was supposed to be at first: a way to replicate your power. It must've failed, given they're hiding you. If it can trick you, it can maybe trick... other parts of you.

Oh, you'll never agree to this."

Am I right to think "this" is a foreshadowing of something bigger and maybe devastating or was it just talking about the general situation? Maybe I'm reading into it too much or catching onto things that aren't intentional but either way I'm seated and at attention 🥺 I'm curious what "other parts" of you means and it's probably a spoiler you don't have to share but it's something on my mind a lot when I read new updates that made a big impression.

Oh and I just want to say that your English is quite lovely in your fic writing! I don't remember a lot of (or any?) mistakes (at least, no deal breakers that stuck with me or they were infrequent if there at all), but if you're looking for a beta ever, I love early access and tend to be a good proofreader... 👀

Hey! Thank you so much for all of this. I'm super happy that you like this story, and their dynamic (and the imagery, but really, Infold did all the work on this one haha). I can't really answer your question in details because yes, that would be a pretty big spoiler, but also yes, it is foreshadowing and not something randomly placed here :) if you really want more details we can discuss it in private, maybe (I'm new to tumblr but I think what I'm writing here is public?).

And I would really like to have a beta, yes 🥹 if you're still up for it, of course. Having a native speaker read it and help point the mistakes would be so helpful, I have nobody around to do that with (since most of them can't even read it 💀).

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POV: Gege's not done with you (explicit excerpt, 18+).

He's looking side-eyed at your cunt, where he can see how soppy it is with the mess you both made. He absentmindedly opens his mouth, still looking at it, sucking on your inner thigh and the slick that traveled all the way here, a loud sigh going through his nose. You squirm.

It's lewd. It's you, and him, and it's perfect, and he really wants to‐

“Go-od—I'm sensitive-” you moan, but he won't take long, promise; he'll just clean you up a bit. He kneels on the floor, bringing your hips closer to the edge of the bed, and pushes them upwards, digits sinking in. Opens his mouth wide and darts his tongue, licking you all the way up to your clit and closing. Swallowing. And whimpering at the same time because this scent—it's even better than just yours. It's instantaneous, the way it makes him rock hard again, your hips jerking under him as he hears a strangled “Oh‐”, your puffed lips giving way so easily with how slippery they are; he did that.

More, more, more—until I die, until I can't anymore.

“It's dirty.” You whisper, while still chasing his mouth when he parts. Deranged, yes, bent, and spent, and wrapped in a barely coherent form, right around your little finger. He knows. But not you, never you.

“What are you talking about. I never want to eat anything else in my entire life.”

It's true; he feels it burning his cheeks, in the way he can't help but spread his fingers wide to keep you close. In the way each time his tongue lays flat on your clit, he presses on it harder, as if he could imprint its taste and save it for later. The way it makes shivers run from the point where you meet all the way down to the tip of his toes, and how he can't breathe properly—too eager to bury his face back in, mouth open and drool pooling out, his eyes flutter close as he moans again. The things you're doing to him, it's so much-

“I think I could come like that.” He mumbles, lost to himself, right before inserting his tongue inside of you, feeling you clench—he squeezes you harder, breathing way too little through how mind-bogglingly aroused he feels.

“You're the one who's gonna make me c-come again if you keep this up.”

“Mmh—yes, please do.” He sinks one, long finger inside and curls it so that he can bring more out, never leaving your clit, working you out in steady thrusts. He's leaking again; it falls along his shaft, neglected—so engorged it aches. He swears it would take him only two strokes, maybe less, because he tastes himself on you after removing his finger, and hot, white bars melt directly between his legs, only making more precum bead, sticky against his stomach.

More.

He knew it, somehow. That once he'd get to start, he'd never stop again. That the way he loves you can't allow separation—he's feeding off of you, and all of the times he just got to imagine what you would feel like, taste like, moan like; they all gather in a lump in his chest and crash right on the tip of his tongue.

He's never letting you go. He's never stopping.

Even when you come again, twitching on his tongue, and all he can do is drink, and drink, and drink some more. It's even wetter now, even more slippery, warm, and clenching, and—ah, smells so good.

