#white hydrangea blossoms

[fleur-aesthetic]

instagram | violet_organics

#flowers #floral #hydrangeas #blossoms #nature #aesthetic #pink #white

[naomiwielant]

“Today well lived makes every yesterday a memory of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope.”

- Kālidāsa -

#cherry blossom #cherry blossoms #sakura #hanami #white flowers #purple flowers #blossom #blossoms #flower #flowers #yellow flowers #pink flowers #bamboo #red flowers #blue flowers #hydrangea #herbs #plants #garden #flower photography #nature photography #spring #spring photography #countryside #poem #poems #poetry #landscape #landscape photography #flower art

[carnationsloth26]

Lilac: symbolizes purity, innocence, and spirituality

Lily of the Valley: symbolizes purity, youth, sincerity, discretion and most importantly happiness

Columbine: symbolizes fortitude. Often given as a gift to provide courage and endurance

Hydrangeas: symbolizes gratitude, grace, and beauty. White hydrangeas symbolize boasting or bragging

Beauty Bush: symbolizes beauty and grace

Purple Leaf Plum Tree: symbolizes perseverance, hope, and beauty thriving in adverse circumstances

#lily of the valley #lilac flowers #hydrangeas #columbine flower #kolkwitzia amabilis #beauty bush flowers #wèi shí #purple leaf plum tree #plum blossoms #floral symbolism #pink flowers #purple flowers #white flowers #mine #michigan lgbt #photography #nature photography

[heich0e]

There's a knock on your door at 3:30PM on the dot.

It's a Sunday, and you're not expecting company, so you're more than a little confused at who could be coming calling.

Even more so when you open the door to sea of colour right before your eyes.

"Uh," --you step back slightly, eyes scanning over scene before you. They're flowers, you quickly realize, in abundance, in virtually every colour you could ever imagine and more--"hello?"

"I don't,"--you hear Shouto grunt a little, shifting two of the bouquets in his arms so his face peeks out from between a bunch of white hydrangeas and an overflowing bundle of red roses,--"I don't know your favourite flower."

He looks concerned, his brow pinching and his lips pursed, like the thought troubles him.

You gape.

"Shouto, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on patrol?"

He shifts his arms again, and a bouquet of gerberas becomes visible in the crook of his elbow--sunny yellow against the dark blue of his jacket, thrown on overtop of his uniform though it doesn't do much to disguise it.

"I finished early. And I wanted to bring you flowers."

"You brought me a garden, Sho," you say, enthralled and alarmed all at once. You reach out and take three bouquets of blooms from his overflowing arms in an attempt to help, but somehow it doesn't seem to lighten his load at all--like the flowers have multiplied as quickly as you took some away.

You nod behind you, urging him to follow you into your apartment, which he does diligently.

"Well, I didn't know which ones were your favourites."

"So you said," you mutter, setting the three bundles of flowers you carried in atop your kitchen counter. Carefully, Shouto follows suit, placing his armload down slowly as to not damage the fragile stems and blossoms.

Your counter is piled high by the time the last bouquet has been deposited, the delicate scent of flowers slowly filling your apartment.

"This is... a lot," you breathe, as your eyes rake over the hoard. You peek at Shouto from the corner of your eye, and find him staring right at you, seemingly unconcerned with the veritable Eden he's emptied into your tiny kitchen.

"I upset you yesterday," he says slowly, like he's spent time planning out the words meticulously, "and I wanted to apologize. The internet said flowers are a good way to do so, but I don't know which ones are your favourite."

He'd missed dinner plans with your parents the night before. You'd spent the entire meal worried about where he might have been, what may have been keeping him, whether or not he was safe--only to find out he'd lost track of time filling in paperwork at his agency, and forgotten about the meal all together.

You pinch the bridge of your nose.

"Shouto, that doesn't mean you had to clear out the entire flower shop."

"But I wanted to make sure I got you your favourite. So that you knew I was sorry."

You sigh.

"You could have just said it, silly."

Shoto blinks, like he hadn't thought of that.

"Oh."

Shouto's great at what he does, what he knows: being a pro hero, saving people, doing what's right. But he's new to this, you realize. New to being a boyfriend. New to having to be mindful of another person's feelings. New to apologizing.

"I'm sorry."

All at once you feel like you might laugh and cry. He says it so sweetly. So sincerely. So earnestly.

He hasn't taken his eyes off you since the moment you let him though the door.

"I accept your apology, Sho," you say, stepping towards him and wrapping your arms around his waist. "I wasn't even that upset, there will be other dinners."

"I was worried," he murmurs into the top of your hair, his arms holding you tight against him. "I know it was important to you. I know that you worry."

You pull yourself away, though he only allows you far enough that you can lift your head to look at him. His cheeks are pink as you peek up towards his face.

"Well, it's not like I could stay mad when you show up at my door with my favourite flowers, could I?" you ask, a little smile playing at your lips.

He smiles too, bright and eager, pride swimming behind the mismatched hues of his eyes. "Which ones are they?"

"Peonies," you say, pressing yourself to him once more and burrowing your face against him. "The pink ones at the top of the pile."

Shouto hugs you tight. "I like those ones too."

"Yeah?" you ask, laughing into the blue material stretched across his chest.

"Yeah," he agrees, "I think I have more of them in the car, too."

Your head pops up in shock.

"There's more?"

#shouto x reader #shouto x you #shouto todoroki #pro hero shouto #shouto todoroki x reader #shouto todoroki x you #bnha writing #bnha drabble #writing #todoroki x reader

[goosefruit]

5 times vanessa brought you flowers (drabble collection)

vanessa shelly x fem!reader

tw: none

a/n: i need her to show up at my door with a bouquet of flowers ples

Hydrangeas

The first time Vanessa showed up at your door with a bouquet of flowers was on the night of your first date. 

She nervously shuffled her feet, wondering how you might react to her last-minute grocery store purchase. In her defense, she had just finished working a night shift mere hours before she had to start getting ready for tonight. 

An arrangement of baby blue hydrangeas laid in her arms, with little white flowers filling the gaps. 

Vanessa had stood in the flower section of the store for a good half hour as she tried to decide on the perfect offering for you. The obvious choice would be roses, but she was afraid of coming off too strong. 

After all, she had only known you for a week, after dancing with you at a bar. Even then, there was a spark between the two of you that she had never felt before, and she knew that she would do anything to have this work out. 

So she decided on something perhaps even more thoughtful than roses. 

The hydrangeas had caught her eyes the moment she saw them. They were the same shade of blue as the sparkly aquamarine earrings you always wore (she knew because you were wearing them the night you met, as well as in most of your Instagram pictures). Something about the delicate hue reminded her of your soft smile and gentle eyes.

Those same blossoms of blue were seen in your favourite vase for months after, its petals dried and preserved.

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Wildflowers

For your one year anniversary, Vanessa had planned a picnic in a nearby meadow. 

You sat under the warm May sun with your eyes closed, leaning against your girlfriend's shoulder. The occasional cool breeze tickled your skin as you basked in the sunlight, sighs of delight falling from your lips. 

In every direction, fields of colour stretched on for miles. Flowers of all shapes and sizes were beginning to wake from their winter slumber, with many already in full bloom.

Groggily, you opened one eye to admire how wonderfully Vanessa’s blonde locks gleamed in the afternoon light.

“Hey honey,” she smiled when she noticed you staring. Giving you a peck on the forehead, she began to stand up. “I’ll be right back.”

You thought about following her, but were in way too comfortable of a position for your muscles to want to move. Instead, you laid back on the picnic mat and listened to the birdsong overhead. 

Vanessa returned soon after, prancing towards you in her pretty pink sundress. She held out a brilliant bundle of wildflowers: reds, blues, oranges, and yellows amongst various shades of green. The stems were tied together with a blade of grass, assembled into a perfect little bouquet.

“For you, my beautiful girl.”

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Lilies of the Valley

This time, Vanessa had to ask the Internet for help.

You and her had been in rocky waters for the past week, arguing over trivial things such as who was going to do the dishes. 

She knew that you were only matching her attitude, as she had been quite unfair in how she spoke to you lately. Really, she didn’t mean it—the long, stressful shifts at work had gotten the better of her, but instead of talking it out, she pent up those emotions until they overflowed. 

Vanessa knew she had to do something to clean up the mess that she had created. 

A Google search for apology gifts gave her a list of ideas, and she set out for the store while you were at work one day. It took her several tries before she found a florist that supplied what she was looking for.

The vase held a bunch of delicate little white flowers, each hanging off of thin green stems in rows. There must have been at least a hundred of them, every one perfectly bell-shaped. 

She recalled that you had once stopped to admire a patch of these on a walk, which is why she recognized them almost immediately when they came up on her search. Apparently, they symbolized apology, amongst other things. 

Knowing that she would already be at work by the time your shift ended, she left the flowers alongside a note on the dining table:

My dearest Y/N,

You are my world, but I haven’t been treating you like it lately. I’m sorry that I’ve been a terrible communicator, and for taking out all my stress on you. You didn’t deserve that.  

I got you a little something here: Lilies of the valley. It has a pretty name, just like you.

I know it doesn’t make up for how I acted, but take it as a token of my love. Really sorry I can’t be home tonight; you know how my shifts are. 

Maybe we can do something fun when I get back?

