NamedAfterCommunists is the username, and although factual, it's a mouthful, so simply feel free to call me any variation of the word "NAC". Could be all caps or none, mix and match with it -I probably would not mind in the slightest.
I go by all pronouns, be it; he, she, they(s). I'm aware that there are others out there like (xe) and (xim), and while I don't mind pronouns like these -I'll probably be confused the first three time reading them withou warning, so I'm advising on just sticking to the standard he, she, they(s) for me.
College student -state university.
Also southeast asian -so, yes, English is not my primary language, and I will make mistakes. That's just life.
Yes, I have a Lottie pfp despite looking nothing like her -she is simply my spirit animal, leave me be.
I'm not consistently active on tumblr. I'm not profecient at it either, hence there will be formatting clunkiness. But I hop in here (and on AO3 -by the same username) whenever I feel inspired. This would usually mean oneshots and short fanfictions, amnd maybe the occasional drawing.
Current extreme interest is [Formula One], particularly [Max Verstappen] [Sebastian Vettel] and [Kimi Raikkonen]. Doesn’t necessarily mean I'll write for them though.
I'm simply having a good 'ol time, this means you will see me hopping to different fandoms and making fanfictions about it. I don't limit my account to just one thing, I like doing everything, so I'll be doing just that here.
Abigail, Sebastian, and Sam's thoughts and opinions.
oH WOW, comics are hard.
Anyways, first comic? I already have like -a bunch of 'chapters' written out, and while I like them as words --I KNOW it would look better if I made it and actually get good at knowing how to put text. I do NOT want to be handwriting again --I have to research on what people actually use for webtoons/manhwa/manga.
Give me your guys' thoughts, how can I improve? This and the next few of these comics will basically just be practicing for now, as it would only be giving the general rundown of how people see the farmers --again, they've been in town for 3-4 years now (give or take), and they still don't know much about them, but can definitely see the oddities they exhibit. The actual start of the story --when people become more and more aware of their oddities bc the farmers have literally done everything else and have nothing much to do but interact with townsfolk-- is when the residents slowly unravel the true nature of these farmers. Hopefully -by the time I actually get to the story, I'd already be good at this whole comics thing.
Also, yes, the NPCs got different outfits --lmaoo. I'll dress them up differently every situation, but still true to character. I just like drawing dress up.
(edit --omg, this cropping is hard. For context, I drew in like a 960 x idk 5k pixel size canvas bc I wanted to draw in a webtoon style. Tried posting it here, immediately realized it ate every resolution pixel possible and couldn't be read --smh. So yeah, I just manually cropped everything to a 9:16 scale on my laptop bc I don't know how else to do it. I really have to start researching these things instead of just learning along the way :// So yeah, sorry for the scuffed-ness -I'm new to this, which is obvious. Do tell me if you guys want me to post just the drawings without the text or speech bubbles, I can do that for ya'll. Maybe not asap, i still have to crop it again, but the offer is there.)
For more context for those who did not see the first post and don't know what I'm yapping about, lol:
SDV eldritch farmer: A&V
Now, I'm aware I'm not the first one who has thought of SDV farmer being an eldritch horror --but stay with me here and let me cook!
This has been a long-time brainchild of mine, and this drawing is already a few months old, but it still hasn't left my head, and thus I'm sharing these with ya'll.
Think, Stardew Valley Expanded map and magic, but none of the expanded characters (sorry to Lance lovers in particular).
For the Ancient slime colony, I'm thinking from further into the ancient Cindersap Forest. It's just a bunch of slimes who have lived long enough and were dominant enough to eat other slimes that weren't them --then they just amalgamated into one. Then it ate someone who happened to get lost (not an SDV character though), and after a few stray brain cells (the slime isn't the most intelligent) it formed into the person.
The original farmer is kaputtt-- my guess is that he came to Stardew Valley maybe a day or two earlier than when it was intended, not only that, he came at night, and (meta gaming here) the farm was the monster one.
An evolved Shadow person (think, a more evolved and hostile Krobus) at the farm, ate the Farmer and took his body (I'm still flipflopping on whether it took the body, or he just ate it and mimicked it --but I want it to have known everything the Farmer did.)
The two met because the Slime colony was hunkering down at the abandoned farm cabin because of the rain (think of a waterlogged slime --not exactly the best to keep human shape) ---and the evolved shadow person came into the cabin after maybe a night of digesting the actual farmer.
Both are fed and sated, and not exactly that territorial when fed, so they just chill out. Evolved Shadow Person also clocked that Ancient Slime Colony isn't exactly the smartest of beings, so it was pretty chill.
Then, cue Robin and Lewis ---they meet up with the 'Farmer' (but is the evolved shadow person' -- 'Farmer' with the belongings, and face, and memories (but, to it, it's like watching a film, it knows it's not the farmer) and plays it off like he really is the farmer. Robin and Lewis ask about the Slime person (clothed ofc, looks kind of normal), and 'Farmer' says she's his sister. Robin and Lewis just accept this because, yeah, it's not exactly weird to share land with family.
As time goes on, though, it becomes apparent that there is something different about them. The two still do the usual SDV run (community center, cutscenes, fixed boat, etc), but again, they are weird.
Slime person 'Abeline Bluebonnet', has matted hair that does not seem to bother her (it's slime--they are mimicking the best they can as hair), is never seen when it rains, looks like they have heavily damaged, thick cataract eyes (the slime actually burned the victim's eyes while eating it, and only knew how to mimick those heavily injured eyes), she doesn't know how to read or talk (no vocal cords, not enough braincells to process words or symbols), has no concept for social cues, hasnever been seen drinking anything liquid, and doesn't look to tire (doesn't even breath, but her clothes at least mae that hard to see).
For Evolved Shadow 'Vee Bluebonnet', he's much more subtle. He talks, he's charming, he's friendly, very 'person'. But when he isn't aware that people are looking at him, the 'mask' slips ---the scars change, the features almost start melting, he looks more and more like the corpse that it is before snapping back when he realizes someone is watching.
I'm thinking that these 'quirks' of theirs aren't put into too much of a magnifying glass because both had been too busy the first three years doing the community quest lines and their farm --things like that (sans meaningful connections with the people of the valley). But after the first three years, the Bluebonnets are just meandering about and are interacting more and more with the people because they have nothing else to do.
It's a slow eldritch horror story --where the people are slowly realizing that there are much more powerful, scary creatures out there than humans, and these two seem keen on 'helping' the valley and its people.
I would think, Rasmodous, during all this, is panicking. He was gon for one week, and that absence was what made the barrier between ancient cindersap forest wane enough for 'Abeline' to go through it and into the valley, and for 'Vee' to stumble from the mines and into the farm to kill the original farmer.
Now, these Bluebonnets have integrated themselves, and time passed, and the Wizard can't just set the people into panic by outing that they've been monsters all this time (and who knows what these monsters could do when cornered). These farmers have already done quests, given gifts, helped the community, and are close with the kids (vincent and jas) and the elders (George and Evelyn) --it's terrifying.