He's sniffing you until the end of time, that much is clear (and eating you out until you pass out) (ꈍᴗꈍ)

For real though, with the lotion secret time he's definitely sniffing you until he's light-headed, and then asking for more still. In this life, and in the next, and the next one after that. The full chapter (and approximately 4500 more words of devotion-heavy filth) can be found here ✨️

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How down bad does Caleb need to be before losing it? (Excerpt)

“I dunno. I kind of want to stay inside? It's been a long time since we spent the day just... lounging. Playing games. Watching a movie. You're not working today, are you?”

He didn't bring any chopsticks for you. You don't need them. He will bring them if you ask him to, but you just stare at him knowingly. 

Indulgence. For him to live vicariously through the wooden sticks around which you close your mouth when he levels a bite your way. 

Sometimes, he wonders if you know. A deranged wish, whispering that you're doing it on purpose. That you feel the same way.

“Sounds good to me.” He says, watching you lick your lips, humming low in your throat.

He's hot all over.

It hasn't been this strong at first. Because at first, you were just a little kid and you just wanted to play with him. The relief he felt when he took you in his arms, your sweet smell washing over his nostrils—it felt like the home he never had. And at first, he even refused to let Josephine help. He was the one linked; he knew best how to handle you. How you liked your hair brushed, how long you wanted to play, and which stories you wanted him to read. But one day, you grew. Long gone was the adventurous little girl climbing on his lap every time she wanted something really bad, to coax him into giving it to her (which he did every time; of course he did). You were becoming a woman.

And a brand-new flavor of curse settled in his bones. 

Because as usual, you're the start of it all. The start of his sense of purpose. The start of the link. The start of his love, in every sense of the term. And the start of the absurd craving that imposed itself as the only logical consequence of your bond.

He wanted you. In every way a person can want another, and more, still. 

It became incredibly harder to entertain the lack of boundaries, just because his body tends to betray him, fast, the sheer intensity of it dizzying sometimes. 

But you never had any regard for that and continued to climb on his lap. To wrap yourself around him, to barge into his room, to seize what you own—just like you're doing now, the soft parts of you pressing on the inside of his thighs while you click on the controller. In between his legs, like when you were younger. 

“So, ready to give up yet?” He teases, doing a full combo that has you sigh in discontent. He takes the opportunity to angle his hips back, further away from you. Thinks of planes, their different parts, mentally dismantling them to hopefully not react too much at the fact that him backing up only prompts you to come right back where you were.

“Cocky. I'll have you know this is not over, you'll see-” You bend forward in concentration, his eyes flickering where your bodies meet.

Pathetic. Ill. 

He blinks—planes.

“Ha!” You exclaim, your back abruptly landing on his chest, and oh, sweet, sweet torture. With the arch of your back, you're millimeters away from understanding why he releases that long of a breath. You won, your expression ecstatic as you turn around to face him, your arm pressing on his chest for support.

“Do you yield?” You ask, and his heart makes a dangerous tumble, one he barely stops from crossing his lips.

“I yield.” Too breathy. He has to get a grip, because you're looking at him with such an intensity that it feels like the whole world is collapsing around him. And to further his suffering, a pink blush appears on your cheeks. 

He has to get out.

“I need to take a shower.” He says, but you press your arm harder on his chest, still looking.

“Are you feeling okay? You look like you have a fever.” You immediately let go of the controller, sliding your hands on his cheeks. He's entranced. He'd like for you to bring his head closer still, so that he can taste the air right off your tongue, and slide his hand under his shirt, and see if you feel as soft as you look. He's getting further and further away from planes.

The answer is a ridiculous lot.

A shout out to this man's self-control. The full fic can be found here for more pining, and more angst, and of course, smut ✨️

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If you add 3 sentences to your work in progress and show me, I will add 4 sentences to my work in progress and show you.

Okay, challenge accepted! Here are mine:

"Staying outside of your room was torture. Waiting for you to emerge on the other side of whatever poison Viper instilled into your brain even more, yet still not as much as the one plaguing his nights—the time he had to take while leaving you in this chamber is an offense clinging to his skin like a merciless cloak, making him twice more patient and twice more present, in hopes you'll eventually forgive him. In hopes you forgiving him would suffice to appease the absolute certainty that he's never forgiving himself."

And you know what? Seeing your question made me write today so thank you for that ✨️

[poorwhayfairingstranger]

I love it when that happens. :)

[bonelessvoid]

Letzgoooo ✨️

[bonelessvoid]

If you add 3 sentences to your work in progress and show me, I will add 4 sentences to my work in progress and show you.

