Blinkie Template By @pawpr1nc3 ❤︎₊ ⊹

i am begging you all to stop treating this site like instagram if you dont want it to be content free by next year

It's Us Who Made This Mess

Part Three, at last; the bitch that didn't allow me to have any good ideas for a week straight only to suddenly give me a burst of inspiration so strong that I managed to write this whole thing within one sitting. So if that's why this is the worst one, I apologize if that is the case lmao.

Content Warnings: It's the alleyway scene, so Vere jokes about eating you. Canon-typical swearing and mentions of death. Vere has a panic attack and there is a very, very brief implication of accidental self-harm.

Other: And the overuse of italics returns! Word Count: 2k

This work may be edited in the future if I discover any previously missed typos or content warnings. This work will not be cross-posted anywhere and I will make a direct announcement if that ever changes.

The streets behind the Wick were as dead as the bar was crowded. A cold breeze cut through the humid air. The further they walked, the more muffled the Wick's racket became, until the only sounds were their subtle breaths and footsteps.

He stopped at an alleyway. They were alone. Nobody would bother them; nobody would play witness. His shadow stretched over the cobbled street in the moonlight, practically devouring the outsider whole.

"You had questions. Ask." His breath misted in the cold air as he spoke, "Quickly. I've got a show to attend. Heavenly lutist, as I'm sure I mentioned."

He already knew for a fact that he did. He simply wanted to test them; to see if they ignored everything he said earlier or is they only ignored his warning.

They were clearly peeved by his attitude---they had been since he met them, actually. But clearly they needed information, and he was happy to provide some. Of course, it would only be vague details, but if all went according to plan, it would be enough to bait them into telling him a secret or two of their own.

He expected the outsider to ask about the Senobium. Or about him, at least. Instead, they wasted his precious time by asking about the others. As much as he disliked thinking about most them---other than Ais, that is---in general, something about the outsider's curiosity of them had him particularly irked.

Vere didn't want to look too closely into why their interest in the others pissed him off so much. He just told himself that it was because he was in a hurry, and they were wasting his time.

It didn't take long for him to grow bored of it, letting out a growl. "Don't you dare ask me about another soul. I haven't got all night for idle gossip."

"But I wasn't finished asking---"

"You get two more questions. Make them count."

He wasn't actually planning on counting any questions. The poor thing just happened to look somewhat cute when their brows scrunched up in frustration.

Their eyes narrowed slightly, exasperated, as they asked their first question "Leander told me that the Senobium imprisons people. Did he mean you?"

Of course, he gets stuck talking about Leander anyway. "Leander's a moaning fool with a throbbing victim complex. He loves to see himself as a savior, but the only difference his cronies and the Senobium's stooges are the uniforms."

A subtle wince spread over their features, showing some mild concern at his words. Fair enough, considering where they're apparently sleeping tonight---if they make it out of the alleyway alive, that is.

"You're asking who, when you should be asking why." Maybe that will be enough o a hint for them to actually ask about him directly.

"Says the asshole counting my questions." Their scowl returned to to their face.

Vere only smirked in response, and they rolled their eyes at him.

They sighed. "Fine. Why were you imprisoned?"

"For the same reason they'll disappear you given half the chance; I'm something special." He gathered up his hair, pushing it behind his back and craned his neck, inviting them to have a closer look. "See this collar?Looks unremarkable, doesn't it?"

They didn't say anything. Instead, they started reaching towards the buckle.

Wrong move.

His hand lashed out, grabbing their wrist before their hand could get too close. He could've easily snapped their bones, but he chose to be merciful, and instead only held their wrist with just enough pressure to scare them a little.

It was the second mercy he's granted them tonight. And not matter how interesting they were, he wouldn't be granting them a third chance. Really, they were lucky he was even generous enough to offer them the second.

He tutted like a scolding teacher. "Don't you know better than to touch without asking?"

"You didn't ask first, so why should I?"

He grins. "because I said so."

"That's not very fair."

A surge of anger began to slowly rise through him at that. "Fuck fairness. Life's not fair."

