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snellblogs · 2 years

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Ride on an Open-top Bus to Padstowe, Cornwall

Blog by Lynne Pearl

May 7 22

We were just out for a drive but drove farther and farther into Cornwall. We sped past Bodmin Moor, eclipsed Dartmoor, lying huge and mighty on the skyline. We weren’t trying to cross Dartmoor today, we had other ways to go. We were travelling on the A30 via Bodmin and Launceston. At the top of Bodmin moor we stopped to look at the piebald ponies grazing free on the moor. In the distance there were red flags flying, probably there was army training..

Bodmin is a landscape like none other, it is high and wild and bleak, the trees are conifers. As we travelled on there were windmills, huge, white, flying like cranes or storks except once you got close to them they dwarfed the car. We travelled on the road to Newquay past Indian Queens choosing the A3059. We dropped down to the sea from the central spine of Cornwall peninsula.

The trees that lined the road were a vibrant green, there was purple rhododendron, occasionally bluebells in the hedge. From Trevarrian we made it to Mawgan Porth, down a very steep hill that does a hairpin bend onto the golden sand.

We parked in St Mawgan in an unattended car park and got out to take a look at the sea and the cliffs, magnificent on this North Coast of Cornwall. Quite by chance we found an open top bus waiting in St Mawgan labelled ‘Padstowe’ so without a moment’s thought we jumped on and off we went thinking that it was just around the corner. But it was about an hour of cliff top mists and fields to Padstowe. The last bus back was at 6pm, but the ride was worth it. The bus took the B3276 in the direction of Newquay.

There were lambs in the fields, bleating in the sea mist. Beside the road there was tall Queen Anne’s lace, smelling sweet. We dropped down to Harlyn Bay where there was a long beach and irises in gardens on cliff tops. We passed Trevose Head and Mother Iveys. For miles the hedge was the deepest pink, with a sea flower that liked the salt breezes and the prevailing winds.

We crossed a narrow bridge to St Merryn, passed the grey stone school and slate walls. The trees that line the road are craggy, covered in ivy. Then there are pale blue flowers, sea pinks and white along the side of cliffs. At Carneva Bay we climb a road out of the bay and see white lilies huge like trumpets. We don’t take the road to St Issey, but pass a whole field of wild flowers, sea facing hedges are pink with flowers.

We reach Padstowe and drink coffee and tea looking over the Camel estuary, sleeping today in a half mist.

On the way back there is a National Trust property at Carnevas, where there’s a path to Bedruthan steps. We decide to do that another day. From Trenane we have a view over the sea, the trees slant sideways with the prevailing winds from the sea.

We return to Mawgan Porth windblown and happy from the open top windy ride into mist. Now the tide has turned and there is a silver sea for the end of the day.

There is nothing like the view from the top of an open top bus in Spring.

Lynne Pearl at

https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/22455871-thiel-by-lynne-pearl

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21091814-road-trip-river-voices

#Mawgan Porth #Padstowe #Watergate Bay #Harlyn Bay #Open-top bus

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xeoniq · 4 years

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#issey miyake #issey skyline

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mintmatcha · 3 years

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10 Months - Chapter 4

9 months, 1 day

Matsuhana

CW- Angst, mentions of death

Chapter 1-3 on AO3

A/N: i think all the pieces are set now....

“Are you all caught up with My Hero?”

Matsukawa catches the bottle cap against the corner of his counter and, with the heel of his palm, slams down against it, hard enough to pop the cap off. It flies halfway across the room, clattering against the floor before sliding halfway under the fridge. As he walks by, sipping off the foam of his beer, he kicks it deeper into the unknown with the rest of the bottle caps. It would be a nice surprise for the next tenant: a private little collection of bottle caps stashed under every appliance.

"Nah, I'm a couple chapters behind," Mattsun replies as he leaves the kitchen, grabbing the remote along the way. "I'm surprised you're all caught up. Aren't you, I dunno, busy torturing athletes?"

"I have to be!" Iwaizumi groans, propping his feet up against the coffee table to bury himself further into the couch. He's still in his work clothes, the polo shirt struggling to stretch over his thick biceps as he buries his chopstick into the takeaway for another bite. "Bokuto spoils the new chapter for me every week!"

"That guy’s too excited for his own good." Mattsun takes a long swig and sucks air through his teeth, trying to savor the less than appealing flavor of IPA. It’s much too bitter, heavy enough that it sits in his stomach- but it does the job. "Sure you don't want a drink?"

"No, thanks. I have to be at the gym at 5am." Iwaizumi can barely rip his eyes off the screen long enough to pick out the mushrooms in his meal, placing them on a side plate, just like he does every week. As he flops down beside him, Mattsun unpauses the program and music fills the room.

Mattsun isn’t sure how this became a tradition, Wednesday night anime binging, but it was something he really looked forward to. It was a good break from the usual stress of the work week. They could just sit in silence for a couple hours, watch the anime they had recorded through the week, and relax; a rare treat for both of them.

The day sticks to him. It clogs his throat and makes every breath labored, every swallow thick. Usually, he can just ignore it, leave it in the corner of his mind to be lost to time.

But the coffin was so small.

Youth doesn't protect you. It gives you a fake shield of longevity, a shallow promise of tomorrow.

That little girl, face painted with a thick layer of makeup to make her cheeks seem rosy with live, probably had plans for the future, just like Makki does-

He tips the bottle back hard and takes a long drink. Iwa’s eyes meet his over the brown bottle before returning to the screen.

By the second episode and third beer, he’s feeling better. His brain can focus on the fuzzy numbness that pulses through his gums instead of how the parents today were his age, except they looked so much older, aged by tragedy -

Fuck.

He gets up mid-show to grab another. Iwaizumi doesn't look up, even when another bottle cap flies across the room.

The faux marble countertop is marred with multiple jagged chunks missing from the edge, cut all the way down to the wood. He wasn’t getting his security deposit back, but that was fine.

The alcohol must be hitting him already, Mattsun tells himself. That's the only reason his eyes kept wandering to where the hem of Iwa's shirt had ridden up, exposing just a whisper of skin and the middle of a happy trail. Sure, he had always known Iwaizumi to be an attractive guy, but the years of physical training certainly showed. Iwa wasn't his type, but he could definitely appreciate-

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Fuck. Mattsun shakes his head like a dog, trying to knock away whatever sort of nonsense was possessing him. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

Mattsun traces the half circle mark that’s formed on his palm. "I saw Makki the other day," he admits, "We talked for a while."

"Wow, really?" Iwa has forgotten all about the show. He’s moved up to the edge of his sheet, looking at his friend with disbelief. "Didn't think that would ever happen."

"Yeah, me neither," Mattsun drapes himself over the counter, knocking over the empty plastic containers, "He looks like shit."

"Did he tell you?"

Iwa doesn't need to clarify.

"Yeah."

Iwa nods solemnly, nibbling on the end of his chopstick as he thinks about what to say. It’s no secret that Iwa and Makki had stayed friends since graduation, but it was definitely a subject that wasn’t discussed.

A splinter of wood is pressing against Mattsun’s stomach, piercing through his shirt, but he doesn’t stand up. Instead, he digs more of his weight against it. The sharpness of the pain detracts him from the guilt.

“It’s sad.” It’s the only thing Mattsun can think of. “Tragedy.”

Iwa and Mattsun's friendship was usually based on being quiet. They were always surrounded by louder personalities, people who demanded attention, so they usually just enjoyed shutting up with each other. Mattsun can't remember talking about anything of merit with Iwa. Ever.

