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pearlwriter · 9 months

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The afternoon sun shone high overhead. The smell of blood and wet soil hung in the air, the earth was damp from the heavy dew drops from the night before. Tom lay on the ground, still dazed from falling off his horse, his head pounding from landing on his back, or was he hit with a mace to the head? For moments he blinked, sweat and hair fell on his eyes. His body felt numb, but he could feel the metal of his armor growing hot on his skin. He remembered his horse galloping toward the glen pursuing the enemy when his horse suddenly reared up on his hind legs to avoid a collision against a man? a shadow? The shape was a blur, it leapt onto the road like a sack of potatoes. He fell backwards, too late to grab the reins and the impact made him see stars and bright red. The horse turned a full circle and shrieked, galloping over his dazed rider, missing being crushed by mere inches. His hand went to touch his face but the metal gauntlet only clanged against his helmet. ‘Damn’ he cursed as he struggled to sit upright. The sounds of men shouting and horses seemed so far away. ‘They’ve moved on, but who was alive, us or the enemy?’ Tom couldn’t see behind him, he hoped it was his comrades still alive and fighting. ‘How long was I unconscious?’ The taste of blood was still fresh, not too long. He moved his foot and his leg, making sure nothing was broken. Just a bruised head and laceration somewhere on his scalp. He debated taking his helmet off but quickly decided no. Another ambush would leave his head an easy target.

He struggled to stand up, leaning against the trunk of a fallen tree to catch his breath. Keil’s army isn’t too far ahead. His army was slowed down by carrying heavy artillery. At most, two hours at full gallop. He needed to find his men and regroup. He wondered who was left alive. He looked for his sword, it was thrown to the side of the road, his shield no where to be found. Probably still on my horse, he thought. With a groan, he stood up and picked his sword up among the grass. He wondered if he had any broken ribs. Doesn’t matter, he thought. I’ll walk the whole way if I must. I will destroy him. We’ll go down together. She’s waiting for me, I hope she’s still alive. With a grim thought he knew she was alive but only because Keil needed her hostage to force the King’s army to pursue him. Maybe he killed her anyway and it’ll be too late, he thought with a wave of anxiety. No, don’t think that. Clear your mind. I will face the enemy and will need my wits. The crows above cawed loudly and flew from the trees, were they encouraging him or laughing at his demise?

He recognized her right away. Sitting alone on a garish red recliner, her grey and white dress out of place among the sea of bright pinks, yellows, and pastel blue dresses of the ladies dancing around her. She was oblivious to the laughter and chattering of men competing with each other to impress the groups of ladies, giggling and flirting with their eyes behind feathery fans. Yet she paid them no attention, her back was against the spectacle. She was starting out a very large window overlooking the palace garden. He turned toward that direction and saw a small group of people playing a game of croquet on the green. Three brightly dressed ladies and two men were eagerly swatting a small wooden ball through hoops with absurdly large mallets. The girls exclaiming when the ball rolled sideways away from the hoop, the men chuckling and rushing over to offer tips on how to hit better. The ladies were obviously playing bad on purpose, letting the men get close to them. They made their way slowly across the lawn, following a colorful path of markers, each a new obstacle of evenly spaced hoops.

Yet she didn’t seem to be interested in the game, merely following their progress. She would occasionally look up in the sky. She seemed to study the clouds overhead. He followed her gaze and high up, two dots moved gracefully. Hawks, he realized. The King kept a falconry, a dozen birds he proudly showed off when hunting. He saw her look up, her face turning slowly left and right following their flight. When they passed the view of the window, she would watch the group below playing their game. She then got up slightly from the futon to strain her neck up left, looking for the two dots gliding fast towards the dust and field. Her long black hair a massive braid fell from her shoulder when she stood, her pale neck suddenly exposed. He felt himself blush slightly and looked down guiltily.

‘They must’ve spotted a rabbit,’ Tom thought. He couldn’t stop watching her, she was poised and observant, as if studying the habits of simple creatures going about their business. The hawks were definitely more interesting to her.

Her plucked up courage and slowly walked toward her, not wanting to startle her. He smiled and with a little bow he said ‘Interesting game, croquet. Do you play?’ She looked up with a little start. Her grey eyes widened at the sudden voice next to her. She dropped her gaze and looked out the window again. She was slightly annoyed at the intrusion. ‘Hardly, I’m watching them because there’s nothing else interesting. She pointed with her head towards the sky. ‘Except those two’ she said with a sigh still not making eye contact.

Tom felt his face redden slightly at the indifferent response. He was used to ladies returning his greeting with a smile and a giggle. He wasn’t used to being treated like a servant offering unwanted wine.

‘I feel like we started on the wrong foot, my lady. I apologize for my rude behavior the other day. I didn’t introduce myself properly.’ She turned to him with raised eyebrows, her grey eyes searching his face. She still didn’t smile. Undeterred, he did a half step and bowed, his right arm crossed his chest with his left extended. A courtly bow indeed. ‘My lady, he continued. May I introduce myself. He stood up and said with his most formal voice and a slight smile. ‘My name is Thomas de LionCourt of Burgeoyn. I serve in the Kings’s Guard on behalf of my father the Duke of Burgeoyn. I’m very pleased to meet you.’ He nodded and hoped she wouldn’t laugh.

She didn’t. Her grey eyes studied his. Will she dismiss him with a wave of her hand? Or say nothing and continued to look for the hawks in the sky? There was a long pause. Each looking at each other. An eternity seemed to pass and time slowed. The merry din around them became a blur and the sound an indistinguishable murmur. His heart was pounding in his ears and he almost broke his smile. He resisted the urge to run away and hide. Just before he lost his nerve, she smiled. A little one but it changed her grey eyes from a steely mirror to a soft grey of mourning doves. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Sir de LionCourt of Burgeoyn.’ Tom let out a breath, he didn’t know he was holding it. He wanted to shout gleefully but remained calm and collected. ‘Please, call me Tom. All my friends do.’ He kicked himself mentally. ‘I should’ve have said that, she’ll think I’m TOO friendly.’ She didn’t seem to notice. ‘Alright then, Sir Tom. You know ‘she continue, ‘no need to be formal since we’ve met. Yes. It was a little rocky, I admit.’ ‘I’m Ravenna. You know my father and my siblings I assume?’ Tom nodded, ‘yes, wonderful people.’ He kicked himself mentally again. ‘That sounded insulting.’

He cleared his throat and looked up into the sky. ‘The King’s hawks. Aren’t they magnificent?’ He changed the subject to something he knew interested her.

‘Oh yes, I’ve been wanting to get a closer look at them, but I never get the chance.’ She looked disappointed, as if her favorite scone wasn’t available at tea time. ‘Kind of difficult when they’re way up there. Even if I could get close, I doubt they would sit still long enough for me to sketch their profile.’

Tom raised his eyebrows, now that he didn’t expect. Her response piqued his interest. ‘For your sketchbook, right?’ He remembered the sketchbook he found in the marketplace and his journey to return it to its rightful owner. Little did he know it belonged to Ravenna and not her brother. That fact made him realize she was more than she seemed at first. After that encounter he wanted to know about her - she was different from the other girls, in a unique way. He watched her biting her lip as she spoke softly, she was already sketching a hawk profile in her mind. ‘Yes, I want to draw a hawk’s profile, but I only end up drawing pigeons with a fierce look.’ She shrugged her shoulders and looked up at him. ‘Not becoming for a bird of prey, is it?’

Tom there back his head and laughed. He pictured in his mind a pigeon flying clumsily after a rabbit. It missed and bounced in a run as it chased its prey. She must have had the same thought because she also let out a giggle. He liked her a lot, he realized. But more so they way she thought about the world around her. She was so serious around strangers, reserved as if she avoided the dazzling light emitting from the sea of people dancing and carrying on in entertainment. She danced in her mind, her song showed in her eyes. He heard it but only for a moment before she lowered her eyes hiding her music. ‘What else was in that book?’ He wondered. ‘It must be filled with wonderful things, her music.

Suddenly he heard the orchestra start a new song. It was a popular song of the court. The melody was even hummed by the commoners in the streets. The ladies clapped when they heard it. They eagerly looked for a dancing partner to join them. Couples quickly formed and joined on the ball room floor.

Tom puffed up his chest and looked at Ravenna. ‘Will you dance with me my lady!’ He held out his hand. He knew she wouldn’t refuse, not that they shared a laugh. She looked at the dancing couples and glanced beyond the other side of the room. She held up her hand, ‘of course.’ She stood up as he offered his arm to her. He beamed and couldn’t help a big smile as they made their way to the ballroom. He felt a dozen pairs of eyes side glancing at them. A few of his friends yelled in greeting. He took her hand in his and felt her dress as he placed his hand on her waist. He was careful not to grab her too hard, fearing she may recoil. She didn’t flinch and placed her hand on his shoulder with a firm grip. He took the lead and felt the tempo of the song’s rhythm. They both knew the song and he was amazed at how easily she danced. They glided along with the other couples. Tom’s friends shouted a greeting when they danced within ear shot. ‘Hullo Tommy Boy!’ One shouted. ‘Finally coming to join in the fun!’

‘Frankie, always a pleasure to see you!’ Tom said in a raised voice. ‘Ever the most popular among us again!’ Tom winked at the blonde girl dancing with Frankie. She giggled, ‘oh you two. You’re both most popular!’ They danced away in a flourish. A few more shouted greetings from Tom’s friends buzzed around them. Their dancing partners curtsied and smiled at Tom as the music changed tempo, calling for more twirling.

Ravenna said something but he couldn’t hear her. She looked at him and pointed her head in the direction of the main entrance. Her lips moved but he couldn’t hear over the orchestra. He shook his head and shouted ‘Sorry!’ She shrugged and kept dancing. Her eyes looked left and right an occasional glance at him. He felt 10 feet tall. The other ladies also glanced at the couple. They smiled at him and looked at Ravenna with a neutral face, some with a questionable look, others a haughty look. He knew it didn’t phase his dancing partner.

The song finally ended and most of the couples left the ballroom floor seeking refreshment and a futon to rest. A few couples stayed as the music slowed and conversation was possible to hear. He held onto her with a light tug when she faltered after the song. She glanced up at him and did a little shrug, matching her step to his. His heart swelled even more when she danced a second dance with him. He led her calmly across the ballroom dance floor. With most couples gone it was easier to move around. He saw Frankie a few feet away, dancing with a red head in a green dress. He nodded and flashed a smile at Tom. He could see in his expression that he had many questions. ‘After many drinks he’ll bombard me non stop with questions,’ Tom inwardly groaned. He was always so nosy. Frankie smiled at Ravenna before dancing away with his red head. She raised her eyebrows and said nothing. Better she not know how much he can be an annoyance, Tom thought.

Tom was glad Frankie bothered him no more the rest of the party. He only wanted to spend eternity dancing. ‘Let me enjoy this moment as long as possible,’ he prayed to whomever would listen.

He had on a dark blue velvet suit specially made for court appearances, white neck ruffles and laced white sleeves peeked over his hands. The coat tails and pockets had silver threads of ivy leaves. The shoulders were embroidered a miniature version of the family coat of arms, a lion with a star behind his mane. The coat felt a little too stiff from the starch, and the pants more restrictive than he preferred. He mostly wore his uniform of the Kings’s Guard, well-worn like a second skin. He could move silently even with a sword at his side and leather riding boots. No, his formal wear attire was very attractive (according to his aunt), but he didn’t feel completely at ease. He did like the color though, it reminded him of the skies of his childhood, far over the mountains. The sky of his new home just didn’t seem as blue. His hair, normally flying over his eyes was tied neatly back. As a child, he was blonde and his mother scolded him when his hair wasn’t combed. She cared very much about appearances and didn’t allow him to play rough with the other boys. Now away from his mother’s reach, he let his hair grow. Chestnut brown with blonde highlights now, he constantly brushed his hair away from his eyes. He’d rather put up with the annoyance than cut it. The court ladies loved to tease him, they said his hair made him look like a bandit. He would only smile back.

His feet were even foreign to him. In place of riding boots, he had on shoes that were the latest fashion of men’s wear. Made from the skin of a large reptile of the Far Southlands. They were dark blue that matched perfectly with his suit, even with tiny lion buttons sparkled on the buckles. The heel had steel tips encrusted with diamonds. His mother insisted on the shoes of course, even sending a cobbler to his private quarters to make sure her son had a decent pair of dancing shoes. They were comfortable he admitted to himself. The cobbler knew his craft. Maybe he could commission a pair less fancy for his days off.

He resisted the urge to pull at his collar, forcing an air of calm confidence as he held out his hand. She reached up but hesitated before taking it. She glanced over at a group of ladies sitting together far across the other side of the ball room. She felt eyes staring at her. It was her sister, Genna. Genna wasn’t actually staring, but Ravenna could see her side glancing as she laughed with her friends. She’s always watching me, always. Mother wants her to make sure I’m more social. Fine, I’ll have a dance with this Tom. She can’t say I ignored all the men tonight! She took his hand and slowly rose, fixing her gown to smooth the wrinkles. She no longer felt annoyed at Tom’s sudden presence. He didn’t vex her like the other young men that hung around her like flies. No, those BOYS clamored a little too close. Their sweating bodies and wine-tinged breath made her gag. Yet her sisters’s friends didn’t notice, or they didn’t care. Genna had insisted she spend time with the court ladies. Their mother always disapproving at her youngest daughter’s unladylike mannerisms. She even brought seamstresses to the castle earlier that year to make gowns for court appearances. They battled on what colors and styles to make. Her mother insisting on the latest fashions from the capital. Ravenna scoffed and refused to wear anything that resembled a stuffed peacock. The seamstresses hemmed and hawed over their clients’ arguments and Genna threw her hands up and left for the weekend at her best friends chateau. Finally, Ravenna relented on wearing the fashion-forward styles on the condition she chose the colors. Her mother agrees but when the frocks were halfway made she was angry at the colors her daughter chose but couldn’t say anything against her word. Ravenna chose greys in all shades, blues, and cream colors. So opposite the bright pinks and yellows, and even neon greens! Neither spoke for weeks until the royal family threw their spring ball at the castle. Ravenna chose a gown of grey and blue. Accents of cream lace and silver thread flowers were woven in delicate patterns. Reluctantly, her mother decided that the colors matched her daughter well. Her black hair matched her gown in a braid woven with silver threads. A long strand of pearls tucked inside her corset. The grey and blue matched her grey eyes and creamy skin elegantly. Yes her daughter was a beauty. So opposite her older sister of red hair and hazel eyes. The two together were like the sun and moon. Both beautiful in different ways. What man would be a suitable match? Ravenna was beautiful but her spirit was wild. Who would want to tame a wild horse?

Ravenna tolerated her sister’s friends for over an hour. She tried her best to be polite and to smile, but was bored of endless gossip. They whispered over the latest shoe trends, which girl had mismatched undergarments, and how fat the pastry chef’s wife has become. The men, or boys, she called them, kept coming up to the ladies and telling jokes or giving over-the-top compliments. The goal was to get the ladies to dance. Many of them already knew each other. Genna tried to introduce her to some of the men. Ravenna would smile and be polite, but would decline their request for a dance. She didn’t want to be displayed in front of strangers, competing for unwanted attention. Genna would give her a reprimanding look, so much like their mother. Ravenna would shrug her shoulders and give a small smile. After so many failed attempts, the young men went for easier targets. She gave a sigh of relief and sought refuge on a red futon away from the crowds. An enormous window from floor to ceiling provided a grand view of the palace green. Five brightly colored people were playing croquet below. She was glad to be away from people and finally rest her feet. She hated high heels, meant more for show and not practical at all. She wasn’t paying attention to the game below but better to pretend to watch than to face the party behind her where she would be bombarded by requests to dance or gossip. Above in the skyline she say two birds. ‘The king’s hawks! They look so happy flying so free’, she thought. She started sketching them but couldn’t get the lines right. Their sleek frames weren’t giving a fierce look of a predator. Too much like barn bird!’ Each time they glided past the window she strained her eyes to see. She waited patiently until they came into view again hoping to remember their shape.

Tom transferred her hand to his arm as he led her to the ballroom floor. She could feel his forearm muscle stense when she touched it. His eyes had smile lines she noticed, something she liked because her father and brother also had them. They were both good natured and told the best jokes. He nodded to the other couples as they passed. She allowed him to lead and away they danced. It was loud and fast, she hoped her high heels wouldn’t fail. It was several months since danced to this particular song. Genna first taught her when she learned it at the courts of the capital. It was fun back then because she didn’t expect to dance with young men in a fancy dress and high heels! Yet here she was. Tom was a great dancer, he didn’t step on her feet or grip her too tightly. He did bring her close when he dipped her around. She felt his hand on her lower back and face came close to neck. She could see his jaw line tense when she sucked in her breath. He swung her up and continued to hold her a little closer than before. She felt him looking at her and she looked up into his eyes. ‘Blue like the ocean,’ she thought. ‘Almost violet.’ Why didn’t she notice before? She felt the urge to sketch, her minds eye already making the outline of his eyes. He saw her look distant and he felt her hand moving in his. She blushed when he tilted his head and asked her what was wrong. The music became so loud and the laughter drowned out her answer. He shouted something and she could only shrug. He held onto her as if to protect her from the dancers getting too close.