Okay, challenge accepted! Here are mine:

"Staying outside of your room was torture. Waiting for you to emerge on the other side of whatever poison Viper instilled into your brain even more, yet still not as much as the one plaguing his nights—the time he had to take while leaving you in this chamber is an offense clinging to his skin like a merciless cloak, making him twice more patient and twice more present, in hopes you'll eventually forgive him. In hopes you forgiving him would suffice to appease the absolute certainty that he's never forgiving himself."

And you know what? Seeing your question made me write today so thank you for that ✨️

[bonelessvoid]

Full excerpt:

“It's okay, Pips; you'll see. Nothing like that will ever happen to you again. If your memories got tinted, we'll create new ones.” You clasp your legs around his waist with a bit more force. “And if you can't shower alone, I'll come with you. And if you have nightmares, I'll count planes until you fall back asleep. We have...” You can't tell which of you is trembling more. You cup the sides of his jaw as he kisses you again, like he's never going to stop, like he would keep you right there and merge you with all the expanse of his skin if he could. The rest of it is a breath that barely crosses the space in between your lips. “... All the time in the world now.”

And you feel them. His hands, sliding under warm water and gently stroking the arch of your lower back. You feel his words and their truth sink into your heart, right where the golden waves flow out in a steady stream to meet their other half, just another rib cage away. The panic is still here, but you think that maybe, if you're not strong enough right now, his hands will be large enough to help you retain the rest of what you are. That of course Viper had lied, and if you learned to distrust your own thoughts that well, then maybe you can also learn to trust them back. The softness of his bare skin against your own takes you away, far away from the blade that pried you open, and somehow still manages to cut deeper than Viper ever could.

You make space for it somewhere along the brick wall you've created, for it to cut you deeper still. So deep that for the first time since you arrived on that island, you allow something other than disgust, frustration, or guilt to flow out of the corners of your eyes. It surges abruptly and lands on the skin of his shoulder as you rest your forehead against him, powerless to stop the violent sob cracking your body open.

“It's okay; we're okay,” he tells you, keeping you close. Like when you were a little girl with a scrapped knee, your snot and drool ruining his shirt as you wailed. That little girl, who had no business being heard, or even seen during the time you were imprisoned, finally coming out of her fortress to land in his arms, like she always had.

You let her flow away, you let her grieve, you let her own the space she was always supposed to take, to drip from your eyelids and fall on rivulets against his skin, echoing with all the other ones surrounding you.

The moment you find that little girl is the moment you let her run into his arms, and in his arms lies the fragment you were always meant to reclaim.

If you're interested, you can find the whole 13 chapters here ✨ (it's angsty, and smutty, and everything in between)

To be real with you, kisses are so hard to draw. I've spent way too long cross-eyed on those little lines 🥲 but that scene was just too sweet and am I even my first fan if I don't make fanarts of my own fic? 😂 (the one when they're kids is my favorite. Now I don't have a choice and will have to draw more of them—oh nooooooo, oh. Noooooo 🤭)

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POV: Sam and Sebastian move into Willow's apartment in Zuzu City.

A week. That's what it takes before the two of them come back with a small truck filled to the brim with boxes. It doesn't take long for her to realize that the mostly open or unlabeled ones belong to Sam, and the others, firmly secured and numbered ones to Sebastian. The latter takes the old gaming room, the one adjacent to her bedroom with a door connecting them – it can close, she showed him when they visited – and Sam is on the other end of the corridor, in the previous guest room. Another bigger truck arrives later that day, with furniture – and a motorcycle, apparently – a whole gaming setup carefully tucked in several layers of bubble wrap and cardboard, music instruments, skateboards... Just how many things do they have? She helps whenever she can, making space and showing Robin where to put things in the basement.

She does not dwell on all of the empty spaces now filled with unknown objects. She does not watch that stain on the living room's floor, now covered by their CD collection (they need a new piece of furniture for that—too many), nor does she look at the spot on her buffet that previously held photos and now has a bunch of collectibles, not even the space in her kitchen cabinets where used to be a whole array of different cereals and things she didn't really care to eat but did anyway when he prepared them. They're being filled by Robin with primary necessities, which is, in fact, a good idea because Willow survives on almost nothing, and it is a problem that she doesn't, again, address in any capacity. Robin seems nice, though, and a bit bittersweet at the idea that Sebastian is leaving wherever they were before. Which is most certainly not called Yoba's Most Desiccated Shithole or The Grand Nothing of Nothingness, and probably even less The Far Right Asshair of Despair—which was clearly the funniest one, and one of the reasons they're both here today.