I don't know how to explain the farmers and SDV NPC's relationship better than -----you know how neurotypicals can clock that someone is neurodivergent?? It's like that, but they can't quite put their finger on it yet (but again, it slowly unravels as time goes on).
I tried writing this all down ---but it just feels short of what I want it to be. I want to draw it ---but I also don't have enough motivation or outside opinions to know if my idea is even good.
Anyways, that's all, lmao. I just needed to info dump abt it.
You were mine, and you were awful every time. [PART 2]
[An Oscar Piastri x Female!Reader (2/?)]
[ANGST NO COMFORT][Part 1]
[I went ahead and added something a little silly :p] Enjoy your reunion with Oscar Piastri! Rahhh!! Songs on loop were; (1) "Merry Christmas, please don't call" -Bleachers, (2) "About You" -The 1975, (3) "All I Need" -Radiohead] [CW, descriptions of relative poverty, memory loss, bad homes and childhood, mentions of: hoarding, alcoholism, cigarettes-- a look into a very flawed but trying individual that deals with a lot of stuff.] [PLATONIC AND-OR ROMANTIC. MORE PLATONIC]
Oscar Piastri.
Oscar Piastri ---was a name. You don't think you're being rude when you admit that, at least, to yourself.
It's a name, a name from someone you knew a lifetime ago -a lifetime you don't have the luxury of time or mental health to remember.
You're twenty-three, broke, with no living family -at least, none who were willing to take you in then (and definetly not now), trying to keep a job for longer than a few months, and frankly --too bloody tired to do or think about anything except get up, go to work, and go straight back home to sleep like a log.
You saw his name a lot. You see his face a lot --one of the first things you saw upon finally leaving juvenile prison was a laundry mat TV showing him tearing it out in England in the junior formulas.
Living in Melbourne, and with his rising success in Formula One, you're sure you pass around a dozen or so posters of his when you take the train and walk from home to your job.
But you don't think much of him --it was easy not to.
You could only afford a keypad phone -so it wasn't like your social media was brimming of him. You had no coworkers who were crazy about Formula One or him, and you had no friends that talk about him or the sport he's in --you had no friends at all, but that's not the point.
And it wasn't as if you were looking at adverts of luxury watches and athleisure wear, stuff you've seen he models, when you're already counting coins for lunch and fare.
No, you didn't have the luxury of remembering the little boy who didn't like putting up with your shit, but still ran after you whenever you got upset --not when you're too busy sewing the holes on your socks.
You didn't have any breath to waste remembering the long walks you both took home, even when he could very well have just called his mum to pick him up --not when you were too busy hating how you had to do your dishes on the bathroom floor because the only flat you could afford didn't even come with a dedicated space for a kitchen, much less a sink.
You didn't have the time remembering the way he always tried to pry you out from another fight you started again, and how closely he still held you even after showing how much of problem you were --not when you were trying to weigh out if you would rather save for a coat for the winter, or be able to eat at least twice a day.
You didn't have the energy in remembering the way he still went to your house every now and again, even when it reeked of cigarettes and booze, and filled to the brim with junk hoarded by your mother strewn on the floor and tables --not when you're trying to stay awake for the night shift of your third job.
You didn't have the right in remembering the soft, understanding, firm way he held your hand back -even when you gripped his strong enough to bruise.
You never mean to bruise him, you never did. You just ---you didn't know how to be gentle, and back then -til now, trying to learn how to be gentle feel ill, like you didn't deserve to know how to be soft, how to be warm, how to not hold someone without hurting them.
--So yeah, it was easy not to think about him. It helped that the man you see in the posters, on the TV, on the newspapers, and on the billboards was just that, a man.
He wasn't the boy you laughed with. He wasn't the boy you ran to, from, and with. He wasn't the boy that scolded you for every awful thing you did but still stuck around and bought you lunch every day.
Now? Now he was just some dude who won races in a sport you don't follow anymore, and on the big stage now.
You think it to be unrealistic to assume he was still the same boy that made you want to be gentle for. The small boy you spent the lightest, sweetest three years of your life, was a faraway kid that no longer existed.
You were simply being realistic. You had to be realistic.
It didn't matter if you hated the cloth of the only gloves you could afford, you were cold -and you need it to stay warm.
It didn't matter if you hated cleaning toilets or bar floors, you need the money to take the train back.
It didn't matter if you wanted to be something more than this once upon a time --you had to be realistic, you had to live in reality.
This was your life, and this was it. You weren't just the problem child that grew up physically and nowhere else, you had a record, and had long been deemed a deviant to society.
You can't afford to think bigger for yourself, you never had the space and time dream, never had the opportunity to be anything but frustrated, angry, and pretending not to be --that last part was fairly new-- kid that was your father's mistake and your mother's ball and chain.
You realized early on that no one liked employing someone with a criminal record, especiall one that's clearly still an unresolved mess.
So you adapted. As best you can, at least.
You learned to hold your tongue, to not scowl in the open, to soften the wrinkles on your nose bridge, to keep your hair even, and to keep your hands clean from bruises and cuts that only showed how much of a liability you actually are.
You wake up, you work, you go to bed.
That was it. It's a shit existence, but it's the only one you have.
You guess something about the farce that the tastelessly optimistic handlers back in juvie, the kind-of-miserable orphanage volunteers, and the countless foster families with savior complexes that stuck with you.
Something about moving forward, about not letting anything from the past hinder you, about continuing to live life as best as you can after going free.
You'd say it was easier said than done, but in all honesty, always having to look for your next meal and the money to pay next month's rent kept you busy from thinking about your life as whole and all that existential introspect.
So you guess that counted for being easy. Can't think about how shit your life is if you're too busy living it ---or whatever.
Whatever it was that kept you going, it kept you going, and you guess you hadn't learned your lesson about no longer being stubborn yet.
--the first thing you do after finishing your cleaning shift at the bar was to sigh, the heat of your breath materializing with the cold of the wind, your fatigue made visible.
The cold had rolled in long ago, and you were sure it was only going to get colder, so you need the money to buy a few extra layers. Just a few things to keep you from doing a full body shiver and turn into ice when you step outside next week.
It's way too cold for Melbourne. You guess those noisy activists that don't fail to wake you up in the mornings (when nearby construction doesn't) were onto something. Something about the seasons being weird, about the world being boiling hot or snow covered cold -or whatever, you never really have the time to listen.
...actually, does it snow in Melbourne?
You swore you saw a bit of frost falling past blaring red and blue lights that one weird night. You're sure of it.
It wasn't much, but it was there, and it fell softly, gently --swaying past the uniforms of older men and landing on the tip of your nose before melting.
You're sure you looked to your side after that happened, waiting for someone your age to react in awe and draft up a bunch of theories on why snow was falling.
