#a-bundle-of-radishes

[devotion-disorder]

It's crazy to see you say that you think you don't have the skill to draw Bailey how you wanna, while I'm here absolutely admiring your Harper drawings and thinking I don't have the skill to draw Harper how I wanna shdjdnjdsn

This probably says something about being an artist, doesn't it lolol

I guess so! I definitely have traits/elements that Im just way better at drawing / have more fun with drawing, and i can't always force all of them onto every character!

but to be real i don't think im ever 100% satisfied with my harper either LOL his hair horns (?) always give me trouble and i feel like i never quite capture his...salaciousness very well

#ask #a-bundle-of-radishes #harper the doctor #bailey the caretaker #degrees of lewdity #sillydoods #for me specifically i think its hard to adjust how old bailey looks LOL

[marlowe-art]

i was wandering through the produce section at the grocery store tonight, in search of things to paint, and i found this wonderful bundle of radishes!!!

#now to find out what on earth im going to cool with a bundle of radishes... #my art #artists on tumblr #oil pastels #food illustration

[coffeestainedcashmere]

off to a lovely start for the long weekend ✨

#personal #not pictured are: #massive breakfast radishes #Saturn peaches #red plums #a huge bundle of mint #and the sea salt olive oil focaccia #plus a third bundle of flowers #flowers

[iloveabunchofgames]

#JakeReviewsItch

Adventures of a Radish

by SorceressGameLab

Price (US): Name your own price

Included In: Bundle for Racial Justice and Equality, Bundle for Palestinian Aid, Indie Bundle for Abortion Funds

Genre: Platformer, Adventure

Pitch: A generic, stripped-down homage to NES side-scrolling platformers.

My expectations: Clearly inspired by Mario and Kirby, which might bring up some unfortunate comparisons. Everything about this looks amateurish. It's fine (albeit unnecessary) to boast that a game has seven worlds. Prominently featuring the name of each world on the store page is pushing it, especially when those worlds include, "The Forest," "The Desert," and "Cloud World."

Review:

If Super Mario walks into a bad guy, he dies, but if he jumps on top of a bad guy, the bad guy dies. He jumps on platforms and over gaps. Get 100 coins; get an extra life. These are true statements, but they don’t explain why people still adore Super Mario Bros. decades later. Mario doesn’t just jump. He hops. He leaps. He moves with momentum. A running jump can go higher and clear more distance than a standing jump, but it offers less air control. An enemy can be turned into a weapon, which can bounce back and endanger Mario once again.

Adventures of a Radish’s Radish jumps on bad guys and gets an extra life for collecting 100 yellow peppers.

And that’s it.

Jumps (and double jumps) are a fixed height The Radish has one speed, on the ground or in the air; even in the ice world. There are numerous enemy sprites but functionally, like, five types of enemies. They’re only a threat when they’re covered in (I assume) invisible spikes. Even bosses go down in one hit.

A copy of a copy of a copy that’s one step away from being a blank page.

+ I can picture a very little kid, who has never played an action game, having fun. Double-jumps might be a tricky concept, and confusing visual design might prove frustrating, though. On second thought, maybe just let them start with Mario or Kirby. + Peppy chiptunes. + Responsive, predictable controls. + There are attempts at variety. The single, slow-moving minecart stage contains exactly three obstacles to avoid (short, stationary barrels that are generously forgiving of early or late jumps), and the springs that appear in two or three levels lead no where and don't bounce the Radish any higher than a standard double-jump, but you know, they tried.

– Enemies and stages look different, but they're not. One thoughtfully designed level, with attention to detail and a small set of baddies that each serve a distinct purpose, would have been better than repeating the same mistakes across seven worlds. – A single jump is usually useless; a double-jump easily bypasses most obstacles. Indie platformer developers, I'm begging you, think about how important jumping is in your jumping game. We can talk about a second jump after you're finished working on your first. – How much effort went into making huge bosses in special arenas? I defeated five out of seven with a single hit. The other two took two hits. Most were smooshed before they could even attempt an attack. – Sloppy! Default controller bindings mix up horizontal and vertical. Background decorations (which often look like platforms but aren't) slip in front of foreground objects. "1UP" is written backwards when facing left. Sometimes enemies fail to load. Once, I started a level with an enemy already placed on the starting point. Bonus levels (big waste of time) are activated by touching big, easily accessible coins with the letter R on them, but it takes a few seconds before they rip you to the R-Zone. There's one R-coin placed immediately before the end of the level. I finished the level, heard the end-of-level fanfare, and then found myself in the bonus level. I collected my six worthless peppers, waited for time to run out, and then reappeared...at the start of the level I'd just finished. Sloppy!

🧡🧡🤍🤍🤍 Bottom Line: Mostly functional, and easy enough for budding platformer fans who aren't ready for a good game, though I still think they'd get more out of running into a Goomba or chasing a runaway mushroom into a bottomless pit. It builds character.

#JakeReviewsTwitch is a series of daily game reviews. You can learn more here. You can also browse past reviews...

• By name • By rating • By genre

#JakeReviewsItch #Computer Games #Video Games #Itch.io #Reviews #Adventures of a Radish #SorceressGameLab #Indie Bundle for Abortion Funds #Bundle for Palestinian Aid #Bundle for Racial Justice and Equality #Mario #Kirby #Donkey Kong Country #Neo-Retro #Bad platformers #Indie games

[saint-ambrosef]

newbie's guide to produce

for all my peers who were not taught how to shop for veggies and fruit on a budget and struggle to use them before they go bad:

(disclaimer: prices are approximate based on where i live in the Southern US. costs may be higher in your area, but the comparison of cost should still be valuable.)

cheap produce year-round:

roma tomatoes. if they look under-ripe you can leave them on the counter for a few days. keeps in fridge for about 2 weeks. $1/lb.

cucumbers. around here they're 50-60 cents each. go bad quickly though, about 1 week in fridge.

celery. two bucks for a head. starts to get sad after two weeks in fridge. only makes sense if you like to snack on celery or make soups often.

corn. whole ears are like 20cents each mid-summer, otherwise just get frozen. $1.50 for a lb.

peas. get these puppies frozen for $1.50/lb. good protein, too.

romaine lettuce. one head is good for several small salads, about $2 and lasts a week in fridge. the big boxes/multi-packs may seem like a better deal but not if it all goes bad before you can eat it.

onions. kind of a given but you can get regular yellow varietals for less than a buck per pound. will last for 1-2 months in pantry.

potatoes. you can get 5lb bags of russets for three bucks. sweet potatoes are a lil over $1/lb. last 2-3 months in pantry; if they grow sprouts, you can cut those off and still eat it.

bananas. dirt cheap. a small bunch (4-5) costs like a dollar. if they go over-ripe before you eat them all just get less or get a few green ones (p.s: you're allowed to break them off larger clumps).

radishes. $1.50 for a little bundle. greens get wilty after a week, roots will last 2 weeks (you can use both parts).

hot peppers. poblano, jalapeno, etc., are often quite cheap and you usually don't need very many anyways. few weeks fridge or counter.

cheap produce when in season:

summer squash. in summertime (duh), zucchini and yellow squash are like $1.25/lb. only last a week or so though in fridge.

winter squash. actually in season in fall, these are your butternuts and acorn squash. less than $1/lb then. lasts in pantry for months.

green beans. in warm months they can be on sale for $1.50/lb! last 1.5-2 weeks in fridge? (kinda depends on the shape they're in)

kale. it's a cool-season green that commonly is on sale in colder months. $1.60 for a big bunch, about 1.5 weeks in fridge before it gets seriously wilty. (can be eaten cooked or raw!)

apples. fall/winter, usually at least one variety on sale for $1.25/lb. last forever.

oranges. most citrus are winter fruits. $1/lb. will last forever in your fridge.

strawberries. spring. at their peak, i can find them for $2/lb. otherwise they are too expensive.

watermelon. $8 for big 10lb melons. they can take up a ton of space though and need to be refrigerated once cut/ripe.

cantaloupe. another summer star! $1.50 each on sale. they will slow ripen in the fridge but you do have to keep an eye on it.

pineapple. $1.50 in summer time. might be ripe even when still a bit green, ready when they smell noticeably ripe.

pears. fall season, sometimes into winter. $1.20/lb. last 1-2 weeks on the counter or forever in the fridge.

pomegranate. in winter time they can be found for $2 each. tricky to peel though.

peaches. and nectarines (which are just fuzzless peaches). $1.25/lb in summer and will last for weeks in your fridge.

eggplants. summertime veggie, you can get for $1.50 when they're on sale. otherwise a bit pricey. keep in fridge for 2 weeks.

mid-range produce:

cabbage. three bucks for a 2-lb head but you can get a lot out of it. will keep 3-4 weeks in the fridge but any exposed cut sides will start moldering after a week.

mushrooms. white button or baby bella. $1.50 for 8oz. keep in mind, mushrooms halve in size after cooking. ~2 weeks though.

avocados. if you live in the South like me, small hass varietals are 60-80 cents apiece in winter. ripe when it gives just a little to squeezing (you can't go off color alone).

broccoli. fresh is $1.70ish per head and lasts a week in fridge. frozen is $1.50/lb but might be kind of mushy.

most greens. spring mixes, spinach, arugula, etc can really vary in price but often fall into a few bucks at least per bundle/package. in a fridge's humidity drawer they last 1-2 weeks.

kiwis. i love them but they're a bit pricey for their size. 50 cents each. their keep depends on how ripe they are at purchase.

expensive produce:

asparagus. one of the most expensive veggies. sometimes in spring you can get it for $2/lb (a steal but still a bit much). lasts 1.5 weeks.

brussel sprouts. same as above.

red or yellow bell peppers. they are used sooo often in recipes and it annoys me. often $1.50-2.00 each. last a long time in fridge.

caluiflower. three bucks for a head. yikes!

green beans. when they're not in season, they are like $3/lb.

snap peas. same as above, except they never seem to be on sale.

raspberries. go bad in 3 days and cost an arm and a leg. sometimes when they're in season you can get them for like $2 per half-pint as a treat.

blueberries and blackberries. even when they're in season, they're still $2 per pint.

grapes. they can sorta be affordable in the fall season for $2/lb, but otherwise they're double that. and usually you have to commit to buying several pounds. last 2 weeks in fridge.

plums. i love them so so much but they're only in season for like 2 weeks of the year it seems and they're like $3/lb.

inexpensive accoutrements: (for garnishes, seasoning, etc)

limes. 25cents apiece. they'll start to dry out after 1 week on the counter so keep them in the fridge unless you will use it soon.

lemons. usually 50cents each for the small varietals. keep same as above.

green onions. less than a dollar for a bunch, and you can easily regrow a few times at home if you stick the white rooted end in water by a window.

cilantro. 50cents. will last WAY longer (1-2 weeks) if you keep it in a mug of water in the fridge.

parsley. 85cents. same as above.

obviously sticking just with popularly available produce across the country. it's not an exhaustive list but can give you a bit more perspective on what produce you should be focusing on if you're trying to work with a tight grocery budget. good luck!

[suguru-getos]

| Brat in her place | Ayato Kamisato x f!reader |

-> Been a while, I miss Waka 🤭 and I had so much fun writing this little prompt! Warnings: ruined orgasm, edging, he eventually decides to let you cum again tho kekeek.

“If the cunning rabbit burrows thrice, what of the cunning human?” You remember Ayato saying this to you once, when you asked if he has other— cards up his sleeve apart from the Shumatsuban. Being the high lady of the Kamisato clan, the wife of the head has it’s own highs and lows. Ayato was always kind to you, except when he’s not. That’s a rare predicament but you don’t mind it, infact— your behavior sometimes encourages it.

“Ah, Thoma! Your cooking is exquisite as always.” You beamed at the lunch table, having luncheon with Ayato and yourself. Ayato didn’t mind it, you were right of course. “I wonder if I could keep you all to myself.” This sentence, caused the housekeeper to flush hard, while irked Ayato’s reaction too. “Why of course, he is— kept by me.” Ayato corrected you, while you clicked your tongue, knowing you managed to get the territorial man exactly where you wanted him to be.

“Yes, of course Waka.” You nodded, sipping another slurp of the radish mixed veg soup and half-moaning at how your tastebuds danced with the aroma & delicacy. Granted you wouldn’t be this bold if it wasn’t only Ayato and Thoma in the room.

Thoma beamed with a cheerful grin, trying hard to ignore the way Ayato’s body language had changed from a welcoming to a commanding one. Oh boy— he felt as if he was in a Retainer meeting. Not good—“I’m glad you liked it, my lady. If you’d excuse me now, I have something to take care of.” Thoma bowed and left, making sure you don’t get a chance to stop him. If anything— both of the men knew you were in a mood today. A fiesty mood.

“Quite bold of you, to be so thorough with the sounds your little mouth makes when you enjoy something.” Ayato remarked, clicking his tongue and glancing towards you. “You jealous?” You bit back, maybe biting off more than you can chew.

“Me? Jealous? Well—” Ayato sounded almost surprised, a grave chuckle escaping his tight knit brows. “No, darling. I’m not jealous over your antics. I know completely these are nothing but parlor tricks to get my attention.” Ayato shrugged, taking a sip of the radish veggie soup. “No one can please you as good as me after all.” There he was— the spoiled, bratty Yashiro Commissoner in the flesh.

“Maybe I could, make it up to you… remind you how good my touch feels in every little crevice of your dainty little body. Or— maybe I could remind you of your manners, hmm?” Ayato’s fingers tilted your chin up, ensuring your eyes met his. Siren, glazed with flames of lust and dominance.

You gulped, evading eye contact at the statement. You could almost feel dizzy at the intensity with which Ayato was handling this. Fuck— you were clamping around nothing.

One thing led to another, Ayato asked if you’d like to be reminded of something— you agreed & now you were sitting pretty on his lap, legs spread and locked with his own in the way, back pressed snugly against his clothed chest and his heavy breaths sending jolts down your spine. Ayato had worn his gloves back, you know he does that when he’s in a mood to punish you, to put you back in your place. To remind you who you belong to.

He’s been at it for hours, lazily rubbing and strumming at your swollen, sensitive bundle of nerves while leaning his hand away as soon as he sees you cumming. You know Ayato is determined because he’s not left for his study since the lunch. You’ve been reduced to a babbling mess. “Yato— Please, please— s’ too much.” You wiggled against him, like a tied up bunny.

“Hmm, I know. It is too much for me to see you brat up so bad.” He hummed, sighing at the shell of your ear. His hot breath fanning over the earlobe just right, just enough to rise you to the apex of pleasure while he takes it all down. Leaves you tumbling down to nothing; then rakes it all up again.

“Yato— please- Waka Sama! Please!” You whimpered, feeling the pain in your clit getting used to the rigorous edging. It was then, that your body betrayed you, a mind melting orgasm coursing through every nerve ending as you whimpered, leaning your head back against his chest and rutting your hips for more—

Ayato leaned his hand back, again—

Cruel…

“Ah, going to have to ruin this one. Sorry, my love. You must know better than to ask for permission from your husband, who owns you, who takes care of you, who—” you were sobbing now, irritated at the pleasure seeping through your fingers and whimpering for more.