And that's the way they liked it.

"I'm glad you hung out. I think he's been lonely since-" Iwa stops himself.

"Since what?"

"It's not my place to tell you, just…." he says, "It's been a pretty bad year for Maks. I bet he's glad you made up."

"Let's not go that far. We just talked."

He doesn't mention the planning. Something about it feels sacred between them.

A question nips at the back of his mind. He shouldn’t address it, but-

"Hey, did Makki ever talk to you about me? About why we fought?" Mattsun, pretending to watch the television, rests his head in his hands. His palms are slick with sweat, nervous about the answer.

"No," he can see from the corner of his eye that Iwa is still watching him and yet a wave of relief crashes over him, "Whenever it came up he told me it was 'Mattsun's story to tell'."

Good. The secrets are still safe.

"Maybe I'll tell it at his funeral," Mattsun raises his empty bottle in a fake toast, "Make a whole big speech about why the man of the hour hates my guts."

"Matsukawa! That's- that's not funny. What's wrong with you?" Iwa sneers, "I don't want to think about that."

He shrugs. "Me neither."

The early morning is still painted black, the sun still tucked away behind the city’s skyline. The only light that peers into the room is from under the door, a low glow that creeps all the way from the kitchen. If he listens, Mattsun can almost make out the voices of Makki’s parents, keeping their voices low so as to not wake the rest of the house. From his place on the floor, nestled in a lumpy, half stuffed futon, Mattsun stares at the ceiling. The glow in the dark stars had long lost their color, but he could still make out their borders. If he really focused, he could ignore that strangling tightness in his chest-

night

"Issei." Makki's voice cuts through the silence, groggy, "You awake?"

“Yeah.” he sighs, "Can't sleep."

"That futon sucks," Makki shuffles in his sheets before peering over the edge of his bed. Strange planes of his face are illuminated but the low light, and yet that tightness in his chest only gets worse. Sleepovers weren’t uncommon- in fact, they did them almost every night before a game, so they could make it to school together- but lately they were changing. More awkward pauses, more knees brushing against each other under the table as they did homework together, more quick turns away when the other was changing.

"Sucks major dick." Mattsun agrees.

Maybe all friendships go through this.

"Just sleep up here. We've slept closer on-"

Mattsun doesn’t let him finish justifying himself. He gets up, toting his pillow under his arm, and stands at the edge of the bed where Makki lays. The eagerness of his actions are so embarrassing, but that doesn’t slow him. Under the covers, Makki’s form was just a long, misshapen lump.

This is what friends do.

"Move over."

Friends sleep next to each other sometimes.

"This is my side."

"I'm not crawling over you- move over."

"Or what?” Makki teases under his breath, quiet enough not to be heard in the hall.

"Or I'm going to sleep on top of you."

"You wouldn't dare." He says it like an invite, with a smile.

Friends joke around like this.

Mattsun lifts his knee onto the raised part of the blanket, accidentally (accidentally?) separating Makki's legs. Time seems to stretch as he lowers himself down onto his elbows, giving Makki every chance to protest, but the blonde just watches with wide eyes and parted lips. He uses a melon flavored chapstick during the day. Does the flavor linger?

Chest against chest, so close yet parted by layers of fabric. Makki lets out a groan when the weight finally fully drops. It's an innocent sound, just a protest, but suddenly Mattsun is thankful for the space between them because he hides the way his body shutters.

This must be what a stroke feels like. Pressure builds behind his face, like his brain can't process everything happening right now.

Friends do this. Friends rough house, friends sleep.

“Would you still be my friend if I do something stupid?" Makki interrupts his thoughts with a hand. It hovers inches away from Mattsun's cheek, cupping the air. His fingers are trembling and Mattsun thinks, despite his confident grin, Makki might be nervous.

“How stupid?” Mattsun’s voice cracks, despite how low he keeps it. His face would fit perfectly in the palm of his hand if he were to just gather the courage to close the gap. He tries to repeat to himself, friends, friends, friends, but there’s a louder voice in the base of his head that asks for more, more, more.

“Like, actually stupid.”

Mattsun closes his eyes with a deep breath and headbutts Makki’s hand. The trajectory is off, his chin barely scrapes by his fingertips, but the touch is cool against his blushing skin, so cool that it burns into his memory. “I’ll always be your friend, even if you’re stupid.”

His left leg is halfway off of the bed, dangling there, but he doesn’t dare move. Makki’s trying his best to shift under his weight, pressing up onto his other elbow in sudden, jerking movements. Nothing happens for a moment and Mattsun worries he’s misread the situation, that the electricity in the air was all in his mind.

Then, so gently that he thinks it’s his imagination, breath tickles his nose right before lips meet his. Neither of them move at first, but waiting for a protest-

Friends don’t do this.

Makki doesn’t taste like melon, he tastes like sleep. The drag of his stubble against his chin is rough, so harsh compared to the plush softness of his lips, but he wants to feel more of it- feel it against his entire face, his neck, his chest-.

Excitement takes over. As he tries to deepen the kiss, teeth clash against teeth. Makki flops back down, holding his mouth.

“Ow, what the fuck-”

“Sorry- I’ve never-”

Makki runs his tongue over his front teeth, checking for any chips. “You suck at this.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“It’s fine,” His hand is pressed against the small of Mattsun’s back. His fingers are thick, yet long, the span of his hand taking up nearly half of his back. “We can practice.”

“I’m fine.” His voice is flat, far too blunt.

He doesn’t turn to face Mitsuri as he gathers himself, heartbeat still racing right under the skin, but he arches away from her touch. The bare skin of her thigh rubs against the back of his and he has to swallow back his sneer.

“You sure? I-”

“‘Kawa, sweetie.” a small hand, curled into a ball, is pressed into the center of his back when he jolts awake. “You’re talking in your sleep- are you okay?”

“Positive.”

“Oh,” she swallows. “I love you.” Dejection clings to her voice as she withdrawals back to her own side.

He doesn’t respond.

“I said I love you.” she repeats.

“Love you too.” he says, out of obligation more than anything.

What kind of monster wouldn't tell his fiance that he loved her?

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myelocin · 4 years

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sprinkles of earth | iwaizumi hajime

synopsis: in which rain makes you think of the reasons why you love the color green.

characters: iwaizumi hajime, you

genre/wc: fluff, domestic!au, 1k+

a/n: idk man i just wanna listen to hajime’s voice over the sound of rain

The scene’s set like this:

It’s raining and it’s the first week of September. The air’s a little stuffy with the rain and warm despite the weather forecast telling you to brace for colder weather. Global warming, Hajime explained, and you laughed—volume softer than the steady pelting of raindrops on glass and the two of you sit as conversation’s eventually swallowed by the sounds of a weeping earth.

The AC’s off and the two of you are sat on the tatami mats across each other, a plethora of playing cards long abandoned sprawled out in the space between you. He’ll crack a couple jokes as he scrolls through his phone—probably something he heard from Makki or Issei, but you laugh every time either way.

It’s in downtime like this, where you’re stuck with him because of the world and the weather, but somehow in the small one bedroom apartment overlooking just the edge of Tokyo’s skyline is where you feel the most complete.

Beside you, Hajime would laugh again and despite the downpour, when you close your eyes it was like you could already see a break in the clouds.

And the scene continues like that for the next few hours. You can’t seem to mind, because despite the rain, everything you see that looks the most beautiful are in various shades of green.