You're also sure you saw no one --you turning back then was just muscle memory.
There was no one there but you and the two men that escorted you in handcuffs. You were sure you saw frost on the windows from when you were sitting in the back of their car, too.
Counting coins was a depressing activity, and having to pick up coins from the dirty station floor was even more so.
And that's exactly what you're set to do when some tall, shady bloke in a hoodie and a hat (who does he think he is? Walking around like some weirdo all covered up like he's some celebrity, tch) who you're sure was also too much of dumb ass to look at where he was going, just had to shoulder you.
Naturally, the impact had you dropping the fistful of coins that you were counting in your hand and down to the ground.
From the corner of your eye, you see that he was already turning around to apologize. But something about being hungry, cold, and tired, fired up an old volatile friend of your's.
That friend being; burning hot anger.
"Fucking hell! Are you stupid!? Is the station not that fucking wide enough for you!? You just had to---!!!" You start, your eyes moving from your coins on the tile and up to the the eyes of the bloke that bumped into you --and your words die in your throat.
...
The revelation wasn't dramatic, at least, not in your part.
The man standing in front of you was just some dude --some dude with the same eyes, hair, herbivore-ass teeth, and name, as some boy you remember before.
Just some dude.
Some dude which, judging from his eyes widening, his breath catching in his throat, and his brows slowly being hung high-- no doubt recognizes and remembers you too.
You don't say anything.
You don't even think you should.
It's been a decade since you last saw each other, and the last memory you gave him wasn't exactly the prettiest or kindest thing to give them before a goodbye.
So you just shake your head, forgetting the fight you were sure you were going to start had it not been him, before turning around and crouching to pick up each hard-earned cent and dollar from the floor.
...what were you even thinking, trying to start a fight?
Your train was going to leave in no time, and you don't exactly have the money to buy antiseptic and bandages if it did lead up to a swing or two.
You just want to go back to your bed and sleep --but a certain someone didn't exactly have the same plan as you.
He crouches next to you, and his pale hand reaches out to pick up your coin. His fingers were longer, more calloused, and a lot stronger than from when you were both kids.
Your eyes drift to look at his, more assessing than anything. Even with the years between you both, he still looks the same when he's trying very hard not to gawk, stare, and not be rude --there is visible effort in him trying to keep his eyes on the coins and not on you.
You know he's trying to make it normal. No fanfare, no dramatic hugs, and no cheerful catching up.
He was smart enough to piece together that shabby clothes you wore, the dark color under your eyes, and the fact that you were picking up your coins and was willing to make a scene because of it ---that you didn't exactly have the best time since you last saw each other.
His hands move to yours as he gives back the copper he made you drop --you let him pour it into yours.
You start to pull away, but his now free hands cup both of yours. His hands anxious, lacking confidence, but determined notheless.
And they feel warm still. Firm, but warm, kind, and gentle still despite the new callouses and size.
Your eyes drift your hands to his eyes again. He looks like he's trying to find the right words to say.
Whatever he wanted to say, you didn't have the luxury to wait for it.
The sound of the train comes echoing further down the line, and you can't afford to wait for the next one.
"That's my train." You murmur, your tone detached, closed off, factual, before pulling your hands off his more firmly. He's not able to do much but let go, watching you get up and walk away.
You don't get to know if he stayed crouching, if he stood up, if his mouth open and closed and opened again with a million unsaid words just at the tip of his tongue.
Tou don't get to know anything. Not when you don't look back, and the train leaves just a few moments after you get on.
...
You think back on the interaction once the train started moving.
He has a few more freckles on his face.
That, along with the size of his hands and the callouses on it, was about the only thing you could confidently tell was different about him.
But that was enough to convince you that Oscar Piastri was a different person now.
He was no longer the boy you cheered for on the stands or spun around when he won.
No longer the boy you made gagging sounds at when he talked about a girl he liked.
No longer the boy you caught bugs from the forest with.
No longer the boy that made you wish you were a born at least a touch gentler whenever you left him bruises.
Bruises.
You always did leave him bruises.
His wrist looked prettier without them today.
...
You were awful.
You figured it was a blessing that him and you never got to call.
Not during juvie, not after, not in the years between, and not now.
Never now, and never in the future.
Because you're still awful.
And you figured him not having you in his life still was the best thing you could do for him now. It was the least you could do after being so fucking awful.
[An Oscar Piastri x Female!Reader] [Oneshot turned parter]
[ANGST NO COMFORT][Part 2]
(I don’t know anything about Oscar Piastri, I've been a Max Verstappen gal through and through, and that may show with this one shot. But I have a vision, and it will be realized. So with a quick google search of his childhood, and with "Merry Christmas, please don't call" on repeat --I present to you, this.) (PLATONIC and-or ROMANTIC --MORE PLATONIC) (CW. MEMORY LOSS DUE TO TRAUMA, IMPLIED ABUSE, ABUSE, SOMETHING THAT INVOLVES CHILDREN --I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TAG, BUT DON'T READ IF YOU DON'T LIKE READING ABOUT TROUBLED KIDS AND TROUBLED HOMES.)
Your name pops up in his head. Not often -but it does, and without warning. The same went for the color of your hair, the scowl on your mouth, the wrinkle on the bridge of your nose, and the bruises on your skin that blossomed so often that you didn't even try to hide them anymore.
Your name was both near and dear, and far and gone for Oscar Piastri.
He was twenty-four, already in his coming fourth year in Formula One -a stage he had dreamt since long before. Filled with lights, microphones, a wheel on his hand and four beneath his car.
Where every word he said was either taken seriously or not serious enough in the most infuriating ways possible, and it was the beauty of winning and losing while he fought his hardest the very same that got his heart pumping and flatlining all the same.
But in the quiet -when he catches a glimpse of a familiar color of someone's hair, kept in a length someone he knew well hated but their mother insisted.
When he sees a particularly unruly, crass, foul mouthed child in the supermarket throwing a tantrum.
When he sees a kid with a missing canine. When he sees a child wearing a military shirt too big for them, too worn, and clearly from their father.
It's then that Oscar Piastri turns eleven again. His right hand always holding one too bruised for a child their age, yet holds his just as tightly anyways.
His hand holding onto yours- both of your shoes covered in the mud and dirt of the childhood treeline the you always ran to when you were upset, with the leaves and stains that weeds left on his shirt and shorts when he chased after you every time. He always chased after you, he doesn't remember a time where he didn't.
At one point in his life, he was yours -and you were his. You were his, and you were awful every time.
No --not everytime. Just, sometimes.
His memories of you were never the long walks from school to your houses, ones he's sure he's done a million times with you. Nor when he used some of his allowance to buy you a sandwich every day at school for lunch or a cone of ice cream after the bell rang.
But rather, his memories of you were a jumble between highs and lows. Between the good and the bad. When you were cruel and kind and never anything in between -but never one or the other too often that he felt that didn’t want to be friends with anymore, or considered you his best friend.