“Who puts you in your place.” Ayato completed his sentence, kissing your cheek and leaving you be. “Please— please I wanna cum. Yato— I’ll be good, so good for you.” Now you were truly begging, truly submitting to him like he wanted.

“Oh I’m not sure about that, you see— my wife is a force to reckon with. Even I know she can’t simply follow orders—”

“Yato— Please.” You quaked, lips quivering as you glanced up at him like a kicked puppy.

“Fine, I’m not that cruel now. At least, not to my one and only.” Ayato took off his gloves, a sign he’s pleased and this is all over. A sign of intimacy as his fingers raked their way through your over-edged cunt. “But remember— good girls.”

“A-ask for permission.” You gasped out, completing his sentence.

“That’s a good girl.”

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin thirst #ayato kamisato #ayato smut #ayato x reader #ayato thirst

[whimsigothwitch]

Gifts from nature, it feels so good to be able to eat from your own garden. Spring onions, yellow beans and radishes for a salad, sage for tea and bundles I'm going to be drying.

#Litha #summer #witchy #witchy things #witchyvibes #witches #witch #whimsigoth #whimsigothic #witchythings #whimsical #witchcraft #witch aesthetic #witch community #witchcraft community #witches of tumblr #magick #pagan #wheel of the year #summer solstice #summertime #summer witch #green witch #green witchcraft #nature #garden #veggies #vegtables #food #healthy food

[pigeonpeach]

My Heart Calls Your Name

Nilou x gn eremite reader part 3

Summary: The week had gone by faster than expected. Now you must depart back to the desert. Although you had spent years in the desert, it doesn’t feel the same

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4 the end

Little warning for alcohol

“Well I was wrong.” Clear Water proudly proclaimed seeing you walking towards her and the rest of the tribe. They turned mildly surprised but hid it quickly. “So. How was your vacation? Just what you needed?” Clear water asked. You nodded.

“It was nice. I’ve learned alot culinary wise.” You said with a smile.

“So you didn’t spend time with that dancer lady?” Your matriarch teased. “Say wheres your mask at?” You searched your bags finding it missing. You must’ve left it with Nilou..

“Oh crap.” You sighed. ClearWater sighed.

“We have extra, here.” Pulling it from one of the bags. You dawned it on, obscuring your vision slightly but still able to see. There was something in your heart. Like a flower stuck in a tiny pot, eager to grow beyond the clay walls. But you knew it was for the best. You would get over it someday.

“You didn’t answer my question little chef, what did you do while you were gone?” The Matriach asked once more.

“Ah, well I helped her theatre group and tried some foods. I have new recipes to try now so I say it was nice.” You answered. She noticed your hesitation.

“You’re okay right?” She asked shooing the rest. They left to probably recount supplies and feed the sumpter beast. But Clear Water still glanced at you occasionally.

“W-why wouldn’t I be?” You asked confused.

“Well You seem disappointed. Like you wanted to stay there.” She answered. You gulped.

“I mostly miss getting to sleep on a mattress mostly.” You dismissed. She seemed unconvinced.

“Hopefully you didn’t soften too much. Its good to see you again.” She patted you on the shoulder, sending you off to held load the sumpter beast’s cargo. Now alone with your thoughts you couldn’t help but feel like every step and movement was harder. The Ribat is familiar, you’ve come here more times than you could count on both hands and toes. This job is what you’ve held for years now with no other change until now. But something felt disheartening to know you may never see Nilou again, her theatre team, the various dads you befriended who were equally enthusiastic with cooking as you. You felt the unrealistic desire to run right back to the city and look for Nilou, profess your love and let that determine your destiny. But its too late now.

“Hey!” Clearwater said catching your attention.

“Oh sorry.” You said facing her.

“Its fine, I was just asking you what the deal with that dancer lady is.” She sighed carrying a bundle of peppers and radishes. You felt confused, your tribe hardly ever brought vegetables. “Oh and I wanted to show you some veggies we got. I figured you must’ve been tired of the meats so I wanted to give you some variety.” You nodded.

“Thanks. And her name is Nilou.”

“Nilou. Oh yeah you told me about her, you spent alot of time with her didn’t you?” She asked casually, adjusting the straps on the Beast. You focused your attentions on scratching behind its head to help it relax, it grumbled in thanks as it leaned closer, giving Clear Water a better chance to reach the one open flap that bothered her.

“Yeah. She was great. She was friends with so many people. Everywhere we went she’d get like discounts and freebies because she knew the owners. Even got me a nice inn room for a reduced price.” You smiled. “I got to try lots of other foods too. Padisarah Pudding was my favorite. Unfortunately those ingredients are harder for us to get and maintain so I won’t be able to cook it.”

“Sounds tasty. What was she like?”

“Lovely.. i-i mean her dancing was lovely. I helped her theatre group and had dinner with them lots, they were all so welcoming and nice. Nilou made sure I never overworked myself though. She even taught me to dance.” You smiled reminiscing.

“Really? So I’m guessing it didn’t work out?” She asked. You paused looking at her directly. You thought about denying it, but at this rate you knew it was true. It seemed like everyone knew anyways, there was no use in denying it.

“I- uh… never told her. I just… didn’t have the courage.” You said quietly. The sumpter beast grumbled wanting more scratches to which you obliged.

“You should’ve. You need too actually.” She said quieter as well. She picked up more bags to slide on-top of the beasts.

“Well I can’t anymore. She couldn’t come to see me off so unless I want to delay our leave I can’t tell her now.” You said.

“Send a letter. If you never tell her then you’ll always be wishing for her. At least if she rejects you then you’ll feel better about your decision here.” She said. She had a point. That idea seemed interesting actually.

“You know.. I’ll do that. Do you have a paper?” You asked. She smiled pulling out some.

“How do you do it?” You asked curiously. Nilou looked up. At you. She was adjusting the straps on her legs when she seemed to get a idea. You met up with her early, maybe too early. There’s no one else in the Theatre here yet, and few people in the area altogether.

“Ooh do you want to learn to dance?” She asked.

“Well maybe not completely.. I’m just a little curious” your posture stiffened.

“Well I could show you.” She smiled, by now you knew she was eager to do so. “I sometimes give lessons to kids, so I assure you I’ll be a good teacher.” You sighed.

“Alright.” You said. Steeping out onto the empty stage. All props were in storage currently. There was minimal people out now, they were more focused on setting their stalls up. You took a deep breath getting closer.

“Alright, lets start with some stretching exercises.” She said. “First lets touch our toes, you don’t have to reach it, just bend down and do your best.” Her voice was encouraging, you felt a little embarrassed in this position, but she was doing it with you, so you felt less silly. It felt strenuous but nice to stretch our your hamstrings. “Then you’re going to cross your arms like this.” She demonstrated by crossed her left arm across her body, pointed straight in the other way, her other harm pressed it closer to her chest. You followed, feeling the stretch, swapping hands as she did. “Alright lets start with something easy.”

Dancing with Nilou felt so natural. You watched her carefully and tried to mimic every step and even bend in her limbs, every turn and even her relaxed but neutral expression.

“You know, your friend isn’t too bad actually.” A sudden voice interrupted, causing you to seize up and almost fall if Nilou hadn’t caught your arm in time. It was just a friend of hers, the costumer for the theatre group.

“I know right. I feel like if we just changed their wardrobe they’d be perfect.” She smiled. You immediately stiffened.

“Eh its not worth it. I’m not that good too perform.” You immediately dismissed. They chuckled.

“Practice makes perfect. Enough time and you might become more admired than miss Nilou.” She teased. You felt a bit saddened.

“Oh well.. I don’t really have that time. I’m only on vacation after all.” You corrected. She seemed a bit embarrassed at that correction.

“Oh right, sorry I forgot. You just fit in so well I forgot you would be leaving soon.” She said. “Oh could you two help carry the costume rack up here? I can’t do it alone.”

“I’ll do it, you can keep practicing Nilou.” You said. Heading down the stairs to the costume rack. Nilou watched from afar. Her smile faded once your gaze was elsewhere.

“You’ve really gotten attached haven’t you?” The woman whispered to her. She nodded.

“I can’t help it. Keep it secret though, I don’t want to make them uncomfortable.” Nilou whispered. While you focused on steadying the rack with another member who came over.

“Tonight was our most successful performance yet!” The manager declared. The troupe applauded and cheered as they had stopped mid wrap up to enjoy the news. You meanwhile observed them, smiling as you were holding the ladder for someone currently. “This calls for celebration! Once we’re done here I’ll cover anyone’s tab at the tavern, just don’t go too crazy.” You felt intrigued. You hadn’t had any liquor or anything since your vacation started. Now might be a nice time to enjoy it. You also were curious to see what Nilou was like drunk.

“Sounds great!”

“Well lets get to work then!” Chatter began as people congratulated each other, Nilou mingling somewhere in the crowd while you helped the lady down.

“You’ve been a good help here. You should visit whenever you get the chance.” She smiled. “Of course if you ever want to retire from your current job then we’d be happy to welcome you aboard!” You were surprised at that. Slightly tempted to.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” You said. After helping her package things up you walked over to Nilou who seemed ecstatic. She had a bunch of flowers in her hands. Bouquets from fans and friends likely.

“Thank you so much for your help. I really can’t thank you enough. You’re heading to the tavern right? Maybe we could go together I hear the foods great I’ll even pay for dinner as thabks-“ she cut herself off as she blushed embarrassed. “Ah sorry! I didn’t mean to say that all so fast. I’d just been rehearsing it in my head for so long.” She sheepishly admitted as she slowed her breath. You felt confused but intrigued.

“I wouldn’t mind that no. How soon will you be heading there?” You asked.

“Soon, i just gotta give these flowers to everyone. Oh heres yours! A gift of gratitude!” She smiled as you took the bouquet. This was the first bouquet you had gotten ever. Genuinely you had never received flowers beforehand. You paused admiring the flowers as she anxiously analyzed your expression. You were lost in thought as you felt your heart swell even more than possible. You never felt this appreciated, this welcomed and this loved. You couldn’t stop the big smile on your face.

“Thank you.. so much Nilou. I-i really an glad I came here.” You stammered. Your reaction calmed her slightly.

“Your welcome. Oh I really should give the others their flowers, then we can head out!” She excitedly said, dashing off. You heard a chuckle from behind. You turned to see the costumer.

“You know, she doesn’t do this normally right?” She asked.

“She doesn’t?” You asked confused. She nodded in confirmation. “Then why would she?”

“Well she probably wanted a excuse to give you a bouquet. But you didn’t hear that from me.” She smiled cheekily as she walked away. You watched Nilou handing out the bouquets, the reactions were indeed a mix of surprise but confusion. This was indeed out of the normal. The idea that she went this far to give you this made you blush. You wished you had your mask on now to hide it.

That night at the tavern had been eventful. You had struggled to hear Nilou properly as she had a softer voice.

“This place is really noisy huh?” She said nervously.

“Do you not come here often?” You asked. “Taverns are always noisy at nights like this.”

“I figured. I guess you’re used to this kind of environment.” She played with her hair, you wondered if she was blushing or if it was just the early signs of drunkenness coming in.

“Definitely. Hopefully a fight doesn’t break out. That’s when things really get loud.” You commented. Another round of wine was passed to your table, the other adults chatting amongst themselves. You noticed none of them tried to chat with Nilou, you wondered if for a second they’d plan that so she could spend time with you. You also noticed nilou tried to mimic your pace at drinking. You really enjoyed the cocktail you had ordered. The sweetness of sunsettias and bitterness of wine was addictive. You felt more at ease. “You know this one time, this couple of eremite dudes got in a huge fight. Well we thought they were fighting, turns out it was a really weird make out session. I guess they were so drunk they forgot about basic decency. Anyways found out later that the other proposed that night. Think they’re still together.” Nilou seemed interested in that story, or she was just staring at your face.

“That’s wild. Do eremites fight alot when drunk?” She asked, her voice a little slurred. You smiled, the tensuon in your body had faded at this point.

“Certainly. We fight for fun sometimes when sober, but that’s like coordinated and not as extreme. You know it has rules like no making the other bleed and no weapons and such. Its just to help the two get stronger. But when they’re drunk its a problem. Friendly spars turn into vicious fights. Its not uncommon for eremites to get banned actually. We have to limit ourselves usually or the bartender may have us kicked out at the first sign of rowdy behavior.” You giggled.

“Wow. I rarely see fights here. Sometimes you see students getting into quarrels but that’s hardly entertaining.”

“Figured, its just a bunch of nerds arguing over formulas I bet.” You chuckled, she laughed along.

“Probably. Have you ever been hit on at a tavern before?” She asked. Even in your relaxed, not too drunk but still inebriated state did you feel surprised.

“Eh not much.” You shrugged. She seemed surprised.

“Really?! But you’re so pretty!” She said, her hands suddenly reaching out to hold your face. You felt your heart jump as she looked right into your eyes. You had never been called pretty before. “Or handsome..or beautiful.. you’re just attractive is what i mean! Like your eyes are so striking, it feels like a crime that you wear a mask to hide them!” She was definitely drunk now. But you knew drunk people were reflections of people’s true feelings and thoughts. That fact only made you even more flushed.

“Y-you think so? No one has ever called me that.” You responded, still not pushing her off of you. You wouldn’t let her go further than that. You weren’t a one night stand kind of person.

“Really? What is wrong with the people you’ve met!” She giggled, moving her hands she scooted closer to you and laid her head on your shoulder. “You’re perfect to me.”

“You think so?” You asked. If you were a dog your tail would be wagging, like a feral wolf that just learned how wonderful it felt to be petted and praised. Its like she was domesticating you, if you were sober you would fear getting too used to her sweet and affectionate personality, but you hardly could even remember what number your refill was at.

“I know so. You have such big muscles! Such a gentle temperament and not to mention how patient and hardworking you are.” She giggled. “Its not just the wine talking too, though I’m sure if it could talk it would agree with me.” You laughed at that joke.

The night had continued with laughter and random face touches and muscles squeezing from Nilou, your hands kept to yourself until you had to walk her home.

“You know the way back to your house right?” You asked, your hand supporting her by her waist as her hand was slung over your shoulders. You noticed a sudden boost of confidence in her eyes.

“Can I sleep at your place? I don’t want you to have to walk home alone afterwards.” She said. “Since you’re drunk too.. i don’t want anyone takin ‘vantage of you.”

“I only have one bed though.” You didn’t really mind, you were just nervous about things progressing from there. You weren’t ready for that and nor did you want it to be while drunk.

“Its okay I’ll sleep on the floor or something.” She smiled. You obliged eventually.

The door swung open as you now carried her, she had been too drunk to make it up the stairs. Holding her bridal style, you carried her to the bed. She giggle while playing with your hair.

“Its sooo soft.. i can’t believe it! How do you keep it so silky and smooth!” She said.