‘About your dilemma with the hawks,’ Tom suddenly broke the humming of the orchestra. ‘I think I can help you get a close at them.’ She

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yayei · 4 years

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—¿Una mezcla de azul con morado?

•••

—A mixture of blue and purple?

Querétaro, México

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thedeadthree · 2 years

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— OC AESTHETICS QUIZ

I was tagged by the dearests @preachercuster, @johnnycranes, @chuckhansen, @shellibisshe and @scungilliwoman to take this lovely uquiz to find what vibes fit my babies! Thank you so much all of you are sweethearts!

TAGGING: @griffin-wood, @honeysides, @kenabres, @themysteriouslou, @jackiesarch, @loriane-elmuerto, @florbelles, @amistrio, @leviiackrman,, @jmiacolt, @lacunafiction, @yennas, @starsummoners, @taliaferros, @noonfaerie, @rosebarsoap, @rebootrequired and you!

(x.x)

A glass of absinthe, a crystal chandelier, a mirrored elevator car, fresh squeezed lemonade, a sprig of lavender, a silver hairpin, a fan palm, a velvet chair, a rosebud corsage, peach silk, a marble pool, a silver compact.

A cat’s whisker, a touchscreen tablet, a cinnamon latte, a window seat, a fallen yellow leaf, leather notebooks, a brown highlighter, vanilla perfume, a mint leaf, tubes of white gouache, a heart-shaped waffle, a Totoro figurine

Pale blue ice cream, pink clouds, butter-yellow roses, tulle skirts, a 1990s fashion magazine, French manicures, lucite bracelets, a Pokemon plush, striped headbands, pastel sticker sheets, a sweater vest, block heels

Late-afternoon sunlight, dragonfly wings, faint music, pineapple-flavored candy, springy green moss, a glass jar, a handful of rowan berries, a raw crystal ring, pink tea, beeswax hand cream, a blue rose petal

A sea shell, a unicorn’s snow-white mane, a luminous pearl, blue waves, low-lying white clouds, silver satin, the moon visible at midday, a lavender-hued latte, a black velvet ribbon, thistles, lilac perfume, sea glass, a white-furred baby seal

#THANK YOU THANK YOU for the tags y’all are too SWEET! this was so cute!#I had HAD to do this with elin bc of the matcha choice it was a must!#c. polina velichkova #c. bellona bancroft #c. morgaine moone #c. zelda expósito #c. lhysa aep lonán #c. elin wiseman #c. edelgard vanderweyden #LHYSAS TOOK ME OFF GUARD BUT? I love it for her? its like surprisingly soft which is something she NEEDS. so cute!#ash beloved has enabled me to make a dc oc and ! there she is! BELOVED im obsessed with her and her vibes? hello? AMAZING #BELLAS IS SO CUTE PLEASEE its what my baby deserves!#BIG LOVE FOR U ASH I missed dc a lot and shes been STELLAR to write I CANT WAIT TO YELL ALL ABOUT HER AHHH #(along with my pain brain ive been resting and watching BOP and writing polly lore akdakfb and reacquainting w dc! its clownery hours here!)#EDDIES IS ALSO SO FREAKING CUTE? I love how it’s a new side to her aesthetic which is usually v dark academia? ITS CUTE #also love LOVE the lavender latte (she usually has a latte with pine infused syrup ITS GOOD OKAY TRUST ME dsnaj)#(used to take trips up to Vienna and into italy for coffee we love! that for her! but in nytheres a cafe she orders that prev tag!)#zelda and morgaine have the loveliest vibes I SWEAR and I can definitely see that for them! and in a no wasteland au for morgaine!)

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peppermin · 3 years

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Yo Could I get a coffee shop au for Karl?

Also could i be 💅 anon?

Hey! And yes! Your the first on the anon list! Also I got carried away with ideas so this is gonna be a full series called Espresso and Records!

Word count: 1k

Warnings:None

On the end of Lobelia road stood a tiny coffee shop. Rain lightly pattered against the window. The brick veneer covering the bottom half of the shop was dark with rain. The dark wood door closed so as to not let any heat out. It was dark outside, The dark clouds blocking the slow sun rise. An old clock on the wall hands pointed to ‘4:30’. The front counter was a dark wood. With a glass display case. There were a few small tables with chairs. Each one had a lantern in the middle. The lanterns gave the Cafe a warm dim glow. The floor was wood to match the counters. The walls were painted black giving the cafe a small cozy vibe.

Behind the counter stood a man. He was around twenty-two. Brushing his fluffy brown hair out of his face he ran his painted black nails. The paint chipped and coming of. He wore a deep green sweater. The collar of a white button down shirt poking out. He wore plain black jeans. Wrapping a black apron around himself he grabbed a rag from under the counter

Karl wiped down the wood counter. Lifting up the empty tip jar he wiped under it. Setting it down with a clink. Walking over to the old record player he placed in another record. ‘My heart is buried in Venice’ filled the shop. The record player’s white paint was chipped and dirty. It was his Mothers. Once it sat in her room untouched, but now it sat on a table in the shop. Next to it was a picture of his mother and father. Walking around Karl picked up a spray bottle. It was filled halfway with water. Walking around he sprayed the plants. Plants were everywhere in the coffee shop. From devils ivy to chinese evergreen.

He sprayed the spider plant. It hung near the door from the roof. Frowning, he lightly lifted up one of its leaves. It was starting to get yellow. Wilting slightly. Spraying extra water he made a mental note to water it more. Karl glanced at the clock. ‘5:03’. Sighing, he placed down the spray bottle. He quickly walked over to the front counter. Walking around it he flipped on a few machines.

He entered the back room flicking on the light. The back room contained a big sink, freezer, oven, and storage. Walking to the freezer he pulled out a tray. On it were a variety of danishes. Usually they were homemade but if Karl was busy with his studies and didn't have time he would use the frozen ones. Lately he hasn't had much time for baking. Karl ran the coffee shop but was also studying at Corymbia University. He took only afternoon classes, running the shop from 5:30am till 1 pm. His friend Alex worked later shifts.

He didn't make a lot of money but he loved it. It used to be his mothers but after she passed he took it over. Karl quickly walked back to the front counter. He grabbed a stool and chalkboard erasure. Placing the stool in front of the chalkboard menu he turned around. Bending down he opened a cabinet. Grabbing the chalk box he grabbed out a pastel pink chalk. The clouds have cleared slightly. Lighting up the tiny coffee shop.

Karl climbed onto the stool. Erasing the old chalk. Leaving behind only the “Today's Special” title. It was written in a pastel green color and cursive. He looked at it trying to decide what to make today's special. Everyday he would choose a drink and pastries to make the special. You would get them both for cheaper. Karl reached up writing “Mocaccino and Eclairs” . He wrote it in big letters so people could see it. He glanced over his shoulder at the clock. ‘5:25’ He stepped down, placing down the chalk. He quickly walked over to the record player, Taking off the vinyl he switched it out. Bookstore girl started playing. The smell of danishes lightly filled the air. Walking over to the door he unlocked it. Flipping over the sign to read ‘Open’

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Karl stood behind the counter. Slumped over his head in his hands. He was waiting for his first customer. Usually early in the morning college students would keep him busy. A jingle symbolizing the entrance of a customer. “Welcome to Cafe Kahvia!” A girl walked in wearing an oversized hoodie. It was black with Corymbia University written in red on her chest. She had a black backpack slung over one shoulder. She gave him a light smile walking up to the counter. He recognized her. She was a regular at his shop. She usually just ordered an iced coffee croissant. “Your usual?” Karl asked with a smile. “Hmmmm….” The girl looked up at the menu, “Actually I'll have the special.” She said with a smile. “Ohhhh spicing it today Y/N.” Karl joked, moving to make her coffee. Y/N lightly chuckled. “How are your studies going, Forensics right?” Karl aked. “Yep, interesting as always. How about yours?” Y/N said. Karl shrugged, pouring the coffee into the plastic cup.

“Stressful as always.” Karl said with a chuckle. Turning around he grabbed the whipped cream. Looking back at her raised it. Silently asking if she wanted whip. Y/N nodded. Shaking it he sprayed it onto the drink. “Hey we have a study group tonight, if you'd like to join?” Y/N asked. Turning around Karl placed her drink down. “Depends,” He said, turning around to get the eclair, “What time is it?” Y/N perked up smiling, “8 pm! At the library.” Karl smiled at her excitement, slipping the eclair into a bag. “Sounds good.” Karl placed the bad next to her drink. “Yay, just met me at the east wing library!” Y/N said, grabbing the bag and drink. “7.35.” Karl said opening the register. Y/N handed him the money. “See you then!” she said turning around to leave. The door chimed as she left.

#karl #karl jacobs #karl x reader #karl jacobs x reader #karl jacobs x y/n #karl jacobs x you #mcyt #mcyt headcanons #mcyt imagine #mcyt imagines #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x y/n #mcyt fluff #coffetime #coffeshop #coffe shop au #college au #modern au

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kaibacorpintern · 3 years

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the wound

word count: ~2500

summary: kaiba has some pointed thoughts about yuugi’s recent cooking injury. platonic rivalshipping. post-DSOD

a/n: a woman has too many unfinished one-shots in her google drive so i’m making time to finish them instead of overthinking them (and never finishing them.) yes this is about cooking and yuugi and kaiba and depression. yes i have already written about this. whatever man. enjoy.

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Same time as usual. Two in the afternoon, on Saturdays. Same place as usual. The picnic table under the massive oak in the park, two blocks away from the Kame Game Shop and twenty minutes by subway from the station under the Kaiba Corp tower. Seto took the subway mostly out of scientific interest, taking a professional curiosity in the world Atem had wanted to live in, and because Atem had told him to enjoy it. What had he seen here, in the faded orange seats and bright pastel advertisements and the quiet scattering of human-not-Puzzle bodies? What had he felt, as the subway swayed around the curve in the tunnel, unseen in the darkness and known only by its momentum, making everyone sway with it? Hands curled around handrails and books. Fingers on phones. The train burst into daylight. The side of that girl’s head against the glass, watching Domino slide by with an equally glassy look in her eyes. Two layers between her and the city. Missing someone? Or just bored of life?

He slunk off the subway, unnoticed and unknown, in an immaculate white hoodie and aviators, stainless steel water bottle dangling from one hand. Yuugi was waiting for him at the park entrance, as usual, wearing some kind of fashionable belted dark purple romper, with the usual tote bag full of games hanging from one hand. On the other hand, something unusual: his fingers stuck out from a half-formed mitten of gauze, giving his slender hand a clumsy, snub-nosed silhouette. He was having trouble holding his iced tea, thumb and fingers alligator-clamped around the lid. Someone had drawn a pair of flowers in pink marker across the back of the mitten, a bumper sticker of cheerful admonition: 🌺 BE CAREFUL! 🌺 Not Yuugi’s handwriting.

“Hey,” Yuugi said. “How’re you doing? You sleeping better?”

Seto pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, over his bangs, crown-like.

“On and off,” he said, which was true. His nights were now vast, tossing oceans of insomnia between shores of just good-enough sleep. Last night he’d simply given up trying to swim and instead, for the first time in years, read a book for amusement instead of education. Some sci-fi novel Yuugi had mentioned and Seto bought on a lark from the bookstore in the subway station. Most of his amusement came from correcting the bad science in the margins, until he woke up at dawn with his glasses bent and his bed linens blotted like calico cats with black ink. “What happened to your hand?”

“Oh, this?” Yuugi said, lifting his mitten-hand. “So, I was making a ceviche yesterday…”

He told the story as they walked through the park to the oak tree: the protagonist was a ripe avocado, its tough, disingenuous alligator hide concealing a soft, buttery-green flesh. The arc of the conflict: avocado against knife, a natural antagonist. The climax: the knife, ignorant of its own bluntness and made arrogant by the shine of its own steel, slid off its trajectory like a failing rocket and plunged at speed through plant skin and plant flesh straight into human skin and human flesh. The resolution: two identical cuts, a half-opened avocado and a half-opened hand. Man versus fruit.

"There was so much blood Otogi almost fainted," Yuugi said, thumping the tote bag onto the wooden table and straddling the bench sideways. "So we went to the ER and they stitched me up, and then when we got back home I finished making the ceviche. What game? You pick."

"Hive," Seto said. He couldn’t stop looking at his bandaged hand. It drew his attention like a glitch on a screen, an inescapable aberration. “Does it bother you?”

“I mean, it hurts, but whatever, you know?” Yuugi said, digging into his tote bag for the drawstring bag of wooden tokens. He spilled them onto the table in a clattering cascade of wood against wood. They rapidly sorted them out. “It’s not my first cooking accident.”

Seto raised his eyebrows. It was a testament to the amount of time they’d been spending together lately - every Saturday afternoon for a handful of hours, until he made some excuse to leave, and Yuugi accepted it not because he was gullible but because he knew Seto had a battery and it ran low - that he didn’t even need to ask a question, and Yuugi simply provided an answer, with examples.

“So, here, I was frying onion rings for Jounouchi, and I splattered hot oil all over my arm,” Yuugi said, lifting his hand and pointing out a haphazard constellation of white scars over his forearm. “Then here - I was baking cookies for Shizuka’s birthday and touched the tray fresh out of the oven with my bare hand, like a moron, I dueled Jounouchi after and drawing my cards was like, ow - ” he waggled his fingertips - “and this one is another burn - ” a long white ink-stroke across his wrist - “from when I was making ramen for Anzu, ‘cause she was home from New York. And this one - ”

More interesting than how and what were who. This burn for Honda’s birthday barbecue, that cut for Otogi’s game night. A violent kiss between blade and fingers behind a frothy veil of soapy water, cleaning up after a movie night. Another spray of oil splatters, frying tempura for his mother. A lot of meals for her, his grandfather, Jounouchi. Every scar Yuugi showed him had a name attached, almost all of them below the elbows, as though collected there for easy reference. Seto frowned as Yuugi's fingers flew over this map of friendships and family, their routes landmarked by midnight breakfasts, lazy brunches, beautifully-wrapped bento boxes. Something about it tasted sour to him, his tongue held tight and bitten between his teeth. All of his own scars had only one name.

“You probably think I’m a klutz,” Yuugi said, with a sheepish smile, sliding one of the wooden tokens into place around their hive.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Seto said briskly. “I’m not some dumpster for all your insecurities. You think you’re a klutz. You have no idea what I think.”

“I - ” Yuugi started, and huffed, with another smile, his chosen defense against causing offense. “Sorry, force of habit - ”

“Forget it. You don’t ever cook for yourself?”

“Duh. Of course I do. And I eat what I make with everyone else. It’s not like I make a pizza for all my friends and just sit there watching them while they eat it,” Yuugi said. “But I like cooking for people. I love... nourishing them. Knowing they’re not going to go to bed hungry or anything, and I can make something for them that makes them feel good.”

Seto tapped a wooden token on the table, under the guise of thinking about the game but really thinking about the kind of friends Yuugi made, and how he made them. Jounouchi. Honda. Atem. Himself.

“Did you ever cook for Atem?” he said, because he couldn’t help it, and braced against the soft look that came his way, with a default smile, a pre-emptive look, I'm fine. this didn’t hurt me smile.

“Yeah,” Yuugi said. “I did.”

Like what? Did he like it? Did he help cook or did he just watch? Just the two of you or with everyone else? Tell me. What did you nourish him with? What do you think he’s eating now? I ate pomegranates when I was there. Bread and honey and figs and garlic and beer. Nothing I ate makes me spend six months with the living and six months with the dead so instead I trade off day and night. Sometimes I leave for a few minutes, mid-afternoon, and I can hear my own name clattering through me as Mokuba calls me back. Seto kept all these comments to himself. There was only so greedy he could get with Yuugi’s grief; only so much he could share of his own.

He slid his wooden token into place around the honeycomb of pieces. Yuugi swiftly countered. Seto lapsed back into thought.

Yuugi took a quiet slurp of his iced tea, gave it a shake, rattling the ice until it settled, and took another, watching ducks paddle into the reeds at the edge of the pond and paddle out, a portrait of calm patience. It had taken him some time to get comfortable with Seto’s long silences. In concession, Seto made the effort to shorten them.

It was the kind of day where stepping into the shade made a difference. The air was darker and cooler under the trees and the flowering bushes that lined the park paths, while the rest of the earth baked in a cloudless dry heat. Seto made his move and pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows.

“How about I cook for you sometime?” Yuugi said brightly, nudging another wooden token against the others with a single fingertip.

Seto scowled, not at the suggestion but at the way his thoughts splintered apart, like two halves of a wooden log split by an axe. He had no doubt Yuugi would pull out the stops for him, slave and sweat for hours over some seventeen-course feast of modern art finger foods. Or maybe something cozy that made him feel like he was just nineteen instead of nineteen and exhausted. Whatever it was, Yuugi would put in the effort. But.