If life were, he wouldn't even be here, talking with the pesky little outsider. If life was fair, he wouldn't even be Eridia. Shit, Eridia probably wouldn't have even existed. If life were fair, then he wouldn't have been imprisoned by those fucking mages. If life were fair, he wouldn't have killed you that day. If life were fair, you would've died from either old age or some incurable illness, because he would've been able to protect you from an unnatural death.

He closed his eyes, silently pushing his rage to the back of his mind. He's had years to hone and sharpen it into a weapon deadlier than he was, and it wouldn't do him any good to waste it on one, insignificant human when there were plenty others more deserving of it.

"Patience… I'll tell you when and how you can touch me." He opened his, staring into their startled ones, getting another view of the agony writhing around their soul. "Behave, or I'll make you bleed."

"…Is that a threat, or a promise?"

It was both, but he didn't say that out loud as he released their wrist. They began to smooth down the bandages covering their arm, glancing at him though the corner of their eye.

"Are you saying that's what'll happen to me if the Senobium finds out I'm… different? I'll be collared?"

"Doubtful. they keep me around because I'm the best at what I do."

They were looking him straight in the eye now. "And what, exactly, do you do so well?"

His answer wasn't hesitant in the slightest. "Killing. As long as I wear this collar, I'm made to hunt the Senobium's dizzying array of enemies: Monsters, Soulless, noisy dissidents who grow overbold… I'm bound by their will until the day I die."

He liked to pretend that he was only saying that last bit for dramatic flair. He didn't like to acknowledge just how little hope he had in any chance of freedom.

"That's… awful."

Hah. They have no idea.

"It is, isn't it?" He internally shook off his brooding mood, "And that's all you're getting from me. I really must leave now. I'll be late."

"That's it? Why'd you bring me out here if you weren't going to explain anything?!"

He laughed, allowing it to sound a bit more like his genuine laughter as opposed to the smooth chuckle he's been practicing over the years. "Isn't it obvious? I wanted to lure you out here alone so I could eat you."

They tensed up immediately. "You're lying again."

They were only half-right. Less that that, really. There's been a pit of hunger that's been growing within him since he was captured, and flesh was usually one of the best ways to sate it, even temporarily.

"And you're asking far too many questions for hiding so much."

They quickly hid their hands deep into the pockets of their cloak. "What makes you think I'm hiding anything?"

"Would you like me to list the obvious indicators first?" He asked sarcastically, staring pointedly at their arms, "The bandages, to be specific. Not exactly subtle, after all." He glanced back up at their eyes, "I'll be going… unless you're willing to share some morsels with me?"

As much as he talked about wanting to be elsewhere, he really wasn't actually planning on leaving until he got something out of them.

They hesitated. "I can't tell you anything."

He felt his ears flatten on his head. For fuck's sake. "Wrong. You can start with what you are."

They step backwards, trying to get away from them, bumping into the wall behind them. Vere moves forward in lockstep. They try to turn, but instead of a way out, they only find his arm, trapping them against the wall.

Finally, they were right where he wanted them.

He reached for them, lifting their chin and forcing them to meet his eyes.

"Would you believe me if I said the eyes are the windows to the soul?" Their eyelid twitched, and he smiled, "Cliche, I know, but let me tell you a little secret..."

He leaned in, close enough for his eyelashes to flutter against their cheek.

"There's nothing you can hide from me."

He was staring straight into their eyes now. Straight into them. Straight into the sweet, agonizing suffering that wrapped around their soul the way a ribbon wrapped around a box of chocolates.

"The betrayal, the loss of hope, the sheer desperation that drives you still to search and search to no end…"

All that from which he listed only came from the more recent suffering they've endured. It was almost like a thick shield, hiding both the true nature of their soul and the strange, seemingly ancient suffering that seemed to be latched deeper in.

"I could give you something new to live for…"

It was a dangerous promise, but it wasn't like they could do anything to force him into keeping it.

They swallowed, skeptical and afraid. He didn't mind their lack of response; it only allowed him to focus on looking deeper.

The ancient strand of suffering was particularly enticing; like nothing he's ever seen before. He could practically feel it trying to pull him closer.

"All that suffering has made your soul so irresistible…"

He searched deeper through the wall of suffering, just trying to catch a better glance at what was being hidden behind all the betrayal.