“Just some good ol oils and brushing.” You laid her down, tucking her in as you collected a few pillows and started to make a makeshift bed on the floor, dragging out your sleeping bag from your job and laying it out. “Alright now get to sleep. I’m sure you’ll be plenty of busy tomorrow-WOAH!” You were yanked into bed by a surprising strength coming from the drunken Nilou. The bed was small so she practically climbed ontop of you, laying her head on your chest as she smiled.

“Night night.” And like that she was out. Your face was all red for sure. But you couldn’t help but enjoy it slightly. You weren’t sure why Nilou was so touchy and affectionate. Love seemed like the obvious but least likely in your mind. Deep down, drunk or not, you found it hard to believe someone could love you. But her hands around you, gradually shifting to spooning, her holding you… you let yourself enjoy it knowing it’d likely be the last time you would feel this way.

That night you slept better than any drunken sleeps before.

The night in the desert felt different now. You were on guard as you watched the horizon and distance carefully. Nothing but foxes looking for lizards too hunt. You remembered suddenly how it felt to be held, to be the little spoon. How it felt to be loved and to love. You doubted she’d ever write back. You doubted you could ever show your face now that the letter was sent. You felt your chest tighten. A undoubtable longing inside for her. Your heart called her name, your exposed and scarred skin longed to be held and touched by her, your ears craved to hear her voice, and your eyes wished to see her smile once more. You were in love, how horrible. The sand felt like shards of metal now, the once familiar terrain seemed so bland and empty. But there was comfort in it, the familiarity of it. You wondered how soon you could return to the Ribat, and if you could catch sight of her once more…

But that letter.. you knew in your heart if you she reciprocated then… then what? Would you give up your life you had lived all these years, that you had been so accustomed to and raised for, all for her? Would it be worth it in the end? Would it be a mistake or the best decision in your life?

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #domestic fluff #pinning #slight angst #nilou x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #reader is really starved of love #just like me fr

[pichiiko]

finally here's a piece i did for the fears of calorum, a tma x acoc/trw zine organised by the lovely saffron (@/GaubHefta on twitter) !!!!! it's a crossover between my favourite radish oldman and the extinction :0

you can download the zine here and a bundle of 50+ other d20-related zines here !! @d20zinejam

#d20 zine jam #dimension 20 #raphaniel charlock #the ravening war #trw #d20 trw #tma #the magnus archives #my art !! #calorum

[suguwu]

lover be good to me: part four

You meet Kita Shinsuke on a rainy summer day, with a sea of hydrangeas swirling at your feet. You know him instantly, as only a soulmate can. He seems like a good man. Like a good soulmate.

But it’s your wedding day.

masterlist

minors and ageless blogs do not interact

pairings: kita shinsuke x f!reader, oc x f!reader

notes: we are finally at the end. thank you so much for coming along on this ride with me. this fic truly is dear to me and i can't believe it's finally done.

as always, massive thanks to my beta for both the edits and the endless support throughout the process, especially when i thought writing this fic would never end.

title and part title are from hozier’s “be”

tags for this part (contains spoilers for fic): soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, slow burn, pining, hurt/comfort, reader and kita are implied to be around their 30s, food consumption, non-graphic partner death (not kita), grief/mourning, healing, love as a choice.

wc: 12k

You settle into the farmhouse. 

It’s easier than you thought. Maybe it’s the way Yoshida is brusque but kind; she’s not careful with you. It’s a refreshing change of pace. 

You find yourself at her side most nights, chopping vegetables or marinating tofu as she tells you about growing up in the country. She spins stories like thread, weaving them together like the expert seamstress she is. Her son joins in some nights too.

You still get lost sometimes, though.

The early mornings are the worst. 

The birds sing you to wakefulness, their song high and trilling, and you press your face into the pillow with a groan. “Loud. Shut the window, Aoshi,” you mumble, shoving out at him. Your hand hits empty space and your brow scrunches. You push to your elbows and find a room that’s not your own, though you blearily recognize the suitcase tucked into the closet. 

You shift on the bed and realize it’s too small. A twin.

It all comes pouring back in. 

“Fuck,” you say, low and quiet. The tears pool in your eyes, burning hot, and you try to blink them back to no avail. You curl in on yourself like a fiddlehead as you lie back down. 

You do not move for a very long time.

The world has gone blue when there’s a knock on your door, twilight settling in like the ocean tide, easing its way across the sky. You don’t answer. Another knock comes and then there’s Kita’s voice murmuring your name.

You almost ignore him. But there’s something in his voice you can’t resist, a melancholy thread woven in through the syllables of your name. You get to your feet and open the door.

Kita studies you for a moment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You blink. “Go where?”

“My place. I’m cookin’.” 

“Shinsuke—”

“I know.”

You bite at your lower lip. Kita meets your gaze steadily, his amber eyes darkened to a deep, sweet brown by the dim lighting. There’s a promise in them too. 

“Okay,” you say at last. “Let me get dressed.”

He waits downstairs as you throw on some clothes. You can hear him talking quietly to Yoshida. He gives you a little smile when you join him at the genkan. 

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

It’s true autumn now and the slight chill in the air proves it. The rice stalks are spun gold, swaying in the wind as the truck trundles down the road to Kita’s farm. You watch a stork wade carefully through the fields. It dips down with its long, elegant neck and disappears from sight. 

The radio is playing quietly. Kita hums along with it sometimes, mostly at the old, crooning ballads. You watch the countryside roll by, the farmhouses little ships in the night, their lit windows a beacon as dusk falls. 

He bundles you into the farmhouse when you arrive, handing you a pair of house slippers that have little radishes on them. You can’t help your smile. 

You follow him into the living room and settle at the kotatsu when he points you there. It’s close enough that you can see into the kitchen through the open archway; he rolls up his sleeves and starts gathering ingredients from the fridge and the pantry.

“Can I help?” you ask after a few minutes, getting to your feet and joining him.

“Sure,” he says, handing you a freshly-washed daikon. “Slice that real thin, please.”

You make a cut. “This thin enough?”

He peers over. “A little thinner,” he says. “Can I?”

You nod and he takes your hands briefly, guiding them to the thinness he wants and pressing down. His hands are warm, his fingers and palm rough with calluses that catch lightly against your skin. He curls his fingers around yours, his tendons going taut, and pushes down. The knife slides through the daikon and stops against the cutting board. 

“There,” he says. “Like that.” 

“Okay.”

He nods and heads back to his cutting board which is laden down with a bright medley of varying vegetables. “What’re you doin’ tomorrow?'' he asks.

“Nothing,” you say. “Why?”

You sound more defensive than you mean to. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, a sharp flicker of amber, but says nothing. 

“Was thinking you could come out to the fields with me.”

“I don’t know,” you say.

“It’d be good for you to get outside,” he says mildly. “Rather than being up in yer room all day.” 

Your knife thunks against the cutting board. Kita is unperturbed, only glancing your way briefly to make sure you’re not injured. He goes back to peeling carrots, his lean, strong hands moving quickly and with steady confidence. 

You study him for a moment, taking in the set of his lips and the soft furrow of his brow. You sigh.

“Okay,” you say. “I’ll come.”

He flashes you a tiny quirk of his lips, a smile that’s as fleeting as a summer storm and just as warm. 

“Good.” 

He keeps cooking as he talks, pulling you from your thoughts when you get lost in them, when the fog starts to roll back in like a marine layer. It’s uncanny, how well he can tell when you’ve been set adrift. He’s a mooring you didn’t know you needed. 

Kita hums his thanks as you give him the daikon. He slips them into a pickling mix before handing you a cucumber. 

“Peel and cut thin?” you ask.

“Yup.” 

As you peel, you can’t help but watch as he moves about the kitchen. He moves as efficiently as ever, no wasted movement, but there’s something soft to it too. You can’t quite pin it down. 

“Yer staring.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.” 

You shrug, starting to cut up the cucumber. “I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Nothing important,” you say, waving him off. “Tell me how Aran is doing, he and I haven’t talked for a while.” 

The rest of the cooking goes by quickly as you talk and soon you’re both settled at the kotatsu. It’s radiating warmth. You snuggle deeper into it; with the sun fully set, it’s grown even more chilly outside despite the heat of the day. Winter is still a ways off, but you can feel the first touch of it hidden in the autumn breeze that leaks in through the window Kita had left cracked to keep the kitchen from overheating. 

You glance over the food. Kita’s kept it simple but hearty. There’s steam curling through the air in little smoky wisps. You watch as it dissipates and then take the plate that Kita hands you with a small thank you.

It’s a good meal. The two of you talk through it with ease, never missing a beat and rarely with an awkward pause. When you lapse into silence, it’s comfortable. 

“I should go,” you say eventually, glancing at the clock. “I don’t want to wake Yoshida when I come in.”

“Alright.” 

He drives you home, the headlights of his truck cutting through the night. The moon is out now; it bathes the fields with light until they practically shimmer. The crickets are calling, their song audible even over the low purr of the truck’s engine. 

When you pull up to Yoshida’s, there’s a light still on at the engawa, a soft glow to lead you home. It warms something in you.

Kita walks you to the door. 

“How early do I have to get up tomorrow?” you ask. “Do I even want to know?”

He laughs quietly. “Ya don’t need to keep my schedule,” he says. “I’ll come get you after lunch.” 

“Okay.”

He looks at you. His usual stoicness has faded into something warm and open; you take a deep breath. You bid him a quiet goodnight that he returns just as quietly, his amber eyes knowing. 

You go to sleep with your hand wrapped around your wedding rings. 

***

“Sunscreen,” Kita says, holding out the tube to you. 

“I know, I know,” you grouse, taking it from him. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“You forgot last time.”

“Point taken.” 

You apply the sunscreen as he gathers what he needs. He’s still rustling around when you finish. You turn your face up to the sun, letting the rays brush over your skin like a lover, a sweet kiss of heat. 

When you open your eyes again, Kita is watching you with a tiny smile, a crescent moon of a thing. Something in you pangs. 

You glance away from him and look to the rolling fields instead. In the bright sunlight, they’re Midas-touched, scorched gold with a hint of green at the bottom of each stem. It’s a sea of rice, rippling in the breeze like kelp caught in the ocean’s current, and it’s beautiful in a way that makes you feel small. 

Kita comes up beside you and gazes at his farm.

“It’s pretty,” you tell him.

“It’s gotta get cut,” he says.

“I know.”

He glances at you. You blink as he reaches out and smudges his thumb against your cheek. It’s gentle, his touch careful despite the rough calluses on the pad of his thumb. “Ya missed some sunscreen,” he says, rubbing it in with a light sweep. He lingers for a moment before pulling away.

“Oh. Thanks,” you say, biting at your lower lip as he turns away.

“C’mon,” Kita says. 

You follow him deep into the field, to a swath of already cleared land. The two of you settle at the edge of it. You watch as he lays out a woven bag with a label stamped on the front of it. He crouches down by the nearest stems of uncut rice and runs a hand over them, thumbing at the panicles with a deft movement. 

You don’t think he knows he’s smiling. 

“What do you want me to do?” you ask.

He glances back at you. “Can you lay out the bags? One at each pole should do.” 

You nod and set to work. He starts cutting at the rice. He makes it look easy, slicing through the stems as if they’re butter. The rice stalks start to pile up beside him as you make your way down the field with the bags. 

He’s made a significant dent by the time you’re back. He leans back on his heels as you approach again, wiping off his forehead with the back of his hand. His hair is clinging to him, dark with sweat, deepening the color to slate gray, like the winter sea. He smiles at you. 

“Can I try again?”

He’d taught you how to cut last time after you asked, citing the fact that you’ve been coming to the field with him for almost two weeks without trying. 

“Sure,” he says. He hands you a pair of gloves; you slip them on. “D’ya remember how to hold it?”

You kneel next to him, wrapping your fingers around a handful of stems. “Like this, yeah?”

“Thumb pointing up,” he says, reaching out and adjusting your grip. “And tighter.” 

He tightens his grip around your hand to show you, his strong fingers flexing. You copy him and he lets go when he’s satisfied with your grip. He hands you the knife—curved with a wicked edge—and sits back on his heels again.

“15 centimeters, yeah?” you ask, setting the edge of the knife against the stalks there.

“That’ll work.” 

You slice in a downward angle; the stalks part beneath the blade like silk. You hand off the rice to him to add to the pile. You keep working, feeling the sweat start to gather on your back, a few droplets rolling down before getting absorbed by your shirt.

“Good,” he says.

He lets you do a few more handfuls before he takes the knife back. You watch him work. He’s much quicker than you, moving with an easy grace.

“Why don’t ya head back to the truck,” he says, slicing through another handful of stalks. “I’m almost done.” 

You listen to him, heading back to the truck and settling in the bed of it, swinging your feet off the edge. You lay back and turn your gaze up to the sky, watching as a flock of birds goes soaring past, their wings dark against the deep blue of the sky. 

Kita joins you after a bit. You’ve been watching a hawk circle, riding the current high above you, and you don’t bother to sit up when you hear him approaching. 

He climbs up into the truck bed. He settles next to you and then lays down beside you, staring up at the sky with you. 

The two of you are quiet. You watch as the hawk wheels and wheels overhead before it dives down, dropping like a shooting star through the sky. 

You turn towards him; he’s already looking at you. His amber eyes are soft and you suck in a breath, your stomach flipping. 

“Shinsuke,” you say gently. “You know I can’t give you what you want, right?”

“I’m not askin’ you for anything,” he says, just as gently.

“I know. I just—I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, with Aoshi gone.”

He studies you for a moment. Then he smiles, warm and sweet and a little bit sad. 

“It’s always what you’re willing to give,” he says. “Nothing more and nothing less. That’s the only idea I have.”

You suck in a breath, fidgeting with your sleeve.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

You both go quiet again. 

Kita pushes up to his elbows; you peer up at him.

“C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get going.”

“‘Kay.” 

He hops down from the truck bed gracefully before holding out a hand to help you down. You hesitate. He waits patiently, looking up at you. You take his hand without a word, his calluses rough against your palm.

You’re both quiet on the drive back to Yoshida’s. You spend the time looking out the window, watching the fields roll by. There are other farmers still hard at work, their blades flashing in the last dregs of the sunlight, like a dance. It’s a sight you never tire of. 

The sun has almost set by the time Kita drops you off. You toe off your shoes in the genkan and find Yoshida in the kitchen, scrubbing down the counter. There’s something savory in the air, rich and thick, and you spot a pot bubbling away on the stovetop, steam curling up from it like smoke. 

She eyes you for a moment. You don’t know what she sees in your face, but she gestures you into a seat.

“The fields are doing ya some good,” she says, her eyes still on the soapy counter.

“Are they?”

She nods decisively. “Yer different. You’re coming back to the world.”

You bite at your lip, worrying the flesh between your teeth. It doesn’t feel like it to you; some days you think you’ll never be in step with the world again, destined to always be just a few paces behind. 

“It’s hard to see it in yerself,” Yoshida says. “But it’s there.” 

“If you say so.”

“I do.” 

You can’t help the smile. A smile blooms on her lips too, small but sure. 

“I need to weed tomorrow. Could use your help, unless Shin-chan is going to steal you away again.”