“No,” he said, and made sure to clarify this refusal before the clouds finished gathering over Yuugi’s face in a dejected overcast grey: “I don’t need one of your scars named after me.”

“I - what?” Yuugi said, flashing him an uneven, sideways smile, and Seto felt a flicker of irritation. Atem would’ve understood immediately. But, in fairness to Yuugi, he was being a little obtuse.

“You have a way of suffering for your friends,” he explained. “And I think part of you likes it.”

Yuugi straightened up in his seat, suddenly electric.

“What the hell? It’s just cooking,” he said, with a stormy flash of lightning in his violet eyes. “You’re reading into this way too much. I cook because it’s fun and artistic and I like feeding people, not because I like… self-flagellating or something. Seriously, you can’t just spout off - ”

“You misunderstand me,” Seto countered. “There’s no reason to… hurt yourself on my behalf. If you want to eat together, I’d rather go to that kitschy little ice cream place down the block and get a fucking waffle cone. I don’t want you unable to duel because you burned your hand trying to pan-fry a steak for me.”

Yuugi opened his mouth, brows furrowing together… and scoffed, a surprisingly affectionate sound. He rolled his eyes around the park, his gaze swinging across the sunlit grass, and looked back at Seto.

“Okay. First of all, I've mastered the art of the pan-fried steak, and you should try it,” he said. “Second of all, what makes you think you’re not someone worth suffering for?”

Seto snorted, masking his inwards flinch. Mokuba already suffered enough, thank you. And for what? A ghost of a brother. A black hole, a perpetual collapsing. Things went in and they crossed the event horizon and the pressure squeezed them for eternity without ever letting them reach the center and nothing ever came back out, as much as it wanted to. The scientific term for such distortion of effort, stretched to an immeasurable length without breaking, was spaghettification. Even a black hole needs to eat!

He slid one of his tokens back and forth with his fingertip, short, scraping jerks of wood against wood, thinking.

“Direct attack on my life points,” he muttered.

“Yeah, you also got me pretty good,” Yuugi chuffed. “Let’s call it even. But relax. It’s just cooking. I love the process, and I love the result, and I love doing stuff for my friends. It’s not some big… metaphorical… symbol of something. This - " he lifted his mittened hand - "doesn't mean anything except I mishandled a knife. It’s not like… you and Duel Disks.”

But Seto also loved the process and the result and more than once he'd injured himself, machining parts or fiddling with wires that, like all wild living things, bit back in fear of his touch. He splayed his hand over the table, watching blood drip onto his work station, knowing he should get up, clean it, bandage it. But it was only two in the morning and there was work to do.

“The Duel Disk is a symbol of Kaiba Corp’s future,” he said, closing his hand into a fist. "I know what you've done for your friends. I’ve seen it. Doesn't that merit the same... mythology?"

Yuugi gave him a funny look, half skeptical, half knowing.

"That’s nice of you, thank you," he said, and an uncomfortable blush crawled up Seto’s neck. Sometimes he did understand. “Are you sure you don't want me to cook for you?”

Seto opened his mouth, closed it, folded his arms on the table. He felt like he was trying to explain the feeling of the color blue, or the arguments for why numbers do or don’t exist, or what it was like to dream. Well, you see, the last time I saw Atem, he told me - correction: the last time as in the most recent link in a chain of time, not the last time as in the end of the line, because he also told me we’d see each other again - he told me to enjoy this, and you know me, I never do what I’m told. And I can’t do what he told me to do because he was my friend, and if friendship is just getting caught in a great sticky web of small cuts and large cuts and burns and bruises and tears and suffering because they’re here and suffering because they’re not, then just go ahead and let the spider drink me up and dump what’s left of me in the dirt. I am so sick and tired of pain. Mine. Yours. Ours.

But he did enjoy these afternoons. He was enjoying the process of making this: he had more with Yuugi now than he ever had before. He reached across the table and took Yuugi’s bandaged hand between his own hands, running his thumb carefully over the inked warning. Yuugi's hand relaxed in his. Yes, Yuugi was wrong. It was the same as Duel Disks. In any act of creation there was pain, there was power, and there was glory. What difference was there between a hologram of a dragon and a steaming bowl of soup? Both nourished something. Both were an answer to hunger. Discovering an emptiness and filling it.

“Okay,” he said, releasing Yuugi’s hand. “Alright. Cook for me.”

“Yeah?!” Yuugi said, with rising excitement, beaming. “What should I make? What do you like?”

“Make me a steak,” Seto said, smiling. It felt good to see Yuugi smile. His hypothesis neatly undermined. See? It’s not all damage. “No. Surprise me.”

#fanfiction #intern memo #rivalshipping #a lite snack... once i've written up a few more i'll cross post to AO3 #okay good Night i am. wiped the fuck out

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dallonm-archive · 3 years

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[image description: a cropped image of a pink sky. on the right hand side is a bunch of darker pink clouds. Just left of the centre is a full moon. In the centre, in a white serif font reads "writing update" /end id]

july writing update

Hi friends! This writing update is me pretending I did Camp Nano and didn't kinda give up a week in! I had a proper goal and everything, but a lot of things got in the way that I'm not gonna talk about here because I already ranted about it in another update I'm drafting rn. Lets just say it's Disability Pride Month and being not neurotypical or able bodied in writing communities and their inherent focus on productivity is Hard.

But I did get some writing done and wanted to do a little Camp wrap up post regardless. And I'm doing it now because I'm cancelling the last week of July for some rest/self care and I do not want to think about writing for that time and if I write a tumblr post about July Nano being over my brain will think it's actually over <3 I will probably do updates like these for most months tho! Depends on how much I write lol! This one is not too long (by my standards) and has some Revelations, Revelations, Life Cycle of Massive Stars, Nocturne for the Holy and a new wip idea 👁️

excerpts under the cut!

general taglist ; ask to be + or - ; i only have one! ; @childhoodlovers @svpphicwrites @abiandwriting @kowlazovdi @avi-why @ryns-ramblings @kitblogsthings @bijouxs @bookphobe @moonhungers @alicewestwater @bookpacking @shaelinwrites @onlyganymede @theelectricfactory @write-like-babs @oceancold @sidhewrites @wolf-oak @oasis-of-you @coffeeandcalligraphy @cecilsstorycorner @howdywrites @keira-is-writing @flip-phones @piyawrites @avakrahn @goose-books @finch-goes-write @ziyin @aphaimaniis @isherwoodj @laughtracksonata

I'm also editing this in to say I only just realised that July is my writeblr birthday month and that is very weird to me! A year and a couple days ago I impulsively turned an old blog into a place to document writing for me and ended up meeting people who now mean the world to me and my writing blossoming in a way I never thought it would. And the funny part is it doesn't feel like it's been a year, ever since I joined it's just felt like life has Always been this way and I cannot fathom that it hasn't. I'm sappy bc it's 4am lol but ultimately the friends I made (you know who you are) and the community I found is what retaught me the value of writing and helped me unlearn toxic ideas and whilst the last year was tough I wish I could tell July 2020 Dallon (who did not realise he was Dallon yet </3) what July 2021 would look like.

revelations, revelations ;

Oh the absolute state of affairs with this book rn. Nothing bad but I don't know when I'm gonna update y'all because sometimes I do not know where to start when talking about this wip lol! Currently on a break with it (but also my thesis work is on late 20th century queer lit/history rn so am ever really free of RR? <3) but had a lot of fun with it at the end of June/start of July. Anyway here's Dorothy finally revealing more of herself to me after a year. Dorothy as a character is like, I truly believe she is capable of killing a man but the story she is in just does not allow that so I am trying to grow her unhinged side a little bit in other ways bc I know she has it in her but I also really cannot deal with the plot repercussions of her actually killing a man! I'm sorry Dotty but this'll have to do!

(cw for groping/a man being creepy as hell, death/funeral mention, drug mention, drowning imagery kinda)

There’s too much to tell Felix. That his sister lives on the fringe of Castro and has attended three funerals since September; that it’s January 11th and she’s already attended one this year. That his sister drives through sunsets and imagines parties: the amber dusk, warm mosaic tiles, platters of Greek salad skewers and shrimp tostadas, and sometimes Jolie joins her and they share a blunt on the hill. That his sister bought an aquamarine body-length dress for six bucks in a thrift store sale bin, so when her and Jolie broke up for the second time, she waltzed into a sunset party, locked arms with a CEO’s son and gave him a fake number and plucked strawberries out of champagne and blended so well nobody noticed when she left. That during the summer of ’83, his sister walked a neighbour’s Golden Retriever on Wednesdays, and on the sixth Wednesday he gave her a wad of tens with one hand and palmed the back of her neck with the other, so she walked his dog to the beach and stole another hundred from his wallet. That his sister bombed an interview for a Nursing school and didn’t get home until night and missed their monthly call, and Jolie heard the phone ring and didn’t take a message, so his sister snuck into the CEO’s son’s villa and floated in the centre of their heated pool like a cloud. A pause, a breath, an Opheliean threat.

life cycle of massive stars ;

Switched to LCOMS this month because I was burnt out with RR and it made such the difference! I really love working on two novels at once because it keeps me consistently creative but also both of these books are so different so its always refreshing to bounce back into one from another. I have a whole update in the drafts rn for this so keeping this part brief but still love this book, still the best thing that has ever happened to me, me and this book will have a glorious summer wedding etc etc. These excerpts are from chapters that summarise the first semester of each character's first year and have to say it. has been Very Fun to get into the mindset of Freshers Melodrama. Here's Junie having a crisis and an unhealthy relationship with her hetero flatmate :( (alcohol cw for both excerpts)

In October you are drinking double espresso and trying to breathe normally in lectures and you are trying to figure out your favourite colour because Fleur asked and you stumbled out an answer (Purple, I think. Violet? Lavender? Indigo?) and it didn’t match hers (I like yellow. I like sunlight). You buy mugs from IKEA to paint you paint cats and fireworks and constellations and moon phases and daisies. You try to scratch paint stains off your desk. You do laundry at 2am. In October you colour code your notes with pastel highlighters. You go to the library at 3am. You paint your nails sunlight and hate it. You finish an essay that’s due in December. You knock on Fleur’s door at 8am so she makes her 9am. You wear off the shoulder tops and you let a girl dab glitter on your collarbones and you are watching Fleur kiss a boy from the neighbouring hall. You bite your sunlight nails. You break the handle off your IKEA constellation mug. You leave your keys in a lecture hall and stand at the reception for forty minutes waiting for them to realise that the keys on the desk have the moon chain you mentioned - or, you are waiting to say it yourself. You are watching the rain trail down your window. In October you get a halo headband tangled in your hair you are sipping a vampire themed cocktail that tastes like acetone you rip your heels off and you go home early and do laundry at 2am and you are waiting for the courage to tell Fleur you don’t like clubbing - or, you are waiting for her to ask where you are. In October you are many things / a good student a dancer a painter an angel a big sister an alarm clock you are nocturnal and a lucid dreamer and confused about your sexuality / and it’s still October but it’s not because it’s November now and you are still Junie but not because you don’t know who Junie is. It’s November, it’s September October November December. It’s 2016 2017 2018 2019. You are fragments and you don’t know if you are a kaleidoscope or shattered glass.

And here's first year Tomas being like I Moved Countries For University And All I Got Was Homesickness And A Crush On My Flatmate And Resurging Autistic Symptoms And This Lousy T Shirt (cw: vomit mention, injection mention, parental death mention)

Kristen is seven months younger and five inches taller than you. He’s the last flatmate you met and the only one you talk to beyond kitchen greetings and passive aggressive texts about dirty dishes. He is too quiet and too loud and not the type of person you befriend. The first night, he lost Ring of Fire and downed the concoction of Echo Falls, Dark Fruits, Jack Daniels and coke, vodka and lemonade alongside a cigarette and said he’d let God figure out the rest. He held your hair back when you threw up amaretto and held onto your knee when you first self-injected testosterone. He taught you Yorkshire dialect and you pretended to understand the Yorkshire dialect. He told you he got diagnosed at four and you told him you didn’t get past the first assessment but sometimes you flick the bathroom light on and it’s fire: the orange on the orange towel is louder, the white on the white tiles are louder, the colours and light and sink and showerhead are prickly and all you can do is blink and breathe until it fizzles out. You reminded him to take his meds and asked if you were weak for wanting to drop out and hop on the first Eurostar to Rotterdam. He reminded you to take off your binder and asked if he was robotic for not grieving his mother. You spent inky nights on the kitchen floor, counting the dead flies in the lights and scooping crumbly coconut ice cream out of a maker you got for half price in TK Maxx. You spent dusk-dusted afternoons at the global street food markets, at the vegan markets. Spent student loans on raspberry lemonade in recycled cups, veggie burgers in beetroot buns, got him hooked on poffertjes and advocaat and could’ve cried when the vendor spoke to you in Dutch. Sometimes you didn’t buy anything. Just liked hovering at stalls ambered with fairy lights, writing down Etsy stores on your notes app; just liked Kristen’s impulse to trek forty minutes into the city for a market he didn’t know existed until five minutes before; just liked how he always invited only you, cancelling your other plans last minute, the feeling of being ambushed; just liked how he stopped to take photos of dogs and the sunset; just liked how he looked haloed under lampposts waiting for Ubers, golden on golden.

This is also nearing creative nonfiction because Sheffield truly is a haven for just. vegan markets and cafes lol! I experimented with veganism there and never struggled to find something and at this point I call myself a fake vegan because it's too easy to be vegan in Sheffield and too difficult to be vegan in my actual hometown. And the global street food markets!!! SO GOOD! I miss pre pandemic days

nocturne for the holy ;

Giving her a little shout out because she does exist actually! I've figured out a really good system for working on two novels at a time, so my plan is maybe to start properly on this after I finish either RR or LCOMS. Idk I got 3 novels to pick from haha oops! I did do some free drafting back in April though and found it recently and I Like It! And I edited it so it counts as Something I Did This Month :) Also have decided that I loathe this working title <3 Okay see you with an update for this novel in like a year, sorry for the absolute zero context for this excerpt hehe

The morning I was due back, I hadn’t yet decided that this would be my last visit. I wandered between rooms like an overstayed guest, like I didn’t know which crockery lived in which cabinet and which bedroom had the best view of the overlapped hills. Dad would wake for his run in an hour, plastered to his twenty-year-old routine. Mum would pretend to be asleep until breakfast. Until then, it was myself and the house, hazed by sleepy sunrise. Downstairs. The peeling paisley wallpaper in the lounge, the lilies in the middle of the kitchen table, the vases of candy floss pink peonies wilting on every windowsill, the desolate double swing-set in the garden. The mist-clogged mornings. I stood outside in my dressing-gown until my fingertips felt numb. Upstairs. The sage coloured bathroom. The bathtub I’d laze in with my clothes on and no water because it was the quietest room in the house. The dusty dance trophies on the top of my wardrobe. Wine-flushed Jeanette in my teenage bedroom. The stale grey mum painted my teenage bedroom after I moved out. Minus their room, I stalked the layout of the house three times before settling back into bed - teenage Nora’s bed. Nora who cared for peonies and pushed her brother on the swing set and flung her ceramic ballerina at the wall and jogged with her father and collected wine bottles and acorns and kisses from girls who were supposed to visit for dance practice. Before I left, I’d have cycled each room another three times. And in every room he was there, hovered in the corner like black mould.

love this update bc it's like i've got my third person, my second person, my first person! collecting all the POVs like chaos emeralds :)

eulogy for our burnings ;

-looks away-

girl help I did it AGAIN!!!! Apparently Camp Nano is just the perfect time for me to get novel ideas. I made this post specifically to talk a bit about this because I have no idea when I'll draft it but it's certainly not soon. This is not me trying to doubt my own skill but I feel like I am not in the place I'd like to be as a writer to tackle this project with the zest it needs, however I am v excited by the prospect of it! Don't know how I feel about the working title bc I'm like "that doesn't sound right but I don't know enough about this wip to dispute it" but the only purpose my working titles serve is to sound pretty lol! But here's the tea:

1991, UK.

2nd person present + past. Very flexible form. I can't decipher how yet but I'm feeling interviews, newspaper articles, receipts, grocery store lists weaved with actual narrative, that kinda vibe.

Best summary is we follow our nameless narrator, a stealth trans man, as he becomes unhealthily obsessed with a man who "hires" him to photograph the buildings he burns

Very,,, isolated? Minimal settings, minimal characters, minimal prose etc. Almost claustrophobic

There's basically only two characters and they are probably the most morally deplorable, indefensible characters I've created which just means most of you are gonna LOVE this /lh I do too I do too

Only comp title I can give is it has the vibes/tone of Boy Parts by Eliza Clark (just with none of the nsfw content lol if you've read the book you know what I'm talking about) (also that book is great for morally deplorable women protagonists but omg look up the content warnings because it caught me off guard! enjoyed it tho gave it 4 stars)

The pinterest board is the best visualisation of the Vibes also follow me on pinterest lol

And that's all I've got today! A bigger Life Cycle of Massive Stars update coming in the next few weeks. Might do a proper intro post for Eulogy For Our Burnings but idk!!! It's a surprise :) Thank you for reading this far!

