my friends thought this concept was cool, and wanted me to write it, so i'm writing it in my own free time.
currently, only the random scenes i spat out in my notes app are published. so, there's no "real plot", for now. just little interactions an...
girls when they have to face the dread of their past being perceived
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
this is set before durgun joins, she is the last warrior to be recruited, as i said before.
the fragile nature of the truth is apparent to most people. easily bent and broken. so what gives us a right to pursue it? what gives us a right to hold it in our unpredictable hands?
handling a truth is complicated. bend it, mold it, break it, it will go back to how it was before your filthy limbs ever touched it.
i'm serving something that many would call "toxic" this chapter. violence included. there will also be slight discussions of sexual assault. proceed with caution cause i'm not placing warnings this time :D
i love hibana btw this song slaps - "you try to break this wall to bits, instead it goes in for a kiss." poetry bro -
"Oh, Nankör? What brings you here?" The blonde asks in her lavender pajamas, staring blankly at the tall, lanky figure standing wet at her door, tender drops still falling from him to the floor, forming small puddles of rain. He gazes at her silky hair flowing down her shoulders, then back at her face.
A heavy breath escapes him as he scratches at the side of his head anxiously. "It, um, it's raining. My house is far from here, and, you're closer..." he answers, gesturing at her unsurely. Before she can say anything, he continues in a quiet, shy desperation. "I-I mean, you said I could stop by anytime, so I thought-"
"Nankör, it's fine," Şımarık interrupts, a half-hearted amusement in her expression. He doesn't know what to make of it, smushes the embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. Does she always have to be like... this?
Something is off.
She steps to the side, showing him in. "Come on. I don't have any good clothing for you, but I can give you my oversized stuff while your clothes are in the dryer."
He steps in unsurely, looking at the place once again. Dim lights, those small and pretty lights that he still doesn't remember the name of are turned on, adding a warm feeling to the place. It's a familiar sight by now. "Dryer?"
"Yes, dryer. It's a machine that dries wet clothes."
"Ah, I don't have one of those, so I got confused for a sec..." he mutters, taking off his leather jacket, glistening from the rain. Şımarık points at the hangers by the door, and he obeys, gently hanging it. "So, where do I go..?"
"Where do you go?" Şımarık repeats in amusement. "The bathroom. I'll bring you some clothes."
He quickly obeys, gingerly stepping away to the bathroom to avoid getting the place too wet. Something tells him she probably doesn't mind, but the habits of minding the order of a home still linger in his mind.
He closes the bathroom door and takes off all the wet clothing latching uncomfortably on his skin, and Şımarık knocks on the door after a minute. He politely opens it, hiding himself behind it, and takes the clothing and a towel, closes the door with no words exchanged. He faintly hears her steps in the hallway, going towards the main space of her apartment. It is then that he notices that she has a special, floral scent in the bathroom. Dizzyingly fancy, like her.