“Willow?” She hears down the corridor, and she jolts—because that would be the first time she hears Sebastian Aldrin's voice uttering something other than a hum in her direction. She's careful not to trip on the multiple boxes still littered on the way to Sam's room and stops before Sebastian's, who is crouching near a box filled with wires. He's not moving his head higher than her feet when he asks:

“Do you have an Ethernet plug somewhere?”

The only thing that is unpacked as of yet is his gaming setup. The other boxes are neatly piled against the walls; the fact that he managed to get them all in despite the not-so-spacious space and his double bed being present is a testament to some wicked Tetris skills.

“Yeah, in my room. What kind of cable length do you have?”

She has some for him. He doesn't even look in his box before answering a simple:

“All of them.”

“We can make it pass under the second door.” She says, opening said door and stopping before the panel on her wall. Two Ethernet sockets, one for a phone line and six regular ones. He hums, and—when did he take the small black duct tape in his other hand? When he slides the plug in, it sinks a bit inside of the panel.

“Ah, this one needs a little help.”

She says, crouching next to him and sliding her nails around the socket, disjointing it from the panel, all of the wires following.

“Plug it in like that, I'll put it back in after. If not, we'll just lose it in the panel.” This place is old.

“This is a safety hazard.” He mutters, one of his hands joining hers around the plastic to help steady it in place, the other one pushing the cable in. She smells his aftershave, something flowery mixed with leather and smoke. She's definitely not sniffing.

The fact that his fingers are cold is, somehow, not a surprise.

“Well, it is an old post office.” She jokes. That fact also explains these ugly-ass false ceilings and neon lights. “At least they work.”

“We'll see about that.”

She hears him push a breath out when the cable clicks in place, his black-painted nails helping her secure the socket back in place (or in a position not prone to start a fire in the next five minutes, at least).

He gets up without a word and goes back to his room, a half-surprised groan the only indicator that the cursed socket actually works. She leaves him alone.

When she slaloms back in her living room, she hears the sound of open drawers in the kitchen and finds Sam shuffling in her cabinets. They're all open.

“Can I help you?” He's balancing himself on the counter, trying to see what's in the very top one.

“Ah, hey! Do you have anything sweet to drink? Like... a Joja Cola?”

She does not. All she drinks is either beer, spiced infusion, coffee, or...

“Kombucha?” She asks, scooting to the fridge to show him the bottle. Before she can turn around, she feels him stopping right behind her, looking at the label.

“What's that?”

Is personal space that much of a far-fetched concept?

“Fermented tea, mostly. You wanna taste?”

“Sure.”

She has to make a noise for him to take a step back so she doesn't accidentally brush his hips.

The weird little drums in her stomach are back and promptly smothered by another wave of self-depreciation, keeping her in a safe space while she grabs a glass to serve the drink.

He grimaces when he takes a sip.

“Ugh—that's such a Seb's drink.” Before he bypasses her, screaming for him down the hall and effectively prompting the bat out of his cardboard cave. It arrives in dark, fluffy socks with almost no sound, and just eyes Sam in expectancy.

“Here, taste this.”

“What is...”

“Trust me man, c'mon.”

The exchange ends with an affirmative hum and Sam turning to Willow again.

“See? Told you. Imma get something less confusing for my taste buds.”

“And your incoming diabetes.” Sebastian mumbles, but she sees the twinkle in his eyes.

“And that—and pizza. Oh! And pretzels. Aaaand... no, I won't make a list because I don't follow them anyways.”

He storms past Sebastian, shoots in a box – “ouch, shit” – and comes back with a jean jacket and a beanie before – “Ah, the keys!” – and back again, fumbling for it while she opens the underside of a shoe cabinet to grab a tote bag and hands it to him when he gets back again.

“Lifesaver! I don't even know where I put mine in all of these boxes.”

This smile. So warm. Shut up, little drummer.

“No problem.” She says, and his hands are also warm, along with her cheeks when he departs.

She glances at Sebastian, who stares for a moment before doing a little shrug.

“You'll get used to it.” A pause. “Was it ginger?” He asks, gesturing with the hand still holding the glass. It's empty.

“Yeah.” She says, scratching her throat in the process.