#also i have LOTS to catch up on so if u tagged me in anything im gonna do a big queue of rb's soon!#promise im not ignoring anybody!#just barely functioning <3 #atlastracking #writing update #revelations revelations #life cycle of massive stars #nocturne for the holy #eulogy for our burnings

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rainsongdean · 3 years

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you’re always golden to me

post-mockingjay / pre-epilogue everlark healing together, appreciating the sunset, and maybe even falling in love

"We should head back before it gets dark." Peeta's words rang out in the open air between them, but they were not enough to pull Katniss from her trance-like state.

It had been a rough day. Not enough so to be classified as a bad day, seeing as Katniss had found the motivation to move from the bed to the couch at some point in the afternoon. Now, though, watching the clouds paint watercolors in the sky seemed to bring her back to life. She was encapsulated by the sight.

"Not yet," she eventually spoke, her voice somewhat hoarse from not using it for a while. "I want to stay until it's over. Besides, we could walk home blindfolded from here."

It was true. Katniss had discovered the hill nestled in the woods behind Victor's Village not long after returning from the Capitol. She found solace in being embraced by the wilderness rather than being suffocated in her old home, so when she accidentally stumbled upon the tall mount that overlooked the wide plains and open sky, she knew she had found what she had subconsciously been searching for.

It had taken a few months before she brought Peeta to her secret spot. He'd only returned to District 12 a few days before she had found the hill, and they both needed some time to warm up to each other again. But one day, after suffering through a particularly vivid flashback that ended with him handcuffed to one of Haymitch's spare cages for his geese, Katniss figured it would do them both good to escape into the forest for a while.

That was the first night they watched the sunset from the hill. It had been slightly uncomfortable, sitting inches apart on the dewy grass, no attempt at conversation made by either party. Eventually, Peeta suggested they return home to make dinner before it got too late, but Katniss insisted that she could tell by the shape of the clouds that they would put on an impressive show.

As usual, she was not wrong.

It was the most vibrant spectacle either of them had seen - far more breathtaking than any Capitol party or fireworks display. Sure, they had both watched the sun go down in 12 before, but their view had always been clouded by the thick layer of dust in the air from the mines or obstructed by the cluster of buildings stacked practically on top of one another. Here on their hill, nothing stood between them and the sky. Beyond that, the best part was they got to share it together, just the two of them.

Since that night, the pair made an effort to hike the two-mile trek to the hill at least once a week, though they typically found themselves there more often than that. Katniss still liked to visit the spot alone, sometimes using the safe space to speak aloud to Prim or Finnick and imagine what they would say back. Other times she just enjoyed the silence.

Peeta, too, ventured to the hill a few times by himself. He had tried on several occasions to paint the landscape, and while he was able to perfect the morning glow and mid-afternoon sun, he couldn't capture the colors of nightfall that he most desired to paint.

Despite the significance that the holy ground held for each of them individually, neither one could deny that they preferred to visit the hill together. Katniss had been unofficially living with Peeta for weeks now, and they even shared a bed most nights, but there was a different breed of intimacy that came with being in the woods, nestled in their own little corner of the universe.

"Fine," Peeta sighed contentedly, breaking the silence again. "We can stay as long as you'd like." With that, he leaned toward the picnic basket they had brought and reached in, shoving aside the empty containers that once held a selection of berries, cheeses, and breads to reveal a neatly folded fleece blanket he had stashed in the bottom. "I came prepared," he announced with a sense of pride.

Katniss briefly pulled her gaze from the view for the first time since the sun had begun its descent to offer Peeta a small smile of gratitude. The gesture warmed his heart with the blaze of ten thousand sunsets.

Taking care to wrap the soft cover around their legs, Peeta pulled the fabric up to their chests and then eased his back to the ground until he was laying horizontal on the hill. Katniss followed suit so they were both engulfed by the blanket.

Their new angle only served to better showcase the colors stretching endlessly above them. One hue in particular transported Katniss back to a seemingly ancient memory of the two of them.

"Orange. Muted... like a sunset." Katniss didn't break her eye contact with the sky but smirked to herself as she spoke.

Peeta nudged her shoulder playfully in response, easily picking up on what she was referring to. Their conversation on the train about favorite colors was one of the first to come back to him after he had been rescued from the Capitol. Shifting slightly toward Katniss, he reached out and twisted his finger gently around a stray strand of hair that had escaped from her braid. "You're so poetic when you quote me," he mused sarcastically.

"Well, your choice of favorite color is much more poetic than Effie’s choice of wig," she quipped. It was ironic how some of her and Peeta's best conversations had happened in the midst of some of the worst times of their lives. And yet, there they were: safe and relatively happy, just two kids trying to piece themselves back together with some pastel paints, cheese buns, and hidden hills. It may not have been anything profound, but it was living, and Katniss figured that, for time being, that would be enough.

She inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the moment. They had reached the peak of the sunset when every particle in the air seemed to glisten from the giant star's final attempt to remain on the topside of the world. There was only one word to describe it.

"Everything is golden."

And, for an instant, it was.

But as the sun succumbed to the pull of dusk, the raging reds and oranges that had scorched the sky swiftly turned to delicate pinks and purples, paving the way for the black of night.

It was then that Katniss realized Peeta had been uncharacteristically quiet, his sunset commentary usually being much more prolific than hers. When she turned her head to the left to face him, she found he was already staring back at her, still toying with her hair. His deep blue eyes twinkled like he knew a secret and was about to let her in on it.

When they first met, that kind of look from Peeta overwhelmed her. Sometimes Katniss would catch him staring at her like she carried the world in her hands, or spun threads of gold with her words. It puzzled her, annoyed her, and at times even enraged her. But after his hijacking, it had been so rare for that young, innocent Peeta to reappear and give her that look which spelled out his love for her so plainly on his face, and she had grown to cherish it.

"I change my mind." For the third time that night, Peeta's voice sliced open the veil of silence that covered them.

Katniss abruptly rose to a sitting position, an expression of confusion clouding her face as she leaned over Peeta's resting form. "What do you mean?"

"I change my mind," He repeated calmly, shrugging as if the answer to her question was obvious. "The sunset isn't my favorite shade of orange anymore."

Katniss bit her lip and furrowed her eyebrows, causing the wrinkles on her forehead to deepen. Peeta could tell she was trying to keep herself from challenging him, so he decided not to torture her any longer.

"You are my favorite shade of orange," he reached his hand up to caress her cheek, easing away the signs of worry that had risen on her face. "You, sitting here with the sun reflecting in your eyes, your skin glowing in the light." He lowered his voice to a whisper and retracted his hand, slowly guiding Katniss's head to rest on his chest so she could hear his heart beating. "The way you make me feel like I'm on fire inside, all the time."

Girl on fire. The words echoed in his mind and, although he did not dare speak them, he internally admitted they rang true. And it was in moments like those, as he held her under the night sky with millions of stars blazing above them, that he saw Katniss burn the brightest.

"Oh, shut up," she exhaled, turning away from him in an attempt to conceal the blush that had overtaken her smiling face, but Peeta didn't have to see it to know it was there. "You're so cheesy."

"Hey now," he feigned a hurt expression, "I thought you liked my cheese."

Katniss couldn't hide her outburst at his nonsense and they both fell into a fit of laughter together. They hadn't spoken much about what exactly their relationship status was at the moment, hesitant to put labels on anything, but he still wanted her to know how he felt about her. And while Katniss had never been proficient in using her words to convey her love, the way that she clung to Peeta, burying her head in his arm while gasping to regain her breath from laughing so hard, told him everything he needed to know.

"Come on, we should really head back before Haymitch gets worried." Peeta attempted once again to persuade Katniss to return home after they had both calmed down. His stomach was beginning to growl - the small rations of their picnic earlier weren't nearly enough to tide over his appetite until morning - and now that the sun had set, he'd much rather snuggle up with Katniss on their couch than on the cold, hard ground. And besides, while he didn't really think their mentor would be waiting up for them, he figured the argument might be enough to persuade her.

"Seeing as it's past 3 p.m., I think it's safe to say that Haymitch is passed out on his couch," Katniss countered, but her actions said otherwise as she began to gather herself up off the ground. Peeta knew she had a soft spot for the old man.

It took them a little over half an hour to walk home, leisurely following the path that their own footprints had created over time. Upon entering the house, Peeta made a beeline to the kitchen to heat up some leftover stew from the night before. While he ate, Katniss headed to Haymitch's house, opening the unlocked door to find him asleep in his living room as she had predicted. She pried the half-empty bottle from the arm that hung off the couch and set it on a nearby table before turning the lights out and closing his front door behind her.

She had recently made a habit of checking in on her friend, especially during the weeks when Effie travelled back to the Capitol for work. She knew he had done the same for her countless times. Haymitch never seemed to question why he would sometimes wake up with a blanket draped over him or a pillow propped beneath his head, and Katniss didn't plan on bringing it up. Like most things between the two of them, it went unsaid.

Later that evening, tucked under the covers of Peeta's bed - their bed - Katniss felt more at ease than she did most nights. Maybe it was the serenity of the particularly striking sunset, or maybe it was Peeta's roundabout confession of the feelings he still had for her. Either way, she was pleasantly content.

On the other side of the mattress, as Peeta danced on the cusp of sleep, his mind dragged him back to something Katniss had said on the hill. Everything is golden. He knew what she meant; that the landscape had been blanketed by the radiance of the sunset. But he felt it was true in another sense, and that maybe this new phrase was an even more appropriate way to describe the true essence of Katniss Everdeen.

Before drifting off herself, Katniss heard Peeta mumble one last line of admiration, causing her to fall asleep with a smile ingrained on her lips.

"You're always golden to me."

#the hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #everlark #katniss and peeta #one shot #haymitch abernathy #effie trinket #catching fire #mockingjay #thg #hunger games #everlark fic #everlark fanfiction #everlark drabble #thg fanfic #drabble #primrose everdeen #finnick odair

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elvishgf · 3 years

Text

The Masquerade: WLW F Elf X F Elf; Moondrop Peak series (SFW for now, will change) ~ Part One

“Hurry up Jaena! Or we’ll be late!” Dove groaned. The flowers in her hair had already had to be readjusted once, and the dark circles under her eyes had to be re-powered twice now. This night was meant to be one of whimsy and the old world, and Dove could barely contain her excitement.

“Just hold on! I’m putting on the finishing touches. Just another dash of highlighter and we’re good to go!” Jaena giggled. She always had her head in the clouds, that one, dove thought to herself. Never admitted that she frequently floated up there to visit her friend for their antics herself. Dove took that moment to look around the bedroom, taking it all in before the night. The soft pillowy bedsheets with its grand canopy that help up the delicate pastel pink and purple sheets hanging over. The vines of two plants climbing its way to the tops of the canopy bed in an image that would be best described as ethereal. The afternoon sun shone through the grand windows of her large apartment, which overlooked the winding river that bordered the downtown of Moondrop Peak, her hometown.

The town was strung with fairy lights along the riverwalk’s trees, illuminating the mixture of cobblestone and brick as the sunset, the pink and purple cotton candy sky perfectly matching her own bedroom. As she waited for Jaena’s finishing touches, she folded her arms together and glanced down at the couples strolling together. They were no doubt, on their way to dinner parties and candle-lit evenings spent together on this romantic evening, some of them were maybe going to be heading to the grand annual Moondrop Masquerade Ball, hosted by the wealthy Erevin family. An old-money rich Elvish family which had funded local charities, been community leaders and officials, and of course hosted parties, functions, and tonight, balls. Dove was thoroughly acquainted with the influential family, as hers had often moved in the same circles.

“Can you dust my ears with the highlighter please? I want them to sparkle!” Jaena Erevin smiled dazzlingly back at her as she was perched at the window seat, surrounded in fluffy pillows and blankets.

“As long as you do mine next!” she laughed as she got up, taking the brush swiftly from her friends finger tips, and applying the white highliter to her friends light purple, pointed ears. When she was done, she took a step back, and almost held her breath at how stunning her friend looked. Her gown was an off-white that draped around her lilac shoulders, which she noted had also been touched by the highlighter. Small flowers, a mixture of babys breath and wildflowers, were interwoven into her long, hip-length hair that had braids throughout. She was smiling up at Dove, her eyes sparkling with excitement for the night. They had practically stayed up all night the night before, giggling about prince charming and kisses and how the right one would make your leg pop just like in their favorite childhood movie “The Elvish Diaries”.

Her eyes held the same excitement as they did the night before. They were a woodsy green, brighter near the pupil, and exceedingly beautiful. Dove had also admired her friends beauty, had always loved watching her as she did her makeup, braided her hair, laughed at movies, sung her heart out to their favorite pop songs. Dove had always thought she just admired her friend, as most friends would. Admired her beauty, her quirkiness, the way Jaena’s mother would scold her for unladylike behavior, and she would peep a sideways glance at you, like the two of you were partners in crime. Dove realized then that she had said something.

Dove snapped herself out of her stupor.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I spaced out a little” She said with an embarrassed smile.

“I saaaaid, how do I look, huh??”

“You look gorgeous. Stunning. Beautiful. Amaz-” Dove was tackled into the pillowy bed, pillows flying every which way. “ETHEREAL, ANGELI-” she was cut off with a pillow to the face.

“Hey! My friend spent quite a while on this makeup you know!” She giggled as Jaena mercilessly tickled her. “You a such a little shit” Jaena exclaimed, tickling her further.

“Well now you’ve definitely messed up the look, can you reapply it for me?” Dove looked up at her friend above her, fingers hovering over Dove’s waist. Dove could have sworn for the second before Jaena launched herself off of Dove, that the gaze in her eyes had changed. But soon enough, Jaena was pulling out the seat to Dove’s Vanity, patting the backing of the chair like an expert.

Jaena let Dove take a seat, then moved in front of her, hiked up her dress, and got down on her knees to reapply the powder beneath Doves eyes, the blush on her cheeks, and the mascara on her eyes. Jaena noticed as she was finishing the the lipstick had been seemingly smudged in the kerfuffle. Jaena searched for the exact shade among the sea of makeup that was recklessly abandoned all over the desk of the vanity, until she found it. She turned around, and made brief eye contact with Dove before carefully applying it to Doves pillowy lips. Dove had opened her mouth just a little to ease the process, and had noticed her heart rate elevate at her friend’s closeness.

Why do I feel like this? She’s my friend, for years, hell since grade school. You need to stop being so fucking weird around her or she’ll pick up on it and never want to talk to you again.

Dove pushed her thoughts of leaning forward away as Jaena Rose and examined her work, smiling and saying “All done, gorgeous, you look great!” as she moved away to find her shoes for the evening stashed away somewhere.

Dove and Jaena had been friends for almost all of their lives. Jaena’s family were the most powerful Elvish family in the town, and Dove’s family were not much farther behind. They had attended the same lone private academy in the town, Cape Cottage Academy, and were practically inseparable since 3rd grade, when Dove’s family moved to town. Their money didn’t run from as many generations, and so Dove’s parents had to work extra hard to be accepted into the tight-knit Elvish community of this town.

Janea had never hesitated to be Dove’s friend. Her first day at the new academy, she sat alone in the courtyard eating her lunch, when a quirky little girl sat next to her and spoke about how cool she found all of the different shapes of leafs to be. From there on out, they were best friends. There was never any question or doubt, Janea and Dove were suddenly never apart.

Dove turned around, motioning at her zipper. “Would you mind?”

Janea slowly zipped it up. Dove could feel her eyes on her own light pink skin as the zipper came to a close. Dove breathed a sigh of relief. She had a larger, curvier build than that of her friend, and past zippers had been less... cooperative. Her dress had puffed sleeves and a heart shaped corset, that flowed into her large ball gown, all colored a light baby blue with stars and sparkles dancing across it. As Dove found her heels, she and her friend walked out of her apartment door, giggling to each other as they approached the bannister that led down into the lobby. They both slipped on the masks over their eyes, not concealing much, but adding an air of mystery nonetheless. They stepped out into the cool spring night, and Dove stopped to take a deep breath, savoring it, before opening her eyes. She squeaked in surprise at what was in front of her.

“Janea, what. The. Fuck!”

“It’s a horse drawn carriage!! I wanted to make our entrance to the party as spectacular as possible. That may have been why I asked to get ready at your place...”

Dove just laughed, amused by the flair for the dramatic her friend possessed. They climbed aboard the antique, and set about for a few blocks east towards the Grand Erevin Mansion.