I’m going to do better from now on, my love <3

-Nessa

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Roses

On Valentine’s Day, you received the sweetest, reddest roses. 

Vanessa had taken a day off just to prepare for the occasion, taking it upon herself to decorate the entire apartment with candles and petals. 

At her insistence, she picked you up from work, wearing a suit so nice it made you feel underdressed in your plain blouse and jeans. The look was completed by a rose between her teeth, one corner of her mouth lifted in a gentle smirk. You giggled at how ridiculous but sexy she looked.  

She presented you with a bouquet she had hidden behind her back, a dozen more roses bound by lace and gold wrapping paper. 

Each flower had been carefully handpicked by her, the process having taken her nearly half a day at the florist’s. She made sure to select only the most vibrant ones, with every petal intact, for her babygirl. 

They smelled so good, it made your heart flutter. Of course, you knew that roses were known for their fragrance, but something about getting them from the love of your life made the sweet scent all the more mesmerizing. 

To top it all off, the lace holding everything together had the same colour and pattern as that chic white lingerie set you knew she loved seeing you in. 

You took a mental note to change into it before the evening’s fun.

‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ°•. ✿ .•°

Paper flowers

You were puzzled when Vanessa took an unusual interest in the crafts section of the dollar store. 

Your girlfriend had never expressed herself as an artistic person, always leaving all the home decor DIY stuff to you. But now, she was buying stacks of coloured paper and disappearing to her office with them for hours at a time. 

You had been reading on the couch one Sunday afternoon when you felt her hands cover your eyes from behind. 

“Don’t peek! I have a surprise for you,” she whispered excitedly. 

You nodded, keeping your eyes shut as she set something down on the table in front of you. 

“Okay, now open your eyes!”

The product of her mystery project blew your mind beyond words.

In a tall glass vase, she had placed paper flowers of all different colours, each resembling different species with shocking accuracy. They were folded with such neatness that you immediately understood why it had taken Vanessa so long. 

“I saw a video online, so I knew I had to make some for you,” she grinned cheekily. “The papercuts were all worth it.”

You grabbed her face and kissed her, all while a singular thought circulated through your mind: How many other hidden talents did this woman have?

#fnaf x reader #vanessa afton #vanessa fnaf #vanessa shelly #vanessa shelly x reader #vanessa monroe #fnaf vanessa #wlw fluff #flowers #vanessa shelly drabbles #vanessa shelly imagines #vanessa shelly fluff

[thepromptfoundry]

The prompt theme for April 2024 is April Flowers!

Grab your garden gloves, dig out your vases, and check out a book on Victorian flower language! (And click the list image for higher quaility while you're at it.)

If you use this list, please tag me here @thepromptfoundry, I’d love to see your writing and art!

Feel free to combine different days' prompts with each other, or combine them with other seasonal events! Use your OCs, your favorite characters from media, whatever tickles your fancy.

Respond to as many prompts as you want or as interest you, don’t worry about missing or skipping any. Remember, this is supposed to be fun!

If you have any questions or musings, check our FAQ, and if you don't find your answer, shoot me an ask.

Plain text list below the cut:

1 Daffodils Yellow and/or white Associated with springtime and good luck, white ones also associated with death

2 Roses Wide range of colours, including red, white, pink, yellow, orange, and combinations thereof Associated with various forms of love, romance, respect, apology, and congratulations

3 Wisteria Usually purple or blue, sometimes pink or white Associated with longevity and fortune

4 Bird of Paradise Orange or white Associated with freedom, faithfulness, and regality

5 Cherry Blossoms Pinks and/or white Also known by their Japanese name “sakura” Associated with springtime, love, femininity, and mindfulness

6 Sunflowers Usually yellow, sometimes with orange or red Associated with the sun, longevity, loyalty, vigor and vitality

7 Bleeding Hearts Pink or red with white, or white Associated with love, heartbreak, and compassion

8 Hydrangeas Range from blue through purple to pink, white, or green Associated with gratitude, unity, regality, good fortune, and love (particularly for pink blooms)

9 Gardenias White or cream Associated with trust, hope, peace, secret love, and the Greek god of dreams, Morpheus

10 Poppies Red or orange, or less often yellow, pink, white, or black Associated with sleep and death, peace (white), prosperity (yellow), oblivion and loss (black), remembrance of WWI (red)

11 Lilacs Purples, blue, or white Associated with lost love, new love, reflection, and tranquility

12 Coreopsis Colour range from yellow to deep red, often bi-coloured Associated with cheerfulness, gratitude, friendship, and happiness

13 Allium Most often purple or white; also burgundy, yellow, and orange Recognizable as garlic flowers Associated with patience, unity, courage, and protection (such as against vampires)

14 Bluebells A range of blues and purples, occasionally pink Associated with everlasting love, faeries, enchantment, and gratitude

15 Honeysuckle Yellow, white, pink, or red Associated with love, trust, playfulness, and respect

16 Geraniums Red, pink, or white Associated with affection, passion, clandestine meetings, purity (white), and foolishness

17 Morning Glory Blues and purples, pink, red, white, or yellow Associated with young love, unrequited love, renewal

18 Sweet Pea Extremely wide range of colours including pink, cream, red, purple, and blue, but not yellow Associated with farewells, brides, playfulness, and romance (especially red blooms)

19 Buttercups Yellow Associated with youth, playfulness, and happiness

20 Passion Flowers White with purple or blue Associated with strength, hope, care, and the crucifixion of Jesus

21 Hollyhocks Pink, white, red, yellow, or purple Associated with prosperity, privacy, ambition, abundance, congratulations, and encouragement

22 Echinacea Most often purple; also red, pink, orange, yellow, or white Associated with health, healing, wellness, happiness, and elegance

23 Lotuses Wide range of colors including pinks, purples, red, orange, yellow, blue, white, and black Associated with beauty, purity, spirituality and spiritual enlightenment, love (red), tranquility (blue), authority and power (black), and gentleness (pink)

24 Black-Eyed Susans Yellow or orange with a dark brown/black center Associated with friendship, optimism, resilience, and support

25 Hibiscus Wide range of colours and colour combinations, often including red, pink, yellow, and/or white Associated with Hawaii and other tropical areas, prosperity, womanhood and (feminine) sexuality, friendship, and love

26 Lavender Most often purples and blues, sometimes cream or pink Associated with calmness, tranqility, devotion, sleep and dreams, clarity of mind, and France

27 Wallflowers Wide range of colours including orange, yellow, red, pink, and purple, multiple colours of bloom may appear on one plant Associated with faithfulness between lovers, friendship, being overlooked, and shyness

28 Larkspur Purple, pink, blue, or white Associated with protection, dedication, first love, ambition, and respectability

29 Jasmine White or yellow Associated with purity, respect, sensuality, motherhood, devotion, and beauty

30 Dahlias Pink, white, purple, blue, red, and “black” (very dark red) Associated with grace, strength, resilience, commitment, femininity (pink), change (blue), and betrayal (black)

#the prompt foundry #april flowers 2024 #prompt list #writing prompt #writing challenge #art prompt #art challenge #flowers #floral

[tsunael]

If there's anyone out there that cares about flower language and symbolism like I do, I made an informal write-up some time ago about the in-game flowers (that you can put in your house) and the different symbolism that they can mean.

I included the symbolism for the in-game colors as well when they were available.

Also as a disclaimer these could be incorrect, have contrasting meanings, or have different meanings in different real-world cultures. White chrysanthemums (kiku) are usually a funeral flower in Japan for instance. (My Japanese professor once said they were a faux pas for her to receive in a bouquet!) So your mileage may vary!

This was simply a fun personal project I made for myself that I thought other people might enjoy as well! So here's a question to answer in the tags:

What flowers would your WoL have in their residence?

Arums (calla lily) 🔷magnificent beauty, feminine modesty

Brightlilies (easter lily) 🔷purity, refined beauty 🔷White: virginity, purity, majesty 🔷Pink: wealth and prosperity 🔷Red: warmth, desire 🔷Yellow: gaiety, falsehood, "I’m walking on air" 🔷Orange: hatred

Campanulas (bellflower) 🔷humility, constancy

Chrysanthemum   🔷cheerfulness, "You’re a wonderful friend" 🔷Red: I love you 🔷White: truth 🔷Yellow: slighted love

Cosmos 🔷harmony, peace, modesty, "the joys that love and life can bring", beautiful

Dahlias 🔷dignity, elegance

Daisies 🔷innocence, beauty

Lilies of the Valley 🔷return of happiness, sweetness, humility, purity

Oldrose 🔷Red: I love you, love, beauty, passion, romance 🔷Blue: mystery, attaining the impossible, love at first sight 🔷White: innocence and purity, "I am worthy of you", reverence 🔷Yellow: decrease of love, jealousy, friendship

Shroud Cherries (cherry blossom) 🔷spiritual beauty, a good education

Tulips 🔷perfect lover, fame 🔷Red: declaration of love, true love, eternal love, romantic love, "believe me" 🔷Yellow: hopeless love, unrequited love, brightness, sunshine 🔷White: ask for forgiveness, purity 🔷Purple: royalty

Hyacinths 🔷sports, games, rashness 🔷Purple: I am sorry, sorrow, "please forgive me" 🔷Red: play 🔷White: loveliness, "I’ll pray for you" 🔷Blue: constancy, sincerity 🔷Yellow: jealousy