He had memories. A lot of them.
Like when you took and painted his brand new electric remote car that his father bought him just earlier that week without his permission -stating that the colors before were boring and that what you did only made it look cooler and faster.
When he had gotten lost in the woods at night -crying from fear and worry for both you and him- because someone from school said something that made you angry and run to the forest. You came back for him an hour later, but only to drag him by the wrist -enough to give him a bracelet of soft yellow bruises the morning after- and walked him back to his home.
He could remember you lifting him up and spinning him around while you both laughed when he won his first kart race. He remembered that as vividly as he remembers you pushing his sister, Hattie, down to a shallow, muddy puddle the rain had left in their driveway because you thought she was being a show off with her new dress.
He remembers you carrying his backpack after a long day, and there were often. Just as vividly as the time you pushed him and snatched his white trainers from under his feet before you threw them at a canal because you were angry at him.
He remembers you punching a kid taller and bigger than both of you, you punched and punched til both you and the kid bled on the sidewalk --all that because he was making fun of his long "uhhm"s and "uhh"s, the same quirk you've made fun of thousands of times before and after that.
He vividly remembers you accidentally poking his eye with a leaf when you tried putting a seeding dandelion behind his ear -your face laced with an angry, humiliated shame before you crunched the flower in your tiny, bruised, calloused fist.
You were a problem child -but you were his.
You gave him bruises like how your mother did to you, always unconcsiously -but you were his.
You were everything he knew to be angry, awful, unfair, and painful in this world when he was eleven years old -but you were his.
Were.
You were his.
You were his when you were ten, and he, eleven. When you were eleven, and he, twelve. When you were twelve, and he, thirteen.
When you were thirteen ---only until you were thirteen.
You went to juvenile prison when you were thirteen.
He doesn't remember what happened, but he knows he was there when you did something that resulted in you being sent to juvie -and resulted in him meeting child therapists that dance around something he can't quite piece together until now.
He only knew that he saw and heard something, but he doesn't know what. He could never describe the first thing about it, and he could never even admit to the adults that he was there in the first place.
What he does remember, was on that day, he was standing at your kitchen hall.
Your mother had been shouting, and a second later, she wasn't anymore. He remembers hearing something before that. Sometimes, he hears it as a plate being smashed. Sometimes, a cupboard being slammed. A table being shoved. A yelp. A skid. Metal against metal and metal against something softer.
Whatever it was, he didn't know, and he didn't remember -but it was loud, and it was sudden, and it made your mother stop yelling.
Then you turned to look at him, and told him to walk through the back door. Not run, just walk --and to not call you on the phone to bid good night like you two always did.
Your voice was calm --he thinks that's the only time he ever heard it be calm. But not in the way that's at peace, but as if you had taken care of a problem --as if you never had to carry something heavy ever again.
He did as you told him. He didn't fight it. He doesn’t know why he didn't, but he didn't --and he walked home. Out your backdoor, to the sidewalk, past a few houses, and back to his home.
He only knows that the police came to your house a few hours later - blues and red blaring from outside his window and reflecting from the frost that clung to the glass when he was already home and putting on his pajamas.
He doesn’t think of what happened for any second longer than a minute --he may not have been able to say anything to the prodding adults at the time, but he did take their advice of not delving deeper into the memory once they gave up. He doubts he'd remember anything anyway.
When he was fourteen, him and his family moved to England to continue his career in competitive racing, but something in him says that it was also to leave something behind.
Something about that memory. Something about you.
Your name still comes up in his head. Not often, and never with warning. He's sure he'll ever forget your name.
You will always be that girl that called him names but would and have fought someone too harshly, and too violently for calling him the same thing.
The same girl that hugged him too hard, enough for the breath in his lungs to escape on impact, all while thinking you were only comforting him after he had lost a race.
The same girl that gave his hands scrapes when you pushed him when he said something small and immemorable that you didn't like but he never understood why.
The same girl that was a little too defensive, and a little too ashamed when his thumb softly touched one of the new bruises you'd almost always leave him when you held his hand or his wrist while walking.
You never apologized, never said anything remorseful for every awful thing you did. But you never demanded thanks either, never hung something you did above him, and never made him feel like he owed anything to you.
You were awful --but you were his.
And something in him --something small, young, with dirt covered shoes, or with no shoes at all. With scrapes in his palm, with a sting in his eye, with a crudely colored toy car. With a nose that was far too used to the smell of his own sweat and yours when out in the sun, and far too used to running through the woods ---was yours.
You were his, and you were awful every time.
I've been playing Marvel Rivals for a good while now - a Rocket Racoon main and lord.
On that note, it has me absolutely heartbroken when someone cues as bucky/punisher/groot, only to change before or half-way through the game to synergize with someone else.
Like..was I not enough? :(( I keep healing and giving ya'll unlimited bullets the second the cooldown is off.
On the flip side, having ALL three in a game has me feeling pompous and downright narcissistic. Like, yesssss, you three all depend on me dont'cha? If I switch rn -you guys wouldn't be playing at your fullest potential, and that would just be oh-so sad huh? lol
I think I've healed a lot as a person -and before I go on this long winded vent post, let me preface this by saying that this isn't about a past romance, lol.
But, back to topic -I believe I've healed a lot as a person. I've grown from the anxiety ridden, scared, and 'clingy' -in a bad and unhealthy way- person that I've been, and I've healed from a lot of the pain and loss that I've had to deal with my, admittedly, toxic behavior.
One loss especially hit me hard, and surprisingly -even to me- I was the one that cut them off in the first place.
I don't want to go in to detail about what happened -I don't want to say or air it out- but it hurt, a lot, especially since the person was someone I basically woven my entire being, descisions, and personhood into for several years -especially my younger years.
Again -I'm aware now that the behavior I've displayed and shown before was wrong, and it put a lot of pressure into said person. In a way -and I don't want to write over their actual thoughts and feelings- I feel glad I've essentially 'freed' the from myself, lord knows they need emotionally healthier friends.
Despite me having cut them off -with weeks worth of planning and rumination, sometimes I feel...what I can only describe as mourning. I remember them sometimes, not all the time -like when the wound was still fresh- but just sometimes.
They just pop up in the back of my mind really -most especially when I'm back in my hometown, or when the old SY GC becomes active with messages from other people.
I don't know much about them now -I don't even know if they still liked the same things I did and still do, but I get reminded of them whenever I see things I think they might've liked, or things I remember they owned before.
Specific colored running shoes, a particular brand of pencils, oslo paper, triangle rulers, neat handwriting, and many other things I don't have the time to write about.
Whenever I see these things and am reminded of them, again, I'm overcome with a sense of mourning, which is funny in hindsight considering they're still alive. I've healed from this loss -yes. In fact, I think it's safe to say that I've made leaps and bounds in progress when it came to healing from this.