Then, at last---

A chain-leash clinking as he was escorted through the dim, dank hallway.

A door hinge creaked as a cell was opened, revealing a familiar figure chained to the far wall.

An order to kill.

The sounds of screaming and bones snapping and flesh ripping.

The sound of someone's last breaths

--- he had his answer.

He was wrong. This strange, ancient suffering; ancient betrayal… he had seen it before.

He saw it in your eyes as you died in a puddle of your own blood that day.

His blood froze. His heart started to speed up. The fur on his tail began to stick up.

No. No, no. Nonononono---

"Y-You're late… the l-lutist!"

Their---your---panicked little reminder was enough for him to snap out of it.

He blinked, desperately attempting to recompose himself before you noticed anything was off. "Shame."

He let go of your chin and backed away. You slumped against the wall, now gasping for air.

He would only hope he didn't look the same way; frightened, panicked, as if his fight-or-flight response just kicked in…

He wracked his brain, trying desperately to find something to say or do that wouldn't give him or any of his emotions away; then he heard Leander' voice, calling out your name, echoing through the empty streets.

Once he noticed that it grabbed your attention, he quietly made his way to the shadowy back end of the alleyway, disappearing into the shadows before you could even blink.

-=-=-=-=-=-

He didn't run for too long; he knew the city well enough to find somewhere both decently distanced from the alleyway and hidden enough for it to be unlikely for someone to stumble on.

He found himself behind a bakery, trembling; his heart pounding so loud he was almost afraid that the stray cat sleeping in the gutters above him was able to hear it. Chills raced through his blood. His chest heaved from lack of air, but his lungs refused to let any more in. He felt dizzy, and had to slump down to the muddy ground in order to avoid falling over.

He hated this feeling. He could only recall feeling it twice: the first being after he killed you, and the second being when a century had passed without there being even half of a solid chance of real freedom.

Even though he didn't get the feeling often, he still hated it. The fear. The loss of control. The weakness…

He needed to get his shit together. Preferably before his claws accidentally dug deep enough into his arms and drew blood again, since it was too late to stop before he could feel the tears forming.

But no matter how he tried to aim his thoughts into a different direction, they always circled back to you.

You're here.

You're not supposed to be here.

You're here.

You're not supposed to see him like this.

You're here.

You can't be here.

You're here.

You need to get away, they're going to take you again.

You're here.

You need to get away, they're going to make him kill you again.

A trembling, almost manic laughter broke through his teeth, accompanied by breathless sobs.

In the beginning, he wanted nothing more than to see you again. But as time passed, he was happier that he hadn't been able to see you; that you couldn't see him in the state he was in. Nothing more than a particularly exotic and useful pet for some bastards who were too afraid of getting their own hands dirty.

He never did manage to figure out why it was you they ordered him to kill that day; if it was mere coincidence, or if it was intentional.

And if it was intentional, did they already know you were here? Were they already planning to grab you?

He growled involuntarily at the thought; both at the image of them keeping you locked in a cage for them to do as they pleased, and at the fact that he would be powerless to stop it.

And the worst part of it all? For whatever reason, you were apparently planning of walking right into their cruel, merciless hands; desperately searching for something that, apparently, nobody else in this damned city would be able to provide.

Amongst the chaos whirling through his head, he tried to find a solution to your being here:

He could ignore you completely, but somehow he felt like that wouldn't work.

He could try to free himself again, take revenge, and try to fix what he had done to you; heal that betrayal-inflicted wound that he apparently dealt so deep that it still stuck to your soul well over a century and who-knows how many lives later.

He could try to free himself again, take revenge, and then leave you, so that he'd never have to risk hurting you again, and you wouldn't make him weak again.

Or, he could try to free himself again, take revenge, and then devour your soul so that you'd never get to live another life ever again. It would be cruel, sure, and it would probably hurt, too. But somehow, it might just be the most merciful option for both of you…

He focused on these ideas until, finally, he felt his heart stop hammering and his lungs start to take in the appropriate amount of air. He was no longer trembling, though he felt his nerves vibrating as he made himself stand.

He felt restless and his head hurt. He needed to tear into something---into someone---before he made his way back to his dungeon for the night.