Hydrangeas 🔷heartlessness, boastfulness, "You are cold"

Morning Glories 🔷love in vain, affection

Violas (violets) 🔷modesty, faithfulness 🔷Purple: daydreaming, "You occupy my thoughts" 🔷Blue: watchfulness, love 🔷White: candor, innocence 🔷Yellow: rural happiness

Byregotia (begonia?) 🔷Beware

Carnation 🔷fascination, love, distinction 🔷Red: "My heart aches for you", deep love, admiration 🔷White: sweet and lovely, innocence, pure love 🔷Yellow: "You have disappointed me", rejection, disdain 🔷Purple: capriciousness, changeable

Moth Orchid ��love, beauty, refinement, beautiful lady

Sweet Pea 🔷departure, good-bye, delicate pleasure, tender memory, blissful pleasure

Triteleia 🔷 They're a North American wildflower also called 'triplet lilies' or 'Ithuriel's spear' which is a reference to John Milton's epic English poem, Paradise Lost. It's about an angel sent by Gabriel to find Satan in the Garden of Eden. Satan, in the form of a toad, is introducing evil suggestions into the ear of Eve when Ithuriel pokes him with a spear. Satan then returns to his true form, "for no falsehood can endure Touch of Celestial temper, but returns Of force to its own likeness." It is to an unknown but imaginative scholar of English letters that we owe the common name of this plant.

Long story short, I can't find any symbolism for this one. Would make a possibly good Halone/Ishgard reference if you wanted to read into it, though!

#queue time #mine #ffxiv #tsuna has white brightlillies white daisies and red carnations in her house 🥺 #with some white chrysanthemum and shroud cherries growing #and a yellow oldrose bouquet... #I should update them tbh

[suguwu]

lover be good to me: part one

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

But it's your wedding day.

minors and ageless blogs do not interact.

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

notes: this fic has been a long time coming—it's basically my baby at this point. i'm so excited to finally get to share part one with you! i am so thankful for everyone who has sat thru me yelling about this to them. and a million thank yous to my beta, between your enthusiasm for this fic and all your help with it—i don't know if it could have been done without you!

title and part title are from hozier's "be" and "nfwmb"

tags for this part: soulmate au (first words), this is a very reader-centric story, very significant reader x oc, slow burn, hurt/comfort, pining, alcohol consumption, anxiety.

see main fic tags here.

wc: 13k

The hydrangeas are in full bloom.

You can see them through the window: the sea in each blossom, the radiant blue of them veined through with white, ocean and foam detailed in petals. They nod with the rain, weighed down by the fat droplets. 

There are two men that keep passing through the sea of hydrangeas like ships, leaving little eddies of blooms in their wake. They must be vendors considering they’re weighted down by boxes, though neither seems bothered by their load. 

You watch them for a moment. They’re both efficient, unbothered by the slow, steady drizzle. You rest your chin on your cupped palm, eyes drawn to the shorter man. There’s a few strands of hair peeking out from beneath his hat, the hazy gray of it—black-tipped like thunderclouds—an odd contrast to his lean, toned body. 

He makes his way through the courtyard, and you lean forward to keep him in sight, your nose almost pressed against the foggy window pane. He steps carefully around a drooping hydrangea bloom, his calm face visible for the first time, and something threads through you for a breath unraveling too quickly for you to place. 

He ducks beneath the eaves and out of your sight. 

Just in time, too. The rain picks up drumming gently against the ground, carrying a few loosened petals with it. The other man—broader and taller but no less graceful for it—spits out a curse. He hurries forward until he too is gone from view. 

“Told you it would rain,” Abe says from behind you, making you yelp. She presses in next to you. Her breath billows over the window pane blooming hazy against it, a marine fog. 

“You did,” you say with a laugh. “So did the weather channel. Almost a full week before you did.”

She scoffs. “Yes, but that’s their job. Mine was sheer instinct.”

“And listening to the weather channel?”

“Must you slander me?”

“Yes,” you say, smiling, but your gaze returns to the courtyard where the hydrangeas are bleeding petals under the rain’s heavy cut. 

“Are you nervous?”

You meet Abe’s gaze in the reflection of the window pane. Her dark eyes are warm and soft, and maybe a little bit sad. 

“Should I be?” you ask.

She wraps a small hand around yours and you realize you’ve been tapping your nail against your water glass, a crystalline symphony. 

“No,” she says firmly. “You shouldn’t.”

Warmth blooms in your chest, sprouts like flowers between the cracks in the concrete. You lean into her. She sighs, long and put-upon, but she tilts towards you, opens her body to you. It’s an invitation you know well. You rest your head in the crook of her shoulder and stare out the window.

“Yeah,” you say. “You’re right.”

“Always am.”

“That’s debatable, Natsu.” 

She grumbles but starts to pull away without comment when the kimono stylist calls out for her. She pauses for a moment. She leans in and adjusts your shiromuku carefully, her fingers deft. Then she squeezes your hand softly, familiar and warm, like a song you’ll always know. You squeeze back. 

You watch her reflection in the window until it blurs at the edges. She’s already bickering with Yoshikawa by the time it fades entirely from the foggy windowpane, their voices carrying. You’re sure that they’re curled together over Yoshikawa’s phone, flicking through the itinerary you’ve already forgotten most of. 

There’s movement beyond the window and you perk up as the man from before walks by. He’s kept under the eaves by the increased rain, and you can see the way it’s dampened his hair to something closer to slate.

There’s a gleam of amber above the boxes he’s carrying; the briefest flash of his eyes, bright and keen. He sweeps by the window almost close enough to touch, and you press your fingertips against the cool pane without thinking. 

It’s this closeness that lets you see his phone—a flip phone, of all things, with a little charm you can’t quite make out dangling from it—slip from his pocket. You wince as it drops out of view. 

He keeps going though, utterly unfazed. The rain has overshadowed the noise you realize, and you’re darting outside before you even know it, the shoji rattling slightly from your force. The summer humidity rolls over you, so stark against your aircon-chilled skin that you shiver with it. 

“You dropped your phone!” you call out after the man, hurrying along the engawa to scoop it up, careful of your shiromuku’s hem. The tiny charm is a stylized stalk of rice, you realize, the little panicles at the top colored with shimmering golden paint. It’s cute. A little at odds with his utilitarian flip phone, but cute nonetheless.

Ahead of you, the man goes still.

He’s turning around when his name unfurls inside of you. 

The movies hadn’t said it was anything like this.

There’s no passion ripping through you like forest fire, no lightning strike sizzling his name into your very bones. It’s slow and soft, like slipping into bathwater after a long, hard day, the heated kiss of it a balm against all of your bruises. Like the bloom of the first crocuses, a promise of spring after the long winter. 

“Oh, Shinsuke,” you breathe, and you think you’ve never known a name so well, that each curve of it was made to fit upon your tongue. 

The man—Shinsuke—stares at you. And then his lips tilt into a faint smile, tender like the oncoming dawn; a watercolor sky burgeoning with sunlight, a world coming awake. You think you could build a home in the way he looks at you. 

“There you are,” he says softly. “I’ve been waiting.”

You know.

You’ve known for years that he’s been waiting for you; it’s been scrawled on your skin this whole time. He has always, always been waiting for you.

Your soulmark pulses faintly. For a breath, you think you can see it glow despite the heavy layers you have on.

“Shinsuke,” you say again. It’s a helpless little sound, the edges of it catching in your throat like burrs. You need to say something else. You know you do. You know what you have to tell him, but he’s looking at you so softly that the words keep getting lost. 

Your grip on his phone tightens until the little rice charm is cutting into your skin.

His smile starts to fade. It curls in on itself, wilting at the edges, like the last of the summer flowers.

He’s been looking at only you, you realize. Just you. Your face, most likely, but it feels like something more—as if he’s seeing down to your marrow, as if he’s flayed you open beneath his tender gaze. He’s only been looking at you. Nothing else. 

He’s been looking at you, but you think he’s seeing the rest now. Your careful makeup. Your pristine hair.

Your lavish shiromuku—carefully embroidered with the elegant sweep of cranes’ wings and with delicate petals unfolding into bountiful chrysanthemums—that fits you perfectly, the heavy silk of it as white as driven snow.

You couldn’t find the words for it, caught up in the gentle sun of his joy as it pooled golden around you, but he’s finally seeing what you couldn’t say.

It’s your wedding day.

***

Your soulmark appears when you’re twelve, all without you even noticing. 

Summer is in full bloom in Toyooka; the wet lick of a heatwave has settled oppressive over the countryside. It’s relentless. Even the rice fields seem to feel it, the verdant green ripple of them becoming a honey-slow shiver under the wind’s gentle touch. 

In the heat the cicadas’ call goes lazy; the storks only come out in the earliest parts of morning. They wade carefully through the still waters of the rice paddies, their beaks flashing in the weak sunlight as they needle down into the murk. 

The rental house is tucked carefully between two farms, a lone house amid the rippling rice plants. It’s old but well-maintained, a perfect little hideaway for your mother to finish her study. In the heat, she keeps the shoji doors open wide to let in the dancing, citronella-scented breeze. The first day you wander around the house to weigh the papers down with a mish-mash of items: the fruit bowl, pilfered from the kitchen counter under your father’s nose; encyclopedias long outdated; a pair of petal-flecked garden shears. 