Sage—like the leaves of the succulent you’ve been nursing as if it were your own, tucked away in a corner between the windowsill and the edge of the homemade bookshelf Hajime built with you two months after you moved in together.

Basil—like the color of the herbs left on the two slices of pizza haphazardly left in the box from your order a few hours ago. Hajime’s laid down, with his body propped up with one elbow as he faces the window. Time to time, he’ll reach in and nibble on the corner of one of the slices before catching your gaze and offering you the piece he’d been holding on to.

“It’s already gone cold, Haji,” you’d say and he’d chuckle, voice smooth like satin—an evident contrast from his much gruffer exterior.

“Suit yourself,” he’d shrug before moving to finish the slice in two bites. A piece of basil would always stick in the corner of his lips, though. You eventually think he may be doing it on purpose because he always smiles and leans forward when you’d reach out and wipe the corner of his mouth for him.

“You’re a messy eater,” you’d comment.

“You still love me anyway,” Hajime would retort—and he’s right. You’d love him in every form that was him.

As he does with you.

Because when he places his phone to the side and laid down on the mat with his face facing up, the first thing you see a sweater in the shade of olive. The shade of green he relented wearing because he knew you bought that sweater thinking of him. It wasn’t his favorite—not by a long shot. But then again, you didn’t know that; he didn’t tell you that. You laughed when you found out and asked him why.

“Because seeing you happy is worth wearing that shade of green for,” came his reply, and just like that, you swore you never felt more loved.

“What do you wanna eat for dinner?” he’d ask you when you cleared the space and leaned down to lay beside him. You’d smell traces of his aftershave—of pine and a hint of rosewood. Smelling like earth drenched in rain, you’d scoot closer as his arm would wrap tight around you.

You’d shrug, not really thinking about dinner, but look in his eyes when he faces you anyway.

“We can order in,” he’d suggest and you’d shrug.

“Raining too hard; I feel bad for the delivery man,” you’d reply and he laughs, deep and mellow this time—and the effect it’d leave you with is comparable to the magic of a childhood lullaby pulling you to slumber.

“Home cooked meal it is then,” Hajime would conclude and you’d nod.

The clock probably says it’s already sometime after five pm, but the heavens cry harder as the leaves from the plants in your balcony continue dance in sync with an angrier wind.

“The world’s sad,” you’d comment without much thought, and Hajime would face you as one finger of his traces the features on your face.

He’d stop by the corner of your lips before tugging them up and breaking into a laugh when you meet his eyes, perplexed.

“We’re part of the world, so if we keep smiling, then not all of the world is sad,” he’d tells you, like it’s a promise and you’d lean up and press a kiss to his temple as if to set his promise in stone.

“Is that why you’re always smiling, Haji? You don’t want the world to be sad?”

“We gotta do our part, right?”

He’d smile; gentle and relaxed, and the corners of your lips would eventually pull up to a natural smile of their own.

“You’re sappy,” you’d laugh, boop the tip of his nose, and laugh again when he’d tower over you, caging you in his arms.

“I just wanna remind you of the good parts in life, that’s all,” he’d say.

Without hesitation, it doesn’t take much for you to consider Hajime as the best part of life. And every day you’re reminded of that as you see your favorite shade of green.

A deep mix of juniper and emerald, swirling like a portal to an untouched forest, locked in two orbs and framed with the deep curls of his lashes.

When it brimmed with tears, you’d see a river. When it twinkled with mirth, you’d see the scattered rays of a burning sun filtered through a foliage of green.

And when he’d say I love you—like now, as he says it over and over again in between kisses and laughter, you feel as if you see the break of a raging storm.

He’s warm, you think.

Like the sun that kisses your shoulders when you walk outside after a storm has passed.

Feels warm, Hajime thinks, when your laugh rings over the sound of rain and wind.

Like home.

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daddy-daichis · 3 years

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Yesterday the very beautiful and talented @fuwari-s tagged me in this game and since that post is already really long i figured id make a new one lol (Also thank you for tagging me, it made me so happy)

The Game: Tag your 2D lovers + the other trend I saw yesterday and wanted to do which is Would you actually date them IRL. So ill put that under the cut because it is a lot.

HQ: Atsumu, Daichi, Issei, Bokuto, Hinata, and Kyoutani

BNHA: Bakugou, Denki, and Hawks

JJK: Sukuna and Mei Mei

Others: Kagami from KNB, Levi and Jean from AOT, and Mikoto Suoh from K

So if you want to know if i would date them irl that is below the cut lol

As for tagging... if you want to do it :) @eijirosriot @bokutosnumberonefan @hinosreis @tetsus-kitten @sugawarakoushihoe @mynameisjackattack and anyone else who wants to do one or both of these challenges.

Alright so would i date these men (+ mei mei) in real life. Short answer is yes lmao. Long answer, with some headcanons that may or may not venture into 18+ category but only slightly. all aged up to be my age which is 26.

Atsumu - PLEASE, YES

we would be so chaotic together but he would also be really loving. As long as he can still prioritize me in a relationship, not over volleyball, just as much, then we will be golden. We would have such a good time and i feel like we would have a lot of fun bickering, which i really enjoy. Play fighting as a form of foreplay, if you will lmao. We’d probs be friends in HS and then get together after he starts playing for MSBY and he is secured in his position (and himself tbh). I just love this cocky bastard. he also gives me switch vibes and as a switch, i love that for me.

Daichi - YES

All i need is to be wrapped in his arms on the daily and i would be happy. Man would know how to take care of me and that is all. Love of my life, too good for this world. Wholesome husband. He would be able to manage my crazy side and chill me out when i get to anxious. I would want to be bratty just to get him to drop his good guy routine sometimes and I feel like he would like that.

Issei - YES

Funeral home employee can get it. Matsukawa Horse cock Issei can whisk me off my feet and straight into bed. we would have a lot of fun picking on oikawa together (out of love of course) but we would balance each other out a lot. His darker humor would go well against my lighter humor. Also I feel like our level of hotness is pretty comparable... like we aren't the prettiest in the friend group but still good (if that makes sense)

Bokuto - YES

Big ball of sunshine to light up my day, he would literally fuck the sad out of me every day I just know it. Like atsumu, as long as I am a priority to him itll work out. We also kind of have the same sad moods so I feel like we could either both just curl up on the couch together and watch a movie or bring the other out of a funk easily. I love this giant himbo so much.

Hinata - most likely yes

Pretty much the same reasons as bokuto but I feel like I would get drained of his energy faster, so he would def have to cuddle me more. For everyone else so far I can imagine being high school sweethearts, but with hinata i think he wouldnt settle down until later, or even start dating so it would probably be a lot of pining and watching him from the side lines for a while, which would be really hard tbh. but the way he would smile at me after a match would make it worth it so...

Kyoutani - Hard YES

I love a boy with anger issues, what can i say... (cough couch my irl husband with anger issues couch couch) I would love to be his weak spot and the one person he would go to to help him not feel angry anymore. I think that my fun personality would help him to unbox himself a bit. I just want to give him cuddles and a place to feel accepted. id also i KNOW hes a monster in bed...

Bakugou - FUCKING HARD YES, PLEASE

if he was real the things i would do to and for him... A lot like kyoutani i would want to give him a place where hes accepted, and a place where he is unconditionally loved. I would be able to handle his misguided anger and calm him down and give him space. I headcanon that hes very cuddly in private to just his S/O which is something that i love. I love his lil smirk and would do anything to get him to smirk at me. As long as he is able to set me as a priority it would work out, but that would be what he struggles with so it would be a thing we would have to talk about. But I also feel that once you say something about it he would check in with you because of course he has to be the best bf/husband. I feel like I could talk for hours about him so Ill just wrap it up by saying that I love me a passionate man who would probs be a lil possessive, and I would use that to my advantage.