He was irritated by the mud clinging to his clothes, hist tail, his hand, and now his face as he wiped the tears from his eyes. But he couldn't bring himself to care about that.

The only thing he could care about right then was his potential plans.

He had no idea what he should do. But he swore to himself that he'd make his choice by tomorrow morning.

For now, it was the best he could do.

< Part Two | Good Ending (WIP) > | Neutral Ending (WIP) > | Bad Ending (WIP) >

As a rule of thumb, don't reblog donation posts or people asking for donations unless they've been vetted and reblogged by Palestinian bloggers. We usually go to lengths to verify this shit because we know scammers have been faking to get people to send them money, using the urgency of our genocide as bait.

It's disgusting this is what we're dealing with, but people are losing money because of some truly evil people out there.

Accounts don't just randomly spring up on tumblr without gofundmes while asking for someone to help them create a campaign. Fuck out of here with that shit.

think im hyperventilating

Shout out to all the Black ppl that can no longer participate directly in the fandom they love because of the stresses of racism 👍🏾 you contain multitudes of value and I'm sorry that the color of your skin and the power of your voice makes people not want to acknowledge that.

Bakamitai 😔

Bro misses his bros

I think it's hilarious that Michael Keaton basically tried to make Beetlejuice a dad bod sad meow meow mess in the second movie yet all it did was produce an even more feral group of us freaks pining after him

Waking Up with Them | VARIOUS

What it's like to wake up next to them...

Characters: Masato Aizawa, Akira Nishikiyama, Reina, Kazuma Kiryu, Goro Majima, Taiga Saejima & GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff with just a hint of suggestiveness here and there

A/N: A short little self indulgent thing I originally started for a friend and I but I thought maybe others might enjoy it a bit too?

Falling asleep with MASATO AIZAWA is almost guaranteed to result in you waking up in his arms. Hopefully you’re not too sensitive to heat because he doesn’t care what temperature the room is, he’s not going to be able to shut his eyes until he’s got you in his arms. He’s a living, breathing space heater. So, either he’ll be keeping you warm or he’ll be the reason you wake up drenched in sweat. He sleeps in nothing but a pair of trunks and a single sock– the second sock almost always manages to slip away at some point in the night. He’s a big fan of skin to skin contact. So he encourages you to come to bed dressed as scantily as possible. He’s already a heavy guy but he transforms into a boulder once he’s asleep, making it sort of difficult to pry his arm off. He understands that you have things to do and places to be, but that won’t stop him from snaking his dominant arm around you and guiding you back into bed if he manages to wake up when you’re trying to sneak away. His eyes would barely be open as he’s pressing sleepy kisses against your skin and mumbling, “Mm, no… Not yet. Just a bit longer.” And “a bit” could mean anywhere from 5 minutes to an entire hour, if you’re not careful. You’d have to be firm with him, otherwise you’re not getting up til he’s ready to part with you or until he’s gotten his fill of kissing you– whichever comes first. Morning breath be damned.

If you think AKIRA NISHIKIYAMA is handsome after he’s gussied himself up for the day, you must have lost your mind the first morning you woke up next to him. He often wakes with his head resting above his pillow of folded arms, his actual pillow somewhere behind him. Some of the hair that he’s pushed out of his face, falls across his cheekbones, sways with the steady breath he pushes through his nose and tickles his forearms. He peeks at you through heavy slits, blinking until his vision is clear enough to notice you staring at him. His lips are puffy when he first wakes. It’s like he’s pouting at you. It’s not often that he sleeps well but he realizes that the nights he has is when he’s often sleeping next to you. If he’s gotten decent sleep, he wakes in a slightly playful mood, placing his chilly fingers over your eyes as he teases you for staring. He’s a light sleeper though, so if you toss and turn, so will he. Even so, no matter how tired he is, he won’t waste too long in bed after grumbling, “Ugh, what time is it?” Doesn’t matter what time you say, if he sees sunlight peeking through the curtains, he’ll stretch and roll out of bed– not without stealing a few kisses of course. If you’re creative (read: handsy) enough, he can be convinced to stay under the covers with you a little longer.