Dove and Janea looked up as they climbed the last couple of stairs, to watch as two butlers, dressed distinctly in 18th century garb, slowly and dramatically opened the door into the Erevin’s home (the flair for the dramatic seemed to run in the family). Their mouths formed small O’s as the brightness from within illuminated their faces. They were struck with how the crystal chandeliers looked dazzling in the perfect mixture of bright lighting and candles. Fresh flowers adorned the walls, the staircases, and the doorways, leaving the girls feeling spirited away. The ball had barely begun, but there were already couples seemingly floating on the dance floor.

“My parents hired a few couples of professional dancers to make it look more impressive, which I’m starting to think was a good idea” Janea giggled, as they spotted a couple of people glancing around at the couples beside them; no doubt wondering how the hell they were able to keep such perfect time. The both of them stood straight at the top of the staircase that led down into the ballroom, which looked like a scene out of time, Dove thought. The archways and gorgeous decorative wallpaper made the space so... enchanting. In their modern times of the 21st century, it was rare to find an appreciation for the extravagance for old, instead of the bleak “modernism” of their time that plagued so many upper class homes.

They began their descent, watching as more than a few stopped what they were doing to look at the pair. Neither of them would ever say it, but they loved the attention that followed them when they walked into a room. They were both gorgeous girls, and they knew that. Dove never paid much mind to the hushed comments on the size of her large hips and bust, her beauty was determined by no one other than her. Arms interwoven with Janea’s, she looked over to admire the look on her face, and the hint of the blush crawling to her cheeks.

“Girls! The most beautiful belles of the ball! Welcome my loves!” Mrs. Erevin touched a hand to both girls cheeked, and they curtsied, as was traditional at balls such as these.

“Thank you so much for hosting this incredible ball again, Mrs. Erevin” Dove demurely smiled.

“It’s Gladyris! You know this!”

“Of course, Mrs. Erevin.” Gladyris lightly slapped Dove’s hand, chuckling.

“We were just going to check out the food.” Janea sneaked a sideways glance at her friend, her conspirator.

“Just don’t get anything on your lovely dresses, girls.” Mrs. Erevin narrowed her eyes, but it was softened by her small smile. As hard as she could be on the now young women, (both now nineteen, she thought with bemusement) it made her heart a little lighter to see them run off together, laughing and holding each others hands.

There were little finger sandwiches, mini pickles on sticks, cupcakes, truffles, crackers and expensive cheese, wine and punch and all that you could ever dream of on the long collection of tables. The girls eagerly picked their favorites to try first, the cucumber sandwiches and mini pies and cupcakes were the priority.

“Try this!” Janea stuffed a soft looking cheese along with a cracker (and a strange looking fruit Dove had never seen before) into her mouth before she could protest. At once, Dove made an indignant noise, but that was slowly droned out by the small moan as the flavors burst in her mouth, melding together in such a beautiful orchestra of flavors. “Oh my fucking goddess, what was that??” Doves said, slowly swallowing, trying to savor the flavors.

“Cactus apple” Janea lifted her hand and swiped away at the corner of her mouth, wiping away the juice that had escaped. Her finger lingered, just for a fraction of a second too long, then she looked away before Dove even had the time to process it.

“Look at all the diversity with these couples! Isn’t it incredible?” She said quickly, admiring a demon and human swaying together, looking deep into each others eyes. An orc spun a Fairy around, her wings glittering in the lights and reflecting hues of blues and greens back onto the high ceiling. A satyr woman was being led by Jinn, his fiery eyes entranced by hers.

The town of Moondrop Peak usually attracted a somewhat limited lot, fairy's, elves, satyrs, and mermaids (due to the beach on the east side of town). But times were beginning to change, and more and more were attracted the the beauty of the small town, and it’s convenience of being 35 minutes outside of Starlight City. Tonight, that was amplified, as the ball was open to all indiscriminately (as long as you met the strict dress code) no invitation required. People came from two, four towns over just to experience the magic of the night, and the Erevin family were more than happy to comply.

“It is, I can’t believe how far we’ve come since the wars. I love it.” Dove walked with her over to a seat where they could enjoy their snacks, admiring the guests. The dresses varied in aesthetic but complied in the color scheme as set by the family’s dress code to the event. The wars had ripped apart many family's, and hurt many people and cultures. Dove didn't like to think too long on it, and she counted herself privileged to have not have been born in the same lifetime in which it happened. It was over 100 years ago, but for many (especially the fae and their tendency to live for who knows how long) it was still fresh wounds. You never would’ve guessed judging the the energy in the ballroom, one of excitement and quick jigs, where people laughed and kissed and twirled to their hearts content.

Well, almost.

Dove looked over at Janea, who was still observing the crowds with wonder. She almost dared to think, if there would come a time where the same acceptance could be applied to those she found beauty in. Her heart sped up at the thought, overwhelming her. She had no idea what to do with this mess of feelings she felt blooming in her chest. She didn’t know where to even start untangling why her heart was beating so quickly, why her hands would start to shake, why words failed where they had always been so easy. Deep down, though, she knew she would never say a word. She couldn’t. And while she loved this ball, it represented every single reason as to why she couldn’t.

“Janea! Can you put down some food long enough to be introduced to this young gentleman? This is Grant Geiune" Mrs. Erevin smiled.

“May I have this dance, Ms. Erevin?”

Fuck.

#exophilia #elivish #au: elves #elves #wlw #oc #dove and janea #Moondrop peak series #fxf #elivish fxf #elvish wlw

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xiaonesis · 4 years

Text

novel // miya osamu x reader

Repost for the 21532x time! >:(

For the last scene of this one-shot, I have the Fireworks Festival song from Weathering With You as the soundtrack. I linked here originally but Tumblr keeps eating my post, and I suss the link.

I needed an outlet at 2am in the morning, an Osamu to hug me better but he isn't real so this is what happened 💀💀 Please enjoy this very sappy, fluffy and angst story?? Didn't intend for it to be. Just wanted to write sap.

Summary

miya osamu has lost count of the number of books he has seen you read for the entire time he knew you, ever since he first met you. lost track of all the familiar titles he has never even read, but for some reason, knows by heart.

Genre: Light angst, fluff, tooth-rotting fluff.

Warnings: Alcohol, Very Light implied Noncon

AO3 Link

Banner by @knightofameris

you had your face buried in another romance novel.

a new one, judging by the cover he has never seen before.

osamu has lost count of the number of books, the innumerable pages, he has seen you read and pore over for the entire time he knew you, ever since he first met you.

the first novel he saw you read was a children's book, with big, easy prints and dreamy colors of pastels and blues, chronicling the journey of a princess who is ultimately saved by her prince charming.

you read it with pink stars in the purple, orange, and blue skies of your eyes, and osamu listened to you tell him the exact same story with the hopeful grin of a young girl, with dreams of meeting her own prince charming one day. osamu listened quietly even if he had already read the story together with you, over your shoulder, unbeknownst to you who was lost in a fantasy world.

his young brain wondered what your ideal prince charming is like.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

osamu knows all about the books you love to read.

for he has heard you tell the stories to him over many summer days at the park and in late-night texts on tuesday nights. seen the way your cheeks dimple with two little dots when the guy gets the girl, saw the dreamy sighs you blew into the space across from him when they share their first kiss.

one of your favorite tales to tell is the story of a valiant soldier and his loving wife. when the soldier drowned in the river on his way home from war, the wife followed him to the same watery depths, so that she may forever be with him even in death.

"that's so morbid," osamu muttered with a raised eyebrow, opening his third pack of onigiri. atsumu agreed with obnoxiously loud chewing, making an offhand comment that you were nuts to think that is romantic.

but you only smiled a wispy smile, your eyes in the clouds and a wish in their depths, as you laid bare your secret wish to a teenage boy and his brother.

"i wish to find a love like that someday, someone I love so much I can't live without them."

his adolescent mind wondered if that is the kind of love you really deserved.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

the first book osamu ever gave you was for your birthday in your first year of high school.

he didn't know a lot about books, or what the most popular book of the year is, or what books were on the top ten recommended list.

all he knew was the kind of stories you love, for you told him what was happening in every book you read. sometimes you would even read it out loud to him as he rested his head on his arms, languidly watching you swing your arms with passion, enacting the tale for him as if you were the heroine herself.

by telling the stories to him, would that make him the Eric to your Ariel? or would he be closer to Flounder?

osamu didn't know a lot about books, and neither did atsumu, or his classmate suna. so osamu steeled his nerves and called upon his courage like the brave knights in your fairytales, and asked kita for help. together they embarked on a weekend afternoon, hunting high and low in a forest of shelves for a treasure book with the kind of story you love.

he didn't think there would be this many for you to love, and osamu was starting to think he will never find that perfect book when kita told him to pick one that osamu himself wants for you.

two more adventures to the bookstore and osamu finally found a book with the kind of story he wants for you.

you yipped and laughed with glee when he gave you the book, candles alight in your eyes and the notes of a song trilling in your voice, even when there was no birthday cake or a gathering of friends.

it was just the two of you at a quiet noodle shop, his hair still damp from practice and you still in your uniform, stained with cream from a cheap 7-11 cake atsumu smeared on you.

"happy birthday. here's wishing ya' another amazing year."

osamu listened to you read the first page of the story over the sounds of slurping noodles and clinking spoons. he read your texts updating him on your reactions to the story through the evening. he smiled when you walked up to him sniffling the next lunch break, the book he gave you clutched in your hands.

“it’s different from what I usually read. it’s such a simple story with no drama or surprises,” you muttered, blowing your nose into a tissue.

“he was there for her from the beginning, without her realizing it. i thought she was going to end up with the other one but i actually felt relieved when it was them at the end. i love it.”

it was the fastest you have ever finished a book. and you carried it around with you long after you have finished it for the third time.

osamu knows the story by heart along with you, without ever having touched a page himself.

it was the first time osamu ever gave you a book and he wondered why he never gave you one earlier.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

the first time osamu sees you without a book for an extended period of time, you just had your first taste of heartbreak.

over some silly boy from the third class down the hallway, that shouldn’t deserve your tears because you had been with him for less than three months. most wouldn’t even consider it a real heartbreak.

but you cry so easily, osamu knew. he has seen the moments when the white of your eyes slowly dye pink, lifting with them a veil of gentle rain, over black ink on chalky pages. his volleyball-filled brain never understood how people can cry over words, and you cry more than he ever thought possible for someone who finds joy in reading.

as you curled into him on the floor of your bedroom and osamu ran his hand down your back with his large, careless hands, his gaze went over the book he gifted you laying open on your bedside table, and the spines of abundant books that skirted the walls. he recognized many of the titles, knows what tales of dancing princesses, dashing princes, and triumphant loves they hold.

osamu understood how much love you were capable of, and wondered where the limits of your sky stopped.

he wondered if he would ever become one of the titles that lined your shelves one day.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

the third time osamu saw you without a book for yet another extended period of time, you were in your second year of high school and had just experienced your third not-so-heartbreak.

his hair is still damp from practice, you were still in your wrinkled uniform and atsumu is noisily slurping down noodles, making a rare appearance of not staying late after official practice is over.

“so he broke up with ya’ cause ya’ wouldn’t kiss him?” osamu asked curiously, all too aware of his heart simultaneously aching and soaring at your words.

a flame of embarrassed red rose and streaked your cheeks and dipped the tips of your ears with its vermillion shade.

“i didn’t want to give him my first kiss...it didn’t feel right,” nervousness mixed in with the mortification on your face, as you admitted yet another secret to a teenage boy and his brother.

a spluttering of disbelief and splashing soup made osamu grimace in distaste.

“ya’ mean ya’ haven’t even kissed someone before?!” atsumu is utterly bewildered.

the crimson of your skin grew to a brilliant hue of ruby, and osamu was not aware of himself comparing it to strawberries in early spring, until he realized that his family always went strawberry-picking in march.

you shook your head with a self-conscious whisper of “no...i want it to be with the one.”

atsumu made a careless comment about how the first two probably didn’t last either because of that very same reason. “right, ‘samu?”

osamu saw the boundless sky of love and joy of your eyes sow itself with just a hint of doubtful gray.

“nah, if she doesn’t want to, she shouldn’t.”

osamu wondered what else he could have said when the gray didn’t recede.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

the first time osamu saw you without the book he gifted you is when you were in your last year of high school, and you had just given your first kiss away.

to some boy in the third class up the hallway from his, that osamu thought didn’t deserve your kiss because you were saying you didn’t feel as happy as the heroines in your books when they first shared theirs, and your disappointment troubled him.

“why did ya’ give it to him then?”

he is very aware of his heart simultaneously aching and soaring again, just like that day in the noodle shop with atsumu and you. is it selfish of him to feel happy that you didn’t enjoy your first kiss?

“I don’t know...i guess, it’s kind of silly to save the first kiss, isn’t it?” you smiled sheepishly at him, the sky in your eyes lighting with the phosphorous yellow of the streetlamp. the area of gray in your sky reached further, guided by the yellow light beaming down on your head, as if you were the heroine in a tragedy stageplay.

“life isn’t a fairytale, and i have to compromise to find the one.”

osamu didn’t know a lot about books, neither did he believe in fairytales. if life is a fairytale, they would have won nationals last year and kita and the now-graduated third years would have a gold medal in their rooms.

but he still wondered why he wasn't brave like a fairytale knight and reached out for you when you stood up to go home.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

osamu counted less and less books with the kind of story you love over the next few years.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

the number of not-so-heartbreaks osamu counted increased.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

you cried more and more after each one.

they were all true heartbreaks to you, and they only kept hurting more with each new face and name, repeatedly peeling off the unhealed scabs of the previous hurt, and littered new wounds in your dreams of an ideal love.

the gray of your sky deepened and darkened, and osamu could no longer see the endless warmth of purples, oranges, and blues behind the clouds.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

osamu wondered if this was just another extended period without a book as you nursed over the latest not-so-heartbreak or if you had completely stopped reading altogether.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

he realized too slow and too late that it was the latter.

and wondered if this was why he wasn’t your prince charming.

because he was just too slow each time to reach for you.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

this is not the first time osamu has seen you across the counter in his shop, a bottle of nihonshu and o-choko in front of you.

it never stops at just three bottles in recent weeks, and osamu will always cut you off after the second now.

the sky in your eye is no longer just a deep, dark gray.

It was black, and he can’t see it anymore.

next time, he is going to serve you nothing but water and tea, is what osamu thought as he pushed open the door to his apartment, one arm holding you up against his side. osamu quietly listened to you mutter drunkenly about the latest kouki, or tatsuya, or kenta. there was even a foreign-sounding ryan in there somewhere.

his heart ached, and soared, that osamu was not one of the names listed.

when he placed you down on his bed, opting to retire to the couch for the night, osamu paused when your hand clumsily reached for his in the unlit walls of his bedroom.

under the indigo shade of the moonlit room, osamu listened as you confessed a third secret, to a man, no longer a teenage boy.

and you were no longer a young girl who read, no longer a teenage girl who grasped at the fading smoke of a fairytale romance.

“am i weird for being too eager to love?” it was more an insecurity, rather than a secret.

he kneeled by the bed, one hand running down your back just like the way he did during your first heartbreak, and the other carefully wiping the crystal rain that fell from the inky gloom that used to be a boundless sky.

a sky he realized too slow he liked gazing into, looking for the pink stars of youth that dotted the canvas of pastels and dreams.

“nah, ya’ just have more love in ya’ than yer can hold,” he whispered, calloused palm splaying on your wet cheek, his thumb pushing gently up at a puffy, sleepy eye.

and just for a little bit, for a very fleeting moment, osamu thought he saw a hint of purple and pink.

“he said that i am crazy for loving so fast, that it was too much. that i am nuts for wanting to do it right.” all of them did.

“a lot of people just don’t know what to do when they’re given love freely. we live in a generation of dating apps and quick matches. they’re all scrubs.”

a truth, neither unfortunate nor fortunate, which osamu has seen happen in his friends and college classmates. osamu will be lying if he said he did not indulge in it once or thrice, as he coped with watching you vainly try to find your prince charming in the next guy that never wanted to wait, over and over. as he dealt with missing his chance yet again. he can't keep up with the swipes.