Denki - GOD YES

I really do think that denki and I are soulmates. we are both the perfect blend of funny, pervy, while still being soft. I feel like there would be a lot of mutual pining at first but he would end up the golden retriever gamer boy to my alt bisexual and thats just the perfect pairing. We would pull so much shit and then get away with it because thats just us being us. I see us being scolded by bakugou a lot for the stupid shit we would pull. Also late night drives in his shitty tuned car to taco bell while we sing alt rock songs from the 2010s. also the switch vibes are immaculate.

Hawks - Probably

So it would honestly depend a lot on what version of hawks.. him in the hero commission is a no, because he wouldnt be able to be honest with me about a lot of stuff. Like his name, or when i can see him again, and that would give me too much anxiety. When hes free of them and is actually allowed to be himself I think it could work then. I know that he of course wants to still be the best hero, so he would have the same problems as bakugou with finding a balance, but if he wants to i think he could. He would also have a lot of trauma from his relationship with his parents and the commission so I dont know if he would be able to give his love away as freely as he wants so we could get therapy together. I love that for us. But i would happily wake up next to this beautiful birb man if he would have me.

Sukuna - A hesitant yes

so.. the anger issues that ive mentioned before.. yes. I would like sukuna. I would be his lil bride and sit on his lap on his throne as long as he didnt kill my loved ones or my cats lmao. I would also be ok with being his and itadoris gf while hes living in itadoris head. being with him is just asking for an unhappy ending tho, whether its a life always on the run, or someones trying to kill me, or someones trying to kill him, or hes trying to kill someone. But yes i would like to be with him but that would mean sacrificing a lot.

Mei Mei - god yessssss..

Please Mei Mei step on me and make me ur lil house wife. I see us living in a pent house apartment with the most breathtaking view of the Tokyo skyline. I would want for nothing and she could take me where ever she wanted and i would just follow her around with heart eyes.

Kagami - YES

my basketball husband! i love him and would love to be loved by him. Id follow him wherever. He would take care of me and is just so dreamy.. also i guess the mild anger issues.. but hes really not that bad. He would just be such a good s/o. He would cook us nice dinners, wed have a few cats, and he would carry me around a lot because hes so strong. While were on the topic of strong... his stamina... everyone on this list probably has good if not great stamina... but kagami just hits different..... have you seen him in the zone? have you seen his thighs? his sex zone has got to be incredible.

Levi - Yes

I was going to say it depends, but really it doesn't... if were in the aot universe and hes my captain and I fall in love with him u can bet ur ass im gonna try and get with him because i could die at anytime. if its some au where he is here in our universe and somehow we meet... like of course im gonna be in love with him. our height difference isnt too bad, im only like an inch or 2 taller than him. I think we would both have a great time together. I would make him laugh, and he would help me clean, because lord knows I hate cleaning. BUT i hate cleaning because its something that I always have to do alone, and I feel like levi would have us be cleaning together like he makes the scouts do. and hes just so sexy...

Jean - big yes

This beautiful handsome man... idk what to even say about him. Hes strong, funny, handsome, cocky, but very much full of love. would love to run away from the world with him. I feel like if he was in love with me before *tries not to give away spoilers* the marco incident (?) that after he would become very clingy and attached and im ok with that. There would have to be lots of cuddles and reassurances and i just want to see him happy and not at war, with both real life people and himself... id give him the best kisses and he would become addicted to them.

Mikoto - No? But maybe...

I feel like we could be.. but if you watched the show then you know.. But i would love to be Homra’s princess TBH. No one would mess with me or they would have to face the wrath of my big fire boyfriend and his whole ass gang. But on the other hand I feel like Mikoto wouldnt allow himself to fall in love, so it would probably be a hush hush topic. everyone knows the boss and I are in an entanglement, but they cant talk about it. Then Anna starts asking questions to Mikoto and he has to come clean to her, which would be so cute. He tells her is a secret but she doesn't care lmao. in conclusion, I would want to, but I dont think he would let me.... Maybe friends with benefits tho....

............................................................................................

ok if you read all this im officially in love with you. Please take my heart.

This took me like 2 hours to do because I love thinking about it so much. if you have any thoughts about any of this hop into my dms or comment on this because id love to hear them (especially if you think i belong with one more than the others lmao).

#i cant believe i spent 2 hours on this.#im just so in love with 2d characters #about me

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n3verending16 · 4 years

Text

Falling Blossoms Part 1: The End

Series Masterlist + Notes >> Ao3 >> Part 2

Tokyo nightlife buzzed with raw energy and flashing neon lights where the light from the sky seemed to seep into the city itself. Atop one of the towers, the rooftop was carpeted a red velvet, soft and pleasing to walk on. Intertwined bluebells and peonies adorned the balcony which overlooked the expanse of small blinking lights. Music boxes played generic tunes, drowned out by conversations and small talk, and white-clothed tables were scattered all over the roof, with a stage and a dance floor in the middle. At the microphone stand, a dark haired man quietly cleared his throat as he let go of his girlfriend's hand. Heads turned in a ripple effect and everyone watched him, his close friends smiling.

(Name)'s smile quivered as she gripped the small camera, watching Iwaizumi Hajime get on his knee on the carpet and hold the black box out. It was easy to tell that he had been nervous to pop the question, by the way the tie of his dress shirt was tied a bit too tightly and the shine of a light cover of sweat on his forehead, but he hadn't needed to worry. His girlfriend of 3 years, Asami, was surprised for a moment and then she was crying out and saying "Yes, yes!", while throwing her arms around her boyfriend, her salmon pink dress swishing around her ankles as they hugged and kissed under a small chandelier of candles.

"Fiancé, not boyfriend." (Name) told herself, "They're going to be married soon". Ignoring the clawing at her throat as the room erupted into cheers and applause, (Name) quickly snapped a series of photos, making sure the focus was clear, the colours of the streamers were perfect, the red curtains were pulled back appropriately- because he deserved it.

Iwaizumi Hajime- one of the boys who had been there through her childhood and adolescence. They had known each other since the second day of elementary school, where he apologised for a certain brunette's rash actions, eventually causing her to become a third part of an inseparable trio. He'd stuck by her side through the bad grades, the expectations and the moments where life look a turn for the downside, giving warm hugs, consolation or advice whenever it was needed. It was a friendship for the ages, she supposed, and it seemed cliché to think that one would fall for the other. But she did, and now, as she watched him propose to a girl who was not her, she paid the price- and god her throat hurt.

Asami would have been stupid to turn such a warm-hearted man down.

She was glad nobody was paying her any attention because (Name) was sure if she were to make eye contact with any of the other people on the rooftop she would burst out ugly crying and spew out blood and flowers, and then the façade she had kept up for years would have shattered into pieces. She loved him, she really did, but confessing her feelings- especially on the day he proposed to another- was ridiculous. "Hajime deserves happiness," she told herself. "He's happy right now, and you're gonna keep it that way."

So she kept her eyes on the camera and continued to take pictures diligently, her heart aching and the smile of hers plastered on her face like duct tape on a clay figure.

But it takes one to know one, and someone put his arm around her shoulders.

"I'll take over for you now, (Name)-chan~. Your poor arms must be getting so sore! Go rest a bit."