“I’ll help,” you say, ignoring the last bit.

She studies you with keen eyes, opening her mouth to say something, but the front door opens and her son calls out a greeting. 

The rest of the night is quiet and morning comes before you know it.

You stare up at the ceiling as the sun rises, watery light leaking in through the sheer curtains. For a moment, you consider rolling over and going back to bed, but you can hear Yoshida shuffling around in her room. You resign yourself to getting up for the day.

A light breakfast later, you’re on your knees in the garden. The soil is still wet with morning dew and it sticks to your skin. The scent of wet loam rises around you, like the earth is welcoming you home. You let it fill your lungs.

The garden is a beautiful one, lush with autumn vegetables. You weed around the fat, sunshine yellow squashes, each one brighter than the last. The carrots are just peeking above the soil, little suns creeping up over the horizon. Their greens sway gently in the breeze. 

You’ve forgone gardening gloves despite Yoshida’s offer. It feels good to sink your fingers into the dirt, to pinch the weeds’ roots and pull them up gently. 

You’re still working when Kita’s truck trundles up the driveway. You sit back on your haunches and wipe the sweat from your brow as he gets out and comes your way.

“Hi,” he says with a little smile. “Hard at work, I see.”

“Gotta earn my keep,” you say, earning a snort from Yoshida who is working just a garden bed over.

“You have time for a break?”

“Depends,” you say, glancing at the bag he’s carrying. “Are those snacks?”

“Yup.” 

“Then I do,” you say, pushing to your feet. “Let me go wash my hands.” 

You eat together on the engawa, gazing out into the farmland. The wind chimes rustle above you, clinking lightly, a crystalline symphony just for the two of you. You sit back on your hands as Kita unpacks what he’s brought. 

It’s onigiri. They’re still warm, steam curling up from them when you break one open. A little bit of the filling spills out but you’re quick to catch it on your thumb, popping it into your mouth. 

“Thank you,” you say, giving him a nudge with your elbow. “They’re good.”

“Yer welcome.” 

“You take care of me so well,” you say with a little laugh. 

“I try,” he says, utterly serious. 

You flinch. It’s tiny, but from the way his gaze finds you, a firefly flicker, he notices. But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to take another bite of his onigiri. 

“Shin-chan,” Yoshida calls. “Come help an old woman with the watering.” 

You glance up to see that she’s heaving a full bucket of water towards the garden. Kita pushes to his feet immediately, crossing to her in a few easy strides. He takes the bucket without even pausing, lifting it with a single hand. 

“Granny,” he chides. “Ya could’ve gotten hurt.” 

She shrugs. He follows her to the garden beds, glancing back to send you a little smile. You watch him as he carefully waters the garden under Yoshida’s rigid instructions. The sun catches in his hair, bronzes his tanned skin. That same smile he’d flashed you lives on his lips, a quiet contentment tucked up secret into the corner of his mouth.

Kita comes back to you when he’s finished watering, settling at your side on the engawa once more. He eats the rest of his onigiri quickly. 

“I’ve gotta get back to the fields,” he tells you. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “Go do your job.”

He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it.

He leaves soon after. You watch him go, until all you can see of his truck is the cloud of dust being kicked up behind it, until the horizon swallows him. 

Yoshida stands next to you on the engawa, shading her eyes as she watches him go too. 

“He’s a good man,” she says casually.

You glance at her. 

“He is.” 

“You could do much worse in a man.”

“It’s not like that.”

She raises a brow.

“It’s not. It’s just…complicated,” you say, winding your fingers through your necklace’s chain. Your rings clink against each other softly, the sound lost in the myriad of wind chimes surrounding you. For a moment you drift, tears pricking at your eyes before you blink them away.

“‘Course it is,” she says. “Most things are. But ah, pay no mind to an old lady. Let’s go harvest some of the squash.” 

You spend the rest of the day in the garden, harvesting away. The first frost isn’t too far off and you need to make sure you don’t lose any of the vegetables to it. Yoshida tells you exactly what to pick and what to leave. 

Night falls and you cook the first of the squash, painting it with a sweetened miso glaze that gleams stickily as you serve it. Yoshida makes a few side dishes too, putting them in pretty kobachi dishes. They’re delicate things, the soft silver of the moon, and you find yourself thinking of Kita. 

You shake yourself free of the thought before it fully forms. Yoshida’s son pulls you into a conversation and you chatter the night away, until you’re yawning between sentences. You finally trudge up to your room. 

The window lets in the faintest hint of gossamer moonlight. You gaze out into the night, into the endless countryside. You can just barely make out the next farmhouse, a lighthouse in the sea of darkness, its lights glittering on the very edge of the horizon. 

It looks lonely. You think of Kita again, of the little island of his farmhouse, how it’s tucked between the paddies with no other home in sight. You think of him alone at the kotatsu, reading glasses perched on his nose, and feel something in your chest clench.

You pull the curtains shut and go to bed.

***

The rest of the week rolls by and so does the next. It grows colder each day, winter’s first kiss. The leaves are going orange, as if little fires are catching the edges. It sets the trees ablaze with color. You hop from leaf to leaf as you and Kita walk along the road, delighting in each little crunch. 

“Having fun?” he calls out.

You turn around to face him, shading your eyes with one hand. His more sedate pace has left him lagging, but he’s quickly catching up now that you’ve stopped. “Can’t you tell?”

His breath mists in the air, a marine layer, and his lips quirk up into a little smile. “I can,” he says. “Just be careful, yeah? There’s still some frost lingering.”

You hum an acknowledgement and stomp on your next leaf. He chuckles quietly and you fall back to walk with him, shoving your hands into your pockets to ward off the cold. 

“Hey,” you say softly. “You know my sabbatical is almost over, right?”

He nods. “I know.”

“I think I’m gonna go home midweek next week,” you say. “Just to give myself some time to settle before I have to go back to work.” 

“Makes sense,” he says. “Let me know the details and I’ll get you to the station.” 

The two of you keep walking, huddling into each other slightly when the wind picks up. Some of his hair wisps across your face, the touch like silk against your skin. You shiver with it and return your gaze to the countryside, to the rolling hills and the shorn paddies. 

One or two of the trees are already fully bare; they reach towards the sky with long-fingered branches. There’s a murmur of swallows nestled in the nearest one, so numerous it’s as if the tree has leaves again. As you watch, they take to the skies, undulating through the soft gray-blue of it. 

“I’ll miss it,” you say softly.

“Bein’ here?”

“Yeah.” 

“Ya can come back anytime, y’know. There’s always a place for you.” 

You glance at him. His stoic face has softened and you think of the thaw of a spring day. How the quiet warmth of it melts the chill away. 

“Thanks, Shinsuke.”

“Mhm.” 

The two of you walk together quietly before turning around to head back to Kita’s farm when the chilly breeze becomes a whistling wind. It whips through the fields to cut through your clothing and you press into Kita without thinking, seeking the warmth of his solid form. He unwinds his scarf and drapes it around your neck; you don’t bother to protest. He’s immovable about things like this. Instead, you burrow into the warmth of it. 

You all but tumble into the genkan of the farmhouse. Kita follows you at a more sedate pace. You toe off your shoes and slip on your usual pair of house slippers. He does the same and you watch as he puts his shoes away carefully, arranging them perfectly within the cubby. 

You both settle at the kotatsu, huddling under the thick down of the blanket. You trace a finger over one of the origami cranes patterned into it. They’re perfect, so different from the clumsy paper cranes you’d both made with some of the local children the other day. 

Kita turns on the kotatsu. It starts to warm almost immediately and you sink into the heat of it with a quiet sigh.

“What’re you smiling about?” you ask him.

“You,” he says simply. 

You roll your eyes. “Okay,” you say. 

“D’ya want tea?” 

“Sure.”

He slips out from under the kotatsu and heads into the kitchen. You turn enough that you can still see him; you like watching him make tea. He’s careful and respectful of the process from beginning to end, but you like how it loosens his shoulders, how he unfurls, a night-blooming flower.

He rejoins you at the kotatsu once the tea is made, handing you a steaming cup. The scent of it billows through the air. When you sip at the tea, it settles warm in your chest, pushing out the autumn chill. 

“You’ll have to teach me how to make tea like this,” you tell Kita. 

He smiles into his cup. “It’s not hard.”

“Says you.”

“Might not have time to teach you before you go,” he says with a frown. “The farm—”

“You can teach me when you visit.” You pause. “You will visit, right?” 

“Of course.”

“Good,” you say, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “You can teach me then.”

He agrees and the conversation flows until it’s late. You peer out into the darkness and see the moon—full-bellied with light—is beginning to set, sinking through the dark ocean of the sky like an anchor. 

“Shit,” you say. “I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“S’fine,” Kita says. “I don’t mind.”

“I know, I know. Ugh, I’m gonna wake up Yoshida when I get in.”

“You can stay, y’know.” 

You glance at him. He meets your gaze steadily.

“I have a guest room,” he reminds you. 

“Okay,” you say after a moment. “Okay.”

“You’ll have to get up early, though.”

“That’s fine.” 

He smiles softly. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s finish cleaning up.”

You clean up the kotatsu quickly; despite the late hour, Kita still takes the time to wash the dishes. He washes them with careful concentration and something in your chest pangs. 

“Go ahead to the guest room,” he says. “‘M almost done here. I’ll see if I can find you somethin’ to sleep in.” 

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.”

“Alright.”

The guest room is homey, with a handmade quilt patterned with rice plants that almost look like they’re rippling in the wind. You trace a finger over one of them as you glance around the rest of the room, taking in the way the stark cleanliness is offset by the items scattered about: the fan patterned with cherry blossoms hanging on the wall; the plant at the window, lush despite the season; a paperweight on the desk, glass swirled through with blue and white, the ocean roiling within it. It’s not quite Kita, but you can sense him in it all the same. 

Kita knocks on the door frame. You turn to look at him. “Here,” he says, holding out a toothbrush and toothpaste. “Thought you might need these.”

“Thanks,” you say, sending him a little smile. “Appreciate it.”

“‘Course.” 

“Night, Shinsuke.”

“G’night,” he says. “I’ll wake you in the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

He disappears into his room.

You get ready for bed and slide under the covers. The quilt is heavy and warmth builds quickly under it, like a banked fire. You turn your face into the pillow to hide from the moonlight slanting in through the window. The pillowcase smells vaguely like Kita and the simple detergent he uses. 

Sleep comes easily.

So easily that it feels like you’ve only been asleep for a second when Kita’s knocking on the guest room door to rouse you for the day. Blearily, you slip on your clothing before trudging into the kitchen. 

Kita glances up as you enter. His hair is still damp from the shower; it glistens like the gray winter sea beneath a bleak sun. 

“Mornin’,” he says.

“Hi,” you grumble.

He breathes out a quiet laugh. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get you home.” 

You drowse on the ride back to Yoshida’s, just aware enough to hear the quiet hum of the radio as it fills the truck’s cab. The sun is starting to rise, the first fingers of light painting the horizon orange, like embers just beginning to catch. You turn away from it, curling into yourself in the front seat. 

The truck rumbling to a halt wakes you. You grouse and Kita laughs again. He doesn’t bother to dodge when you swat at him.

“Thanks for letting me stay,” you say with a yawn, one hand on the car door’s handle, already looking forward to crawling back into bed. 

“‘Course,” he says. “You always have a place with me.”

You pause. 

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I know.”

His eyes crinkle with his smile. 

“Go to work,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You hop out and head to the genkan. You hear the truck rumble to life behind you, the engine practically purring. By the time you make it to the genkan and look back, Kita is already down the road.

You watch until he’s gone from view.

***

This early, the train station is quiet.

The sun is still rising, casting pale golden rays across the parking lot. It haloes Kita in light as he pulls your suitcase from the truck bed, his muscles flexing with the movement. You take it from him and the two of you head towards the platform together.

“Travel safe, alright?” he says when you come to a halt just before the doors. 

“Shinsuke,” you say, “thank you for everything.” 

“Anytime.” 

“You’ll visit?”

“I’ll visit,” he confirms. “You?”

“I’ll come back,” you say. 

“Good.”

He smiles at you, a slow, sweet thing that makes you think of the sun’s rise. It’s steady and sure, unshakeable. 

You throw your arms around him in a hug. He stumbles for a second, caught off guard, but he catches himself quickly and wraps his arms around you. He holds you tightly. You bury your face in his shoulder. He smells like plain soap, fresh and clean, with the faintest kiss of lemon, a touch of sour citronella that you know he uses for the fields. 

When you pull away, the tips of his ears are pink. 

“Bye, Shinsuke,” you say.

“Bye,” he says softly. 

You head inside the station. When you glance back, you can just make out the silhouette of him, lean and strong. He must be able to see you, because he gives a little wave before he turns away. 

The train is almost empty when you board it and you settle in a window seat. You close your eyes and turn your face towards the sun, the gentle rays just barely starting to warm as they brush against your skin. 

You open your eyes when the train starts to move, peering out of the window as the countryside speeds by. The rice fields are shorn short now but the gold of them hasn’t faded. The remains of the stalks reach towards the great blue sky, two expanses meeting. Beyond the fields, even the hills are going golden, though they’re slower, with green patches scattered across them like lily pads in a pond. 

You think you might be leaving a part of yourself in the expanse of the country. That the fields have swallowed up some part of you, like the earth swallows a seed. It makes something in you pang.

Soon enough, the countryside melts away into the suburbs. Then come the neon lights of the city, streaking by like fireflies, little blips of color that blink to life here and there. 

You hadn’t realized how much you missed it. 

The house is quiet when you step into the genkan; only the musical clink of your keys fills the space. The greeting is on the tip of your tongue, but you catch it behind your teeth and swallow it back down. You take in a deep breath and set your suitcase down before brushing by the photos in the entryway, most of them facedown. 

It takes time to unpack. Most of your clothes are clean, but you run a load of laundry anyway, listening to the way the water swishes and spins, the low rumble of it filling the house. You text Kita to let him know you’ve arrived safely and then collapse onto your couch, staring up at the ceiling. 

You don’t know how long you lie there before you hear the door to the house open. Muffled bickering floats to you from the genkan and you push yourself up just as Abe comes barreling around the corner. 

She skids to a stop just before the couch and grins down at you. 

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” you reply. “Did you break in?”

“No,” Yoshikawa says, appearing from around the corner. She twirls something around her finger; it glints in the light. “Used the spare.”

“It’s funny,” you say. “I don’t remember inviting either of you over.”

She shrugs elegantly, her long hair swaying like kelp in a current. “Did you really think we were going to miss you coming home?”

“No,” you say with a little laugh. “I didn’t.”

“Good.” 

You exchange hugs with both of them, holding them tightly and yelping when Abe spins you in a circle. Yoshikawa is more sedate but her hug is strong and warm. You blink away the tears before they can fall.

The three of you settle into the living room. You catch up with each other easily, swapping stories and laughing together, the sound billowing through the room to fill even the darkest corners with joy. Your heart aches as Abe throws back her head and laughs, her dark hair shimmering in the light, her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound.