“...i don’t think i belong in this generation. i don't like short stories. they hurt so much more.”

osamu watched you fall asleep to the thunders of your storming heart, his thumb still damp like his hair after practice, as the rain continued to fall even in the world of your dreams.

and he decided that he will be faster this time.

as soon as the kouta, or takumi, or whatever the current name is, when he and you are officially over, osamu will reach out for you for sure this time.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

osamu still wasn’t fast enough.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

osamu can count the number of times he has been truly angry in his life on the fingers of one hand.

from the moment he received your misspelled texts and phone call, your tipsy voice asking if he could pick you up, followed by an unfamiliar voice pushing for you to stay and have some ‘fun’ to which your refusals were completely ignored, all osamu saw and felt is anger.

even atsumu was surprised when osamu abruptly declared the shop is closing early, and that his twin is coming with him to a party. atsumu had no illusions that they were actually going to be doing any partying.

the first finger was for when he and atsumu argued about going their separate ways after high school, when he decided he will not follow in atsumu’s footsteps and shadows into the world of professional volleyball.

the third finger is for now, as he stared down the bastard that reeked of alcohol with every breath he took, his lip split with an angry red from where osamu’s equally red fist met it. behind him is you, disoriented and splayed on the bed of a stranger with your clothes disheveled, makeup smudged into messy splotches on your skin by a new wave of rain.

the music from the house party boomed through the bedroom walls, and osamu is faintly aware of atsumu smartly diverting curious gossipers and the occasional drunk couple looking for a room elsewhere.

takuya, or kouta, or takumi, whatever his name is, should have been just another not-so-heartbreak in your long list of heartbreaks, a list osamu intended to put an end to.

osamu just never saw the scum behind the ever-changing names.

there has been the occasional jerks amongst the many that simply never worked out, but this is the first real villain you had the misfortune and naivety to catch.

the fourth finger is for you, for not having seen the dirt behind the face, for allowing your sense to be clouded in your search of that love you so coveted. osamu isn’t angry at you for the kind of pure love you sought and gave in return.

he is angry that you lost sight of yourself in your desperate search for it.

the second finger is for himself, for being too slow to realize his own feelings, for being too slow to act each time. he shouldn’t have hesitated, shouldn’t have waited.

he should have been brave enough to lay his heart out to you in the same way you kept laying yours out for others, trusting that they will not break it.

(they didn’t break it, they just kept squeezing a little bit tighter with each new short story you began with the next hikaru )

he shouldn’t have waited all these years, and still chose to wait some more, for you and the scum now to be over with, to reach out for you.

(because is that not the polite and gentlemanly thing to do? what would a real prince charming have done?)

“ya’ and her are done, got it, kouta ?” ice seeped in from his boiling blood.

“i-it’s takuya-”

fucking takuya.

“whatever, takumi. now get out of here.”

when osamu took you home and stayed with you til morning's light, he has resolved that there won't be another takuya, that there won’t be another short story for you to start.

⋆☆⋆☆⋆

“i’m sorry. i’ve been really stupid. a real scrub,” you sniffed, the skin of your eyes like pink cotton balls.

“yea, ya’ have.”

osamu hummed as he looked around your room. he saw the book he gifted you all those years ago, laid out on your desk with a thin film of dust.

around but untouched. there but unnoticed.

kinda like him.

“yer still have this.” he ran a finger on the cover, cleaving through the dark clouds of dust that has fallen over the fairytale in the last few turbulent weeks.

the clouds in your eyes shifted when osamu lifted the book.

something you were always aware was there but not truly truly aware.

a steady, quiet presence, always with you ever since he gave it to you, whether in your school bag, your purse, the corner of your bedside table or desk, it was never shelved like the many other novels on your walls.

it was different, as it was a book you never sought out but was instead gifted.

with the care of an antiquarian, you cleaned the dust off the gift, a quiver in your fingers of what can only be described as ache, at your negligence of something so treasured. so taken for granted.

“of course. it’s my favorite.”

“yer have always been lookin’ for that prince charming, ever since we were kids.” the hint of a wry grin tugged on his lips.

a pause, the brief moment before rainy skies rumbled.

“...yea, i never really grew up, did i?” got your head stuck in the clouds of childhood dreams and imaginations.

don’t hesitate anymore. call upon the inner knight like he had when he asked kita for help.

“oi.”

it isn’t a pause, nor a hesitation, when osamu didn’t continue immediately. he was ensuring that he had your full attention, that he can see your eyes before he spoke.

If- when, the skies cleared, he didn’t want to miss it.

didn’t make him any less nervous though. it felt like he was about to walk into a storm when it really shouldn’t because you were not a storm.

if anything, you were caught out in a storm and he was going out to get you.

“yer read this book properly, right?”

your brows scrunched, puffy red skin creasing with them. “plenty of times.”

“then you know what happens in the end, right?” he asked, voice a whisper, fingers slowly reaching for your hands on the freshly cleaned cover.

a silence- that calm, transitory quiet that comes when black nebulas fold to the light of the sun, splashes of color shyly peeking through- rolled into the room, wafting into the little space between him and you.

a small space, like the lid of a box that was not fully closed, carelessly overseen by children eager to move onto the next exciting thing, and children who put off what they should be doing now for later.

a shudder of a breath, from you or from him, he wasn’t sure.

“i’m no prince charming. heck, yer ain’t no princess yerself,” he smiled at the way a pitched laugh stuttered out of you, breaking through the rain that he knows is going to fall.

he’s a pretty good weatherman now; easily reading the way pink would slowly rise and turn into scarlet in the sky of your eyes, like a red sunrise before the clouds rolled in.

it always reminded him of that saying,

‘red sky in the morning, sailors take warning.’

“and this took me forever because there were a lot of side characters, and even a true bonafide villain, that got in the way-”

another laugh, and the rain fell. after a long, long time, it truly fell.

and that’s good ‘cause the sky is the most beautiful after the rain.

a hand lifted without him realizing, brushing a lock of hair that stuck to the rolling droplets on your cheeks.

“-but i think it’s about time yer started a chapter with me. what do ya’ think?”

and there it was, the purples, oranges and blues.

clear and bright, without a trace of gray clouds in the canvas of your sky.

and this time, when osamu’s heart soared, there was no ache, no doubt or hesitation of whether it was selfish of him to fly.

he felt it deep within him, the wings he has kept down for a page too long, spreading freely to finally lift him into your boundless sky, weaving into the pink stars that dotted them once more.

he wants to be the next romance story you start.

if he could, he will be your last romantic short story. the story to end all short stories, for you, at least.

if you would let him, osamu wants to be the last page you flip in your romance novel.

and if you would have him, he wants to be all the pages in between the first and the last for the rest of your lives together.

you placed a teary kiss onto his palm, holding it to your cheek with a cheeky smile.

“I should have just done the main storyline and skipped the side stories.”

osamu has lost count of the number of books he has seen you read for the entire time he knew you, ever since he first met you. lost track of all the familiar titles he has never even read, but for some reason, knows by heart.

he may have lost count but that’s alright.

because the most important story is the one you are starting here, with him, now, in the present, as he finally leans over to give you that proverbial kiss, that one, the Hollywood Kiss that has the entire audience sighing in relief.

he’s no prince charming, and you were certainly no princess, and life is not a fairytale.

but whenever you may need it, he will give you a helping hand, an attentive ear, and maybe another punch to someone deserving of it, to give you that push you need to remember yourself, and find your way back to the happy ending he knew you deserved.

If you enjoyed this, please do reblog <3 I am also open to constructive feedback!

#miya osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu x reader #miya atsumu #kita shinsuke #miya twins #inarizaki #haikyuu imagines #osamu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu #haikyuu!!

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leviiackrman · 2 years

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OC Vibes;

I was tagged by @simonxriley @carterrogerz @indorilnerevarine + @dredgenyoure to use this uquiz for some oc vibes babyyyyy, thank you my darlings!

Not gonna tag anyone because I’m v late to this lmao, so feel free to do it if you want!

The Survivor || Until Dawn

A glass of absinthe, a crystal chandelier, a mirrored elevator car, fresh-squeezed lemonade, a sprig of lavender, a silver hairpin, a fan palm, a velvet chair, a rosebud corsage, peach silk, a marble pool, a silver compact

The Hero || My Hero Academia

The Witcher || The Witcher 3

The Scout || Attack on Titan

#tagged*#simonxriley #carterrogerz #indorilnerevarine #dredgenyoure #thank you my dudes #oc: jordan parker #oc: asami enatsu #oc: isaac wattleseed #oc: margot durand #misc: uquiz

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ottobooty · 2 years

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@denerims and @shellibisshe asked me to do this Uquiz for my clowns

Unsure who to tag who hasn’t been tagged already. But if you’re reading this, you gotta do it.

Vesper

Miriam

Molly

#Otto does a meme #OC: Miriam Maccoby #OC: Vesper #OC: Molly

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reneesi · 4 years

Text

i never would have thought // CH.09

WRITTEN PORTION

“Pic-nic! Pic-nic! Pic-nic YAY!” (Y/n) chanted out in glee, practically floating as she skipped atop the gravel path. Yachi giggled at the display, linking her free arm with (Y/n) and shooting her a toothy grin.

The three Karasuno volleyball managers had been planning a girls day for a couple weeks, and this was the first free Saturday since (Y/n)’s photoshoot. They had set out on a quest to have a sunlit lunch beneath the trees. Yachi, carrying a blanket under her arm, had dressed up in a white sundress and left her hair down. In contrast Kiyoko was sporting a long brown patterned skirt and a black tank top, her slender fingers were wrapped around the handle of a round picnic basket. (Y/n) had been charged with bringing the drinks, hence the kitty cat backpack draped across her shoulders. She’d brought ramune and completed the trio’s aesthetic with a midi dress and white t-shirt underneath.

When they’d found a quiet spot under a large tree that provided some semblance of shade, the three worked together to set up their picnic. Ten minutes later they sat on a soft pastel checkered blanket, drinking cold soda, and relaxing under the shreds of sunlight peeking through the leaves above.

“I should have brought my camera.” (Y/n) sighed longingly, a content smile splayed across her features.

“We can always take pictures on our cell phone Hinata-chan!” Yachi piped up.

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s just so beautiful here.” (Y/n) sung, leaning back into her arms which were placed out behind her, providing support. She let the lids of her eyes fall shut as her head tipped back lazily, enjoying the weather which felt absolutely divine.

The heat was starting to become more bearable given that fall was right around the corner, but the sun still shone just as bright, leaving a warm residue in the afternoon air. Gentle breeze blew through the grass, running its slick fingers through the field and up to (Y/n)’s hair, cooling the sweat that threatened to build at the nape of her neck. As (Y/n) sat there, eyes closed and listening to the grass blades jostle against one another, Yachi and Kiyoko launched into a quiet conversation about club duties and then Sugawara and Daichi’s relationship. It was calm and easy, both speaking only words of kindness in low peaceful tones.

“How long have they been dating?” (Y/n) asked, cutting in as her feet finally touched back down to earth.

“About three months I think, but they’ve both had feelings for a long time,” Kiyoko smiled.

“I'm so glad they finally did start dating, they make such a good couple!” Yachi gushed, clasping her hands together “But I can't imagine what the confession must have been like, confessions have always made me too nervous!”

Yachi’s hands flew up to hold her cheeks as they flushed red at the mere thought of such confrontation, Kiyoko giggled along.

“Yeah, confessing sounds stressful.” (Y/n) pondered aloud, tapping at her chin.

“Is there someone you have in mind?” Kiyoko inquired innocently, cocking her head slightly to the side. (Y/n) looked back in confusion.

“In mind..?” she repeated, still perplexed.

“Someone you ‘wouldn’t’ want to confess to!” Yachi giggled, scooting closer to (Y/n) and shooting her a suggestive smirk. (Y/n) felt her cheeks grow warm, sure that the pink on her features would only spread if the conversation continued.

“I-I.. well not, I mean-“ (Y/n) tried. She kept her gaze lowered towards her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her skirt.

“Aww it’s okay Hinata-chan! We were just teasing, sorry!” Yachi laughed, scratching the back of her head sheepishly.

“No, no! I mean, what I was trying to say before is that there isn’t anyone that I’m interested in right now! At all!” (Y/n) finally spluttered out, a little louder and a lot more aggressive than she’d intended.

“What about Tsukishima?” Kiyoko asked evenly, soft tones failing to cushion the bluntness of her sudden inquiry.

(Y/n) paused for a moment, thinking back to the conversation of the previous night. Even if she had somehow started to develop any sort of feelings it didn’t really matter since she couldn’t tell if Tsukishima actually even wanted to be friends. He was always so confusing..

Finally, (Y/n) shook her head.

“We’re just friends.” She assured, face calming back to its gentle rosy cream. Kiyoko studied her for a moment before nodding.

“You guys seem to be getting along much better lately.” Kiyoko smiled lightly, easing herself down to lay on her side.

“I hope so... the truth is I can’t blame you guys for thinking there might have been something there on my part.” (Y/n) laughed diffidently, “I was just always so nervous that he’d hate me so I ended up getting all tense and acting weird around him.... hopefully he didn’t notice.”

(Y/n) let out a long sigh.

“Why would you think he might hate you?” Yachi asked, confusion dotting her words.

“He’s just so far away from everyone. Back home things were so different, and I guess I got accustomed to reading people a certain way. So when he was all cold I thought I'd... I dunno, done something wrong..?” (Y/n) shrugged, Kiyoko nodded thoughtfully.

“That makes more sense, and you really don’t have to tell us but what exactly was back home... like?” Kiyoko questioned hesitantly. She’d taken her time to ask the question in a way that was sweetened and less direct, hoping to create the least amount of discomfort. Regardless, (Y/n)’s shoulders tended slightly.

“It was...” She trailed off, as Yachi reached over and placed a comforting hand on her thigh.

“It’s okay, you really don’t have to say,” Yachi said softly. (Y/n) shook her head and continued

“No it’s okay. It was just a completely different world. I’ve never really talked about it, and I’m not sure how much Shoyo has told you guys, but I grew up in a really... wealthy... family.” (Y/n) paused, averting her eyes.

She always hated talking about that part of herself, the part that made people uncomfortable and the environment shift into a stiff stillness that never had the room for friendly connection. The same type of air that suffocated her to near death back home. The silence began to weigh down into her spine, so (Y/n) continued.

“The culture, it’s j-just really different.. and well my parents wanted me to be something.. someone that I wasn’t. They wanted me to dress a certain way, act like I was perfect, and just let people walk all over me. And I just didn’t want that, so I kinda took every opportunity to show them that.” (Y/n) laughed to herself reaching up to touch her long brown locks instinctively.

“That’s actually why I dyed my hair brown,” she continued “in rebellion. And I did a bunch of other stupid things like rip up clothes and wear make up I knew they’d hate. Mostly though, I would argue with them... and one day they kind of realized I wasn’t gonna give up and I think my Mom.. she realized I was really unhappy..”

“I-i’m really sorry (Y/n)..” Yachi said quietly. (Y/n) looked up and met her eyes, forcing a smile.

“It’s okay, don’t be. I’m here now and I’m really really happy! Happier than I’ve ever been!” (Y/n) smiled wide and held up a thumbs up

“We’re glad you’re here too.” Kiyoko said softly as Yachi leaned to lay her head across (Y/n)’s lap. (Y/n) stroked through the stands of blonde lovingly.

“That’s why I wanted everyone to like me so much. I never really felt like I fit in back home.. everyone wanted that lifestyle of fake smiles and champagne.. I..” (Y/n) furrowed her brows,

“I just wanted to be free.” She said definitively, looking up to find Kiyoko’s approving smile still beaming her way.

“How did you convince them to let you come?” Yachi asked suddenly, pulling (Y/n)’s eyes back down to her lap.

“We made a deal. They agreed to let me stay here through highschool as long as I go to the college they choose and marry the person they want me to.” (Y/n) explained, light disappointment visible through the cracks of her syllables.

“(Y/n)...” Yachi whispered, big teary eyes peering up at the brunette as Yachi reached up to touch (Y/n)’s face. (Y/n) smiled placing her own hand over Yachi’s which now rested against her cheek.

“It’s okay,” (Y/n) said, glancing up at Kiyoko who was giving her a similar look of sympathy “Really!”

“I've never really believed in love much so it’s not like I was waiting around for my soul mate.” (Y/n) reassured.

“But what if you meet someone and-“ Yachi spoke up

“I just wanna have fun while I’m here and try to make the most of it.” (Y/n) cut her off, smiling softly in such a way that Yachi and Kiyoko quickly understood the topic wasn’t open for discussion. Kiyoko began talking about college applications and careers and the weight of vulnerability finally began to wear off of (Y/n)’s shoulders. As the trio fell back into their easy jokes and conversations they pulled out trays of sushi and dried seaweed, giggling in unison as they shared light hearted memories.

Eventually, when the sky had turned into a sea of warm colors and fluffy watercolor clouds, (Y/n) felt a buzz in her pocket. She was forced to pull away from the conversation and check her text messages.

“Who’s it from?” Yachi asked, leaning over (Y/n)’s shoulders to peer at her screen.

“It’s Noya-senpai he said to look behind-“

“KIYOKO!!!!” A bellow erupted over the outstretched field behind (Y/n), as stampeding footsteps grew louder. The three managers snapped their heads towards the sudden noise, eyes wide, as three figures came into view.

“HINATA-CHAN!!” Nishinoya screamed, a geeky smile splashed across his lips feeding up to the crinkles in his eyes. Faux tears were streaming from Tanka and Nishinoya as they ran towards the trio at full speed, arms outstretched before them. Behind them Yamaguchi was carrying a volleyball looking sheepish, a light blush tinting his cheeks as he waved a small hello.

(Y/n) began to stand only to be tackled to the ground by both Nishinoya and Tanaka. She screamed as they trapped her in an overbearing hug.

“You idiots that hurt!” She laughed, pushing them off of her as she sat up and bonked both their heads simultaneously. They immediately wrapped their arms around her once more.