It took being loved by you for REINA to realize that it was perfectly okay to rise and fall as she is. When she was growing up, her mother taught her to wake before her partner so that they’d “have something nice to look at” first thing in the morning. In the beginning, she did that with you. She woke up before the sun to freshen up, make her face and fix her hair then slink back into bed with you until you were ready to wake up. It took a lot of convincing for her to rid herself of that habit but now, she sleeps until she’s well rested and wakes with nothing but a layer of her favorite night cream on her face and the straps of her cute little night slip sliding off her slender shoulders. Her dark hair is often pulled back into a loose, low bun but by the time she’s awake, lots of it has freed itself and is strewn about her pillow. She’s immensely affectionate first thing in the morning and so one habit that hasn’t died is her slipping out of bed to at least brush her teeth. Once she’s done that, she’s cuddling you, pressing peeks against your cheek and whispering about the day ahead, and more. “Well, good morning, you. Sleep well? Ahh, this is nice, isn’t it?” The woman is needy as all hell in the morning. The best prescription for that ailment is your affection.

Unless you’re an equally early riser, waking up to KAZUMA KIRYU often means waking to a half empty bed, his side of the covers tucked haphazardly beside you to keep you warm in his place. He hardly ever waits for you to wake to get started on breakfast. If you don’t rise to the familiar aroma of your favorites swirling past your nose or his fruitless attempt to muffle his heavy footsteps throughout the house, then he’ll wake you personally just before breakfast gets cold. His big warm hand is cautious when he taps you, not wanting to startle you. His voice is even deeper in the silence of the morning when he says, “Breakfast is ready. You’re welcome to join me but I don’t mind if you need more sleep.” You can’t count on him to stay in bed and cuddle with you unless you practically hold the man hostage. After all, he wouldn't even stay in bed when he’s ill. He’s not gonna do it if he’s got no excuse to.

If you ever wanted to know when you could catch GORO MAJIMA in his most vulnerable state, look no further. Waking up next to him is a rare privilege that one shouldn’t take lightly. He’s lying there practically naked, nothing but a thin pair of briefs. He’s either just fallen asleep a few hours ago or he’s lying there with his one eye barely open as he takes you in, contemplating if it's a good time to try to sneak out of bed. Sometimes, he’ll simply lie there, eye smiling at you as you sleepily reach to brush the stray strands of his bedhead from hanging over his scarred eye and the cute mole just below it. Although he’s annoyed by not getting much sleep, he’s pretty much grown used to it at this point. He sees getting to watch you get enough shut eye for the both of you as a perk. Any time he catches you stirring, he shushes you and tries to lull you back to sleep. When that doesn’t work, he’ll smile at you as he curls his pointer under your chin and whisper, “Stubborn, ain’tcha?” As if he’s one to talk.

(BTW have you guys seen this Majima art??? Absolute perfection!)

Early to bed, early to rise– TAIGA SAEJIMA sees little pleasure in lounging around in bed in the mornings. In his mind, bed is either for sleep or a certain extra curricular activity. So, unless your fingers are slipping beneath the waistband of his pajama pants, expect him to roll out of bed shortly after he wakes. There is a benefit to this! As long as you’ve slept next to him, you never have to worry about oversleeping for anything. He’s got a natural, internal alarm clock that never fails. While he’s probably not going to lie in bed until you’re ready to wake, he does allow you to use his broad chest as a pillow all night if that’s what you want. He’s pretty versatile in that way. He can either hold you all night or sleep on opposite sides of the bed with your backs facing the other. After all, for him, just having you near him is more than enough. This is why he prefers to wait for you to get out of bed before he starts his morning tea. He likes to quietly share a cup with you before you go about your day.

Please do not reupload/repost/rewrite but likes and a reblog go a long way! Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this, you're welcome to check out more of my work! I have a masterlist to save you browse time!

My TOUCHSTARVED Hound OC

Nihil, The Hound

Personality: The Silent Hermit

Pronouns: He/Him

Height: 5'4

Likes:

Solitude, Cleanliness, Layered Clothing, Sleeping, Hoarding trinkets, Silence, Dark places, Cooking (rarely), Gardening.