“You’re too easily entertained,” Yoshikawa informs her, but there’s a smile playing at her lips too, downy-soft and deeply pleased.

“Shut up,” Abe says, still giggling. 

For a moment, you just watch them, taking in their features, their smiles, the sound of them. You want to commit them to memory, parts of them that you’ve taken into yourself to treasure, to keep. Pieces never to be lost.

“Hey,” Yoshikawa says. “What’s wrong?”

You realize that your cheeks are hot and wet. You scrub a hand over your face as more tears fall. 

“Nothing,” you say. “I just really missed you.”

She hums, but doesn’t push you on it, sending Abe a look when she opens her mouth. “We missed you too,” she says. “Do you want us to spend the night?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, thinking of how empty the house was before they filled it. “That would be great.”

“Okay.” 

The conversation picks up again, only pausing when you order takeout as night falls. Though you’ve spoken consistently with them while you were in the country, there are still stories to tell. The three of you talk and talk, full of laughter and love, and it only feels a little bittersweet.

As the night deepens, Yoshikawa and Abe go to the genkan and grab the bags they’ve brought, much to your embarrassment. Abe pats you on the shoulder as you bury your face in your hands. Neither of them comment.

You tumble into bed with them in a mess of limbs. When the dust settles, you’re curled up on your side of the bed, almost pushed off the edge by Abe’s starfished limbs. You poke her in the stomach and she curls up with a groan. You reclaim the space quickly.

“Rude,” she tells you. 

“You were taking up the whole bed!”

She grumbles but doesn’t bother to argue. 

Quiet falls, only the gentle sound of breathing filling the room. You snuggle down into your comforter, pushing closer to Abe and relishing her warmth.

“I invited Shinsuke to visit,” you breathe.

Yoshikawa pushes up to her elbows behind Abe, peering down at you with her dark, knowing eyes. 

“Here?” she asks.

You nod, the pillowcase crinkling against your cheek.

She hums, low and sweet, a honeyed thunder. “You’ll let him stay at the house?”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of Takao, the way he’d been flayed open when he asked you to not bring Kita to the house. “Aoshi—”

“Isn’t here,” Yoshikawa says gently. “You don’t have to hold on to that promise if you don’t want to.”

You blink against the tears as they swell up, beading on your eyelashes like little diamonds. Abe reaches out and cups your cheek. 

“You’ll figure it out,” she says softly. “You don’t need to know now.” 

You close your eyes, a few more tears trickling down. The pillowcase is damp beneath your cheek. “Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re right.” 

“I always am,” she says, and then yelps when Yoshikawa pinches her. “Ow, Yocchan!”

Yoshikawa ignores her, settling back down onto the bed with a yawn.

It’s contagious; you find yourself yawning as well and snuggle down deeper into the comforter once more. Abe shifts closer, seeking heat.

You fall asleep with her pressed tight against your side.

It feels like coming home.

***

Fall fades away.

The trees lose their leaves entirely, leaving branches that reach into the sky with scraggly fingers. Frost creeps over the windows in icy whorls, a cobweb of winter, fanning out in intricate patterns that melt when you breathe on them. The winter sun glows in the softened blue of the sky, only to be replaced with gray clouds.

The first snow is falling when you go to pick up Kita.

The flakes are fat and fluffy, perfectly crystalline. They flutter through the air like butterflies, spinning in great, lazy arcs as they drift to the ground. They melt as soon as they hit the pavement. 

They catch in Kita’s hair as the two of you head into the house, little dew drops that make his gray hair shine. He’s cherry-cheeked with the cold, his face half-buried in his scarf. It’s cute. Something in you pangs when he sends you a little smile, only discernible by the way his eyes crinkle at the edges. 

The two of you peel off your outer layers in the genkan. Kita puts his away carefully, at odds with your slightly haphazard method of kicking your boots away to find later. 

“It’s future me’s problem,” you tell him and he just shakes his head, a small smile caught in the corner of his lips. 

You show him to the guest room, freshly made up for his visit, and linger in the hallway as he stores his suitcase. 

“Dinner?” you ask as he steps out into the hall again.

“That’d be great.”

“C’mon, I’ve got some things ready in the kitchen.” 

“Sounds good.”

He follows you into the kitchen and insists on helping. You direct him to the plates as you check on what you’ve made. There’s colorful tsukemono, each pickled vegetable bright in its own way, stained to watercolors by the pickling liquid. The curry is thick and bubbling, with chunks of heavily marbled meat and vegetables coated in the sauce. The rice is steaming lightly and so are the nikuman, each bun pinched shut perfectly. 

“Ya didn’t need to go to all this trouble,” Kita says, eyeing the food as he sets the table. 

“Too late,” you say cheerfully. “Eat.” 

He smiles softly, shaking his head, but sits down when you gesture. You join him and the two of you start to fill your plates. 

You talk quietly as you eat, all easy chatter. Part of you can’t help but think of the beginning, when everything with him was stilted and careful. That’s changed through the years but it’s even easier now, the conversation flowing like a river, calm and unchanging. 

When you’re done eating, Kita collects the plates and brings them to the sink. He rolls up his sleeves and turns the water on. You sigh but don’t bother to say anything. Instead, you settle in next to him with a dish towel in your hand. 

He’s radiating a soft, gentle heat. It takes conscious effort to not lean into him. 

He washes and you dry, falling into an effortless rhythm. 

“Are you seeing Aran while you’re here?” you ask.

“He’s away trainin’,” Kita says, handing you another dish. “So’s Atsumu. I’ll see Osamu, but you know I’m here to see you, right?”

Your cheeks heat. “I know,” you say. “But two birds, one stone, y’know?”

He hums, rinsing off the final dish and drying his hands. He leaves his sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. For a moment, you watch the play of his muscles, the way they coil beneath his tanned skin as he picks up the dry dishes and brings them back to the cabinet. You look away when you realize what you’re doing.

You both go to bed early that night; Kita’s tired from his usual early wake-up and the travel. You try not to laugh as he bids you goodnight. It’s cute, the way he blinks sleepily, his amber eyes softened to a honeyed brown. 

You can hear him as you get ready for bed, the quiet little noises of another person’s presence. It soothes something in you. 

You glance at your wedding rings, ensconced in a little jewelry dish on your nightstand. They gleam in the light. You run your fingers over them, tracing the cool metal gently. 

You put them away in a drawer before you go to sleep.

***

The snowstorm hits on the last day of Kita’s visit. 

The wind whips between buildings, catching the snowflakes and tossing them about like ships on a stormy sea. The snow piles up into thick drifts, the silken white of it gone yellow beneath the glow of the street lights, like a melting pat of butter. 

You and Kita watch the storm from where you’re tucked under the kotatsu. You’d pulled it out when you’d heard the forecast, the two of you working together to get it set up. It still works, luckily, and the two of you sit next to each other and bask in the soothing warmth. 

The wind slows; you gaze at the snowflakes as they slow, drifting like dancers across the stage, each puffy flake a part of its own ballet. Everything has gone quiet, muffled at the edges. It’s like the world is waiting to take its next breath. 

“What are you thinking?” Kita asks softly.

When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice just as soft as his. “All sorts of things.”

He hums quietly.

The wind picks up again; the windows rattle with it. You shiver, snuggling further under the kotatsu. Kita shifts. His leg presses against yours, a line of warmth even under the heat of the kotatsu. 

You glance at him. He’s watching the storm. It reflects in his eyes, lightening them, taking them from amber to gold. You think of the rice fields at their peak, when they’re treasured gold, and can’t help the small smile that curls around your lips.

Perhaps he feels your gaze, because Kita turns to face you. In the low light, he’s softened at the edges, a watercolor being. His eyes are aglow, like sunlight pooling. He gives you a small smile. 

“What is it?”

“I’m so lucky to have you,” you say quietly, the words pouring from you like a waterfall, something unstoppable. 

He goes still for a breath, a statue of old. Then he softens again.

“You’ll always have me,” he says, and you used to hate how true it is. Now, though—now it feels different. Just a bit. 

“Thank you, Shinsuke,” you say. 

Something flickers over his face like heat lightning, too quick for you to comprehend. You think you might have disappointed him. 

You turn your gaze away. It lands on a picture frame placed face-down. You suck in a deep breath. Before you can stop them, the tears are burning behind your eyes, starting to trickle down your cheeks. You scrub at them with one hand.

“Sorry,” you say to Kita.

“S’alright,” he says. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, even as another tear trickles down to pool salty on your tongue.

He reaches out, his hand hovering in the space between the two of you. He waits.

You nod.

He cups your cheek and sweeps his thumb under your eye. His touch has the same aching tenderness of a fresh, swollen bruise. You lean into his palm, keeping your eyes on his, your cheeks hot as he smiles at you sadly. 

He wipes away the tears before pulling back. You can see the gleam of them on his thumb. 

“Thanks,” you say softly.

“Course.”

You scrub away the remains of the tears and then blow out a big breath. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

Kita studies you for a moment. You don’t know what he sees in your face, but he nods, giving you a soft smile. “Sure.”

“Great,” you say, pushing to your feet. “You choose.”

“If you want,” he says, standing as well and heading towards the living room. “No complaining, though.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll be there in a minute,” you call after him, leaning down to turn off the kotatsu. You tuck the comforter in, tidying it up lightly. You nod to yourself. When you turn around, you pause for a moment, your gaze settling on the face-down picture frame.

It’s a photo you know well, one of you and Takao on the beach, the ocean a vast expanse behind you, glittering with the searing blue of the tropics. You’re caught mid-laugh as Takao plants a kiss on your cheek. It’s always been a favorite.

Before you leave the room, you stand the picture frame back up. 

***

You drop Kita off at the train station early the next day. You breathe him in as you hug him goodbye, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He tightens his grip around you with a little laugh. 

“I’ll come to the farm in spring,” you tell him. “I promise.” 

“Good.”

You wave goodbye as he enters the train station; he glances back right before he disappears through the doors. Something warm blooms in you. It settles in your stomach and flutters there.

When you’ve made it home, you pull out your phone. You settle onto the edge of the couch as it rings, your shoulders stiff. 

It rings until the voicemail clicks on and Takao’s voice floods your ears. You close your eyes as his voicemail message plays, letting his voice wash over you like a summer storm, a warm, sweet rain. You listen to Takao talk, relearning the cadence of his voice, the way it rises and falls, the way his tongue curls around words. You hadn’t realized how much of it you’d forgotten. 

“Hi,” you say when the tone beeps. “I miss you.”

You’re quiet for a moment; the line carries on, reflecting you breathing back to yourself.

“Shinsuke just left,” you say. “Aoshi—I think I like him. More than I ever thought I could. Is that alright?”

The line is silent.

“I didn’t mean to like him,” you say. “I really didn’t. But he’s good, Aoshi. He’s so good.” 

You sniffle.

“I don’t know what to do,” you murmur. “I don’t know how to leave you behind. But I think—I think he’s okay with that. I just—it feels like giving in. Like our choice, the one we made over and over again, was for nothing.” 

You take in a deep, steadying breath. 

“I know that’s not true. I know that our choice was for everything. That it never really was a choice in the first place, not for me.”

“I just—I really think I like him, Aoshi. Is that alright? Please tell me it’s alright.” 

The voicemail beeps; you’ve hit the end of the time you can record. You hang up and bury your face in your hands. 

“Fuck. Fuck!”

You lay back on the couch, rubbing at your eyes with the heels of your hands. You curl in on yourself. 

You grab your phone and dial again.

“Hi.”

“Natsumi.”

“Oh, shit, no nickname, that’s not a good sign.” 

“I think I like Shinsuke.” 

She pauses. “Is that a bad thing?” she asks gently. 

“I don’t know.”

“Okay.”

“It just—”

“Feels like giving in?”

“...Yeah. Was this always going to happen?” 

“Maybe,” she says. “But maybe not. You don’t have to be with him, you know. If you don’t want to, that is.” 

“I don’t know what I want.”

“I think you do,” she says gently.

“I don’t, Nat-chan.” 

“Okay. Okay. Let me put it this way: is your only issue with Kita the fact that he’s your soulmate?”

“He’s not Aoshi.”

“No one is going to be Aoshi. You know that.”

“I do.”

“Liking Kita isn’t giving up on Aoshi. It’s not leaving him behind. It’s just moving forward. You’ll bring him with you no matter what, no matter how far forward you move,” she says, and you bite at your bottom lip until you can taste blood.

“I don’t want to be with my soulmate just because they’re my soulmate.”

“Do you really think you might like Kita just because he’s your soulmate?”

“...No.” 

“It’s not bad to like him,” she says, not unkindly. “You’re not bad for liking him because of who he is.” 

“I don’t even know if I really like him.”

“Sweetheart,” Abe says, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you didn’t.” 

You go quiet. As her words settle in, you glance out the window. The snow on the ground is still pristine; it glimmers under the bleak winter sunlight. The neighborhood children are starting to stomp through it. They’re bundled up tight, practically waddling as they play. You take a deep breath.

“Maybe you’re right,” you say. 

“I don’t know how many times I have to say that I always am before you believe me.”

“You’re wrong way too much for me to believe that.” 

“Don’t be mean!”

You smile. “Thanks, Nat-chan,” you say softly.

“Any time,” she says. “You’ll figure it out.”

As you hang up, you know that you will. 

***

Winter melts into spring.

The snow gives way to crocuses, which bloom like bruises, deep purple with stamen peeking shyly out of the center. The trees come to life, budding quickly, little specks of green dotted along the branches like stars. 

And on the farm, there are ducklings, tiny and fluffy, their down pollen-yellow. 

“Oh, Shin,” you say as he hands you one, dropping it carefully into your hands. It peeps its protest before snuggling up in your palm like a tiny sun. “I love them.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rich. “I thought you might. Do you wanna name ‘em?”

“Really? You’ll let me?”

“Course.” 

“I’ll have to think of good ones,” you say. “Can I have a few days?”

“Take as much time as you need,” he says. “They’re not going anywhere.”

You nuzzle up against the one in your hand; it peeps again, as if grumbling at you. When you glance at Kita, he has a fond smile playing on his lips.

He takes you around on some of his other chores. There are seedlings in the garden, tiny little things just barely poking out of the ground, a promise of green growth. You water them carefully, wary of their thin, delicate stems.

Finally, you find yourself back in Kita’s genkan. Your boots—a pair of his, really, laced tightly to keep them on—are muddy, so you stop just inside the door. You’re leaning down to untie the boots when Kita kneels before you. 

“Shin…” you say and he glances back up at you with mischief in his smile. You decide it’s not worth it to try and stop him. 

He makes quick work of the laces with his deft fingers. You watch his bent head quietly, taking in the thunderstorm gray of it, edged with blackened clouds. You catch yourself before you run your fingers through it. 

“Up,” he says. You steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you step out of first boot; he wraps his hand around your wrist. 

It’s not long before both boots are off. Before you can even start to move, Kita has your house slippers in hand. He takes your ankle in his big hand, waiting for you to lift your foot so he can slip on the first slipper.