“We missed yOU SO MUCH!!” Nishinoya cried.

“We were just too jealous of your picnic, we couldn’t help but crash it!!” Tanaka wept, pulling away and leaning back to look at Kiyoko.

“Please don’t be mad~” He said to her, giving the upperclassmen puppy dog eyes. Kiyoko bit back a smile and maintained her aloofness, even if barely so.

“Don’t look at me, this picnic was Hinata-chan’s idea.” She said matter of factly, Tanaka turned back to (Y/n).

“C'mon please leT US STAY WE JUST WANNA BE WITH OUR PRECIOUS MANAGERS!” Tanaka bawled, throwing his arms around (Y/n) yet again. She sighed in feigned annoyance.

“Hi hi Hinata-chan, Kiyoko-senpai, Yachi-san.” Yamaguchi cut in, finally catching up to his friends under the tree. He placed the volleyball down gently before taking a seat next to Yachi, bumping her shoulder lightly with a smile. (Y/n)’s heart surged and she bit her lip to conceal the smile threatening to burst out.

“Fineee, you guys can stay.” She sighed, drawing it out a little too much. Tanaka and Nishinoya rejoiced, jumping to their feet as they chanted on about being accepted into the “managers only” hang out. The six team mates sat under golden sunlight, cracking jokes and chatting mindlessly until the sun set.

That is until Nishinoya’s energy got the best of him and he and Tanaka insisted on showing (Y/n) how to receive and serve. Which might have been a great idea if Tanka and Nishinoya weren’t such terrible teachers. In the end Yamaguchi went home with a bruise on his head and (Y/n) vowed to never touch a volleyball again. She swore everyone to secrecy over Yamaguchi’s injury, praying that Tsukishima wouldn’t find out and kill her over it. Too bad Yamaguchi was a terrible liar.

CH.09 II pic-nic date!!

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MASTERLIST

Tagslist: @domtamaki @kodzu-ken @clowninfortodoroki @kageyamasbabygorl @miya-yume @chaelysian @kittyddandnyla @chaseyui @it-was-just-a-ship @melanie09astrid @naorii-chan @chaoticalybiased @saltyteefff @aristatrois @iamthepenguinwhosearseisonfire @raineedayze

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blossomoranges · 4 years

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love’s lost

this fic was commissioned by @pastel-hideout, based on her beautiful and heart-wrenching artwork, using Shingen and her character Damian!

thank you to @mythiica and @tsundere-mitsuhide for being incredible people and for beta-ing this story.

if you like the story, feel free to take a look at my commission page!

tw: blood and details of respiratory illness

please enjoy!!

Shingen never been so glad to see the end of a war council. There had been a persistent tickle in the back of his throat all morning. Thank goodness Damian wasn’t in attendance - he’d hate to worry his boyfriend with any of this.

Yuki had shot him concerned glances whenever he reached for a cup of tea to soothe the itch or loosened his kimono to cope with his high temperature. He had tried to reassure the young man that there wasn’t anything amiss - Yuki only responded by furrowing his brows with some intensity and issuing a warning against Shingen’s tendency to hide his pain: “There had better not be.”

The Tiger of Kai had spent the entire walk to his quarters ruminating on how much he hated lying to his son. It had been slow-going, but the end was almost in sight. As his lungs began to protest and every exhale turned into a wheeze, Shingen tried his best to quicken his pace. He knew the warning signs for one of his coughing fits and there was no way he could afford to collapse out in the open. The burning sensation within his lungs only worsened with each staggering step, his leaden legs weighing him down until the length of the hallway felt like an odyssey.

'Almost there’ became a mantra in his head as he struggled to keep himself upright. The wildfire was still clawing its way up to the back of his tongue, turning his desperate breaths into sputtering coughs. He grasped the sliding door to his safe haven with shaking hands, praying that he could make it through the threshold before his lungs decided to revolt in a fashion he couldn't hide.

The room tilted on its axis just as Shingen shut the door and finally let himself drop to his knees.

Spirits, he was sick of these coughing fits. They sapped his energy and it took all he had to stay conscious afterwards.

He barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. As he lifted his hand, trying to rub at his weary eyes, his wrist brushed past a growing streak of wetness on his chin. The source soon became apparent - warm blood was dripping in tiny rivulets from his mouth. The blood from war never bothered him, but this? He never realized how much blood one man could cough up.

He doesn't hesitate before wiping it all away with his sleeve.

However, Shingen couldn’t stay kneeling all day. Slowly but surely, he dragged his ailing body onto all fours and crawled along the tatami mats, one arm over the other, until he could lay himself over the surface of his desk. The wood was blessedly cool against his cheek - at least one of his aches was being soothed.

After a few moments of rest, Shingen tried to press his hand against the desk in the hopes of levering himself upwards. Instead of feeling a wooden surface beneath his palm, his hand brushed against the hardcover of a leather-bound tome.

---

Some weeks ago, when Shingen was still well enough to leave the castle grounds, he and Damian headed out to the market together. His boyfriend had acquired yet another book to add to his growing collection, but instead of squirrelling it away on his bookshelf, he had pressed it into Shingen’s hands as soon as they returned to their quarters.

“What’s this, darling?”

He could have sworn that there was a tinge of pink to Damian’s cheeks, but he couldn’t be sure, as the man had turned to face the screen door beside them.

“It’s a collection of sonnets. Poetry. I want you to have it.”

“Son-its,” he sounded out. “I’ve never heard of them. What subject matter do they deal with?”

“... Love. The sonnets in this book discuss love.”

Ah. Now he was sure that his boyfriend was flustered, a beautiful blush blooming across his face.

“This is a wonderful gift. I’ll cherish every word, my angel.”

Shingen set the book down on his desk with the utmost care, before sweeping Damian into his arms, delighted by the other man’s yelps of surprise. He pressed their foreheads together, relishing every moment he could bask in his lover’s warmth.

---

The memory of Damian’s gift soothes his soul in a way no medicine could accomplish. This book was a tangible reminder of better days - ones where Shingen had hope that his body could last for a little while longer.

He never thought that he would find true love, the kind that made his heart burst with joy every time Shingen saw his loving smile and turned his thoughts into a jumbled mess whenever Damian drew close.

Despite trials, tribulations, and time itself trying to separate them, they had stayed together.

It broke Shingen’s heart that it would soon come to a close.

Ever since meeting the man, he had indulged himself in endless daydreams of the life they would share and the home he wanted them to build. He would have crafted a bookcase for Damian’s collection of tomes and scrolls. There would be two finely-carved desks for the endless missives and letters they were both inundated with. Maybe he would have added a crib and some wooden toys if he could ever convince his lover of the many merits of children. He furrowed his brow, halting the thoughts before they became too much to bear - he wouldn’t live long enough to start any of those projects.

Daydreams with no real substance shouldn’t cause him this much anguish. He should be happy! His homeland was under the Takeda clan’s protection and he had given his people a place to call Kai once more. Though Nobunaga’s head remained firmly attached to his body, his continued existence had enabled Shingen to kickstart a shaky truce between both sides of their endless war. No more blood would be spilt across his lands. A new head of the Takeda clan had been elected, the burden of leadership no longer falling on Shingen’s aching shoulders. That’s all he had ever wanted.

He had done his best to push people away, refusing to saddle others with the grief he knew would inevitably come to pass. His plan was to indulge only in shallow, fleeting relationships; everyone would be better off in the end, he’d reasoned. Unfortunately, the world had always done its best to derail Shingen Takeda’s plans. He had found himself saddled with a strange, patchwork family, nestled inside the imposing walls of Kasugayama.

Kenshin had been guilt-stricken and wounded inside as long as Shingen had known him. Despite that, he was a brilliant commander and, honestly, a pretty good rival. He had faith that one day, Kenshin would pick up his shattered pieces and lacquer them with gold.

Yoshimoto would always have his head in the clouds, but he’d come into his own as a leader, integrating the remnants of the Imagawa clan into the Takeda. His cousin would survive.

Sasuke, forever staring up at the heavens, like their mysteries would be solved if he just looked long enough. If anyone could figure them out, it was him.

Yuki was his most trusted vassal and the inheritor of his legacy - there was no doubt in Shingen’s mind that he was the man for the job. His son would carry on, with his head held high, as he always had.

And of course, his dear Damian. His one true love, his sunshine, his lifeline. Others would have succumbed to despair if they were trapped in this period of ceaseless war, but he had blossomed into a loving partner and one hell of a treasurer.

They would be alright. The continued company of a dying man would only hold them back.

He had kept a smile plastered to his face throughout it all, never letting his mask fall, just to spare everyone from the horrible reality - that death would soon come calling for him. Day by wretched day, his breath grew shorter and his temperature soared, the end creeping closer. He had seen what the truth did to his other loved ones, as they began to grieve for a man who was still with them.

Seeing Damian’s face fall, when he realized that Shingen was living on borrowed time… it would be the final nail in his coffin.

But lying to his love like this wasn’t sustainable. His partner was a man who had been through his own hardships. It wasn’t fair to him - he deserved the truth.

He wished he had the strength to find his lover, but the coughing had returned with a vengeance, searing his lungs and robbing him of what little air he had managed to take in. Maybe it was making him dizzy, but Shingen could swear that he could feel the end - it was burning bright behind his eyelids, its very presence demanding he come closer.

All he could do was hope that Damian could forgive him for leaving like this.

---

Damian had barely seen his boyfriend today. They’d both been so busy that the only time they had spent together lately was just before they collapsed into bed for the night.

Luckily, they were both free for the rest of the afternoon. All he wanted was for them to while away a few hours in each other’s arms, soaking in Shingen’s presence like a flower under a vast sky, talking about everything and nothing at all.

He had expected to see Shingen bent over the desk, working hard to secure his people’s future, or perhaps sitting out on the veranda and basking in the sunlight.

Instead, he is met with the sight of a pale man, drenched in sweat and wheezing with every breath. His horror only intensified as a fresh round of coughs wracked his love’s body. Shingen’s chin was already stained with dried streaks of blood, but fresh droplets spattered into his hand as he tried to stifle his cough.

The only thing Damian can think to do is scream, but the sound won’t leave his throat. It wouldn’t matter if he did. He stumbled in his hurry to get to Shingen, falling to his knees and grasping at the bloodstained fabric of his kimono.

“Why didn’t you say anything?! You selfish bastard, don’t leave me… you promised that you wouldn’t leave me!”

The man’s only response to his tirade was a gentle smile. Shingen inclined his head at some point past him, motioning to something. He whirled around, leaving his blonde locks in disarray as he desperately tried to see what Shingen wanted him to, blind panic drawing mere seconds out into what felt like years.

Finally, his gaze fell on the little book of sonnets displayed on the man’s desk. He’s struck by memories of traipsing through the market hand-in-hand, Shingen gathering him up in his arms and pressing sweet kisses to his lips.

Damian’s eyes welled up with tears. He couldn’t lose the man he loved, not when they’d barely begun their life together. He is roused from his thoughts by Shingen’s trembling hand pressing against the back of his head, slowly bringing their foreheads together, for what seemed to be the final time.

#ikesen #ikemen sengoku #writing #commission #shingen takeda #oc: damian #ikesen fic #takeda shingen

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pinknerdpanda · 4 years

Text

Dead Sea

Word Count: 4,317

Characters: Modern AU!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, fluff

SSB Square Filled: “Why the long face?” (Bolded and Italicized below)

Beta’d by: @shy-violet-soul - what would I do without you?!

A/N: Alright, here it is. My first attempt at MCU Fanfic and hopefully the first of more to come. I really love Bucky’s character and the ways parts of him can be expounded upon. This particular piece was written for @heli0s-writes 2K Challenge. My prompt was the song “Dead Sea” by the Lumineers. I kinda picked it apart and used bits of lyrics within the fic, which are highlighted. This is also the first fic for my @star-spangled-bingo card. Hope you enjoy! I’d love to hear your feedback!

If you’d like to be added to my taglist, send me an ask!

Dead Sea

“Why the long face?”

Four words, spoken with casual naivete and a breath of gentle teasing. Bucky froze, the unlit cigarette, now forgotten, dangling between his lips as he looked around for the source of his distraction. His gaze landed on her as she flicked her lighter, bringing the flame to her own cigarette and taking a drag. Her hair itself was like fire, brilliant red and vivid orange dancing around her face in the breeze. She smiled, smoke billowing in delicate tendrils from her nose and mouth as she held the lighter out.

Bucky blinked, glancing around once again. Surely she was addressing someone else? His eyes narrowed as his search came back empty and he looked at her again.

She wiggled the lighter in his direction and chuckled, the sound electrifying every nerve in his body and making the hair on his arms stand on end. A sound that pure and beautiful should be reserved for...well, anything or anyone except him. Bucky knew he should turn around and go back inside - leave her alone and untainted by his mere existence.

And yet as she watched him patiently, the sun overhead making her eyes and hair sparkle, he silently nodded his thanks and accepted the proffered item. It took a few failed attempts before he successfully ignited the tip of his cigarette and inhaled the bitter smoke, returning the lighter in silence.

“I’m y/n,” she offered, tucking it away again.

Dumbstruck.

It’s not a word Bucky would have used to describe himself in recent years. As a naive, fresh-faced kid 20 years ago? Sure. But a former soldier and recently retired enforcer for a powerful mob back East? Hell no.

And yet, there was no other word to describe it.

Bucky Barnes was dumbstruck.

He took a long drag and exhaled, hoping the cloud of smoke would provide some sort of camouflage as he spoke.

“‘M’name’s Bucky,” he mumbled.

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” her tone brightening around her widening smile. “I haven’t seen you before. You new?”

Bucky nodded, hiding again behind his antiquated bad habit.

“I work just there,” she gestured behind her, cigarette carefully poised between two fingers. “At the salon. I’m a stylist.”

Bucky jerked his thumb to the door a few places down from where she’d pointed.

“I just started at the pawn shop.”

Y/n nodded, taking another drag.

“You said something. Earlier.” Bucky cleared his throat, his continued socialization a surprise to himself. “What did you say?”

Y/n grinned, sheepishly, dropping the cigarette to the ground and stomping it with the toe of her worn Converse.

“I asked ‘Why the long face?’” Y/n pulled her jacket around her, shielding herself from the chilly gusts of late winter air. “It’s just...well. You looked kinda sad.”

Bucky chuckled, flicking his cigarette away deftly. “I’ve been told that’s just my face.”

Y/n pressed her lips together and narrowed her gaze at him, nodding thoughtfully.

“I appreciate the concern, though.” One side of Bucky’s mouth quirked up, the ghost of the charming ladies-man he’d once been playing over his features.

“I’ll see you around, Bucky.” She laughed to herself once more before ducking her head and retreating toward her shop, the door closing behind her.

I hope so. Bucky thought to himself. I really hope so.

----

The next few weeks passed in much the same way; smoke breaks shared behind the strip mall, shy smiles and quiet comfort found in the low murmuring between them.

“But why did you leave New York for bumfuck Ohio?” She pressed gently one day, flicking ash into the wind. “This place is just so...boring.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, having dreaded this question from the moment he put the Empire State in his rearview mirror. The dread compounding even more as the thought of telling her the truth flashed through his mind.

Bucky took another drag before tossing the butt on the ground and stomping it out mercilessly.

“New York lied to me. I needed the truth.” Bucky smirked in self-contempt, the irony heavy on his tongue. It wasn’t entirely false, but it wasn’t the honesty he wished he could give her, either. “Besides, boring isn’t so bad.”

He chanced a look in her direction and found her, nodding thoughtfully as she often did, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. To Bucky, that one gesture felt as though she saw through him, though the feeling wasn’t raw and exposed as he kept anticipating. It felt...reassuring, somehow. Like she saw him as someone he wasn’t even certain he was, and was just biding her time until she could reflect the image back to him.

“Well, whatever brought you here, Bucky,” she smiled, brushing the neon green and pink hair from her eyes. “I’m really thankful it did.”

Bucky cleared his throat, refusing to look at his watch, as though doing so would deplete their time together faster.

“What about you? If it’s so boring here, why do you stay?” His tone bordered on teasing, but as soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them.

Y/n blinked rapidly, the edges of her smile crumbling visibly. He could practically see her forcing her facial muscles to keep it place.

“It’s my dad,” her voice was barely a whisper. “He’s sick. Cancer. My mom left ages ago and I’m all he’s got.”

She shrugged, leaving him with more questions than answers. Bucky knew better than most not to press the matter. She never did with him, so he allowed her the same respect.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/n nodded, a silent acceptance of his sincerity. She took a small step forward - her warmth and vitality crowding his space in all the best ways - and, leaning up, pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Blood roared in Bucky’s ears and his heart thudded against his ribs almost violently. The feel of her chapped lips on his skin lingered as she stepped back.

“Have a good afternoon, Bucky.” She started to walk back inside, but turned to face him again. “You oughta come by sometime, let me get my fingers in that hair of yours.”

Feigning offense, Bucky scoffed, and pushed some of the long strands back over his ears. “What’s wrong with my hair?”