And yet -on some days, the metaphorical wound that was left on me feels sore. Painful in rarer days.
The wound reminds me why I'm still apprehensive with becoming -truly- attached with the new people in my life. It reminds me why I haven't yet found a new person to fill the role I've essentially kicked them out from. It reminds me why I am the way I am, for better or for worse.
I don't know what I would feel to know whether or not they feel the same way I do when thinking of them. After all -we shared years together, but then again, it's also been years since I cut them off.
Went MIA due to me needing to interview an Indigenous community up in the mountains -so sorry about that. Rest assured, I will be posting more oneshots in the near future.
In the meantime -here's some fanart of my favorite characters from the game.
Should I post more fanart? I have quite a few regarding the game 'Sally Face'.
'Meant to be' Daisuke (Mouthwashing) X Reader -OneShot
[Story takes place before Daisuke boards the Tulpa] [Fluff] [Romantic] [Gender Neutral Reader]
It’s chilly out, and the menthol cigarettes you’re puffing on only add to it.
Ice fills and drains out your lungs with every inhale and exhale you make, and the smoke you make reeks of tobacco –a scent you hate, but admittedly, find comfort in. It hits your face when the wind picks up.
Now your clothes smell of tobacco.
“Stop that.” A familiar voice half-heartedly scolds before a hand from behind takes the cancer stick away from your mouth before extinguishing it with the heel of his worn Converse. The once-white soles are now yellowish with time and weather exposure.
“I hate when you do that.” You groan out -but your tone lacks venom. “-and I hate when -you- do that.” Daisuke says with a sigh before sitting next to you on the concrete rooftop.
He puts his hands out to you wordlessly, and you take out the small spray of antiseptic alcohol on your pocket to spray some on his hands. He never liked the smell of cigarettes, both of you know his parents would flip if he ever came home smelling like tobacco.
“I can’t help it.” You lazily defend yourself as you pocket the spray back. “It helps me keep my mind off things.” You add, despite Daisuke having heard this excuse time and time again since you started smoking years ago.
He rolls his eyes at this but doesn’t continue his nagging after. He knows you won't ever quit, not even with his constant lecture and reprimands. The best he can do is snuff out the cigarettes you light when you two are together.
“Your dad called.” Daisuke starts, and you already know that your father is calling for your whereabouts. You can only sigh and slump your shoulders at this.
“-and what did you say?” You ask, still looking at the city ‘view’. It’s a dilapidated thing, city walls covered in aging -sunbleached posters and tarpaulins that just get pasted and installed over one another since it was cheaper than taking the previous ones down.
It’s a view both Daisuke and you have watched grow and age while growing up.
“The usual. 'I don’t know’” He says with a shrug. “-and like always, he doesn’t believe me.” He continues.
“I don’t know why he bothers asking me. I give the same answer, you know?” Daisuke says with a chuckle, and you can only return it -the two of you never went a day without laughing together.
“You cave in sometimes.” You say, and he can only sheepishly nod at this. “I do- but that’s only, like, when I don’t ‘actually’ know where you are,” He says before awkwardly tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear to see you better.
"Can you blame me for getting worried?" He rhetorically asks, and you're unable to talk back to that. Your nightly escapades are only a cause for concern when Daisuke doesn't know where you are.
“So what’s the matter?” He asks with a tilt of his head, referring to why you are up on the rooftops again. You respond with a shrug, which he sighs at.
“C’mon, what’s wrong?” He asks, leaning on your side and playfully nudging his shoulder on yours to get you to budge. You can only chuckle at his intrinsic nature to act childishly.
“Nothings wrong.” You answer, nudging his shoulder back. “I’m just –thinking about things.” You answer truthfully.
“Things like?” He asks, wanting you to expand on that. “I don’t know -just things in general.” You respond with an unsure shrug.
There’s a short silence between you two, with only the city ambiance filling the space before Daisuke inevitably breaks it.
“Are you moping because I’ll be going on that internship in a few days?” He asks somewhat jokingly with a boyish -teasing grin.
You can only scoff and roll your eyes at this. “Not everything is about you, loser.” You say with your own grin -your mood lightening up a bit.
“So you’re -not- sad about me leaving you for a year?” He asks with a raised brow, nudging your side with his elbow a bit. “I mean --I'm bummed out.” You downplay, making him dramatically pout.
“That’s it? Just bummed out?” He repeats with an unserious frown. “I was expecting, you know, tears in your eyes -or something.”
You let out another scoff at this. “I don't see -you- crying. Why should I when you aren't either.” You point out with a dramatic puff of your chest -making Daisuke laugh.
“You don't know that. Maybe I already cried.” He argues, still chuckling at your matched dramatism.
“Did you?” You ask with a curious brow -a bit taken aback.
“No.” He responds with a Cheshire laugh, and you roll your eyes at this again.
“Thought so.” You jokingly grumble before looking away from him -feigning hurt. He only laughs at this some more.
He takes a few moments to calm down, his laughter fading as his demeanor softens and he leans on your side some more.
“But I am sad,” Daisuke admits, his voice just barely above the sound of the city ambiance below you two.
“…”
You don’t know how to respond to this -looking back at him as he rests his head on your shoulder, leaning down a bit since he's just grown a few inches taller than you over the years.
“Aren't you?” He asks, looking up at you, his hair tickling at the skin of your neck. His voice is soft, and it's one of the few times you've heard him be -this- vulnerable with you.
“I am.” You answer truthfully, your shoulders slumping a bit.
You were sad -from the moment he told you about the internship even. It's a whole year apart without the person you've been joined at the hip with for more than a decade now.
It's terrifying and outright depressing just imagining going a day without seeing, talking, joking, and laughing with him.
-to not share these moments with him.
Your hand snakes its way to his, thumbing the bone of his knuckles, and your skin feels the warmth of his.
Daisuke was always warmer than the average person. It's a welcome contrast to how cold the city air was.
He holds your hand back, squeezing it for a moment.
“I'll think about you, like, all the time.” He says, and you can only snort at this a bit.
“You're corny.” You comment, and he can only childishly pout at this. “I'll think about you too.” You continue, your own voice growing softer as you look into his familiar, warm brown eyes.
“Thanks.” He says with a boyish grin, also looking into your eyes.
There's another comfortable silence between you two before he breaks it again.
“You wanna go buy ramen when I get back?” Daisuke asks, and you snort at this once more, tears pricking at your eyes from laughter as he continues to look at you with endearment.
“You didn't even go to space yet -and you're already making plans for when you get back?” You teasingly ask, and he can only laugh at this.
“Well I'm coming back, aren't I? Like, where would I go if not back here?” He argues back with a grin.
“You've got a point.” You say with a nod -following his logic.
“You gotta pay though -it's the least you could do after leaving me here.” You say, with feigned bitterness for his internship. You don't actually envy him, the thought of being in space already makes you nauseous.