Dislikes:

Everyone (including Princess), Betrayal, Flirting, Strong smells, Mirrors, Loud noises, Alcoholic beverages, Sudden movements, Public places, Being indebted.

Fatal Flaw: Has forgotten how to trust individuals.

Others: Nihil almost never goes outside. If he does, it's for personal errands.

• Nihil is a Latin word which means Empty. He surely got his name from how big and empty-looking his eyes are. He sometimes makes people uncomfortable if he stares at them for too long.

• He's got eyebags not from lack of sleep but from crying. He does that when his other coping mechanisms don't work. He avoids everyone and tends to not speak even when spoken to.

• Abandoned and betrayed at a young age, Nihil was left injured after a Soulless attack. But he somehow survived... He woke up in Kuras' clinic, mostly unresponsive. At this point, he barely reacts to anything.

Character Interactions:

• Kuras → Dislikes, because of how indebted he is to him for saving his life.

"..............."

"Ah, good evening, Nihil. What brings you at this--"

*Nihil drops a sack on the counter and then continues to glance at Kuras to the sack*

"... Do you want me to open it?"

*Nihil nods as Kuras opens the sack, now inspecting the items inside*

"Alright... Are these... Herbs?"

*Kuras looks at Nihil surprised and the man nods again*

"Nihil, these types of herbs can be used in ointments for treating amputation injuries. Quite rare indeed, even in Eridia. Where did you-- .... Nihil?........ Sigh, He disappeared."

• Leander → Dislikes, because of how annoying he is in the morning and how loud he is in the evening.

"...................."

"Mornin', Nihil! Just in time for breakfa- Hey, where are you going?"

*Nihil speed walks the fuck out of the Wet Wick*

• Mhin → Dislikes, because of their rude attitude.

".................."

"......................"

"............................"

"Will you stop your gawking? Focus."

"..............."

"Ughh... How on earth did Kuras deal with you?"

• Vere → Dislikes, because... It's Vere.

"Well, Well, well. If it isn't the Menace of the Abyss."

"................."

"Finally coming out after your hibernation period from your hidey-hole?"

"........................"

"Ugh, Leander should at least train his favorite mutt to hold one conversation."

*Vere leaves the Wet Wick*

"............ Bitch."

• Ais → Dislikes, because of how much of a cocky bastard Ais can be.

"......................"

"... Something on my face, Sparrow?"

*Nihil keeps staring at Ais' smirk and pulls out a dish of cooked seafood. Ais' smirk falters*

".............."

"...................."

*Nihil bites a huge chunk of the seafood, still staring at Ais.*

"............................"

"..................................."

(a low-effort, self-indulgent post about 141 x sunshine reader with a love for flowers <3)

Moving to a military town had been a gamble. You weren’t military, had no family in the service, and you had no real reason to pick this particular place other than the fact that it was safe, stable, and quiet. The houses were affordable, the people were friendly enough, and you figured you could make a home here. Besides, you were far enough from the base to avoid their early morning drills but close enough to still feel secure.

And it was nice. Really, it was.

The town had its charm. It was small, orderly, and filled with people who were either part of the military or had long grown used to living in the shadow of it.

You just hadn’t expected it to be so… plain.

Everything was muted, designed for practicality rather than beauty. Row after row of beige houses, identical porches, yards that were neat but uninspired. It felt more like a barracks than a town, and you knew you wouldn’t last long surrounded by such monotony.

So, you changed it.

Within a week of moving in, your porch was transformed into a floral wonderland. Ivy and jasmine vines trailed along the railings, hanging baskets, overflowed with cascading petunias, swung from the beams, and the front steps were lined with carefully arranged potted blooms. Roses, marigolds, lavender- anything that could inject some color and life into the dull uniformity of the street.

And the town noticed.

It started small- passersby slowing down, lingering in front of your house, knocking to ask if they can take pictures. Then came the comments at the local market.

“Did you see the new house on [] Street? The one covered in flowers?”

“I thought I was dreaming- looked like something out of a storybook!”

“Oh, that’s her place. She’s always out there, tending to them. Such a sweet thing, always smiling.”

And then came the soldiers.