The other person who had always been there, Oikawa Tooru, was all smiles as he pried the camera from her cold hands. He had known about her longing for Iwaizumi only a week after the crush started (they were, after all, best friends), and he was her comfort person as Hajime's relationship progressed through the stages. He looked at her face and noted the way her eyes were red and shimmering, glassy under the light. "Are you okay?" he asked quietly, and she could barely bring herself to open her mouth to answer him before she was choking, and the itching sensation at the back of her throat began to burn and become a searing pain. Hurriedly, he pressed a napkin to her mouth- lest she spat out blood and gave herself up- before she was making a beeline for the blue door on the side of the rooftop. He watched her for a second before turning back to the newly engaged couple and throwing a reminder to "Smile, Iwa-chan, you big brute!", but his mind was elsewhere.

~~~~~

Inside the restroom, (Name) was glad to see that nobody was inside, and celebratory sounds from the party were muffled by the door. The white tiles, porcelain sinks and mirrors were polished clean, and the toilets were a high standard- of course they were.

He really did deserve the best.

(Name) leaned against the door for a minute, mind going dizzy, before she stumbled to the stall furthest from the door and threw herself into the cubicle, the door swinging shut as tears started to drip down her face. She kneeled on the floor, folding her dress in, and looked down at the bowl, the clear water rippling with every tear that fell.

Images of Hajime flashed through her mind.

His eyes, shimmering like moonlight off a turquoise lake as he watched Asami dance, her movements poised and graceful.

She could feel the familiar sensation making its way up her throat.

His laugh, clear and resounding as he walked down the path with Asami skipping beside him, the couple hand in hand.

It touched the sides of her neck, soft and soothing at first, before it blocked off her airways and her instincts to cough kicked in.

His smile, soft and true as he put an arm around Asami's shoulders, and she was leaning into him as they watched the movie together.

Her coughs were quiet at first but then she was choking, choking on the petals, choking on the tears and choking on the words that she wouldn't be able to say to him, now that he had found the one he loved.

She continued to choke the petals into the toilet bowl, the mixture of blossoms, blood and tears hitting the water with uneven plops, the smell of blood filtering the air around her. After a while, Name opened her eyes, and stared at the toilet bowl. The water was light, small patches of red swirling as it lifted the petals to the surface.

Bluebells, the same flowers his mother grew in the garden when he was a child.

(Name) turned away, eyes still puffy as she flushed the evidence down the toilet.

~~~~~

Back in the party, the applause had died down as people moved around saying their congratulations to the newly engaged couple. (Name) decided she wasn't ready to say her congratulations yet (how could she ever be ready to say it without letting him go first?) and went to mingle with the other guests in the room. She spotted Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei in the corner, and her hopes lifted a little as she moved towards them, artfully dodging others. Surely her high school friends would be able to do something to lift her spirits, and she had yet to ask them who had won the bet of 500 yen on the Mario Kart game they started previously. As she got a clearer view of the pair, she stopped as she realised that maybe this wasn't the best time to catch up with them. Hanamaki was straddling Matsukawa's lap, their faces mere centimetres apart, eyes staring at each other with vivid intensity. (Name) was a good friend, not a cockblock, so she respectfully left them be and tried to find another person to talk to.

To her dismay, Oikawa had disappeared; she didn't know the majority of the people who had been invited and those who she did know- well, Kunimi was tapping away at his phone and seemingly not up for talking, Yahaba was openly flirting with a shorter blonde-haired girl who confidently took this in stride, and Kyoutani was too busy glaring at an ant on the table.

As she continued to survey the room, (Name) blinked for a second, because was that seriously Ushijima-fucking-Wakatoshi standing in the corner by himself? She smiled, remembering the high school days where she'd tutored the growing volleyball star (much to someone's distaste) and made her way to the olive-haired man, swiping a drink as she went past.

~~~~~

Oikawa carefully pushed open the restroom door and shut it behind him, making sure nobody was taking note of his actions. He sniffed the air and made out the smell of something he was all too familiar with and checked each stall for the place where the smell was the strongest. He arrived at the last cubicle. "Ah, yes," he thought. "This is definitely it". He stepped into the cubicle and his heart panged at what he saw.

A blue blossom lay on the toilet seat, seemingly innocent and unfazed by the scent permeating the air. He picked it up, examining the flower before he crushed it. A sad smile crossed his face as he dropped its remains into the toilet. "You're too careless, (Name)," the brunette reached behind him and locked the door of the cubicle.

~~~~~

Later in the evening, (Name) stumbled out from the double doors onto the street, clinging onto Ushijima's arm as she gulped in the clear air. The olive-haired man raised an eyebrow as she nearly tripped over her other foot, his other hand moving up to steady her shoulders.

"Are you sure you'll be able to walk back to your home from here?" he asked the drunk woman.

"Hmm? Oh... home is... that way." She pointed down the road at a parked blue skyline.

"(Name), that is a car."

"Yeah! Car... his car..."

The man sighed. "Was someone supposed to take you home after?"

She nodded vigorously, and in a brief moment of sobriety, fished for her phone inside her purse before nearly dropping it onto the sidewalk.

Ushijima watched her and offered to find the person who she was looking for in her contacts. "It's Tooru, he said he'd take me home after." (Name) handed him her phone and stared at her shoes.

After scrolling through her contacts multiple times, Ushijima was about to tell her, "There doesn't appear to be anyone named Oikawa saved in your phone." until the door behind them opened and the brunette walked out.

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds- their previous rivalry not completely forgotten- before the taller man nodded at (Name).

"She's a bit drunk, but said that you'd be able to take her home. I assume it's safe to leave her in your hands?"

Oikawa scoffed, "Of course. Alcohol isn't my preferred drink anyway- soft drink is far superior."

"Hmm. Coming from a person who didn't pick Shiratorizawa, I'd say your taste is a bit unrefined."

Oikawa snorted and was about to give a witty comeback before (Name) pulled on the sleeve on his shirt.

"Tooru, can we get home now? I'm feeling kind of tired."

"Alright, Name-chan~."

As they turned to leave, Ushijima called out one last time. "Japan would be lucky to have a setter like you on the team, Oikawa-san."

"Don't forget that. The offer still stands."

The brunette freezed, and sighed. "Okay Ushiwaka-san," he drawled and hopped into his car- but not before blowing a final raspberry in his rival's direction.

~~~~~

The trip back was silent, save for the rumble of the cars around them, before Oikawa tuned the radio down. He glanced at the woman in the passenger seat. "How are you feeling now?" he asked.

"Okay, I guess. I've entered the sober phase".

"Ah. Was there a lot of blood?"

(Name) sighed, recalling the few swirls in the toilet bowl.

"No, there wasn't much... there's a lot less blood now than there was before. I guess I'm letting go soon, it's just... hard, you know? Because I've loved him for so long?"

The brunette hummed. "Yeah, I know what you mean... maybe you just need a push in the right direction."

She looked at him, her eyebrow raised, as he feigned an expression of nonchalance. "You know what I mean to be in love for a long time? I doubt that. What's the ex-girlfriend count now, 8?"

"Wah! So mean, (Name)-chan!" Tooru pouted. "And for your information, it's 7. Makki bet I'd make it to 10 before the end of the year."

"I'd raise him to 15."

"What- hey!"

(Name) burst into a fit of giggles and Tooru smiled before his expression grew solemn again.

"Oh, by the way, Iwa-chan wants to hang out two days from now. He was trying to find you during the party."

(Name) pursed her lips. "Alright... I'll tell him I'm coming."

"Asami will be there too, you know. Are you sure you'll be fine?"

"Yeah, she's a really nice person."

(A pause).

"I don't... really have anything against her."

"Mhm-hm."

"Not like you and Ushiwaka anyway."

Tooru grumbled indignantly. "Hey! He's so insufferable and annoying! I don't know how you put up with him."

(Name) put on her best expression of the olive-haired man. "You should have come to Shiratorizawa," she recited the infamous line before bursting into another fit of giggles. "But wait, didn't he say something about the Japan Volleyball Team?"

"Oh, yeah, about that... I'm... flying back to Argentina soon."

(Name) laid back in her chair. "Right, forgot about that." She turned to look at her best friend. "You'll still call every night, right?"

A second passed.

"Of course, (Name)-chan! Aw, you actually do care about me! I'm so touched~"

(Name) rolled her eyes and thumped the male on his shoulder.

"Of course I do, dumbass." She smiled at him and Oikawa couldn't help but return the action.