“Fair -fair.” He says with a dramatic nod of understanding -the two of you chuckling right after.
You two calm down a few moments later, still smiling at one another, grinning ear to ear. Daisuke's cheeks were red, and your ears were burning the same color.
“I can't wait for you to get back.” You softly say, squeezing his hand. He mimics the action back.
“I can't wait either.” He says it back with the same softness.
It's funny. The city was far from quiet, and yet it felt as if there wasn't anything in the air other than the sound of both of your breaths. Your faces are just inches off of each other.
You always did find his moles pretty.
.
.
.
His cheek feels soft on your lips before you inevitably pull away.
There isn't any shock in Daisuke's expression, nor disgust or confusion. Your kiss on his cheek, just on his left mole, felt natural.
Like you were almost meant to place a kiss on it, to kiss his cheek, to kiss him.
Despite it feeling natural, he couldn’t help the rushing of blood to his cheeks, his face flushed.
A few moments pass before it’s his turn to close the gap, the heat of his breath hitting your cheek before his lips then press themselves against yours.
Like Daisuke, you can’t help the blood rushing to your head, the tips of your ears burning hot.
They’re soft. His lips are soft. As expected from someone who carries around a stick of chapstick in his pocket.
It's a simple peck to the lips, nothing more.
It…doesn’t feel like anything- at least not at first.
You’ve kissed others before, same for Daisuke, and like all others -there was no spark or fireworks in your gut afterward.
No. Instead of the usual burning or butterflies in the stomach that films and books always seem to insist upon -this kiss with Daisuke feels…normal.
Like your lips were always meant to be pressed together like this.
He pulls away after, and the two of you just sit in silence at this, looking into each other’s eyes. You two were neither pulling away nor moving closer.
His lashes are long and pretty, it’s an aspect of his that you’ve noticed early on in your youth.
This feels right -just being next to each other like this. With you eyeing every feature, crevice, and fold in his appearance.
Simply drinking the sight in -as if his face wasn’t something you saw daily for as long as you can remember.
Judging from how he’s looking at you, he may be doing the same.
You’ve both grown and changed over the years, yet, you still look like each other.
Daisuke, even with his taller height, the bit of muscle he’s put on, and the longer hair -still looked like the young Daisuke who ran around the classroom with playdough underneath his fingernails, and who boastfully sported the failed eyebrow slit he gave himself.
“I really like your nose. Did you know that?” He says.
The timing is awkward, and you can hear the slight shakiness in his voice despite his soft tone -like he was nervous. Despite this though, his sincerity comes across -it always does.
Your lips are on his again.
It doesn’t go further than that, but when either of you pant and pull away, the other is quick to join their lips again once they’ve caught their breath.
It’s warm despite the chilly night wind that pricks at both Daisuke's and your skin.
You squeeze his hand.
You can’t wait to spend more moments like these after he gets back.
[Story takes place after he boarded the Tulpa] [Angst] [Platonic and-or Romantic] [Gender Neutral Reader] [Mentions of Suicide]
“Hey.” A voice calls out, slowly rousing you awake, your eyes are heavy -as if they weren’t actually open.
“Wakey -wakey.” The voice calls out again, the hand petting your hair slowly registering on your mind. With a small turn to lie on your back, you’re greeted with the familiar beauty mark-laden face of Daisuke a boyish grin on his face as he looks down on you.
“Mornin’” He jokingly greets with a small chuckle -the open, chilly night sky right behind him. It’s a shame the city lights drowned out the twinkling stars above.
You let out a tired groan at this -burying your face in his lap again, making Daisuke pout as you try to undo his progress in waking you up.
“Oh come on.” Daisuke half-heartedly complains before turning you on your back again. “My legs are asleep -get up.” He whines out a complaint.
You only feign deafness to this though, and it isn’t until he takes off the jacket you drape yourself with do you let out your own whine of complaint - the air pricks at your skin.
“Put it back.” You groan out -too stubborn to take your head off his lap. “Get up.” He repeats with an exasperated tone before threatening to push you off to the rooftop pavement below you with a soft shove.
This finally gets you to move, but not without grumbling your complaints under your breath. He only chuckles at this.
“Your hair is a mess.” Daisuke comments with a laugh, before taming your hair with hands. “Like you didn’t make this mess in the first place.” You say with a scoff and a tired roll of your eyes, knowing full well it’s his petting that got your hair sticking out all over in the first place.
“Give me back my jacket.” You grumble out, snatching the jersey off his shoulder. “‘Your’ jacket?” Daisuke parrots back with a knowing, boyish grin.
“Technically mine. I wear it more than you do.” You say with a cheeky shrug and grin, wearing his old jersey -only a size too big on you. If anything -it just added to the look you were going for.
“Sure it is.” Daisuke sarcastically says with his own chuckle, the feeling on his legs coming back as you sit beside him on the rooftop.
There’s a short comfortable silence between you two -as you both look at the city ‘view’. There’s not much to see really, just the side of other buildings with advertisement boards and flyers pasted over the aging concrete walls. It’s a view you both had long familiarized yourself with and grew to see change over the years.
“I missed you,” Daisuke says, his voice soft as he leans his side to yours. To say you’re confused by this is an understatement. You just saw each other yesterday, right?
For some reason though, you can’t physically bring yourself to ask what he means by that. So you stay silent, leaning back on his slightly taller frame.
That’s weird -why does he feel thinner? You were sure he gained a fair bit of muscle over the years -not lose them.
“Like, I missed you....a lot.” He continues -his hand now slowly creeping up to intertwine with yours. It was cold, his hand was cold. Colder than it should be -even with the chilly night air pricking the both of you.
Something in your gut tells you to not look back at him -to continue looking at the aging city walls and dim city light in front of you. To keep your eyes ahead, and not on Daisuke. Not on the man you basically grew up with.
He seems to breathe a sigh of relief at this.
“You were right.” He says once more, and it sounds as though his voice is slowly getting drowned out by the noise of city engines and machinery from below.
Finally, you will your mouth to move and have your voice cut through the air. “About what?” You ask, confused, your hand tightening around his. It feels bonier.
Dread creeps up your spine.
“About me dying up there.”
~
“I told you.” You barely croak out, the words heavy, cracked, and hoarse from all the crying you’ve been doing this week.
Your body feels weak. It's a miracle you managed to get up from bed, dress yourself, and even stand right now.
Your mouth reeks of tobacco -and it tastes like it too. You’ve long since gone back to smoking real cigarettes. There’s no one to nag you about it anymore -so what’s the point in sucking on a cleaner alternative when you can get the real thing.
You can’t bring yourself to look down on what you’re holding onto, the hand in yours is bony, cold, and lifeless.
There’s a picture of a younger Daisuke on top of the casket glass. It’s a picture his parents vehemently hated before -despite it being his formal graduation photo.