You almost balk. But he looks up at you with his keen amber eyes and you can’t help yourself. You lift your foot and he slides the slipper into place. He does the same thing with the second slipper. 

“Thanks,” you say, cheeks hot.

He nods. He pushes to his feet, a graceful ripple of motion, and tilts his head at you. “Lunch?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you say. “That sounds good.” 

You cook together with ease. You know his kitchen by heart now, able to pull pans from their place without looking, knowing which of his fresh herbs to clip without double-checking with him. 

It makes something in you ache. 

Kita returns to the fields after lunch. You choose to not go with him, deciding instead to curl up on the engawa with a book. You settle into place with your book on your lap and stare out into the countryside. 

It’s just beginning to go green with the flooded paddies glinting in the sun, a false ocean. The water glimmers with movement as the breeze rolls over you. A stork prowls through the paddies, long and elegant, moving with slow precision. Its beak flashes as it darts down to snap up some little creature. It takes off after that, spreading its wings wide and soaring into the blue expanse of the sky. You watch until it’s no more than a dot in the vastness. 

You curl up and start reading and don’t notice when evening starts to fall. That’s where Kita finds you when he comes home from the fields. You hadn’t even noticed his truck trundling up the driveway. 

“Hi,” you say as he comes up on the engawa, marking your place and getting to your feet.

“Hi,” he replies. “Have you been here all afternoon?”

“How’d you know?”

“Just a guess.” 

You eye him, trying to figure out what’s given you away. Kita stays stoic, as if carved from stone, and you huff. 

You follow him inside, kicking off your outside shoes before he can even try to kneel, and hop up from the genkan. As usual he goes to shower, ready to rinse off the fields. You keep reading.

He comes padding back into the kitchen a while later with a towel wound around his neck. His hair is still damp and you can see a cowlick curling at the back of his head. His tan skin glistens. 

“Dinner?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “What do you want to make?”

You discuss your options in front of the fridge, crowded in next to each other to see what he has. He’s still warm from the shower. You press closer to him and see him glance at you from the corner of his eye. He smiles, soft and sweet, and turns his attention back to the fridge. 

Eventually, you finally decide. Kita hands you a handful of carrots and you start to julienne them thinly, your knife—perfectly sharp, the most well-maintained kitchen knife you’ve ever seen—flashing in the light. 

He starts halving baby bok choy, little gems of green and white. The pan hisses when he drops them in, giving it a good toss before he moves on to his next task. 

“Is it really okay for me to be here during such a busy season?” you ask.

He glances at you. “I wouldn’t invite ya if it wasn’t a good time.” 

“True.”

“Besides, I told you there was always a place here for you, and I meant it.” 

Your cheeks heat. “I know.” 

“Good.”

Quiet falls, broken only by the sound of your knife against the board and the hiss of the pan as Kita stirs it again. It’s comfortable, though, and you feel no need to fill the air. The two of you cook away, moving around each other easily in his small kitchen, as if it’s a dance you’ve always known. 

It’s comforting in a way you’d almost forgotten.

You take a deep breath, your stomach churning a bit, and Kita glances over at you.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Just tired.”

He smiles softly. “If you wanna go to bed early, I don’t mind.” 

“We’ll see,” you tell him. “Now finish up, I’m hungry.” 

He laughs, but the two of you are done cooking not long after. You settle down to eat. You tell him some ideas you’ve had to name the ducks (“Duck is a perfectly good name, Shin!” “If ya say so.”) and he tells you about his day. It’s peaceful. Easy. 

You’ve just finished eating when you reach out and cover Kita’s hand with your own. “Shin,” you say. “Thank you.”

“Fer what?”

You shrug, unable to put the jumble inside you into words.

He turns his hand over under yours and laces your fingers together. You don’t pull away.

“Yer always thankin’ me,” he says softly. “You don’t need to.” 

“I do, though.”

“You don’t.” 

You look at him. He meets your gaze easily, amber eyes gone whiskey-dark. He gives your hand a little squeeze. 

“You don’t need to thank me for anything,” he says.

You squeeze back. “I will, though.” 

He sighs but doesn’t argue. 

For another moment, you both sit there, hands intertwined. You watch each other. You can feel the strength in his fingers and the hint of sweat on his palm. It’s warm and solid and real. Something in your chest stirs. 

You’re the one that pulls back first, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Kita lets you go without a word. 

The rest of dinner is quiet; you both go to your rooms early, influenced by Kita’s schedule. You murmur a soft goodnight in the hallway. You can still hear him when you’re in the guest room, listening to him rustling around before it all goes silent.

You gaze out the guest room window, taking in the rising moon. It’s waxing, almost full-bellied with light, pouring over the fields. It reflects off the water of the flooded paddies, a distorted mirror of itself. Under the moonlight, the fields go silvery, delicate and gossamer as they start to come to life. It’s beautiful in a foreign way. 

You curl up on the bed with your book, texting Yoshikawa and Abe here and there as your phone lights up. When the moon is high in the sky, you finally get ready for bed. 

You fall asleep thinking about the weight of Kita’s hand in your own. 

***

Something shifts between you.

It’s slow like a dune in the wind, the sand taking on a new shape, but neither of you have mentioned it. Maybe you don’t need to. Maybe it’s all said in each fleeting glance, a language written in the amber of Kita’s gaze. 

The days pass in a flicker of quiet moments. You spend a morning naming the ducklings, tucked in close to Kita’s side so he can see which one you’re pointing to. You repeat yourself as he takes them in, his brow furrowed as he notes the name for each nearly-identical duckling. 

Some days you join him in the fields, kneeling down into the muck to sow a shoot into place. He guides you with careful hands, his warm fingers wrapped firmly around yours. You eat lunch in the bed of his truck, mud flaking off of your boots, and bask in the spring sun. 

It’s easy. It’s terrifying. 

You think of the taste of ozone, how it crackles on your tongue. The slow, sharp bite of it. 

You know something will give. That the storm will break over you and change everything in its path. 

You think you might finally be ready for it. 

***

You come awake with a jolt. 

The sheets stick to you, caught in the layer of sweat accumulating on you. You sit up and press a hand to your heart, thrumming like a hummingbird’s wings. 

Once you’ve regained your breath, you stumble over to the window and pull it open. The countryside breeze billows inside. It still carries the sharp bite of winter, but it’s mellowed under spring’s tender bloom. You close your eyes and let it flow over you. 

The breeze cools you, your sweat going tacky before it dries down completely. The dream rolls over you again and you shudder.

You find yourself padding down the hallway without realizing it. You stop just in front of the door. You tug at your lower lip with your teeth before taking a deep breath.

You knock gently on the door and then open it. 

“Shin?” you whisper.

The lump on the bed stirs. Kita pushes up onto his elbows. He’s bathed in moonlight, his hair haloed silver, the dark tips a moon’s eclipse. He’s bleary-eyed but he focuses on you instantly.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Bad dream.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

You hesitate. 

“That bad?”

You shake your head. “I just…can I lay with you for a bit? Is that okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. You need to know he’s still here. That he’s real. 

His eyes widen before they go soft. He pulls back the covers and scoots over to give you more room. You’re across the room in an instant, slipping onto the futon. It’s still warm with his body heat and you shiver, goosebumps dancing across your skin. 

You keep a small distance between you when you lay down, but you let your head turn towards him. He’s still up on one elbow, the muscles in his bicep bunched with it, and he’s studying you carefully. 

He’s handsome, you realize, not for the first time. He’s sleep-rumpled, his hair messy and ruffled and his shirt wrinkled and bunched up just enough to show off a silver of his paler belly. The moonlight plays over him like a lover, lingering on the arch of his cheekbones and the dusting of freckles sprayed over his nose. His thick lashes flutter as he blinks, showcasing eyes gone golden, and you almost sigh.

He lies back down when you don’t move. The space between the two of you is small but it feels massive, a gulf between your two bodies, separating the shores of you. 

“You okay?” he asks again.

You shake your head. 

He reaches out and hesitates halfway, his big hand hovering in the air. In the moonlight, the constellation of his scars is more visible, little nicks and cuts that gleam bone-white in the light. 

“Can I?” he asks.

Your nod is tiny; the sheets crinkle with it.

He cups your cheek. His palm is rough against your skin but he’s careful with it, touches you as if you’re made of glass. It’s almost reverent. He sweeps his thumb across the apple of your cheek.

“What did you dream of?” he breathes.

“You.”

“Me?”

“I couldn’t find you,” you murmur, leaning into his touch. “I looked and looked, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m here now.”

You hum.

“I’m here now,” he says again and it sounds like a promise.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “You are.” 

You shift on the futon. The sheets smell of him, of the faintest hint of the salt of his skin and his soap, and you close your eyes to let it envelop you. You nestle down into the pillow with a little yawn. 

“Go back to bed,” Kita murmurs, caressing your cheek with careful fingers. “You’ll be tired in the morning.”

You stir under his touch, opening one eye. He’s watching you, his amber eyes unbearably fond, and something in you pangs. You press closer to him; he radiates a gentle warmth and you relax into it.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask quietly. “Please?” 

You pretend to not hear the way his breath catches. 

“You sure?” he asks.

You press closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“Yes.”

“You’re gonna regret it when my alarm goes off at dawn,” Kita says, a smile written in his sleep-rough voice. 

“I won’t,” you say. “Promise.”

He hums skeptically.

“Maybe you’ll regret it,” you whisper into the salt of his skin. “You might.”

He stills, and then he’s coaxing you up to look at him. His eyes gleam in the dim, a flash of amber, of the richness of the earth. He leans forward and presses his forehead to yours. 

“No,” he says. “I could never regret you.”

He always hears what you can’t quite bring yourself to say. 

“Never?” 

He nudges his nose against yours.

“Never.”

His breath stirs against your lips, and you take it in, make it your own. You sway closer, undulating like kelp, half-dizzy with it, and then you sway closer still.

He waits for you.

(He always has.)

When you kiss him, it’s simple. It feels right. 

Kita sighs into it, one big hand coming up to cup your face, his rough palm reverent against your skin. There’s no urgency to him; he’s honey-slow with it, melting into you under the cover of night. 

You kiss him again, and again, like the tide against the shore, lapping at the edges of him until you’re etched into his skin. He meets you each time, sweet and steady. 

You kiss him until he is all you know, and then you kiss him once more. 

You don’t even realize that you’re crying until he sweeps his thumb over your cheekbone.

You part your lips, and he presses a little kiss against them before he pulls back. In the dim, his amber eyes have gone whiskey-dark, deep and heady. 

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to explain.” 

You press your face into the warm crook of his neck again. He smells of plain soap and a lingering hint of citronella from the fields, sweet and stinging. You breathe him in, let the scent of him settle into you, a part of him to carry always. 

Kita curls a gentle arm around you. 

“Go to sleep,” he breathes, and you pull back to look at him. He watches you, his vulpine eyes unbearably fond, and he smiles against your lips when you kiss him again.

He cups your cheek and pulls you into a deeper kiss before he backs away. He sweeps his lips against yours in a chaste peck and says again, “Go to sleep.”

“Fine,” you murmur. You curl up into him as his breath starts to even out. You listen to the tide of it, the ebb and flow, a balm against a bruise you’ll always have, and close your eyes knowing that he’s right there.

You wake to the quiet beep of his alarm clock. He rises from bed with quicksilver ease, the thick muscles of his back rippling under his sleep shirt. It’s barely dawn; wan light filters in through the curtains like an azure sea, outlining him faintly as he moves around the room. He looks like something out of a painting, sketched out in broad strokes of soft shadows.

He looks too good to be true. 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs as you shift on the futon. His sheets are well-worn, the type of broken in that comes with years of use and careful care. “It’s early.”

Instead, you get up with him, slipping out from beneath the warmth of the comforter with a soft sigh. Kita gives you a little smile, a crescent moon tilt of his lips, and your cheeks heat. You glance away and hear him huff out a laugh.

He disappears into the bathroom, and you make up the futon, smoothing your hands over the wrinkles until they disappear. 

By the time he pads into the kitchen, the old coffeemaker is hissing and gurgling, spitting out a steady drip of liquid. He brushes by you to get a mug, his hand warm on your lower back as he sidles past. The heat of him lingers. 

The two of you eat breakfast in a comfortable silence. He slides his portion of your favorite onto your plate without a word; you push your share of pickled daikon into one of his small kobachi dishes. He says nothing,, but his lips quirk at the edges, the faintest hint of a sweet smile. 

He gets up when you’re both finished, pushing to his feet in one fluid movement. His muscles coil with it, going taut beneath his tanned skin. It’s more distracting than you thought it would be.

You peer at him from the corner of your eyes as he starts to clear the table. He moves with careful intent, his big hands steady against the delicate porcelain. 

You want to kiss him again.

Instead, you get to your feet and finish clearing the table, handing him dishes when he gestures for them. You wash the dishes together. Over the whisper of the running water, you talk about your upcoming day, trying to decide if you’ll be able to eat lunch together as well. You can’t quite keep the smile from your lips. 

When the dishes are put away, you walk with him onto the engawa. He cups your cheek, sweeping his thumb over the arch of your cheekbone, and smiles. 

“I’ll see you soon,” he says. 

“I’ll be here,” you say, soft and full of promise, and his eyes crinkle with his smile.

You watch from the engawa as he disappears into the distance, into the paddies, swallowed up by the verdant world he’s created with his own hands. He glances back at you once, just before he disappears from sight. 

You raise your face to the gentle warmth of the rising sun.

It’s a new day.

#kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #hq!! x reader #haikyuu x reader #bee writes hq!! #.lbgtm

[theresattrpgforthat]

Slugblaster: Teens Hoverboarding for Mental Health

Hey folks, I want to talk to you about the Slugblaster Bundle for Teen Mental Health that's going to be available all summer long. All proceeds for this bundle will be going towards Mermaids, a organization that provides mental health support for gender-diverse youth in the UK. Slugblaster is a Forged-in-the-Dark game about teen hoverboarders hopping through diffferent dimensions in order to find fun, bragging rights, or to just stick it to the man. Pop an ollie over a grav-train. Grind down the sides of a moss-covered mech. Kickflip over a quantum centipede. And all the while paint, patch, re-calibrate and kitbash your gear until it's completely unique to yourself.

If that sounds like your jam, then support the bundle at the $15 level to get Slugblaster and a number of supplements written by the community. If you already own Slugblaster, you can support it for $10 and get the supplements, including Charlock, a world I wrote for the bundle that contains radish-people, sinkholes and giant rabbits. Check out the bundle at the link below!

Click Here

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game reccomendations #mint speaks #slugblaster #forged in the dark #I love this game

[buffetlicious]

Breakfast is a packet of Chwee Kueh (水粿) bundled up in food wrapper. It is a type of steamed rice cake originating in Teochew cuisine that is served with preserved radish and is a popular breakfast item in Singapore.

By itself the Steamed Rice Cakes are almost tasteless on their own as it is made of rice flour and water then steamed. So they are eaten with savoury sweet diced preserved radish and served with chilli sauce or chilli paste as shown below.