~~~~~

It was in the wee hours of the morning when Oikawa pulled over.

"(Name)-chan? We're here, are you- oh." Oikawa looked at the sleeping female before getting out of his car and unlocking the door of the apartment. He then opened the car door and carefully hooked an arm under her legs and the other arm under her back before lifting her. After a final check that her purse was around his neck, he took her inside the silent building.

Oikawa gently set (Name) down on the bed and loosened her hair before pulling the blankets up. As he was turning to leave, he noticed something on the desk in the room. A familiar polaroid picture had been stitched into her pencil case. As he lifted it to get a better look, he recognised it as the time the trio had gone on a picnic under the cherry blossom tree. His face stilled as he recalled a promise, and it was some time before he left, gently closing the door behind him.

#falling blossoms 2020 #oikawa x reader #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa tooru #tooru oikawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#oikawa angst #tooru oikawa #iwaizumi angst

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ao3feed-iwaoi · 4 years

Text

skyline

Read this masterpiece on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3iAmF3i

by wordstruck

They don’t say anything further as they settle into the car. Oikawa dumps his stuff in the back while Hajime starts up the engine and fiddles with the heater. Everything about this is awkward as hell, and he knows it. They’re clearly still not going to talk about the fight. Oikawa is hunched up in the shotgun seat, as if trying to stay as far away from Hajime as possible inside a car. Hajime himself isn’t emotionally ready for an extended drive with his childhood-best-friend-turned-crush-turned-who-even-knows sitting beside him.

But they’re both here. They both showed up anyway. And there’s a tiny Vabo-chan toy dangling from the zipper of Oikawa’s duffel, a little worse for the wear.

Hajime puts the car into reverse, and drives.

Words: 5854, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru

Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Additional Tags: Matsukawa Issei cameos, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Road Trips, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Misunderstandings, Falling (More) In Love, Pining Iwaizumi Hajime, Character Study, Happy Ending

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3iAmF3i

#iwaoi #iwaizumi hajime #oikawa tooru #ao3feed-iwaoi #haikyuu!!

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jeremystrele · 3 years

Text

An Interior Designer’s Mini Converted Warehouse That Feels Like Home

Homes

by Lucy Feagins, Editor

The freestanding warehouse now home to Leigh and her British blue, Yama, has been a secret bar and a photographic studio in past lives. Artwork leaning on end wall by Sophie Calle from Perrotin Gallery. Pink linen “Ghost 12” sofa by Gervasoni from Anibou. ‘Tolomeo Tavalo’ table lamp by Artemide. Vintage Eames coffee table. ‘InOut’ ceramic stool by Gervasoni from Anibou. Carved cypress acorns from Whitehill Gallery, Dromana. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

‘I love beautiful textiles and in particular my string bags and baskets, woven by many female First Nations weavers from western Arnhem Land NT, collected over the years,’ says Leigh. Pink linen “Ghost 12” sofa by Gervasoni from Anibou. CH29 dining chair by Carl Hansen from Cult. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Pink linen “Ghost 12” sofa by Gervasoni from Anibou. Dilly bags from western Arnhem Land. ‘Tolomeo Tavalo’ table lamp by Artemide. Vintage Eames coffee table. ‘InOut’ ceramic stool by Gervasoni from Anibou. Carved cypress acorns from Whitehill Gallery, Dromana. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Toio floorlamp by Flos from Euroluce. Vintage Danish oak credenza from Great Dane. Artwork (left to right): untitled by Eleanor Louise Butt represented by Nicholas Thompson Gallery; untitled by Louise Gresswell, represented by Gallery 9; framed poster from Copenhagen Design Museum. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Framed poster from Copenhagen Design Museum. Vintage Danish oak credenza from Great Dane. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Ink and guache painting on bench by Joe Furlonger, represented by Liverpool Street Gallery. ‘Picasso in Breton stripe’ ceramic maquette by Susie Hansen. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Noguchi pendant lamp. Vintage Lunar sofabed by B+B Italia found on Ebay and recovered. Various cushions from Svenskt Tenn, Sweden.Thong ceramic on dining table by Gerry Wedd represented by Maunsell Wickes Gallery. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Shelf detail. “NOW” by Rose Nolan, represented by Tolarno Galleries; “Déesse” vase by La Soufflerie Paris; ‘Bathers at Wylies’ by Matthew Martin. Issey Miyake lamp by Artemide. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Top shelf: Vitra dolls; David Band maquette; vintage vase; ‘Lambchops’ painting by Lewis Miller, represented by Australian Galleries; Lego NY skyline. Bottom shelf: “NOW” by Rose Nolan, represented by Tolarno Galleries; “Déesse” vase by La Soufflerie Paris; ‘Bathers at Wylies’ by Matthew Martin. Issey Miyake lamp by Artemide. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Bedlinen is a mix of Society Limonta Italy and Cultiver. Elephant cushion from Svenskt Tenn, Sweden. stool 60 Artek from Anibou. ‘Tolomeo Terra’ floor lamp by Artemide. ‘Magpie’ by Miles Howard-Wilkes, represented by Arts Project Australia. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

Leigh looking fierce in her laneway! Car is a 1971 Lancia Fulvia coupe. Leigh wears La Fetiche knit and Martin Grant denim. Photo – Caitlin Mills for The Design Files. Styling – Annie Portelli.

In past lives, this little converted warehouse at the end of a laneway in Fitzroy has been a secret bar and a photographic studio. Now, it’s the home of Leigh Ellwood – an interior designer who has rented this little beauty for the last few years, along with her beloved British Blue cat, Yama.

When Leigh first went to inspect the property, she remembers ‘there was a swarm of cool cats already looking at it’. Classic Fitzroy! ‘I loved the place… so I was sweating, wondering how on earth I could be the successful applicant’, she says. Luckily she was – and Leigh and Yama have been living happily here ever since.

The location of this home was a massive drawcard for Leigh – not only for its proximity to delicious food and coffee, and a short stroll to the movies in Carlton or the pool in Fitzroy, but also because it was close to where her adult daughter lives. ‘I wanted a place big enough for her to come and hang out, or have friends over for a meal, but small enough that it didn’t feel cavernous when I’m just there with Yama’, she says.

As an interior designer and lover of design, Leigh has collected art and furniture for her entire her adult life, which meant she was able to fill the small space with colour and texture pretty much straight away. Grounding the space downstairs is a cheerful pink “Ghost 12” sofa by Gervasoni from Anibou, and behind it, a wall covered in hanging baskets and Dilly bags woven by many First Nations weavers from Western Arnhem Land, Northern Territory, making a striking textural display. Although Leigh hasn’t made any major changes to the space (it is a rental, after all!) she notes that the glow of light through the washi paper of the Noguchi pendant hung over the dining table made a massive difference, creating a warm and welcoming atmosphere.