One morning, while you were watering your newest additions- lilies this time- a group of soldiers on their way to base slowed in front of your house. Their conversation died off, replaced by muttered confusion.

“Didn’t know we had a damn botanical garden in town.” One of them said, adjusting the strap of his gear bag.

“Are those-” Another squinted at your newest arrangement. “Does she change them?”

“She does,” a woman in the group confirmed; you had seen her before, you were sure. “Saw her planting new ones last week. Honestly, it’s nice.”

You smiled to yourself, pretending not to notice as they carried on their way.

But it didn’t stop there.

Another soldier stopped during his run, hands on his hips as he took in your porch. “Hell of a setup.” He commented, glancing at you.

“Thank you!” You beamed, wiping your dirt-streaked hands on your shorts. “Wouldn’t want the town looking too drab, now would we?”

His lips twitched. “Well, you’re succeeding.”

More and more soldiers began to take notice. Some just passed by with lingering glances, others stopped to admire the work. A few even asked for gardening advice- one particularly flustered private admitted he wanted to impress his girlfriend with a flower arrangement but had no idea where to start. You happily helped him pick out a selection, even wrote him a little care guide.

It wasn’t just the passing soldiers, either.

Older women in town would stop by just to chat about your arrangements, some even bringing over cuttings from their own gardens. Parents would pause during walks, their children pointing excitedly at the bright flowers and fairy lights you had strung along the porch. The local baker started leaving small bags of cookies at your door with notes like, Your flowers made my morning brighter!

And then there was Task Force 141, as they’d eventually introduce themselves to you.

The first time you caught Captain John Price standing on your sidewalk, arms crossed as he stared at your house, you thought you were in trouble. He had the kind of presence that demanded respect- commanding, observant, the weight of experience in every movement.

“You lost?” you teased anyways, adjusting a pot of marigolds, and hoping he wouldn’t consider you disrespectful.

Price huffed a quiet laugh, eyes flicking between the vines, the flowers, the fairy lights. “No. Just… wasn’t expecting this.” He gestured vaguely at the floral explosion around you.

“Well,” you grinned. “I refuse to live somewhere that looks like a training camp. You are the soldiers, not me.”

That had been the start of it.

Soap was the next to visit. He showed up a few days later, leaning against your railing as he inspected a cluster of bright yellow sunflowers. “Got any of those that’ll survive my terrible luck?”

You hummed, then handed him a small, sturdy succulent. “Try not to kill it.”

Then came Gaz, who always claimed he was “just passing through” but somehow always found himself near your house. He asked questions- what flowers worked best for balconies? His mum has a love for tending to flowers as well. Did you have any recommendations for someone who had never taken care of a plant in his life?

Regardledd, you happily enjoyed chatting with him, and he left with a small potted fern, promising to send updates.

And then there was Ghost.

Ghost never exactly visited, but you saw him. Once, when you were rearranging your display and muttering about getting new soil, you spotted him standing across the street, arms folded as he observed your work. He didn’t say anything- just gave a barely perceptible nod before disappearing back into the shadows.

But the next morning, a heavy bag of high-quality soil rested against your porch steps. No note. No explanation.

But from what the others had told you of him… you knew who it was from.

The townsfolk had opinions about that, too.

“That group’s been sniffing around your place an awful lot,” Mrs. Holloway, the town baker, noted one morning as she handed you a fresh loaf of bread. “You got yourself a security detail, dear?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I think they just like the flowers.”

The butcher, a gruff man who had lived in the town longer than anyone, grunted in agreement. “Good. Those boys need something nice to look at.”

Even the local barista took notice. “Gaz came in the other day asking if we had any floral-themed drinks,” she giggled, leaning in close to you. “I swear, he’s trying to impress you.”

Ultimately, the town adored what you were doing. Where once there had been dull uniformity, now there was life. People started adding their own touches- small flower pots, window boxes, even a few hanging baskets inspired by yours. The air felt lighter, more welcoming.

And the 141?

They had seen the worst the world had to offer. They had fought in places where beauty was a distant memory, where survival took precedence over everything else.

Yet, somehow, you- sunshine incarnate, with dirt-streaked hands and a smile that could brighten even the darkest day- had managed to burrow into their hardened hearts.