It helps it feel like home.

Abe and her mother have come to Toyooka too; your mothers spend their days bent close together, talking in a language you know by heart but still can’t understand. Caught up in their research, they leave you to your own devices.

Away from all of your other friends and the bustle of the city, you and Abe roam free like a pair of stray cats. You spend the days without chores wandering through town, your arm hooked through hers, both your tongues stained sky blue from the Gari-Gari Kun popsicles from the conbini. The grannies wave at you as you pass by them; the two of you wave back with sticky fingers. 

You flit in and out of the rice paddies, scooping up tadpoles from the murky water. The farmers grow used to your presence quickly; they greet you cheerfully, accepting the onigiri you bring with little nods. 

After you splash through a paddy to coo over them, Watanabe lets you feed his ducks. He pours the feed from his hands into your smaller ones with a grunt. His hands are strong but aged, the dark skin on the back of his hands papery in the sunlight, wrinkled like old parchment. He teaches you both how to sprinkle the feed into the water just right so the ducks go arrowing across the water, little ships without sails. 

The days are long and short in the same breath.  

At night, Abe’s flashlight flickers in her window like a firefly, long after you are both meant to be in bed. You flash your own message back, little secrets wrapped up in ribbons of light, never mentioned after dawn. The two of you are woven together as only childhood friends can be.

And it’s Abe that sees your soulmark first. 

It’s midday and the clouds are rolling in across the clear blue sky hanging heavy and low, a gray promise of afternoon thunder. The two of you trace shapes in the clouds, shaded under a massive camphor tree, bumping into each other’s arms as you go.

There’s a rabbit in your cloud, the puffy edges of it extending into fluffy gray ears that wisp and sway with the growing breeze. You’ve just traced along the little curve of its nose when Abe—who has been burbling away like a spring brook, her chatter weaving a spell around the two of you—goes silent. 

Then she shrieks and grabs your arm.

“When did it come in?” she asks breathlessly. She’s shaking you too hard for you to see what she’s talking about, but there’s only one thing that tone could mean. 

You freeze, your heart pounding in your ears. For a moment, you consider closing your eyes, as if that will keep it from being real. As if that will rewrite your fate. 

You think of all the quotes you’ve scrawled in your notebooks late at night, and hope for all of them and none of them. 

Abe gives you another little shake. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! It’s so early! How long have you had it? Has anyone said it yet? What do you—”

“I don’t know!” you say, shaking her off and scooting backwards, pulling your arm towards your chest. 

She scowls. “How do you not know?”

“I didn’t notice it.”

You hadn’t. Maybe it was the sleepy haze of summer days running together.

Maybe you hadn’t wanted to see it.

Now that you know, it’s easy to see your mark. It’s already settled into your skin, the kanji tucked carefully into the tender flesh of the crook of your elbow. The characters are neat, precise little things, delicate at the edges. It shimmers silvery in the sunlight. A winter moon’s glow inked into your skin.

Abe plants her hands on her hips. “You didn’t notice your soulmark?”

You shake your head. “You know I would tell you!!”

She huffs. “I guess. You really didn’t know?”

You yank on a tuft of grass. “Nope.”

“Idiot,” she says, but it’s fond. She nudges closer to you despite the heat. “Who doesn’t realize their mark was written?”

“Me, I guess.”

“Guess so. Lemme see,” she says, making grabby hands at your arm; you let her yank it close with a sigh. She peers down at your mark with heavy concentration.

“You look like Granny Takada right now.”

She pouts. “Do not!”

“You do,” you tell her. “You’re all squinty.” 

“Do you want me to read it to you or not?”

You take a second too long to answer, the words caught in your throat, tangled on your tongue. Abe glances up. Something passes over her face; it’s too quick to know, a fleeting summer storm. She drops your arm with a sigh.

“The kanji are complicated,” she complains. “Too hard to read. Leave it to you to have a soulmate like that.” 

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, wrinkling your nose even as you relax, your muscles uncoiling. 

She snorts. “Nothing, nothing,” she coos, smacking your hand away when you swat at her. “Let’s go, it’s gonna rain. We can’t track mud inside again.”

“That was you, not me.”

Abe ignores you, popping up to her feet and rocking back on her heels. She takes off before you can stand her braids streaming behind her like kite ribbons, and you yelp out a protest as you scramble to your feet. 

“Nat-chan!” 

“Keep up!” she shouts, halfway to the rice paddy that edges the little meadow, and you take off after her.

The skies open on the two of you when you’re almost back to the rental, the rain relentless and heavy as only a summer storm can be. You both shriek but the water is warm, and you giggle at the way Abe’s bangs are plastered to her forehead even as you keep running.

You tumble into the genkan just as the first lightning strike splits the sky. You’re practically tripping over each other. Abe knocks into the getabako, jarring a pair of your father’s shoes, their well-worn soles rolling upwards like the barnacled hull of a capsized boat. She grunts with the impact.

“Quiet,” you hiss.

“I’m being quiet,” she hisses back, just as your mother rounds the corner and fixes the two of you with an unimpressed raised brow.

Abe’s mother peeks around the corner too, her lips thinning as she sees the water dripping from the two of you. “You’re soaked,” she says. “And you’re making a mess of the genkan, Natsumi.”

“Sorry,” she mutters.

Her mother sighs. “Weren’t you supposed to be back earlier? Before the rain?”

“We got distracted because her soulmark came in!” Abe says, pointing to you with no remorse. 

You gape at her. 

“What?” she says. “It’s in a pretty obvious spot.” 

“Natsumi,” her mother says, exasperated. “You’re always jumping in feet first.”

Abe grumbles, but goes quiet when her mother eyes her.

“Chieko,” your mother says. “Do you need umbrellas for the walk home?”

“If it’s not an inconvenience.”

“Of course not.”

You and Abe engage in a rapid-fire round of mouthing things to each other as your mothers search for umbrellas, too close to risk actual words. Abe speaks fast, even in exaggerated slow motion, and after you think she says something about snails, you decide it’s too incomprehensible to keep trying. You wave her off with a quick tilt of your head. She scowls but stops, crossing her arms with a soggy squish. 

The scowl disappears from her face as soon as her mother steps up beside her, handing her one of your umbrellas. She traces a finger over the nearest little cat design, petting lightly at its fabric ears. 

“Let’s go before you catch a cold,” Chieko says. “Say goodbye.”

“Bye,” Abe says, her voice stilted.

“Bye,” you parrot. 

“Alright then,” Chieko says after a moment. She looks at you, considering. You bite the inside of your cheek, running the tip of your tongue against the pinched flesh. 

She sighs. “You’ll figure it out,” she says softly.

You should have known that she wouldn’t offer congratulations. The relief spreads over you like a balm, soothing the scrape you hadn’t even known was there. 

You nod. 

“See you tomorrow,” your mother tells her.

She and Abe disappear out the front door and into the downpour; Abe throws you one last look before the door closes behind them. You look away. 

Your mother is quiet for a moment. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks.

“I—I don’t think so.”

She considers you. “Alright,” she says. “I’ll get you a towel and then you need to go change before you get sick.”

“Okay.” 

She disappears down the hallway without another word. 

You look down to your soulmark. At the thin kanji of it, the gleam of them like spiderwebs caught in a moonbeam, an ethereal silver. When you touch it, tracing a fingertip carefully against the crook of your elbow, it just feels like skin. As if it’s always been there. As if it’s always been a part of you. 

Upside down, the kanji are difficult to parse. You run your fingers over them once more, and then your mother is there with a towel. You yank your fingers away as if burned. She doesn’t react, just handing you the towel and corralling you upstairs to dry yourself off. 

Dinner is quiet that night and you go up to bed early, tired from the ups and downs of the day.

You’ve just finished brushing your teeth when the flickering catches your attention. You spit out the last bit of foam and rinse out your mouth before padding over to your window. 

A little light bobs up and down across the way; at moments, you can make out the vague outline of Abe’s face when she brings the flashlight up with a sharp jerk that almost hits her chin. She’s cycling through the attention-getting code you’d made up a few years back. 

You consider pulling your shade down entirely. 

Instead, you pad over to your dresser drawer and pull out your own flashlight. You settle into bed with it heavy on your lap. You pull at the edge of the faded sticker slapped below the switch, tearing a little piece of it off. You flick it on for a second. Just enough to let Abe know you’re there. 

It’s not your normal greeting, and Abe’s window stays dark for a long, long moment. 

Mad at me? she finally flashes, little pulses of starlight in the dark.

You are. Soulmates are different for the two of you. You’ve grown up hearing all of the jargon for your mother’s study, and you know that she has too. You know the low rate of soulmates meeting, and you know the distant look in your father’s eyes as he wraps tender fingers around his blackened mark. 

It’s different, and you thought she knew that. 

Sorry, her flashlight blinks out. I am.

You think of how she complained about the kanji of your mark despite being the most proficient in your classroom. 

Mad at me?

You wonder how you would have told your parents that you’d received your mark when you can barely acknowledge it yourself. 

You raise your flashlight.

No, you send off. Not anymore. 

Good, she immediately sends. 

You talk until your eyelids are drooping and your jaw is cracking with non-stop yawning. It’s easy to say goodnight, knowing you’ll see each other in the morning. You pull down your shade and climb into bed.