Leigh doesn’t really consider her space to have specific or definable aesthetic, but is more guided by intuition, and things that make her feel good. ‘I’ve always found it enchanting that the things you love just seems to belong together’, she says. This theory is certainly evidenced in her own home, which is the perfect showcase for the special things collected over the years. But at the end of the day, the things that make Leigh feel at home aren’t necessarily ‘things’ at all. There’s nothing like her cat Yama lounging on his favourite armchair (or turntable… another beloved napping spot!) to put her at ease.

We’ll leave you with this sage advice from Leigh – ‘don’t worry if you don’t have lots of art or great furniture. Beautiful things make your spaces look beautiful, for sure – but it’s the feeling of a home that people remember… the warmth you bring’, she says. Words to live by!

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markostazes · 3 years

Photo

When experimenting with pintucks and pleats, I chose to use a fabric with large vertical bars of muted colour. I felt that this would be very effective at representing an urban landscape; the bars representing high-rise buildings. I found pleats to be the more effective technique for conveying the idea of a skyline of skyscrapers. This was due to the size of the folds. I felt their large size better represented the large buildings pultruding from the ground into the sky. Despite this, I felt the pintucks to also be effective at representing this idea. Although smaller, I think that the ability to make multiple small folds in sequence lends itself to communicating a busy, claustrophobic atmosphere – which is often the case in cities – while simultaneously allowing the fabric’s pattern to be displayed.

When studying designers that use pleats, Issey Miyake struck me as someone I could take inspiration from in my future work. His work, in contrast to my samples, uses pleats to communicate fluidity. This is evident in his Autumn/Winter 2016 collection. Here, spiralling pleated dresses are used to communicate a futuristic and almost psychedelic theme, yet at the same time, the pleats are not rigid, granting the pieces fluidity and free movement. This is a contrast to my approach to using pleats, as I have used the technique to communicate a rigid and structured sample. I think in future work, I can take inspiration from Miyake. One idea I have is to use pleats to form more floral garments – using concentric pleats as seen in many of Miyake’s pieces.

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ao3feed-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

skyline

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3iAmF3i

by wordstruck

But they’re both here. They both showed up anyway. And there’s a tiny Vabo-chan toy dangling from the zipper of Oikawa’s duffel, a little worse for the wear.

Hajime puts the car into reverse, and drives.

Words: 5854, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru

Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3iAmF3i

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #hq #ao3feed #fanfic #haikyu #ハイキュー!!

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gris-interverti · 6 years

Photo

Issey Miyake Skyline Grey Bomber 1980′s

Grailed

#lunarcore #spacecore #Issey Miyake #1980s #Tops

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xeoniq · 5 years

Photo

Issey Skyline - A series of bomber jackets, t-shirts and other garments that were made for Nissan by Issey Design Studio to promote the R30 Skyline line of automobiles. These were exclusively for the Japanese market and had American actor Paul Newman promote the release. This particular model features asymmetrical snap button closure, a singular elbow panel and an opposing shoulder pauldron with zippered pocket storage.

#issey miyake #issey skyline #cyberpunk #techwear #bomber jacket

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woanvo-vuomdo · 7 years

Photo

EXTREMELY RARE Issey Miyake 'Issey Skyline' Asymetrical Bomber Jacket - Size M http://rover.ebay.com/rover/1/711-53200-19255-0/1?ff3=2&toolid=10044&campid=5337410609&customid=&lgeo=1&vectorid=229466&item=282609879516

#IFTTT #jacket

0 notes

myelocin · 4 years

Text

Visions of The Lonely | Matsukawa Issei

Synopsis: Nights in Paris with a drunk tenant that wandered into the rooftop can’t be too bad, right?

Characters: Matsukawa Issei, You, Hanamaki Takahiro

Genre/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mentions of smoking & alcohol, Musician!Issei

WC: 2.4k+

a/n: Hello! This was originally a poem I wrote but decided to rework into a story. Thanks to voidcat for giving me the inspiration to add makki into this n reading this beforehand <33 i luv yous

+click keep reading bc whole fic is posted! :D

You met a man in Paris once during an autumn night five years ago.

Personally, you had always preferred the colder months, so in order to savor the better part of the year, you developed a habit of climbing your apartment building’s rooftop every night to watch the lights flicker in the distance. It was mind numbing, but it felt familiar in the way with how this little ritual of yours became a permanent occurrence during the day.

Three minutes passed before a man, or specifically, a stranger whom you wrote off to just be another drunk tenant that found his way to the rooftop instead of his apartment door took a seat beside you. He nodded to you once before lighting a cigarette and inhaling. You nodded back and shifted closer to the right; you never were fond of the smell of smoke.

If it were any other situation, you would have turned to his direction and asked him a why, but perhaps it was the quiet of the night that made you think otherwise and the silence had been suffocating, so you decide that his shuffling, occasional sighs, and the steady gulps of his whiskey were a welcome change.

And then after those three minutes passed, he fished another cigarette from his coat pocket, lighting it up and offering it to you with an audible grunt as his verbal choice of invitation.

So, you thought to yourself, he’s a sad drunk looking for company. The stranger kept his gaze on you before you eventually shook your head no at his offer.

Another three minutes went by before he offered you a half filled glass of what smelled like whiskey. After he deemed the silence you offered as acceptance, he set the glass in your hand, grabbed the bottle, clinked it against yours, and took a swig. You winced along with him at the aftertaste that followed.

The second hand made a full rotation in your wrist watch before the stranger beside you decided to break the makeshift silence.

“Issei.” He said, and you noticed his voice sounded a little gruff. He didn’t turn to face you, so you kept your line of sight focused in front of you and nodded. The lights blinking from the Eiffel tower looked like little dots of bokeh lights in the distance.

“(Y/n).” You replied tentatively after some seconds passed, then added, “Thanks for the drink.”

From a peripheral vision, you saw Issei shrug half-heartedly before releasing a puff of smoke into the air.

“It’s only a half empty glass.” He replied after some time, and you spend the next few moments thinking about his words while the sea of lights twinkled in the skyline of Paris.

Meeting at the rooftop afterwards had become a sort of silent agreement between Issei and you.

At first, it didn’t seem like it, and you gave yourself the excuse that he was just enjoying the view of the city like you were—after all, Issei is a tenant in the building too. He had every right to decide where he wanted to mope about whatever he was even moping about.

Plus, drinking with a view was never a bad idea.

Then again, on the nights where he showed up earlier than you did, there would always be an extra glass set beside his, and wordlessly he’d always begin filling it up right as the creaky door would announce your presence.

“This half empty or half-filled tonight?” You asked him one particular night.

“That’s on you. ‘S always gonna be half empty to me.” He replied, then looked straight at you for the first time.

That was when you noticed Issei looked sad.

But, sad like the sadness you feel with nostalgia. Of longing even, but you had your own bouts of nostalgia so often you liked to assume his longing was never because of something tragic; at least you hoped it wasn’t. You never took it upon yourself to ask him why he decides to drink with the company of a stranger, but then again, he never exactly voiced out his questions about why you sit on the rooftop and stargaze on cloudy nights.

You figured Issei wasn’t much of a talker, but one night he decided to bring along an old classical guitar with his usual bottle of whiskey.