Daiuke’s cap was tilted, and the tassel was already moved to the other side. He sported an outgrown mullet in the picture -it’s a look he liked but you found stupid. His next haircut was better -at least, by your standards.
Despite his parents hating the picture from before, they can’t help but feel it encapsulated -him- best.
They didn’t want to put up the picture of him in the suit he wore to his aunt’s wedding -looking uncomfortable and out of his element despite looking formal and proper.
You can’t help but agree with the decision.
“Am I being selfish?” You softly ask, and no one answers.
“I don’t want to look at you.” You continue, still holding onto the bony hand you only found by softly patting around the cushion of his casket.
“I don’t want to look at you.” You repeat with a choked sob -tears pricking at your eyes, a familiar feeling now.
From what the other guests, his parents, and yours said -you know it’s not a pretty sight. Not that a dead person was ever pretty to look at.
You know he’s lost weight, that much is obvious with how the bones of his knuckles were protruding from his hand. He barely had any meat, his body was reduced to that of skin and bones.
You didn’t know anything more -not that you want to. You walked away the moment you heard anyone start to describe his body.
You didn’t want to look down. To look down at who is -was- essentially your best friend, your other half, and see something -someone- you don’t recognize.
You were selfish. You wanted to remember him as the cute boy you grew up with all this time, with that lopsided grin and warm brown eyes looking into yours -skin pink and warm with life, with beauty marks on his face that you almost always stared at.
You didn’t want to see him for the dead body that he is now. The last thing you wanted was to replace the image of smiling, laughing Daisuke with the image of his corpse.
“They’re going to bury you in a bit.” You say, and again, no one answers.
“I got you some things to entertain yourself with.” You continue, slipping a catalog of the latest game releases, his vintage mp3 player, headphones, and finally -the notebook you’ve been writing on every day he was up in the Tulpa- next to him.
It’s a thick, bulky notebook -you never seemed to get enough of writing on its pages, not wanting Daisuke to miss out on any details, no matter how small.
“I’m still halfway through yours.” You admit, still rubbing your thumb on the bone of his knuckles.
“I’ll visit your senior sometime. He’s getting buried a few cities away from here.” You say, regarding the bulky, grumpy mechanic -Swansea- he almost always wrote nicely about.
A short silence deafens you, before finally, the dam in your eyes erupts -tears staining your face once more.
“I hope I get to see you again.” You choke out, holding onto his hand so desperately, as if you could squeeze back some warmth, some life, back into his body.
“I -really- hope I get to see you again.” You repeat, hiccuping, and your breath laboring.
“I don't care where or how, but I need to beat you black and blue --for getting on that ship.” You say with a cracked laugh, your breath getting caught in between each sob you let out.
“--for leaving me behind.” You finally cry out, forced to lean on the white casket you had the misfortune and privilege of decorating -per the request of his parents.
You’re allotted a few more moments with him before you’re finally ushered away by your father, the sound of Daisuke’s mother wailing and crying in his casket replacing yours.
It’s cold out, and Daisuke’s ship diary weighs heavily in your coat pocket -but so does the gun on your side. It’s anybody’s guess which one you’ll grab for in your bedroom tonight.
'Promise?' Daisuke (Mouthwashing) X Reader -TwoShot
[Story is set before he boarded the Tulpa] [Fluff] [Platonic and - or Romantic] [Gender Neutral Reader]
“-like, I don’t know man. Should I be worried?” Daisuke asks with a sigh after a long rant about something you guiltily didn’t pay too much attention to, leaning his head on the wall of his bedroom. His hands keep fiddling with the Rubix cube he still hasn’t solved yet since buying it two weeks ago.
“About?” You ask with a raised brow, turning your head to the side to see him, still laying flat on your stomach on his bed, your hands on your phone a you look for new shoes to buy on the internet.
“The future, my career, everything my folks keep talking to me about.” Daisuke elaborates, still thoughtfully fiddling with his Rubix cube. “And? You weren't worried about -that- before.” You ask again, Daisuke wasn’t one to worry often -so when he is, it’s most probably something that’s been bugging him heavily.
“But it’s all they ever talk about these days, you know? I can’t be -not- worried.” He explains, with a scratch on his head, his long hair sticking out in whichever direction as he looks at a random corner in his bedroom with another sigh.
You've always thought it was a nice place -despite its smaller size. Daisuke’s bedroom walls were filled with posters of bands and games he’d been interested in over the years. Instruments he’s learned during his youth were laid out on the other side of his bed, with academic books he half-heartedly reads stacked atop it -it’s very ‘Daisuke’ for lack of a better term.
You just wish he learned the habit of putting his laundry in the basket and not just have them lying atop his study chair and bed so that he can re-wear them for another day.
“I get that. My parents are the same.” You empathize with his plight, taking an e-cig from your pocket and taking a quick puff. Vanilla fills your lungs and the air.
“Oh- come on! Not here! You know my parents are going to kill me.” Daisuke half-heartedly scolds you, waving his hand around in the air to get rid of the smell, the action making you chuckle. “Sorry -sorry, couldn’t help it.” You say with a half-serious shrug making Daisuke groan in slight annoyance. You pocket the stick back -for his sake.
“You’re also getting scolded?” He asks with a tilt of his head after simmering down. “More like getting nagged.” You correct with a scoff and roll of your eyes, and Daisuke only softens some more at this.
“Right now I’m just doing what they’re telling me to do -studying for a major I could care less about but still have to pull all-nighters for because God forbid I get anything less than perfect.” You go on a small rant, ending it with an exasperated sigh and a dramatic roll of your eyes.
Daisuke combs at your hair with his fingers at this, petting you as if you were some antsy cat. It’s an action you’ve long gotten used to, and you'll never admit to this -but it works in calming you down.
There’s a short comfortable silence before Daisuke speaks again. “My mom got me an internship.” He says, his voice softer as he continues petting your hair. His words gain your attention.
“Really?” You ask, wanting him to elaborate, your tone curious. “Yeah.” He says with a nod, opting to look to the ceiling now.
“An internship as a mechanic on the Pony Express.” Daisuke expands, making you cringe. “Isn’t that -that shady delivering service company though?” You ask, a sour taste in your tongue as you turn your head to the side to look at him again.
“Can you believe they put up hiring flyers looking for orphans to apply? Only a company that doesn’t care about their employees would specifically look for people like that.” You continue with a scoff.
“Yeah.” He says again with a shrug. “Why would your mom get you to apply for something like that?” You ask, your brows furrowing. “She means the best, you know? She just wants me to get some experience, try something new, do something productive.” He says, getting somewhat defensive over his mom.
"Oh spare me, you sound just like her." You say with a dismissive wave of your hand, despite being apologetic for your words and what they were implying. You know Daisuke's parents just wanted the best for him -just like yours did for you, but it just overwhelms you both sometimes -their care sometimes causing more harm than good.
He scoffs at your comment, taking his hand away from your hair as if punishment. You purse your lips in annoyance at his hand's retreat -but don't express it verbally.