You fall asleep with your hand cupped over your soulmark.

***

It takes you three days to finally ask what your mark says. 

Evening is coming to life, the sky darkening into plum, the faintest hint of cotton-candy pink lingering on the horizon. As your father sets the table, you’re unable to resist the quiet call of what fate has scraped into your skin. 

He blinks, trading a look with your mother, but then he smiles softly. 

“After dinner,” he tells you. “Okay?”

You nod.

It’s your mother who reads it to you later, the two of you whispering together on the engawa surrounded by the flicker of the summer fireflies. You curl tight into her side, a rib returned. 

“There you are,” she reads softly, stroking a thumb gently over the kanji. “I’ve been waiting.” 

Her voice is a honeyed drip, sweet and steady, and though she is smiling, you think she sounds sad. She shifts to press a hand tight over her stomach as if it’s the only thing holding her together, as if she’s suddenly too big for her body. You know her mark is there. The kanji has gone sour and black, an eclipsed moon. 

“I don’t know if I want them to wait for me,” you whisper to her. 

She presses a kiss to your hairline. “You don’t have to know, tadpole.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

She shifts beside you. “You don’t have to wait for them, you know,” she tells you.

“Really?”

“Really,” she says.

“Do you think I’ll meet them?” you ask, kicking your feet and looking out into the night. A firefly flares bright, and you consider running to catch it. You’ve always been quick enough. The fireflies have always been trusting enough. 

She nudges a knuckle against your cheek. “The chances are low,” she admits, because she has never lied to you about soulmates. “And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

“Why?”

She sighs. “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

She still has her hand pressed hard against her ribcage. 

You bite your lip and don’t ask anything else. 

The two of you stay curled together under the stars, watching the trucks trundle down the road as the late-working farmers return from the paddies. Eventually, she ushers you inside, and when she thinks you aren’t looking she knots her fingers in your father’s shirt. The fabric winds tight around her fingers, cutting into the softness of her skin. Her shoulders are trembling. Your father cups the back of her head and brushes a kiss to her hairline. 

You go up to your bedroom without a word because even this young, you know there are things you aren’t meant to see. 

Not long after that night your mother and Abe’s mother publish the study. It’s a culmination of years of grueling research on soulmates, of half-written notes on napkins when you go out to restaurants, of simmering arguments between her and Abe’s mother, of death threats and poisonous words. 

It covers the concept of soulmates like kudzu, winding over the romance of it and smothering it beneath statistics and a dissection of societal impact alike. 

It gets a nickname soon after publication, and your mother’s smile is a melon rind curve, bitter at the edges. 

They call it the Heartbreak Study.

***

Summer comes to an end.

You leave Toyooka on a rainy afternoon, the light drizzle sending water droplets racing down the train window. The storks huddle together in the paddies, their wet feathers gleaming like the moon. Abe is warm at your side curled into you, already half-asleep from the underlying hum of the train. It picks up speed and the rolling green of the countryside blurs like a watercolor, smearing across the horizon as you head back to the city.

It feels like you’re leaving more than the countryside behind.

Still, the city is a comfort, the bustle of it a familiar song, and you’d missed the neon lights that dot the streets like little flowers. With the return of school just around the corner it’s nice to settle back into the rhythm of city life, so different from the steady, unyielding heartbeat of Toyooka. 

You unpack your clothes and yourself too, slotting everything back into your city life, trying to fit back into it like a well-worn pair of shoes. 

“Oh,” Yoshikawa says lazily the next day, when you and Abe find her sprawled out on a bench by the conbini, sucking on a popsicle. She peers up at you, her long hair flowing around her shoulders like weeds in the current, softly swaying with each little movement. “You’re back.”

“She got her soulmark!” Abe says, dragging you forward by your wrist to display your mark. 

“Natsu,” you groan, ignoring the way she tugs at your wrist to pull you even more into Yoshikawa’s space. “Really?”

“What, you weren’t going to tell her?”

“Yeah,” Yoshikawa drawls, her dark eyes sly. “Were you not gonna tell me?”

“Shut up, Yocchan,” you say. “You know I was going to tell you.”

“You sure?” she asks, propping herself up on her elbows. “Doesn’t quite sound like it.”

“Yocchan.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll stop teasing. Can I see?” 

You hesitate for a breath. 

“You don’t gotta,” Yoshikawa says, biting into her popsicle with a loud crunch. Her lips are blue with it, the same color as the mid-morning sky. It drips down her elegant fingers, catches on the small scars littered across them. She licks at them absently, but her gaze is keen.

“It’s fine,” you say. “I’m just…still getting used to it.”

She hums. 

“Great,” Abe says, using her grip on your wrist to tug you forward again. “Look, look, look!”

Yoshikawa pushes herself the rest of the way up slowly, tucking her popsicle between her teeth as she reaches for your arm. Her fingers are sticky against your skin. She’s quiet as she reads your mark, her brow slightly furrowed. 

She lets you go after a minute, and you try not to fidget.

“Romantic,” she says. She lays back down on the bench.

Abe makes a strangled noise. “That’s all?”

Yoshikawa blinks slowly, but there’s a smug curve to her lips. “Is there something else to say?”

Abe stamps her foot. “There’s so much to say! She got her mark! The first of us! The first in our year!”

“Nah, Sasaki got his right before the break.”

“He did?”

“He did?” you echo. Relief blooms in you, rooting in the cracks of you, and you let out a tight breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Yeah,” Yoshikawa says. She closes her eyes and raises her face to the sun. It bathes her, turns her golden, an offering at the ending summer’s altar. “Our moms are friends. Heard them talking about it.” 

“Oh,” Abe says, pursing her lips. She glances at you, and you don’t know what she sees in your face, but her eyes go soft. “I guess it’s better that way. It won’t be as big of a deal. It’ll be fine.”

“You think so?” you ask. It comes out smaller than you meant it to. 

She nudges you with her hip. “Yeah,” she says, her voice gentle. There’s a promise in it. “I do.”

Yoshikawa hums her agreement as she bites off the last of her popsicle, ignoring Abe’s wince. She sucks the stick clean and glances at it. “Oh,” she says mildly. “I won.” 

“What?” Abe cries out, practically clambering on top of her to grab the stick. “How do you always win?”

Yoshikawa grunts under her sudden burden, stretching out one long arm to keep Abe from grabbing the stick. “S’not my fault you have bad luck.”

“C’mon, you already had a popsicle today!”

You watch them struggle, Abe doing her best to blanket Yoshikawa’s lanky frame with her tiny one. The laughter bubbles out of you, spills from you like an overflowing urn, loud and unrestrained. 

They turn to you in unison, brows raised. 

“Let’s go to the park,” you say, laughter still sweet on your tongue. “Don’t want to waste the day.” 

They eye you for a moment. They look at each other and shrug. 

“Conbini first,” Abe says. “I want something.” 

“You can’t have my popsicle,” Yoshikawa says.

“I don’t want your stupid free popsicle!”

“You were just trying to grab it!”

“Well I don’t want it anymore! I want mochi instead!”

This time you swallow down your laugh, let it spread warm through you like bottled sunshine. You follow the bickering pair into the conbini. They wait for you at the door, and you link pinkies with them both so they can drag you down the snack aisle.

For the first time since getting your mark, it feels like everything is going to be okay.

***

School starts up again.

It’s still warm, the last dregs of summer lingering in the air as you walk languidly to school with your friends. Abe flits ahead, her dark hair shimmering under the morning sun, and you think of a little darting fish on a reef, a quicksilver flash of scales. She greets other classmates easily. They always have a smile for her, and she falls into step beside them for a moment, chattering away. 

But in the end she always turns around and waits for you and Yoshikawa.

She’s off in the distance when Yoshikawa glances down at the silver peeking out of the crook of your elbow, exposed by the summer uniform’s short sleeves. 

“No wrap?” she asks. 

“No wrap,” you say.

You’d thought about it, but wearing a wrap screams that you’ve gotten your mark. With yours tucked tender into the crook of your elbow, you might be able to get away with it. At least you hope so. You know how many eyes will be on you when people realize, and you shift on the balls of your feet, pressing closer to Yoshikawa.

She hums. “Alright.”

You know that tone.

“Do not cause any problems,” you warn her.

She blinks slowly, like a smug cat with a patch of sunshine all to itself. “I would never. Do you want some toast?”

“Do I what—”

She pulls a handkerchief filled with toast out from her bag, little oily spots of butter bleeding through the hand-embroidered cloth. “Toast,” she says, holding it out.

“Don’t try to distract me,” you say irritably, but when she nudges the toast in your direction you slip a piece free of the handkerchief. You’ve eaten breakfast but no one makes bread like Yoshikawa’s mother, a hobby she’d picked up in her year abroad as a teen. Any of her loaves crackle perfectly under the bread knife, each slice thick and hearty, woven through with herbs and spices. 

“I would never.”

“Liar,” you mutter, sinking your teeth into the toast.

“So mean,” she says, but she’s smiling.

“Hurry up!” Abe shouts back to you both, her hands cupped over her mouth to unnecessarily amplify herself. 

Yoshikawa ignores her, sauntering along as your fellow students pour past you both. She moves like a river current, languid and flowing, and immoveable from her path. 