#Chwee Kueh #水粿 #Breakfast #Chong Pang Food Centre #Rice Cake #Rice Flour #Steamed #Teochew #潮州 #Popular #Savoury #Sweet #Preserved Radish #Chilli Sauce #Chinese #Food #Buffetlicious

[murfeelee]

MDZS INSP Set Pt1

This is the very first batch of uploads from my TS3 gameplay inspired by Mo Dao Zu Shi / The Untamed!

EA Books Default Replacement

First up is yet another EA Book Default Replacement, this time using Chinese & Japanese themed book textures. Browse here & here for the swatches/in-game pics. The list of replacements is under the cut.

File Dump Part 1

This file dump includes 18 Buy Mode objects:

EA Chinese Tomb Chest as Toy Chest (basegame)

Silfantasy Chinese Sword as Hoverboard (ITF EP)

Tera Bag as Bag of Understanding (WA EP)

Radish as Edible Morsel (WA EP)

Emperor's Smile as Drinkable UNI EP Alcohol (Arsil Custom Beverages mod + UNI EP REQ)

TS4 to TS3 Jennisims Lotus Seed Pod as Edible Morsel (WA EP)

TS2 to TS3 Jizaikagi Irori Edit as Firepit PLAIN

TeeSangBoy Chinese Couch Redone as Decor Bedframe

TS2 to TS3 Asian Ornate End Table

TeeSangBoy Coffee Table TINY

EA Zen Bath Stool Emptied as Coffee Table

TS2 to TS3 Bamboo Copse

Bamboo Wall Stickers

MTCakestore Chinese Books (Stackable)

ShinoKCR Couch Cushion as Scroll Bundle (Stackable)

TS4 to TS3 Chinese Decor Man 1, 2, 3

Pinwheel ACCs

This miniset includes 3 CAS objects:

ATS3 Pinwheel as ACC for Kids, Toddlers & Adults

And that's that for now!

Enjoy, and Happy Lunar New Year 2023! 🐇🐰

Download folder (zip files): Mediafire | SimFileShare

Descriptions & pics under the cut:

EA Books Default Replacement

There are A LOT of books in TS3, so I tried to match Chinese & Japanese books to TS3′s particular genres:

Athletic & Sports: Armor, Book of 5 Rings (Musashi Miyamoto) | PhysEd & Military: Art of War (Sun Tzu) | Martial Arts: Daoist exercise chart | Riding: Yabusame scroll

Charisma 1-3: Genji no Kokagami (Murasaki Shikibu)

Cooking: Lvl 1 (52 Sick Prescriptions), Lvl 2 (Materia Dietetica), Lvl 3 (Herbal Food + Materia Dietetica)

Fishing 1-3: Materia Medica fish & reptiles (Bencao Gangmu)

Gardening: Lvl 1 (E-hon (Utagawa Hiroshige)), Lvl 2 (Court Records of Japanese Gardens), Lvl 3 (Compendium of Model Gardens (Tsukiyama & Yokei))

Generic: Butler (Book of Rites) | China (WA EP) () | Generic 1-3 (Analects (Confucius))

Handy 1-3: Scroll of Mudras

Kids: Children/Toddler Pictures & Comics (UNI EP) (Journey to the West) | Toddler Fun (Japanese Folk Toys) | Toddler Numbers (CHN/JPN numbers) | Toddler Words (Hiragana chart)

Learning: Non-fiction (Nihon Shoki) | AcadTech/Sci (Chinese alchemy) | Math (Third order equation (Shu shu jiu zhang) | Science (Chinese alchemy, ) | AcadFineArts (Analects) | AcadComm (Shuowen Jiezi) | Social (Genji no Kokagami (Murasaki Shikibu)) | Medical/Prenatal (Chinese Pharmacopoeia) | Historical (Book of Documents)

Logic: Lvl 1 (Analects (Confucius)), Lvl 2 (Book of Documents), Lvl 3 () | Poetry (Book of Songs) | AcadBusiness (Art of War (Sun Tzu))

Magic/Spellcraft (SN EP): Lvl 1 (Iching), Lvl 2 (Onmyodo (Abe no Seimei)), Lvl 3 (Iching hexagram)

Masterpiece (Book of Songs) | Photography/Street Art (E-hon (Utagawa Hiroshige))

Music: Lvl 1 (Qinxue Congshu), Lvl 2 (Qinxue Rumen), Lvl 3 (Book of Songs)

Recipe: Lvl 1 (52 Sick Prescriptions), Lvl 2 (Materia Dietetica), Lvl 3 (Herbal Food + Materia Dietetica)

Recreation: English (Bushido (Inazo Notobe)) | Fiction (Tamamo-no-mae (Katsushika Hokusai)) | Fantasy/Humor/Horror (Kyōsai Hyakki Gadan (Kawanabe Kyōsai)) | Biography (Heike Monogatari) | Romance (Genji no Kokagami) | Drama () | SciFi (Kaguya) | Mystery (Gazu Hyakki Yagyō (Toriyama Sekien))

Y'all can scroll through most of the replacements/swatches here & here.

File Dump Part 1

EA Chinese Tomb Chest as Toy Chest (basegame)

Silfantasy Chinese Sword as Hoverboard (ITF EP)

Tera Bag as Bag of Understanding (WA EP), recolorable, found under Misc Decor IIRC.

Radish as Edible Morsel (WA EP), recolorable; found under Misc Appliances & Plants.

TS4 to TS3 Jennisims Lotus Seed Pod as Edible Morsel (WA EP), recolorable; found under Misc Appliances & Plants.

Emperor's Smile as Drinkable UNI EP Alcohol (Arsil Custom Beverages mod + UNI EP REQ), recolorable; found under Misc Appliances.

TS2 to TS3 Jizaikagi Irori Edit as Firepit PLAIN is yet another version of my two Jizaikagi Irori (here & here), this time without the hanging rack/shelf.

TeeSangBoy Chinese Couch Redone as Decor Bedframe, to be used with functional mattresses (I used these by Sketchbookpixels).

TS2 to TS3 Asian Ornate End Table, TSB Coffee Table TINY, EA Zen Bath Stool Emptied as Coffee Table all recolorable & self explanatory.

TS2 to TS3 Bamboo Copse recolorable, found under Plants & Lawn Deco. Bamboo Wall Stickers recolorable, under Wall Art.

MTCakestore Chinese Books (Stackable) & ShinoKCR Couch Cushion as Scroll Bundle (Stackable) under Misc Deco, fully recolorable.

TS4 to TS3 Chinese Decor Man 1, 2, 3 non-recolorable, but includes rainbow of color variations. Found under Sculptures.

ATS3 Pinwheels as ACCs

Recolorable, unisex for toddlers, children, and teen-elders. Found under Bracelets.

And that's that for now!

Enjoy, and Happy Lunar New Year 2023! 🐇🐰

Download folder (zip files): Mediafire | SimFileShare

#sims 3 cc #sims 3 conversion #ts2 to ts3 #ts4 to ts3 #sims 3 asian #sims 3 the untamed #sims 3 mdzs #sims 3 accessory #sims 3 mods #sims 3 buy mode #sims 3 foodstuffs #sims 3 plants #sims 3 appliances #sims 3 surfaces #sims 3 toys #sims 3 transportation #sims 3 wall art #sims 3 world adventures #sims 3 into the future

[ofmermaidstories]

You and Bakugou walk home in the rain.

The sky’s a watercolour spill of peach, heavy clouds staining the glow and threatening rain, wind. You had watched the sky from the cool, green-dark of your little store, wondering if you needed to pull in the flowers sitting out the front; the last thing you wanted was carnations rolling down the little street, scattering their frilled petals like confetti. Everyone else along your strip was wheeling in what they could, or lowering awnings—taking precautions, bundling up bags of pickled radishes, or dragging in stands with bootleg DVDs.

“Eh, the weather will break,” Akane had said, dismissively. “It’ll sail out to sea and then double back before it does any real damage.”

You had held out your hand as she blustered on—catching the rain dripping from the stripped canopy over your shopfront, stretching your fingers and letting the water run down them.

“Maybe I’ll bring the flowers in, anyway,” you say aloud. Akane scoffs, throwing her hands up in surrender. You smile to yourself, amused, and let her have her disgruntlement.

You rescue the carnations first—already wet with rainwater and huddled together, their frilled edges making you think of vacationing ladies at the seaside: their skirt hems dragging with the ocean spray. The hydrangeas wait til last; riotous in the weather, soaking in what they can, happily. There’s a distant rumble of thunder—you pause on the threshold of your store and watch the sky like it’s less a threat of a storm and more the promise of Katsuki overhead, somewhere, his explosions propelling him forward and breakneck speed.

It’s not. In the gloom of your little cupboard of a shop, your phone glows; a message from your Hero, waiting.

Doing shitty paperwork. Tell me when you’re home.

You thumb the side of your phone, like you could be tracing the back of his hand. Home, he says, so easily. Home—Katsuki’s apartment, where you’d both come to like the comfort of you being there for him, when he finished work.

There’s an icy gust; the wind, testing your doors before sending some leaves scuttering, down the road. You stand amid your plants and your buckets of flowers and think about Katsuki, frowning down at his paperwork in the confides of his brightly-lit office at the agency, as the world outside grew dark. He was always coming to you—meeting you at home. Meeting you at your shop doors.

Outside, something clatters. A shop sign, maybe. A fern brushes the top of your head as you peer out, to the sky again, still it’s wash of orange.

Just closing up shop now, you text Katsuki back. The read notification ticks over quickly, but he doesn’t reply—his normal modus of messaging.

It never bothers you. Instead to be funny, you send him a gif—a glittering rose, something Akane might’ve sent you, unironically, as a good morning message.

Katsuki reads that, too, but doesn’t reply—leaving you silently laughing to yourself in the dark of your secret little shop.

It’s raining in patches, by the time you leave the store; shower bursts, on and off as you make your way through a busy train station, eeling onto the train you need, when it comes.

You are a bright smear of colour, in the window’s reflections; with your coat, with the bundle of flowers you’ve allowed yourself, for Katsuki’s apartment—for home. An older woman across from you smiles, when you meet her eyes; you smile back and then almost immediately look away, rocking with the motion of the carriage and your embarrassment, still unused to the attention holding something as simple and as cheery as a bouquet of flowers could bring.

The rain’s paused, when you make it to your stop; the sky over the intersection still it’s peach spill. You twirl your umbrella above your head, watching the clouds roll, and then glance ahead, across the road—to where Katsuki is standing in civilian gear, golden and unimpressed in the latelight as he waits for you to notice him.

You break out into a grin just as the lights signal for you to cross, your heart skipping with the tune as you make your way to him.

“What happened to the paperwork?” You ask a little breathlessly, when you join him on his side of the road.

Katsuki just frowns, a hand reaching out to curl against your side—pulling you into him, where he presses his face against yours for a moment, stilling your buzzing, your excitement, like he could absorb it all. You press back just as tightly; breathing him in, warm and deep and sweet.

There’s a light touch against your temple, suspiciously kiss-like; and then he’s nipping at your ear, annoyed.

“Ow,” you say, reflexively.

He smacks his forehead against yours in retaliation. “Y’re meant to go home, dipshit,” he says, disapproving, though he just holds you closer when you sag against him, trying to keep your umbrella aloft.

“I am going home,” you mumble into the lapel of his jacket. “I’m going home with you.”

His arm tightens around you; you breathe in with him, listening to the thud of his heart, steady under the sudden spray of rain overhead, on your umbrella.

The crosswalk goes off again—leaving the pair of you standing there in the last of the rain, the light. The two of you in your own world, under the watercolour spill of sky.

#prompts and drabbles and other things #surrender-fic verse

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Medical History

(Story Post)

Only after a good meal and a proper night's sleep were Tand and family ready to see a doctor. Once they hit land, they stayed a night in a safe house where there were no other people that the hesitant new arrivals had to interact with. Going from only seeing each every day, year after yeah, with the occasional visitor, to suddenly being constantly around three strangers was more than enough for the timid little family, so Korsy was trying his best to coordinate a slow introduction for them. There was food at the safe house, but instead of making meals and expecting them to enjoy it, he laid out their options and let Tand decide what he was comfortable with trying. He gravitated mostly to meat although he was willing to try root vegetables like the strange ‘radishes' he'd offered Asger back home. Since he'd promised them soup, Dusty was happy to whip their choices up into a hearty stew. The beds in the safe house weren't particularly special, but they were much plusher than anything Tand and kids had ever had before. In fact, it was a bit too much of a change that they ended up pulling the blankets off and curling up with them on the floor. The kids snuggled up together, but Tand slept separately from them in his own bundle of blankets. While they had had trouble sleeping back in the deep, they were so exhausted now that they all passed out the moment their heads hit the pillow.