You had arrived and settled in your spot close to the edge when he sat down next to you and asked if you minded if he would make a little noise tonight. The smile that crept up your face was quick to form and a verbal assurance that you didn’t mind slipped from your lips a little too quickly than you would have liked—which naturally caught you a little off guard.

Did I sound too eager, perhaps? you think.

You’re guessing he didn’t mind because he turns to face the pegs on the guitar and begins tuning. You figured he must not mind the cold much either because despite the occasional breeze that blew in our direction, Issei didn’t shiver.

Looking at him, you saw that Issei already had his fingers positioned to a chord while his thumb on the other hand was ghosting over the low E string. He remained quiet for a while, and the pause reminded you of the moment of silence a pianist would take before the fingers that were hovering on the keys would eventually begin to play—and you smiled because in an weird way, you felt as if you were going to understand a little bit more of this stranger tonight.

And true to your assumptions, right as he began, you could only hold your breath when the melodies began to roll out because his music proved to be as sad as the longing in his eyes.

The nights after that, Issei began to hum along the melodies he played; you listened every night to his songs of woe.

Some nights he would sing about a love just beginning, while other nights he’d sing about that same love ending. Your favorite ones was when he sang the same song for days on end. It expressed a different feeling every time, too—and somewhere along those nights you began to ask the questions that you were aware were present, but remained unspoken.

And it was somewhere between the lines of Bruno Major’s Tapestry and To Let a Good Thing Die, that the unspoken what ifs you kept at bay, began to prod at your head.

And they were slow, calculated, but mostly hesitant.

And every time that his eyes would catch yours while the vibrato in his voice deepened, you’d remind yourself that Issei is still a stranger. A stranger who sang you songs of his woe—about a love that he’d gained and lost, and wanted back.

It was in his melancholic melodies did you pick up the pieces of his hope to find a love as pure as his first, and in those nights his tune delivered a message a little sadder—so you couldn’t help but yearn that love for him too.

Though it begs the question of whether you truly wanted it for him or with him.

You didn’t know his last name, what he did for a living, or even how he liked his coffee but at the same time his presence became a comforting kind of familiar.

And those questions only amplified the night he let himself laugh out loud at a wrong chord for the first time. The shift in the atmosphere was almost instant and his slight giddiness might as well have been tangible.

“Maybe it’s time for a new song.” You suggested, and for a second you didn’t know if you meant it to be literal or metaphoric, but Issei smiled and nodded before strumming a pattern that was unfamiliar to you.

If you could tell a recap of how the next few moments went down and the epiphanies that popped up to yourself five years ago, you’re more than sure you’d scoff and roll your eyes.

But at 11:37 PM on a late autumn night in a rooftop in Paris—it was in the chorus of The Bangles’ Eternal Flame, that you discovered the question of “Why not give us a try?” written in your own reflection that stared back at you along the whirlpools of Issei’s inky black eyes.

Everything about him reminded you of that fragile moment before the dawn broke into the sky. Of that fine line in the horizon before traces of purple and pink would slowly bleed through the crack of the night’s black backdrop and begin painting the sunrise.

For as long as you lived in Paris, you loved to sit in the rooftop and watch for stars, for the lights in the distance to flicker, and to listen to the sounds of lovers laughing in the distant streets.

Ever since Issei joined your little hideaway in the rooftop, his presence felt a little like stargazing. Which was odd because you can’t really find stars in the city—but it was in Issei’s eyes where you saw all the constellations that flew past you when you used to live in the countryside.

The lights from the distance flickered and reflected themselves in the black canvas that were his eyes. And you could swear that there was always something, a story that was yet to be told, in his eyes—whether they gleamed with hope or sadness, they never failed to make you feel like you’re in a space where every second and every fiber of this world was just him.

In the short hours where he let his melancholy be known through the strings of his guitar, you become entrapped in his universe. For that glimpse in time, you become a passing meteorite among the stars of his galaxies—watching, drifting, and waiting for the answers to be written in his constellations.

And the answers came in the night he kissed you. A kiss that was as fleeting as it had come, but you couldn’t bring myself to mind because afterwards Issei looked at you truly for the first time afterwards. His palm feeling warm against your cheek and his breath flush against the plains of your lips in the cool air.

And your heart soared because in his eyes—in the galaxies swirling, were the answers.

Then for a split second, you thought back to your question of “Why not give us a try?” and felt your breath catch in your throat because in them were the tendrils of an abstract “maybe” that danced across the constellations of deep irises.

The haze that they used to hold suddenly cleared and what remained was nothing but the roots of certainty.

So you let yourself close your eyes and whisper, “Issei.”

Because Issei is the name of the man who you met at a rooftop in Paris, who sang you songs of his woe and smelled like cigarettes and day old whiskey. Through his company you learned of the love that he’d gained, then lost, and wanted back. And your heart, for the second time that night, clenched in a way that felt right; when he parted with your lips to look at you again—his eyes clear, and the confession resolute.

In that moment you remembered when he said he wanted to love again—the kind of love that left you breathless and inebriated, and you could almost open your mouth to tell him, “How about this? Why not give us a try?” ,but he suddenly cups your face, suddenly looking confused because he says, “You’re not Hiro.”

And it took the both of you to be enveloped in some silence before speaks and lets you know the story of his longing. And eventually it all clicks when you come to know that Hanamaki Takahiro is the name of the man who used to live in the unit across from his, who listened to him sing songs of life and love, and smelt of spring rain and sakura blossoms. Hanamaki Takahiro is the name of a man he addressed his unsent love letters to and the man who told him goodbye on a rooftop in Paris seven months ago.

And suddenly the answer Issei delivers ring clear in the quiet night.

The glass always being half empty ring clear in the quiet night.

The way he stares into the distance in longing rings so clear in the fucking night.

Issei is the universe in his own right. And you are only the meteor wandering within the galaxies of him. You reckon there’s no sound in space, but if there was, you’d like to think that it would sound like the strings of a guitar played in harmony with a deep vibrato.

You will always just be among the stars and never be a part of them. Never a part of his answers.

And perhaps what you and Issei saw were just visions of the lonely because while you saw the roots of a start— he saw someone else in place of you.

And after that, when he tells you sorry, and an excuse that he got caught up in the moment, you compose yourself with a laugh and an assurance that it's okay, and grab the glass he brought with him that night and ask him to pour you a drink.

Issei doesn’t look at you for the rest of the night and he stays silent even as he strums a tune on his guitar. This time, you listened to him sing a song about spring. And you looked forward as you sipped the whiskey that smelt like him, and tightened your jacket against the chill of autumn’s air.

You try not to think about how the blurred lights of even the Eiffel tower doesn’t compare the worlds you saw in the pools of Issei’s orbs—or how for the first time, you could finally see why the glass he filled was only half empty.

And you suppose hearing the answers was worth the wait, because when Issei looks in your direction and lifts his glass for a toast it was then that you decide that for as long as you have nights in Paris with Issei’s songs filling the white noise of the background—you didn’t mind.

You watch him and his glassy eyes reminisce about spring in the autumn and feel your heart breaking because somewhere in there you know he was still hoping to find the same bloom of sakura among the dead leaves of the present.

“You’ll be fine.” You say to him and clink your glass against his. “Spring will come again.”

Issei laughs next to you and closes his eyes. “Maybe it’s time to wait for different flowers to bloom.” He says and holds his glass out for you to fill.

“Half empty?” You ask.

“Half full.” He answers, and the both of you share a smile in the chill of autumn’s air, the dead leaves somehow looking vibrant against the cracked pavement.

fin.

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