“You’re the worst,” Abe tells her a few minutes later, when you’ve finally caught up to her. 

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t ignore me, Yocchan!” 

“I’m not,” Yoshikawa says, holding out the toast again. She always brings enough for all three of you. “You just say it so much that it’s lost all meaning.” 

Abe grumbles, but she snags a piece of toast. It crunches beneath her teeth, a crackling symphony. “This is bribery, you know,” she says through her mouthful, scrunching up her nose. 

Yoshikawa shrugs. 

“C’mon,” you say, poking at them both. “We’re gonna be late.”

Abe links arms with you. Your mark flashes bright with the movement, glimmering like snow in the moonlight, all prismatic ice. 

She hums, shifting her arm just enough that your elbows are interlocked, hiding your mark as she tugs you towards the school gates. “Let’s go then,” she says. 

Yoshikawa falls into step on your other side. She leans over and softly bonks her head against yours, her long hair a veil for you both. You press together for a breath, then she pulls back and links her arm through your other arm as you enter the school grounds.

You make it two whole periods before someone notices. 

It’s Hasegawa, of course, her deep brown eyes going wide as you reach into your bag for your textbook. She says something to her seatmate, and Honda’s eyes snap to you.

You keep arranging your supplies. You set your pencil down next to your notebook and line them up as precisely as you can, nudging it back and forth until it’s perfectly aligned as they whisper to each other. They keep glancing at you until Yoshikawa leans back in her seat and flashes them a razor-edged smile. Honda squeaks, and they both go quiet after that.

But there’s no escaping it. You can feel eyes on you all day, and murmurs follow you everywhere. You barely eat at lunch, pushing the pieces of your bento around as Abe and Yoshikawa crowd you on either side. 

You almost make it to the end of the school day, but then Ueda and Nakajima stop you in the hallway. You bow to your seniors as they look you up and down. 

“We heard you got your soulmark,” Nakajima says, swaying in place just slightly, like kelp caught in a current. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” you say, trying not to fidget with your sleeve.

“When?” Ueda asks, frowning.

“Over the break.”

“Early to be getting your mark,” she muses. She doesn’t have hers yet, you think. Only a handful of people in her year do. 

“They say the earlier the mark manifests, the stronger the soul bond,” Nakajima says. 

It’s a common belief, one of the oldest wives tales there is, but you’ve spent too long listening to your mother. You know better. Still, your stomach twists.

“What does yours say?” Ueda asks.

You bite your tongue; the pain flashes through you like lightning, bright and sharp and bitter. The bitterness lingers, fills your mouth until you have to swallow it down. It stings the whole way. 

Ueda waits.

When you tell her, it feels like each word is being torn from you, as if they’d rooted into your very flesh. 

(You suppose they have.) 

For a breath, Ueda’s face twists. You think of the first hint of rot in ripe fruit, when the scent goes too sweet, a promise of decay. It isn’t the first time you’ve seen jealousy over a mark, but it’s odd to have it directed at you. 

I didn’t ask for this, you want to tell her. I don’t know if I even want this.

“Oh, how lovely,” Nakajima murmurs, moon-eyed. “You’re lucky to have such a devoted soulmate.”

You smile, but you think it’s a poor imitation of one, soured at the edges as it is. “Yeah,” you say, because she’s looking at you expectantly. “I am.”

“Well, congratulations. Right, Machi?”

“Yeah,” Ueda says, flashing you a tight smile. “Congratulations.” 

“Thank you,” you say, the words ash on your tongue. 

Nakajima tilts her head, bird-like, but Yoshikawa comes to your rescue, calling out your name from down the hall. You bid your seniors a quiet goodbye before hurrying to her.

She slings an arm around your shoulders, squeezing lightly. 

“Okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’m fine.”

She hums her disbelief but leaves you be.

With her by your side, smiling pleasantly and radiating danger, the day passes without anyone else approaching you. Abe joins you again, looking proud of herself in a way that means she caused a problem, and you wonder what you did to deserve both of them. 

They come home with you when school ends, waving to your parents as you head up to your room. You collapse face-down on your bed and Yoshikawa laughs, low and deep and a little bit sad. 

She and Abe curl up around you like cats. They talk about everything and nothing, filling up your room with their presence until you start to go lax against them. They shuffle closer as you do and they’re warm against you, like sunbaked stone. You sink into that warmth and breathe out deeply.

The next few weeks will be filled with questions, with murmurs behind your back, with everything that comes with getting your mark so early. You know that, but there’s one other thing that you know, too.

With them, you know you’ll make it through. 

***

The school year blurs past in a watercolor of seasons. Fall gives way to winter, curling up under the biting cold; spring chases away winter in a riot of color, the sakura buds unfurling as your upperclassmen graduate, each bloom inset into the branches like a little jewel. As summer beckons, the days warming as the promise of rain hangs heavy in the humid air, Kimura gets her mark.

She’s only the third person in your year to get hers and she’s coy about it, wrapping it in a ribbon, the burgundy silk luscious against her skin. It’s as eye-catching as she meant it to be. 

It’s elegant in its own way, though the ribbon wilts slightly as the day goes on, mostly from the way she keeps touching it. She strokes along the ribbon as she talks with her friends. You’re not sure she realizes it.

A few people glance your way, their eyes flickering to your elbow, but their attention is as fleeting as the first snow. Their gazes return to Kimura, to the bruised burgundy of her ribbon.

Something loosens in you, unravels from where it’s been knit tight around your ribs. 

Honda gets hers next, and then Watanabe gets his. 

Slowly, mark after mark comes into being, words unfurling across skin. As more of your classmates receive their marks, yours fades into the background. It becomes common and you sink into that commonality, having long waited for the spotlight on you to cease.

Your mark fades into the background, like a star just after dawn—known only to those who know where to look. You try not to think of it. Sometimes you even succeed.

In your second year of high school, there’s Takao.

He’s a quiet boy. Stoic, even, his face almost stony as he introduces himself as the new transfer student. But he has a dandelion tuft smile, downy soft and fleeting, carried off by the wind not long after it blooms across his lips. 

You like it, his smile. 

You watch Kimura—your class rep, a position she’s held since middle school—get to her feet. Takao is setting up his desk when she approaches, methodically laying out his supplies. He keeps them in neat rows and you can’t help but smile when you see that his eraser is a battered little Keroppi, its round eyes almost flattened into a straight line on one side.

The class’s chatter softens, a few people glancing towards Kimura and Takao. You can’t see her face, but her fingers are trembling, just a bit. He looks unbothered. There’s not a trace of nerves in him, until you realize that the tips of his ears have gone faintly pink.

Kimura’s voice doesn’t carry when she greets him so you don’t hear what she says, but you see the tension bleed from her after Takao speaks. 

Not soulmates, then.

She relaxes, and from the way her hands are moving she’s starting to outline the classroom expectations. You shift in your seat, starting to turn away, when a flash of movement from Takao catches your eye.

He looks at you from beneath the fan of his eyelashes from across the classroom. He has a small spray of fading freckles, you realize, speckled over the bridge of his nose like a cluster of stars. He gives you that smile again. It takes a moment to realize you’re staring, and you look away, your cheeks hot.  

“You’ve got a crush,” Abe sing-songs at lunch a few days later, jabbing her chopsticks into your bento and stealing a piece of pickled daikon. 

“I don’t,” you say, moving your bento away as she tries to steal another piece. 

Yoshikawa snorts. She’s sprawled out on the grass next to you and Abe, her long skirt caught up around her calves. There’s grass caught in her black hair, the verdant blades swaying as she moves, as if floating in the whirling eddies of the darkened sea.  

“If you’re gonna lie,” she says, turning over onto her stomach, “at least do it well.” 

“I’m not lying!”

“Liar.”

“Such a liar,” Abe agrees. “You stare at him all the time.”

“No I don’t!”

Abe’s grin goes sly. “I didn’t say who,” she tells you. 

“I—it doesn’t matter who, I don’t stare at anyone!”

Yoshikawa raises an eyebrow. “So you don’t stare at Takao.” 

You scowl down at the ground, ripping up a small chunk of grass. You rub the blades between your fingers until they’re a fine pulp, and the scent of a freshly mowed lawn permeates the air.

“See?” Abe says. “Told you.”

“Are you going to talk to him?” Yoshikawa asks, peering up at you. She’s sly-eyed, her gaze keen despite the way she yawns. 

“Not yet,” you say. It takes you a moment to realize that you’re cupping a hand over your mark, rubbing your thumb over the thin skin just above it.

Yoshikawa smiles, warm and soft and knowing, and doesn’t say anything else. Instead she moves closer to you, curling around you like a crescent moon, her head padded on her discarded blazer. You settle into the cradle of her.

Abe is grinning wildly. “I knew that you had a crush,” she says, popping another bite of your rice into her mouth. 

“Oh, like we haven’t seen the way you moon over Takeda!” you say.

She shrugs. “She’s cute.” 

You huff and reach over to steal some of her tamagoyaki. She yelps, scrambling to pull her bento away as you snatch at the last piece. “Mean!” she says, watching as you eat it, the fluffy egg practically melting on your tongue. “I want the rest of your daikon!”

“Get your own!”

She reaches for your bento and you swat at her. The two of you bicker for the rest of lunch, only ceasing when you return to the classroom and take your seats.