"I'm going to be gone for about a year." He says, and that instantly gets you to sit upright on his bed in surprise and shock. "What?" You ask, facing him.
"What do you mean 'you'll be gone for about a year'?" You repeat, your brows furrowing in confusion. "Like, I'll be gone for a year." He repeats, not meeting your eyes, and guilt slowly creeping up on him. "I'll get deployed on the first day for some actual on-hand experience." He continues, and you can't help but feel a hint of betrayal and worry fill your chest.
"What?! But you barely know your way around the back of a fridge, much less a literal carrier ship." You say, your breath becoming more labored. “No offense.” You quickly add, and Daisuke only waves his hand in dismissal at this. Not taking it to heart.
"I'm not going to be alone," He says, still not meeting your eyes. "I'll just be learning from the actual mechanic, like, look over his shoulder and copy what he does -you know?" He continues.
"For a full year though?" You rhetorically ask with an exasperated groan. "Are you even getting paid for this -or is this one of those 'you get paid by experience' bullshit people do?" You ask, and Daisuke can only awkwardly purse his lips at this. Just from that, you already know it's the latter, you let out another groan at this.
"It's not that bad. Look on the bright side, at least I don't have to pay my folks rent while I'm up there." He jokes with a chuckle, but you can only deadpan at this, worry furrowing your brows. It's his turn to sigh at this.
"Look, I'll be fine, man." He says, sitting straighter and closer so that he can pet your hair again. "You don't gotta be -this- worried for me," Daisuke says with a chuckle, meeting your eyes. It's your turn to look away this time.
You continue to stew in your combined feelings of worry and slight betrayal before inevitably hitting him on the side of his face with a throw pillow. Daisuke lets out a small 'oof' at this, but is overall already used to getting hit with his pillows by you.
"Hey now, that hurt." He dramatically says, despite not being hurt at all. "Like hell it did." You say with a roll of your eyes, hitting him in the head with his throw pillow again.
"You're going to die up there." You voice out your worry, disguising it under an irritated tone as you get up from his bed to just pace around his room. Your feet hit his soft carpet as well as the usual discarded sock that he can never seem to find the other pair of.
"Oh come on, that's a bit much don't you think?" Daisuke says with a chuckle. "I'm already going on a spaceship. You didn't have to wish death upon me to add to that."
"I wasn't wishing you death." You say with a roll of your eyes. "I'm just -saying-, nothing good ever comes from being stuck in a ship with how many strangers for a whole year in space." You continue with a dramatic motion of your hands, looking through the catalog of books Daisuke had lying around on his 'study' desk.
"You say that as if you've already been to space with a bunch of strangers for a year," Daisuke says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, parroting your words. "I don't need prior experience to know that -that's what's going to happen." You say with a huff.
"Call it off." You continue, almost sounding like a command. Daisuke can only sigh at this. "You know I can't. Mom already set everything up." He explains. "Besides, even if I could -I don't want to." He continues, catching you by slight surprise. “What do you mean by that?”
"This could be good for me, you know? Like, maybe -this- is my calling." He says, looking a bit more hopeful. You scoff some more at this, looking to the side with your arms crossed to your chest.
“You’re going to die up there.” You state again, worry eating you alive. “Stop it -you’re manifesting at this point.” Daisuke half-heartedly scolds.
“I’m not manifesting anything!” You raise your voice, becoming more and more agitated. “Think about it, man! These people could be crazies or just outright mean. You could be stuck with sickos and creeps for a whole year!”
“-or, they could be normal. Ever thought about that?” He counterargues, and it just makes you even more frustrated -throwing your head back with a groan and facing away from him to stare at a random corner of his bedroom.
Your eyes just so happen to land on an old picture of the two of you -little kids smiling in their wonky Halloween costumes where they felt like the coolest kids in grade school.
Your smile is missing a few teeth, but that’s fine in comparison to Daisuke’s missing eyebrow. A failed attempt at giving himself an eyebrow slit to look like the cool older kids from before.
“Hey-” Daisuke starts, and given the sound of rustling sheets and feet hitting the carpeted floor, you already know he’s walking towards you –even with your back turned to him.
“I’ll be fine, promise.” He says, putting a hand on your shoulder and slowly turning you to look at him. Daisuke had grown just a few inches taller than you over the years, it annoyed you to no end since you two had always been the same height before.
“Don’t say that -you can’t promise something like that.” You say with a roll of your eyes, still facing him. “Like -I’ll try and keep myself safe.” He says something more doable. “There -happy?” He jokingly asks, and you can only deadpan at him.
“I’d be happier if you didn’t go.” You admit with a sigh, and Daisuke puts a hand on your cheek to keep your eyes on him. “I’ll keep myself safe.” He repeats, sincere, brown eyes slowly but surely softening your demeanor.
It’s hard believing Daisuke -it really is. You’ve known him for far too long for you to not to know that he has the intrinsict need to be needed. Too enthusiastic to help, to the point that he’ll throw any doubt or apprehension in his mind just to be of service to anyone.
Nonetheless, those brown eyes of his and his boyish smile slowly chip their way through your resolve, and your shoulders slump in defeat. “Please do.” You say, your voice softer in defeat.
“Nice,” Daisuke says with a grin before doing a dramatic fist pump in the air -you can only deadpan at this.
“Be serious, man! You need to keep yourself safe!” You say, getting a little more exasperated at his carefree nature. “I am -I am! And I will -promise!” Daisuke defends himself with a chuckle.
“Just trying to lighten the mood, you know?” He says with a smile. “Trying to get that frown off your face. You already got enough wrinkles as is.” He teases, and you kick at his shin at this -making him yelp.
“You’re an ass.” You say with a huff, and Daisuke can only grin through the pain.
There’s a short comfortable silence before he speaks again -his voice soft. “I’ll miss you…a lot.” He confesses, and you can only weaken by his tone.
“I’ll miss you too.” You reply, your voice just as soft as his. You two have been joined at the hip since -forever. It’s a terrifying thought to be apart, for nearly a year no less.
“I’ll write letters.” He says. “I won’t be able to send them to you or anything -I think? But I could write in my notebook, like, a diary or something, and give it to you after.” Daisuke continues.
“Just my day-to-day on the ship, you know? So it’d be like you were there with me.” He says with a softer smile, and you can only chuckle at this -the tips of your ears burning at the thought of him going through such an effort.
“I doubt anything interesting would happen in a delivery express ship.” You say, still chuckling a bit. “But I’ll do the same.” You continue. “I’ll write about my days here too. So you aren’t left out on anything either.” You say with a smile that matches his.
“Promise?” Daisuke cheekily asks, still grinning, his cheeks slowly burning red as well. You nod at this, committing his face to memory for the year you won’t be seeing him. Not that you could ever forget his face.
“Promise.” You parrot back with the same softness.