Y/n smiled, a renewed joy in the curve of her lips. “Nothing.”

Bucky watched as she retreated back through the door of the salon, finding himself, once again, dumbstruck.

----

“What about - ” she drew the word out, finger outstretched as she settled on the one she wanted, “that one?”

Bucky chuckled. Of course she would pick that one.

“That one is Vega.”

Bucky turned his head, finding her profile highlighted by the glow of the heavens above. He found her joy intoxicating.

He’d been nervous when he asked if she wanted to do something after work earlier in the day. Nervous and more than a little clumsy, having already convinced himself that she’d turn him down. But she hadn’t. In fact, Bucky thought she almost looked relieved. Though whether it was because she’d hoped he’d ask or because she simply needed a brief reprieve from the responsibility of caring for an ailing father, he wasn’t sure.

All he knew for certain was that sitting there, blanketed by an inky black sky dotted with shimmering stars next to her was the only place he wanted to be. He felt a bone-deep peacefulness he’d never experienced in his life and it had everything to do with the pastel blue-haired girl who’d agreed to go stargazing with him.

"You know," he began, swallowing thickly when she turned to face him. "They say that Vega was a goddess who fell in love with a farmer. She descended the heavens to be with him and promised to bring him back with her. Her father became so enraged with them, he banished them both to the sky, but far apart from one another."

"That's so sad," she whispered, her face scrunched.

Bucky nodded.

"But," he began, desperate to wipe the frown from her lips, "once a year - on the seventh day of the seventh month - a bridge of magpies forms across the milky way so the lovers can be reunited once more."

It worked.

Y/n's eyes glittered brightly with excitement again and at once Bucky's breath was stolen from his lungs. In that moment, Bucky would have lassoed the moon and brought it to earth if it meant being cocooned in her mirth for a few more seconds.

"That's so romantic, in a horribly tragic kind of way." She laughed, the sound knitting together pieces of himself he'd long assumed irreparable. "Thank you for this, Bucky. I needed some fresh air."

"Anytime, sweetheart."

The voice in his head bellowed that the blush gracing her cheeks was a figment of his imagination. But, as her hand linked with his, the roar of doubt and fear subsided for a moment. He closed his eyes briefly, meticulously cataloging the feel of her palm in his own.

"What are you thinking?" Her melodic voice vibrated through the night air.

"Sometimes," he started, unsure how to put his chaotic thoughts into words. "Sometimes I feel like I'm sinking and I can't seem to catch my breath."

Her thumb soothed gentle circles over his knuckles, sending a shiver down his spine.

"But for some reason - when I'm with you - I feel like I can't help but float." Bucky cringed. As often as he'd considered expressing his budding feelings for her, he had done a piss-poor job when the moment presented itself.

And yet...

Her lips were warm against the rough skin of his hand and it shot little jolts of electricity up his arm and throughout his body.

"I'll be your Dead Sea, Bucky," her breath tickled the hair on the back of his hand as she pressed another kiss there. "You'll never sink when you're with me."

----

“You’re insane.”

Y/n giggled merrily as the rhythmic swells of Latin beats carried on the breeze from the Puerto Rican restaurant a few doors away.

Bucky grinned. "Probably."

"It's raining!" Y/n protested, a whine lacing her words.

Bucky tipped his head to one side, his hand held out feeling the gentle patter of rain against his skin.

"’S’not raining, it's sprinkling. I know you're sweet, but I promise ya won't melt." His words were flat, but his lips betrayed the attempt at a deadpan retort.

Y/n simply narrowed her gaze at him, crossing her arms over her chest, though her smile muted the effect of her challenge.

“Aw, cah’mon, sweetheart,” Bucky drawled, Brooklyn accent thick and charming. “No one’s gonna see us.”

“I don’t know how!”

Y/n glanced nervously from Bucky’s outstretched palm to his face and back.

“Well, lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.” Bucky quirked an eyebrow as his lips drew up in an inviting grin.

Reluctantly - but only just - she released the air from her lungs in a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands in the air.

“Fine. But it’s only because you’re cute.”

Bucky’s smile widened as his pulse quickened, a rush of warmth heating his cheeks as she placed her right hand in his. He draped her other on his shoulder before planting his right hand against her back.

“It’s easy, just remember one, two, three. One, two, three.” He squeezed her hand encouragingly. “Now, when I step forward you step back. Just mirror my steps and follow my lead. One, two, three. One, two, three.”

Slowly, carefully, Bucky moved them both in a less-than-graceful rendition of a Salsa dance. He didn’t care when she stepped on his toes and cursed under her breath. All that mattered to him was the feel of her in his arms and the sparkle in her eyes as their steps became somewhat synchronized.

"So," Bucky mused, taking advantage of her gaze averted in favor of their feet. "Cute, huh?"

Y/n's steps faltered, her left foot landing hard against Bucky's right and her head connecting with his chin as she tried to jerk her eyes up to his. Bucky yelped in pain and y/n stumbled backward, her feet tangling with his as they both crumpled to the ground in a heap.

"Oh my God, Bucky!" Y/n gasped, hands scrambling for purchase as she tried to untangle herself. "I'm so sorry! Are you ok?!"

Bucky's deep laughter halted her efforts to climb off him. She laughed then too - high, slightly embarrassed giggles that she tried to cover with her palm. Her eyes widened as his arms tightened around her waist, drawing her in closer.

Bucky swept the faded purple hair from her face, brushing his thumb against her jaw as their laughter died. It was as if time stopped and the only thing that existed in that moment was the two of them. Her breath caught gently when he hooked his fingers behind her neck and began to pull her face to his.

Whether it was poor timing or just another way for the universe to screw him over, he couldn't be sure. But before their lips met, the skies opened up and large, cold raindrops pelted them, instantly drenching them both and ruining whatever moment it might have been.

Y/n squealed, jumping to her feet and ducking under the shelter of the awning. Defeated, frustrated and wet, Bucky slowly ambled up and joined her a few moments later. Bucky groaned running his fingers through his soaking hair and trying in vain to wring the water out. Y/n grinned, her cheeks and nose dusted a light pink that he was sure hadn't been there before he'd asked her to dance.

"Y/n," Bucky started but froze when he realized his voice was one of two calling her name in the same moment.

"Mrs. Perry's timer just went off!"

"I'll be right in!" She called back cheerfully, though her eyes shone with reluctance as Bucky stared into them. "Shit. I'm sorry, Bucky. I uh," she pressed her palms together and dropped her gaze briefly. "Thank you for the dance lesson and sorry for...ya know...being about as graceful as a baby moose."

Before he could protest her self-deprecating remark, she leaned up, pressing a kiss to his cheek and turned to go back inside. Bucky stared after her, his cheek warm despite the chill the rain had tried burying inside his bones.

----

Bucky’s thumb drummed nervously against the wooden surface of the reception desk as he did yet another visual sweep of the room. It was more quiet than he’d expected, though to be honest, he had little to base his assumptions on.

A few agonizing moments later, a tall, raven haired woman with blood red lips and a ring through her eyebrow approached. She smiled warmly at him, wiping her palms on the front of her black apron.

“Hi, can I help you?”

Bucky swallowed, his nerves making him jittery. “Yeah, I’m looking for y/n.”

“I’m sorry, did you have an appointment?” The woman frowned, a deep crease marring her heavily made-up face. “Judith was supposed to call all of her appointments last night.”

Fear prickled at the back of his neck and a shiver ran down his spine.

“I didn’t have an appointment. I’m Bucky. From next door? Is she okay?”

“Oh of course. Bucky.” The woman smiled and then sighed. “Her father passed away yesterday afternoon. I know she’d been expecting it eventually, but I don’t think anyone is really ever ready.”

His heart broke for her. He wished he’d known or that there was something he could have done. He’d make the earth spin backwards if it would make her happy.

“Do you know where she lives?” Bucky cringed knowing how stalker-y that sounded. “I just, I’m worried about her.”

The woman pursed her lips, her eyes roaming over his face, studying him. Whatever she’d found there must have been enough because she pulled out a pen and a slip of paper.

“If anything happens to her, Bucky From Next Door, I will not hesitate to kill you. I know where you work and I know that boss of yours better than you do.” She scribbled something on the paper before pushing it towards him. Her expression softened, then, a small smirk playing at the edge of her lips. “Besides, I think she could use a friend right now. If that’s what you’re calling yourselves these days.”

Bucky blushed, but nodded. He mumbled his thanks as he hurried out the door.

----

Bucky paused, his fist poised to knock on the bright yellow door as he sucked in a steadying breath. The setting sun stole the warmth of spring from the air and he found himself shivering. Just when he calmed his nerves, the door opened suddenly, startling him and forcing him to take a step backward. Y/n’s face was pale and her wide eyes were rimmed with red, but the visible signs of sorrow did nothing to lessen her beauty.

“Bucky?” She gasped a second before she lunged for him, wrapping him in a fierce hug.

He held her as she shuddered against him and buried her face in the crook of his neck. The sound of her broken sobs made his stomach churn and he rubbed small, comforting circles against her back.

She pulled back suddenly, rubbing her eyes violently and huffing a frustrated laugh.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blubber all over - “

“No,” Bucky cut her off. “Sweetheart, don’t apologize. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

Sniffling, she tried smiling, though it was little more than a faint upturn of her lips.

"You are, aren't you." Her nose scrunched in thought. "How did you know?"

Bucky ran a shaking hand through his hair, eyes focused in his scuffed boots.

"I, uh," he cleared his throat. "I stopped by to see if I could get a haircut. They told me about...what happened." He looked at her then. "I'm so sorry, y/n."

She nodded, arms wrapping around herself.

"I knew it was coming soon, I just," she took a deep breath and released it. She continued, voice soft. "I thought I would have more time, ya know?"

Bucky hummed in understanding.

"You want to come in? I just made some coffee." She laughed. "I don't even know why I came out here. I think I'm a little out of it."

Bucky followed her inside, shutting the door behind him. She led him through the small entryway and into the kitchen, dodging a small pile of suitcases stacked near the doorway. Glasses rattled as she searched for a pair of mismatched mugs and set them on the counter beside the coffee pot.

"You goin' somewhere?" Bucky tipped his head toward the bags when she looked at him.

Her eyes flashed with something Bucky didn't understand before she turned back to her task. The scent of black coffee was comforting as she handed him a mug. A frowning panda glared up at him from the surface of the cup below the words "I hate mornings." It made Bucky smile.

Y/n cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to her. She faced him, hip resting against the edge of the counter.

"He had been sick for so long, I started to think that this was all my life would ever be. I figured I'd stay, take care of him, maybe get a few cats." Cradling her own mug in one hand, she ran her fingers through uncharacteristically messy orange hair. "But, now that he's...gone…" her voice trembled on the words, but she continued. "I don't know. I think domestic life never really suited me. I kind of want to live for myself, for a change."

Bucky nodded, forcing down the lump in his throat before taking a sip of coffee.

Y/n smoothed her hands along the sides of her mug, her brow furrowed as she stared at the black liquid.

"His funeral is Tuesday," she sniffed. "I didn't really have any expenses here, so I've got some money saved. I thought, why not just get away for awhile, ya know?"

Bucky set his cup down and took a step toward her. Her breath hitched, though she didn't look at him. Carefully he tugged the mug from her hands and placed it beside his.

"Well, I'm glad," he smirked, placing his hands on her shoulders and squeezing gently. "Cause you and cats? That's just not right."

Y/n giggled, the sound oddly strangled around the sudden resurgence of tears.

"C'mere," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head under his chin. She breathed deeply, hugging him closer and fisting her hands in the back of his shirt.

This time when she pulled back, she kept hold of him, but her face twisted in confusion.

"Wait, did you say you wanted a haircut?!" Her voice bordered on incredulous.

Bucky shrugged one shoulder. "Thought it might be time for a change. 'Sides, you said you wanted to get your hands on it."

Y/n gaped at him and reached up to run her fingers through his chestnut locks. The feel of her nails against his scalp forced his eyes closed and he hummed lightly.

She tugged on one strand, not enough to hurt but enough to get his attention. When his eyes opened again, the soft look on her face startled him. Her hand dropped to the curve of his jaw, her thumb brushing gently against the bristles peppering his cheek.

"Maybe a trim, but there's no way I could deprive the world of this hair, Buck. That would be a travesty." She blushed. "I only wanted an excuse to run my fingers through it."

Without giving himself a chance to back out, Bucky dipped his head and kissed her. Her lips were warm and she sighed, pressing herself closer to him. His tongue licked across her lip as his nose brushed hers. He pulled back, tugging her bottom lip gently between his before sucking in a steadying breath.

She smiled, pressing her forehead against his. "About time."

Bucky chuckled, pecking her lips twice as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Come with me."

Her voice was so low, he wondered for a moment if he'd imagined it, but her gaze was pleading.

"Y/n," he sighed. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

Defeat, exhaustion, embarrassment and rejection played across her face as she nodded, her hands dropping at her sides.

"Sorry," she breathed, turning away from him.

Bucky caught her elbow and turned her back to face him.

"It's not because I don't want to, because God knows I do," he bit down on his lip, clenching his eyes shut in preparation for what came next. "There's just things about me that you don't know. Things I don't want you to know, because seeing disappointment in your eyes might actually kill me."

Her hand cupped his cheek, thumb tracing the edge of his mouth before gently tugging his lip from between his teeth. His eyes found hers again and his heart stammered at the tenderness there.

"Bucky, I don't have to know everything about who you used to be to know you are a good man. I could never be disappointed in you."

Her words lifted a small part of the weight he'd carried from the East coast, though he figured the bulk of it would likely remain with him forever.

"When I left New York, I didn't know exactly where I was going. I just headed west, kept moving, until I got here. This just felt right, somehow. I don't know why I stopped here, y/n. I needed someone I could trust, but it felt impossible. I felt like all I would ever do was sink under the weight of what I left behind." He smoothed a hand through her hair, watching the way the light danced over the brightly colored strands. "But then I met you and, I know I don't deserve it, and I'll never be worthy enough, but you make me want to try. Try to be better, try to be a good man."

She frowned at him then, and confusion jumbled his thoughts and burned his eyes.

"You don't have to try, Bucky. You are." She smiled. "And I already told you. You'll never sink when you're with me."

Bucky kissed her, this time with a fierceness. Her tongue meet his eagerly and once again he found himself sinking, but this time in all the best ways.

He pulled back, his lips swollen and his lungs aching for air.

"Come with me, Bucky." She plead again, her voice was rough and he knew he'd lost any willpower he'd once had to her.

He nodded and she rewarded him with the sweetest smile he'd ever known. Once again he found himself dumbstruck.

Curling her fingers with his, she tugged him out of the kitchen - away their already forgotten mismatched mugs half-full of warm coffee - and led him to the sofa. He sat down, pulling her onto his lap and resting his chin against her hair.

A comfortable silence fell between them as he stroked her back and breathed in the scent of her. If he could bottle up a moment in time to save forever, this would be it. He'd never felt such peace and while he struggled to accept his worthiness of such a feeling, knowing she trusted him meant the world.

She sniffed, pulling back to look into his eyes, and the sorrow he saw etched into her face was palpable.

"Would you stay the night?" Her lip quivered as she tried and failed to blink back tears. "I - uh- I don't want to be alone."

Bucky pecked her lips, brushing away the wetness trailing her cheeks. "Sweetheart, you don't have to be alone, ever again."

----

Like what you see? Want more? My Masterlist is here. Thanks for reading! :)

My Forever Tags - Stay weird. I love y’all: @wheresthekillswitch @pretty-fortune @arryn-nyxx @emlostinwonderland @becs-bunker @cookie-dough-lova @impandagrl @maddieburcham1 @trexrambling @beachballsizeladyballs @hannahindie @rosie-winchester @winchesterprincessbride @that-writer-one @fandomismyspirit @angelsandwinchesters @cfordwrites @charliebradbury1104 @mogaruke @luulaachops @supernaturaldean67 @barbedwireandbubblegum @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @muliermalefici @galaxy-jellyfish-queen @canadianjelly @kathaswings @feelmyroarrrr @bethbabybaby @myfanficlibrarium @akshi8278 @emoryhemsworth @boxywrites @atc74 @anticipate1003 @super100012 @lovesj2m @masksandtruths @ellen-reincarnated1967 @growningupgeek @there-must-be-a-lock @mrswhozeewhatsis @amanda-teaches @cassieraider @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @its-my-perky-nipples @squirrel-moose-winchester @sandlee44 @paintrider13-blog @arses21434 @petra-arkanian-1497 @sasbb23 @princessmisery666

MCU Tags (I’m still deciding how I’ll be tagging MCU vs SPN in the future so this is subject to change):

@jamielea81 @arrowsandmixtapes @panicfob @yourewelcomeforbeingmyfriend

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #au!bucky #bucky fluff #MCU fanfic #mcu AU #panda writes MCU #bucky angst #star spangled bingo 2020 #star spangled bingo #heli0s2kwriting

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