Out of the corner of your eye, there’s a flicker of movement. When you glance over, Takao is already watching you. There’s a smile tucked sweet into the corner of his mouth, a sliver of a thing. 

It’s you who looks away first.

You’ll talk to him eventually, you think, cupping a hand over your soulmark once again. 

Just not yet.

***

Not yet lasts longer than you thought.

You and Takao trade glances across the classroom for one week, then another, and then another still. Each look is a fleeting thing, like a shooting star streaking across the sky. 

But you don’t speak to each other. 

You learn the sound of his voice through others when he speaks to your classmates and teachers. It’s quiet, steady, with a warm rasp to it that makes you think of billowing smoke. He blushes to the tips of his ears when it cracks. It’s cute in a way that makes you ache.  

You learn the sound of him, but never for yourself.

Still, you gravitate towards each other. He offers you a tangerine one morning, his smile small, soft, and earnest. When you nod he uses his fingernail to split open the peel, unfurling it in a smooth motion. The peel curls bright around his hand. He separates out a segment and gives it to you, his fingertips damp with sticky juice. They leave shy little imprints across your palm. 

The fruit bursts across your tongue like sunshine, golden and warm. Takao is watching you with hopeful eyes. You grin, and hold your hand out for another.

He sits down next to you to share it. The classroom is full of chatter, but the two of you are quiet, wrapped up in your own world. Suddenly, it’s not so much that you’re scared of speaking, but that maybe you don’t quite need it. Not yet.

It would be nice, you suppose, but as time passes, you and Takao find ways to fit together without speaking. Instead, you learn the tilt of his mouth and the crinkle of his nose and the way his fingers run through his hair. 

It works. It’s not quite enough, but it works.

And so not yet lasts just a little bit longer, the two of you steering away from the cliff’s edge looming in the distance. 

Another month goes by. 

You spend hours with Takao, the sight of you together a common thing to the point where your classmates ask you where he is when they’re looking for him. You can usually tell them. You’re incredibly aware of each other, caught in each other’s gravitational pull. 

Sometimes it feels like you’re destined to only orbit each other, to never truly touch. 

But sometimes you almost speak.

It’s a golden afternoon, the wind rustling through the leaves like a lullaby, filling the space between you both. You’re tucked together on one of the benches in the school’s yard watching the flow of students as they head to their clubs. 

Takao is sunstruck, haloed in gold, and it makes his dark eyes even deeper, an obsidian sheen. You’ve seen it before, but there’s still something about it that makes your stomach flip. 

He shakes his head, trying to get his hair out of his eyes. It doesn’t work, and he does it again. You think of a wet dog and try to stifle your laugh. 

When he does it for a third time, you reach out and brush your fingers through his hair, sweeping it back from his face. He turns into the touch, just slightly.

Someone shrieks out a laugh, and you look up to see one of the girls in the other classes batting lightly at her boyfriend. He murmurs something to her, and her smile grows wider. 

Your stomach twists, coiling tight as you watch them banter with each other. The gaps between your ribs seem to grow, until the empty space is what you’re made of. 

You want, you want, you want. 

You wonder if you’ll ever have.

Takao senses your change in mood but you say nothing, and the two of you separate not long after. 

Your father is watering the plants when you come home. They fill the windows of your home, the sun streaming through the verdant leaves, leaving emerald patches of light on the floor, nature’s stained glass. 

He’s quietly humming to himself, each note off-key, but he stops as soon as he sees you. He eyes you for a moment. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say.

“You were better at lying when you were little,” he tells you.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now what’s wrong?”

You tell him. It spills out of you like an oil slick, coating everything it touches. You tell him about Takao, about the silence, about it all. You hadn’t realized how much the quiet was eating away at your bones. 

“So what is it, exactly, that you’re worrying about?” your father asks when you’ve finished. It’s a sharp question, razor-edged, but his eyes are soft.

“What if he’s not my soulmate?” you ask him.

He blinks. “Does that change how you feel about him?”

You take a moment to consider. You think of Takao’s smile, and the way his fingers linger against the palm of your hand when he hands you the erasers to clap; the way he lets you take pieces of his bento, all without a word. 

“No,” you say. “I don’t think so.”

“There you go, then.”

“But if he’s not my soulmate—”

“You know the statistics as well as I do,” he says.  “If Takao isn’t your soulmate, that doesn’t mean you can’t be with him.”

“They’re waiting,” you whisper.

“That doesn’t mean you have to,” he says gently. “You’re allowed to make your own choice.” 

You’re not sure that you are.

“What if he is my soulmate?”

Your father puts down the watering can. You see a flash of his soulmark. It’s blackened, a charred smudge against his skin, and when you glance up at his face, there’s something old in his expression. For a breath, you don’t know him at all.

It’s gone as soon as it came, like a shadow beneath the summer sun. He smiles at you. “Then your mom and I will have to meet him, won’t we?”

You balk. 

He laughs, a sound that shimmers in the air. “I’m joking, tadpole,” he says. “And if he is—you’ll figure it out. There’s no point in guessing before you even know.” 

You fidget with your sleeve, rubbing your thumb over the fraying hem of it. 

There are worse things than losing something you never had, you think.

“Okay,” you say. “Okay.”

But things are easier said than done.

It’s not easy, not with Takao. It’s hard to find the words when you’ve spent so much time living in the space between them. 

You find yourself on the rooftop with him during lunch. It’s unseasonably warm, thick puffy clouds sitting high in a robin’s egg blue sky, and you’re sitting side-by-side, close enough to touch. Close enough, but not quite.

Takao hands you some anpan; you give him one of your onigiri, peeling the packaging open for him. He nudges against you, a silent thank you, and something in you breaks. 

“This is stupid,” you blurt out, loud enough that a few heads turn your way.

You clap your hand over your mouth immediately. 

He blinks, staring at you with his lips parted, and your cheeks start to heat. And then he laughs, the sound like woodfire smoke, billowing out of him in low, slow tones. It sweeps over you, settles on your skin, and though your cheeks heat more the sight of him sparks something in you. 

He laughs freely and warmly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. It doesn’t stop; if anything, it flows more strongly, like a river to the ocean. You find yourself swept up in it, laughter bubbling up inside you. 

When it spills out of you and joins his, it sounds like a song. 

“I cannot believe that’s what you said,” he says, and oh, you’ve ached to hear his voice when it was meant for you. You drink it in, swallow it down, something for you alone. “Of all the things.”

He laughs again, short and sharp with delight, but your smile is wilting, going brittle at the edges.

You finally have Takao, only to lose him a moment later.

You’re not soulmates. 

***

It changes things. 

You don’t mean for it to happen, but it does. Suddenly, the language between the two of you is different. Too used to speaking without words, neither of you are prepared for actual speech. You stumble over conversation, the words caught in your mouths like pebbles in a wave, spinning over and over until they’re worn down to nothing. 

“You’ll figure it out,” Abe says, lounging upside down on your bed, tapping away at her controller, her brow furrowed as she smashes at the buttons. “You just gotta adjust, that’s all.” 

You sigh. It’s not something you can explain, really. How one space was filled and another emptied. It leaves something in you aching. 

Yoshikawa hums from where she’s sprawled on your floor, barely paying attention to the tv as she hits combo after combo, much to Abe’s annoyance. “Soulmate stuff is weird,” she says. “But it’s up to you.”

“It’s up to him, too,” you remind her. “Not everyone wants to date someone who isn’t their soulmate.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Abe says. “He likes you. It’s kinda gross how much.”

Your cheeks heat. “Shut up.”

She sticks her tongue out at you. “Make me.” 

You throw a pillow at her face, relishing her little yelp as she tries to scramble out of the way and almost falls off your bed. 

“Brat,” she says, tossing the pillow back. “He does, though. Like you.”

“I know,” you say, something vast filling you.

“Is this about the waiting thing?” Yoshikawa asks, putting down her controller and turning to face you. She hooks her chin over your knee, looking up at you with knowing eyes. 

You bite at your bottom lip. 

You know the rates better than anyone; you’ve spent your whole childhood hearing a language all its own. Percentages, probabilities, and all manners of complicated academic jargon, all focused on stripping away the whimsy of soulmates. 

Your mother has only ever wanted to understand. But in that coveting, that hunger, she pressed understanding upon you as well, until you’re caught up in yourself, a tangled skein, so knotted that the beginning can barely be found. 

“What if I do meet them?” you ask. “And they really have been waiting?”

Yoshikawa hums; it reverberates through you. “Dunno,” she says. “But what if you don’t meet them?”

You glare. “Thanks, that’s helpful.” 

“Yeah, Yocchan,” Abe pipes up. “Super helpful.”

Yoshikawa tosses another pillow at her. “I don’t see you offering anything!”

“I already said it’ll be fine!” 

“No you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did!” 

You laugh, the sound light but loud. Your friends pause, looking incredibly pleased with themselves. 

“Oh good,” Abe says. “You’re back.” 

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Nothing,” she says, but you think there’s a bit of sadness to her, in the waning moon of her smile. “Are you gonna play with us now?” 

She shoves a controller at you and you take it with a huff. “Get ready to lose,” you tell her.

“What else is new?” Yoshikawa asks, moving away from you to grab her own controller again.

“Shut up, Yocchan,” Abe says, scowling. “You’re the worst.”

“Love you too.” 