The next day, they were transported by private bus to a European branch of APID located in Germany where a trusted health care professional could see them. Korsy asked specifically for the family to be seen together and not separated because of how they'd been treated in the dark elf city. This however wasn't enough for the kids to feel comfortable with this new stranger, so Asger had to first get a basic exam done himself for them to watch, and then sit in on their examinations for trust purposes. They were very cooperative, and if they were nervous about anything, Soppa would look to Asger for reassurance, while the other kids looked to Soppa. Tand on the other hand preferred to be alone in the room with the doctor, outright refusing to have Asger in the room with him until his exam was done. “It's a good thing we examined you first, Asger, because that way we can better compare your elven anatomy with theirs,” Dr Vermeulen explained. She was a woman in her mid 40s, tall, with sharp features. She had the children wait outside with Korsy and Dusty while she discussed her findings with Asger and Tand. “Based on our basic exams today, I can say these folks do seem to be related to the dark elves, although blood work would need to be done to see just how related.” “Tand seems quite confident that he is a dark elf,” Asger said. “I can only imagine we must share a recent common ancestor. You wouldn't happen to have seen any kind of mark on his inner thighs during the exams?” “I didn't have him disrobe to that extent,” the doctor declined. “As a first appointment ever, building trust between healthcare professionals and the patient is most important. You'd have to ask them.” “Ah.” Asger had a feeling he wouldn't get that out of Tand, and he certainly wasn't going to ask the kids. “As for their health, based on dark elf standards, they are quite underweight and fatigued, but more regular mealtimes and sleep will balance that out.” She flipped through her notes. “Tand on the other hand… Well, I would definitely like to run some blood tests on them.” “Him,” Asger corrected. “He feels othered by such terms.” The doctor made a note. “Him. I forgot. English is not my first language. I apologise.” “I do not care,” Tand said, irritably. “It is fine.” “Can you determine how old the kids are?” Asger then asked. “You're not sure their ages?” the doctor asked. “No, it is near impossible to tell time where they came from,” Asger said. “Tand doesn't know. I can only guess.” “Well, it wouldn't be wise to do a medical age evaluation right now, as extended periods of malnutrition can stunt growth and make a child appear younger than they really are,” Dr Vermeulen explained. “After a year or so, they usually catch up, at which point we could attempt an evaluation, however due to their unique dental structure, a dental assessment would likely be found inconclusive. A bone age x-ray is doable, but again, I would wait.” “I see… Could you make a ballpark estimate?” Asger said. “Well… Taking nutrition into account, I would estimate Bita to be no more than four years old. Sten could be six, and Soppa eight or even nine.” “What about Tand?” Asger asked. Doctor Vermeulen let out a puff of air. “Adult elves are even more difficult to estimate… Certainly an adult, but dark elves, they could be anywhere from…22 to 85… Although, based on the living conditions you described, I can’t imagine he’s any more than 26.” “Really? How do you figure that?” Asger asked. “You explained that Tand would attempt to reproduce with anyone that came around due to their scarcity, yes?” the doctor recalled. “If that's the case, and Soppa really is his first child, then Tand likely had him when he had only just reached sexual maturity. Most elves reach puberty around age fifteen, so adding Soppa's age, you get around 25.” “So…Soppa would have been born when he was only a teenager?” Asger looked over with concern at Tand who was still ignoring him and going through one of the doctor's magazine's he brought in from the waiting room. They were roughly the same age, he and Tand, but responsibility had been placed on the latter so much earlier. “Yes. Sten possibly as well,” the doctor confirmed. “Based on Tand's exam, I wouldn't believe he's had more than three full term pregnancies.” Asger blinked. “Pregnancies? Wait, wait… I was under the impression—” “—That he sired his children?” Dr Vermeulen shook her head. “Why would you assume that?” “Well, I… He took his pants off in front of me,” Asger said. “Ah, you see. That's where yours and his anatomy would differ,” the doctor explained. “Tand would be best considered intersex. He does have male reproductive organs, but he is also equipped with female reproductive organs as well.” “Didn’t you say he never disrobed?” Asger asked. “How do you know all that?” “It was part of what little he did tell me,” Dr Vermeulen stated. “Without further tests, I can only assume the functionality level of these organs, but based on scarring and hip width, and based on the fact that he is raising the children and not the other parties involved in their conception, it is easy to conclude that he was left to give birth to them.” A cold shiver went down Asger's spine. To think that Tand was once in that hole in the woods, just a teenager alone with a newborn… Asger could only imagine the fear and loneliness he must've felt. “You said you wanted to run more tests on Tand?” Asger recalled. “Yes. The APID agents you came in with have reason to believe he is currently pregnant so some tests would be highly recommended to gauge foetal health and gestational length,” the doctor said. “Pregnant?” Asger turned to Tand. “You're pregnant?” Tand looked back at him, eyes blank. “This means what?” “You're with child. You’re going to have a baby,” the doctor elaborated. “Have you been sexually active recently?” “Recently? I do not know what is recently,” Tand replied. “Morkrët. No time keeping,” Asger reminded. He tried to re-explain for Tand. “After Bita was born, have you mated with anyone?” “Born?” Tand asked. “After they came out. After you gave birth to them. When they came into existence.” “Mn,” Tand affirmed, waving a hand to halt any further elaboration. “There has been a mate after.” “How big was Bita?” the doctor asked. “Were they smaller than now?” Tand shrugged. “No bigger. No smaller.” “Kids grow fast, so likely within the last few months,” the doctor deduced. “What tests do you need to do?” Asger asked. “Usually, I would do a pelvic exam, but that could be too invasive for a first-time doctor's visit for Tand,” the doctor considered. “An abdominal sonogram and a blood test if he'll let me would be great. We need to establish the health and stage of the pregnancy.” Asger started nodding slowly. “Tand, you'll let the doctor help, right?” Tand just crossed his arms. “I do not understand what this is for. You look at my body and then talk about it? What help is that?” “It’s for your health,” Asger explained. “It’s just to determine if everything is working or if you're sick and need care. Doctor’s help you feel better and keep you alive and kicking.” Dr Vermeulen nodded along. “Yes, if you don't feel well and you don't know what's wrong, I can help you find out what's wrong and treat it. In simple terms.” “Not feel well?” Tand asked. “Like yesterday on the boat,” Asger said. “You were sick and threw up. We thought it was motion sickness, but it could also be your pregnancy. The doctor can help with that.” Tand slowly nodded. “I understand.” “I'm glad,” the doctor said. “Now, there are certain things that doctor's do that might seem like we're trying to hurt you. In reality these are minor invasions that work towards overall health. Feeling better. That's something I hope we can do to help you.” Tand knit his brow. “Like what?” “Well, a needle for example,” the doctor explained. “Can I show you?” Tand nodded silently. Dr Vermeulen got up and retrieved a small needle from her drawers and brought it over. “This is a needle.” She unwrapped it and removed the cap protecting the point. Tand physically recoiled a bit. “A normal reaction. But this is nothing to be afraid of, when used by a professional,” the doctor explained. “This thin needle only feels like a little prick at first, and then you feel a little discomfort when we draw blood. We then collect the blood and run tests to diagnose health and illnesses.” Tand knit their brow. “Is it like a bite?” “It doesn't hurt nearly as much as a bite,” Asger said. “Then it is no problem,” Tand said. “You want to do it? Do.” Dr Vermeulen lit up. “Very brave of you. Alright, let me clean your arm and we'll get some blood.” She prepped Tand's arm while he watched and then checked to make sure he was ready. “Alright, I’m going to start on the count of five. You might feel a little prick,” she said. “Ready?” Tand nodded impatiently. “Do it.” “I recommend not looking,” Asger offered. Tand just gave him an indignant huff and continued to watch the procedure happen. Dr Vermeulen counted down and started inserting the needle at 2. Tand watched the whole time unmoving. She filled a couple vials of blood to facilitate multiple tests since he seemed so unfazed by the bloodwork. “Alright, all done!” the doctor said, extracting the needle and removing the vial attached to it. “Good job.” Just as they were thinking he was so brave, Tand's head lolled strangely to the side. Asger shot over to him to see if he was okay, and after a moment looking him over, it was then clear that he had fainted sitting up! “Oh dear,” the doctor said. “Well, that's perfectly normal. Want to help lie him down?” Asger nodded and got up to lie Tand down prone on the exam bed. “Will that be enough blood?” “For now. Since he is underweight, I don’t want to take too much. We can do an ultrasound another day when he's feeling better,” the doctor said. “Get those kids some good food. Make sure Tand eats well too.” “I will. Thank you for your time today, doctor,” Asger said. “My pleasure.” Tand started to come to, so Asger made sure he was good to stand before helping him out of the doctor's office. “You were very brave,” Asger encouraged him, as the other leaned on him. “Mn.” “Let's get you and the kids some lunch, okay?” “Soup?” “We can get soup, yes.” “Okay.”

#lore #Asger #Tand #implied mpreg

[clubatsumu]

Meian Shugo meant nothing to you six months ago. He was nothing but an odd fixture at your left peripheral. He’s hard to miss, being his height and all. 

The first time you talk to Shugo – really talk – it’s because of your pathetic attempts to talk to Atsumu past your relationship's expiration. You went as far as to go to their training facility, only to be stopped by security.

Shugo found you like that, attempting to enter the building while he was on his way out. He paused, looked at you, then at the security guard, then back at you again. A crease formed in his brow line. He glanced at the glass door. You notice the moment it all clicks in his mind, because he lifts his head almost imperceptibly, a tiny Ah on his lips. He moves away without saying a word, his judgment hanging in the air like a rancid fart. Then he turns around and says a word you never knew you hated, “Kid–” breathing low, he stops. The imperious, smug man. 

Maybe – just maybe, because most likely it’s wrong – the reason why the word kid grates you is because it’s somehow true. You’ve always been level headed, mature, but next to someone as undoubtedly competent and quickly decisive as Meian Shugo, you’re demoted to an unfamiliar role of backseat driver. 

The man must be fantastic in bed.

The unwanted thought colors your cheeks horribly, and you take a large gulp of your beer to keep the embarrassment at bay. 

“Why am I even here?” you mutter into the rim of the glass. 

“You invited me,” he reminds you, taking a sip from his beer right beside yours. 

In the bar near the train station, you sit side by side, bundled up in wool and puffer jackets. The nosy-ass captain – who you now have to remember is Meian Shugo-san –  is impeccably neat. “Because you looked at me weird,” you shoot back, maintaining honorifics. “You looked at me like I was a fly in your soup.”

“Are you?” he asks, voice a deep baritone. Atsumu’s voice was as nasal as they could come. 

“Am I what?”

“A fly in my soup.”

The look on your face cannot be drawn.

He smiles. And even his smile is formal. “Don’t look so scandalized, kid. I was joking.”

“I’m not a kid,” you bristle. There goes that word again. You wonder how his teammates can stand him. No one can stand a man as composed as this. Jesus isn’t as composed as MSBY’s team captain. 

“You sure looked like one earlier,” he states simply, going back to look at the owner behind the bar. He gestures for another glass. “Do you have daikon – yes? Fresh? Great. I’ll have an omelet with that. Thank you.” He doesn’t look at your direction, doesn’t even ask you if you want one as well. 

“What if I wanted one?” You know you’re being incredibly rude right now, but you can’t help it. Something about him unsettles you. 

He moves his neck only slightly. “I doubt you like radish.”

“I do.” You hate it, actually, but you don’t tell him that. “How can you conclude something about a perfect stranger?”

“Ah, but you’re not a stranger are you?”

Your brows furrow. “Do I know you? Not from the team, I mean. From somewhere else. You’re being too familiar with me.”

“We only know each other from the team, Miya-chan’s lady friend.”

Lady friend? Is he 80? And you are not Miya-chan’s lady friend – no, you’re not Miya-chan’s anything at all. What a fucking asshole to go rub rocksalt on a still-hot gunshot wound. Asshole. Asshole. Asshole – you keep spitting on repeat in your mind, watching the man as he eats his radish. Miya-chan didn’t even go out of the facility even after the guards told him you were waiting out in the cold. And you can’t even be mad about it, because Miya-chan looks happier – freer – than you’ve ever seen him before, so you have to suck it the fuck up and move the fuck on. 

But not yet. Now you wallow. Now you lick your wounds. Now you wait for everything to unpack themselves. Now you wait until you can answer the questions that'll come. Questions like, did he just use me? Did he even love me? All while drowning yourself in work. The team captain is busting your plans.

“Then why are you acting so familiar?” you ask Meian Shugo, the last person you thought you’d be having drinks with tonight. Or ever. 

“Because we know each other from the team. You look like you need someone to… help you.”

“What?”

He breathes a sigh – one you’re becoming increasingly familiar with. Either he has a lung problem or you expasperate him to a degree that he needs to expel air in his body to make room for your incompetence. “I’ve been a team captain for a lot of years, kid. Since middle school up to the pros. A crying woman outside the facility –” 

“I was not fucking crying,” you snap.

“-- is usually bad news. Athlete management for the Jackals has been below average ever since Ino-san retired, and Atsumu and Sakusa need a bit more people who care on their corner, a little more people on the look out for them, taking care of them, yeah?”

“So you took me here to see if I’m a psycho who’ll leak a story to the press?” The thought sickens you, because even though you hate Atsumu right at this moment, right on this day, you still love him with something fierce, something protective, that you’ve loved him with all your life. “Is that what you think of me? You’re here because you think I’m a potential PR problem?”

“You’re here because you invited me to drinks.”

All your questions about his motivations are answered, and you feel your soul wilt just a little bit. Someone who cares. He's someone who cares. What a wonderful person he is.

“You manipulated our conversation so that I would,” you mumble, thumbing the condensation on the wooden table. Righteousness drains out of you like a faucet leak, and you’re left with nothing but resignation, defeat, and Meian Shugo. A new patron enters the store. It’s small enough that you feel the cold air from outside brush your back. “You can be sure I won’t leak anything.”

The door settles back into its frame with a slide. 

“I’m not that kind of person, Meian-san.” 

You give him a pathetic smile. There’s a gravity around him that makes people elevate, somehow, makes them better than they are. Right now, you feel like hell, and this man makes you want to put on a brave face. Either you detest his smugness enough to put on a strong show, or it’s whatever captaincy voodoo he has going on that makes people step up. You look at him, see the curve of his lashes. You blink and look back at your spot on the table immediately. “You can go home now. No need to be here.”

He says, “No one's asking me to be here. I’m here because I find you immensely beautiful.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

For the second time in an hour, you are left speechless.

He tilts his head. “Has no one ever told you before? That your face is…” he gulps. “Surely you know. You can’t look like that and not know.”

“Know what?” you spit, still reeling. Is this man for real? Or is this one of those hidden camera pranks that they air at 11 pm? You glance around to look for any sign of a recording crew, only to be met with no one but a couple sitting near the window, eating their dinner in companionable silence. “Are you fucking with me?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the type of woman someone would stop on the street to watch. You’re someone people look at when you pass by, remember when they get home, wonder if you’re some undiscovered actress. How many men have declared their love for you after they knew you and my bonehead teammate were over?”

“None,” you reply, and: “Atsumu is–”

“Understandable.” He nods. “A lot of them probably think you’re out of their league. But I’m willing to throw my hat in the ring early, just in case you give points for that. I know you’re out of my league though. I’m incredibly self aware, in case you give points for that too.”

Disagreement is on your tongue, almost out, then you catch it. You cannot tell him he is the one who’s out of your league, because that would just be – that would just make you an imbecile, and that is not the point here. “I don’t know what to make of this, Meian-san. To be honest, this is kind of inappropriate.”

“I don’t know what to make of you either, kid.” He releases a shaky breath, almost like he's at a confessional. “I’ve never done anything as stupid as this.”

“You don’t declare your love for every other pathetic ex-girlfriend being hauled away by security? An ex-girlfriend of a current-teammate who you don’t know other than the usual formalities at parties everyone is forced to attend?”

“No,” he tells you, “Just you.”

You look away. This man cares for other people more than he cares for himself, that much is true. You can’t be around someone that unselfish; you’ll just suck the lifeblood out of him. “I can’t entertain you. You don’t make my heart flutter.” “Too bad. You make me feel like I’m about to shit my pants.” He nods, smiles. “It’s alright that you don’t feel that way right now. I’m not expecting you to return my sentiments. Not after the way I’m going about it like an idiot.”

“I’m asked out by a virtual stranger two days after my boyfriend since high school broke up with me and came out to me – concurrently, by the way – and one day after I hear he’s found the one in the form of his teammate whom he’s been working with for the past two years." You laugh derisively, looking up at the warm lightbulb. Then you swallow the saliva lodged at your throat. After the soberness hits you, you take a glance at him. He remains as inscrutable as ever.

You sigh. "I’m sorry I'm not very polite with you. I seem to just…” you frown. “Be nasty right now. I’m sorry.”

He gives you an opening to read him, just a small sliver of feeling behind his eyes. Something tender. “I’m not handling you well either. Not with tact anyway. I feel like I’m taking advantage of someone vulnerable, but I can’t seem to stop. I apologize too.” You snort. “What a lovely pair we make.”

“Hmm. Would you like some?” He slides his plate over to you, half-eaten. A small, amiable smile is on his lips.

“I’m not fond of radish.”

#meian x reader #fic: ailments of the soul