Is she recovering? This may have been a bad idea [Counter: 2].

“You want more?”

He nods. This feels like trying to lure a wild animal. With ginger-flavored fucking kombucha, apparently.

She goes back to her kitchen, wondering why her nerves are on fire—new. New people living with her, a new apartment set up to accommodate all of their things, new plans: the living room gained a new black couch, she only has one space in the shower cabinet, all her coats are hung on the same side of the hanging rail, the shoe cabinet is going down the stairs to put Sebastian's board games in its place, because there is space downstairs now, space that was previously overtaken by neatly aligned snowboards and a mat, with a little climbing exercise panel right on top.

There are just holes in the wall now.

Sebastian scratches his throat; she's zoning out.

“Sorry.” She mumbles while getting the bottle, the momentum giving her just enough time to manage to look at him and says:

“Help yourself, I'm happy to share.”

She doesn't think about the hole inside of her chest. Sebastian seems to look at it, somehow, but maybe that's just because his eyes are dark as oil. He takes the bottle, and her fingers are also cold.

A second little drummer joins the chat. What the‐

“Sebby! I'm leaving!”

Willow sees the way Sebastian's eyes widen slightly and bites the inside of her cheek to not openly laugh at the nickname. He leaves without a sound, and she takes the opportunity to get back inside of her room, to safety.

There's a new cable going from her wall to the room next door, neatly secured with evenly placed bits of dark duct tape.

OH no. This is an excellent idea.

Just so you know, the counter is for the times Willow asks herself if this was a good idea to let these two move in her apartment—it's currently sitting at 71.

On a scale of one to ten, how soon will Willow Gallan end up in a sandwich? One is not that soon and ten is right now 👀 in all seriousness, I think this WIP will be the one I'll get back to once I finish the Love and Deepspace one. Ooooooor.... or I'll begin yet another WIP and nobody can stop meee 🙃

[bonelessvoid]

POV: Gege wants his pendant back.

“Can I have it back?” His eyes watch the pendant on your sternum. “No.” You say, because if he leaves again, then you won't have anything to remember him by. Everything else disappeared, and that fills you with a sense of panic so strong that you can't bear it. He doesn't say anything back and waits for you to sit at the table. “Pretty please? I'm sure I'll be way more efficient up there if I have it with me. I've missed it during my flights.” You've offered it to him with this exact purpose. To remind him where to come home to, in case he forgets your existence while cruising through the clouds. In case he doesn't come back down on earth. It feels like a joke, not a funny one. But he seems so earnest in his query, and you've always been soft on him. How not to, really? He's always been soft with you. Ruffling your hair, cooking you food, tying your shoelaces. Offering you a shoulder to cry on, a playmate, he's always been there. Not paying any mind to anyone else, just you, always you. It is his fault, you think, that you became so greedy with time. It is his fault that the grief suffocated you so much that you became unrecognizable. The metal is warm on your fingertips, and so is his hand when he gently wraps his fingers around it. A peace offering. When he slides it around his neck, the sight makes a piece of you straighten in its rightful place. “What's with the face?” He asks, taking a bite of fried chicken. “Ah, nothing. I've just missed you, I guess.” You say, focusing on your meal. A euphemism. You lost your ability to breathe; your soul shelled out of your body in agonizing waves, further and further away... until you saw him step off this ship. “I've missed you too, Pips.” He sounds sincere, and that cradles something raw in your chest. You still don't understand his actions. You still think he's hiding something—or a lot of somethings. But falling back into an easy rhythm lulls you into believing that maybe, for tonight, you can just rejoice in the fact that he is here and not burnt into ashes. You can watch his eyes ever so slightly crinkling every time he looks at you and suffer through his habit of doing things in your stead, like he's still taking care of little you. You can bask in warmth and let the endless stream of questions die in your throat, sinking back into your chest. For now, you can do that.

GIVE. IT. BACK.

MC's so real for saying no by principle. What do you mean you haven't even left her a body to bury and now you want to take the only memory of you she had for the past year? What do you mean you're alive? 😩 The whiplash Homecoming Wings gave me was right along the one I felt seeing Lucid Dream for the first time—I'm dealing with the aftermath by churning out tens of thousands of words breaking them down some more before stitching them back together. SAFE. I NEED THEM SAFE—for my sanity.

The angst. So good.

[bonelessvoid]

At the question "which Caleb would you like to draw" the answer is yes.