You ignore them both to pick your character, but you can’t help the smile that plays across your lips as they continue to argue with each other. Abe curls herself around you, sticking her tongue out at Yoshikawa. You shift to give her room and your mark catches the light, reflects it back like morning dew. 

For a moment you stare down at the words that have already changed your life so much. Sometimes you wonder how much more they can take from you.

“It’s my choice,” you say. You freeze, not having meant to say it out loud, but Yoshikawa just hums, settling warm on your other side

“Yeah,” she says with a little hum. “It is.” 

But it isn’t just your choice.

You can’t quite understand Takao’s smile anymore. The nuances are lost in the space between the two of you, a language half-forgotten. The structure is there, but you’ve lost some of the words. 

You can’t quite understand his choice, either.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, a scant few weeks after you realize you aren’t soulmates. The tips of his ears are pink, the color of the early dawn, and his eyes are glassy. “It’s just that—”

“We’re not soulmates,” you finish for him. Your heart is thrumming behind your ribs, a hummingbird battering against its cage. “Right?”

He winces. “Yeah.”

“I didn’t think it would matter.”

Maybe you should have known that it would.

He winces again; his hands tighten on the strap of his school bag. He stares at you, looking helpless, and you hate that you want to cradle his face in your hands. That you want to make it better for him. 

“It—”

He cuts himself off. His lip trembles, wobbling like a spinning top, and it comes to you all at once. It’s written in the space between you, in a language you’ve both been speaking for months, one that’s all your own.

Takao’s lying.

“Tell me the truth,” you demand, clenching your fists. 

He looks away. “We’re not soulmates,” he says. “That’s all there is to it.”

“Liar.”

“Please don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” he says. “Please.”

“Then tell me the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“Fine,” you say. “Fine.” 

When you walk away, he doesn’t come after you. 

***

You hide yourself away among the hydrangea bushes that line the library, settling yourself in a sea of powder-blue petals. You curl up, pulling your knees up against your chest, and cry quietly until your uniform skirt is damp. 

“Well, that’s not good,” Abe says.

You glance up to see her and Yoshikawa leaning over the hydrangea bushes, looking down at you with tender expressions. You immediately cry harder, starting to sob aloud.

“Oh shit,” Abe says, pushing through the puffball clusters of flowers and dropping to her knees beside you. “Don’t cry, don’t cry, it’s okay.” 

“Takao?” Yoshikawa asks.

You nod. 

She smiles, sharp and mean. “Abe, stay with her. I’ll be back.”

You shoot to your feet, grabbing her by her uniform sleeve before she can take off. “No!” you yelp. “No, Asako, don’t do anything!”

“Why not? He made you cry.” 

“He just—it’s okay.”

“It’s not.” 

“He doesn’t want to be with someone who isn’t his soulmate,” you say softly. “That’s…he’s allowed to make that choice.”

She clicks her tongue. “He didn’t strike me as the type.”

“Me either,” you mumble. “I think he’s lying.”

“Why would he lie?” Abe asks, tilting her head.

“Don’t know,” you say. “But it just…it just seemed like he was. Please leave him alone.”

You don’t know how to explain it. You’re not sure you can. It’s a strange little language, the language that forms between two people who haven’t spoken to each other, and you’re not sure anyone who hasn’t created that language between themselves and another could even begin to understand the alphabet of it. 

Yoshikawa hums; her sly eyes are narrowed, the deep brown of them darkened to almost black. “Fine. But if he makes you cry again, all bets are off.”

“Yeah,” Abe says, nudging you up to your feet. “And we know where you hide, so no point in trying to keep it from us!”

Your laugh is watery, but it’s light as it leaves your lips. 

Abe loops her arm through yours. “Let’s go,” she says. “It’s lunchtime and Yoshikawa has a good bento today.”

“And it’s not for you,” Yoshikawa says lazily, stuffing her hands in her pocket as the three of you start to walk. “So don’t even try it.” 

You laugh again and they bicker all the way to the classroom. You’re in the middle of grabbing your own bento when you feel eyes on you and when you look up, Takao startles, looking away quickly. You bite your lip as the tips of his ears go pink once more. 

He glances at you again, and his eyes linger on your face. When his lips curl down into a small frown, you realize he knows you’ve been crying. He looks away as the twist of his lips goes pained. 

Yoshikawa steps in front of you, blocking your view of him. “C’mon,” she says softly, chivving you towards her desk where Abe is already sitting. “Let’s go.”

You follow her after one last glance in Takao’s direction. 

It develops into a routine over the next few weeks. You get used to the feeling of eyes on you all over again. Takao’s gaze feels silken against your skin, and though you shouldn’t, you bask in it. Maybe you’re too used to it; it reminds you of the beginning, when all you had was fleeting looks and quiet gazes. 

But now he looks away every time you look up, though his ears always give him away. 

Still, there’s a comfort to it. It doesn’t go away, even as you simply circle around each other, caught in each other’s orbit once more. This time, at least, you know that you’ll stay this way. 

Except two months after you go your separate ways, you’re assigned to work on a project together.

Your hurt has waned; it’s a healing bruise, now, only flaring to life when you press on it. The hopeful look on Takao’s face barely even causes an ache. You stay in your seat, but he gets to his feet and comes to you as the teacher leaves.

“Hi,” Takao says, fidgeting with the strap of his school bag. “I’m—if you want to switch partners to someone else, I understand.”

“Do you want to switch partners?” you ask.

“Not really,” he blurts out, and this time, his blush is bright, the apples of his cheeks dusted in heated red. “I mean, no. I don’t.”

“Okay,” you say slowly. It feels nice, somehow, looking at him, at his small, timid smile and the way the sun catches golden on his skin. “I guess I’m fine with it.”

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, I’m—I’m glad.”

“Let’s talk after clubs,” you say. “We can figure out our topic then.” 

He nods. He stands there for a moment; it’s only when you raise an eyebrow that he jolts and heads back to his desk. When you look over, he’s got his hands pressed against his face. You think you see him mutter “idiot” to himself.

The smile tugs on your lips without you even realizing it. 

***

“I miss you,” Takao says, fifteen minutes into your third project session. “I miss you so much.” 

You go stiff. 

The project has gone well so far. You’ve found yourself falling into easy communication with Takao, but you’ve kept it strictly to the project, rarely going into your lives outside of school. Still, it’s easy in a way it hasn’t been in a while. You find yourself smiling, and sometimes he even makes you laugh. 

“Okay,” you say, sounding wooden even to yourself. “I—I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” 

He winces. “You don’t have to say anything,” he says.

You mean to say okay, but what you say instead is—

“I miss you too.”

Takao blinks. And then a smile is spreading across his lips, slow like the dawn and just as warm. “Really?” he asks.

Your cheeks heat, but you nod. 

“Do you think we can be friends?” he asks, almost shy.

You bite your lip. “I think…I think we can try.” 

“I’d like that,” he says softly. “I’d really like that.”

You smile at him, slow and sure. “Me too.”

He smiles back, and the two of you turn back to your project.

You find that it takes time to learn how to be friends with Takao. It’s not like Abe and Yoshikawa with the fluid ease of childhood friends, forged by years and years at each other’s sides, memory after memory built into a firm foundation. Nor is it like your other friends.

Takao seems to inhabit a space all his own. Maybe he always will. It seems right that he would; it doesn’t surprise you that he carved himself a place in your world without even trying. 

It takes time. Eventually, even Abe and Yoshikawa warm up to him, until the four of you are spending summer nights together, popsicles melting down your fingers in the heat. You laugh through sticky lips and sit side-by-side despite the heat.

It feels good to have him back in your life, and high school goes by in a whirlwind of seasons, the years melting together until you graduate. He’s by your side when you do ,along with Yoshikawa and Abe, the four of you taking pictures on the school lawn surrounded by your peers. 

The four of you spend as much time as you can together before you head off to college, just a few scant weeks after graduating. 

It’s easy with Yoshikawa and Abe; the three of you are woven together, a tapestry of home. College is just another stitch, with the three of you attending the same one. You find a cute apartment just off campus, in a slightly worn building with wisteria dripping down the sides like honey. Yoshikawa and Abe like to hang laundry from the balcony; they says it comes back with a floral scent. The dishwasher is broken more often than not, the rooms are tiny, and you love it. So do they, and the three of you build a home together.

With Takao, it’s harder. You drift away from each other in college, pressed in on all sides by classes, studying, and local friends. It feels hard to find the time to breathe, let alone text Takao anything other than a fleeting check-in or a picture of something that reminded you of him.

Unlike before, it feels natural. It isn’t without its edges but they’re dulled, so that they press against your skin instead of cut. He simply fades from your everyday life until the ding of his text message is a surprise instead of a given. 

When he walks back into your life in your third year of college, it’s like getting hit by a lightning bolt.

***

The izakaya is tucked away at the edge of the city, sandwiched between two small apartment buildings that have ivy spidering up the side of them. You watch as a sheet billows on a clothesline, rippling like water, the clothespins holding firm despite the strong breeze. 

The fat tabby lazing on the edge of the izakaya steps doesn’t even lift its head to look at you. It’s sheltered under a verdant fern frond, part of the little forest of plants clustered around the entrance. Some of the plants are spilling out of their pots, sprawling out in great clusters of leaves, the tiny flowers dotted in them barely visible in the light of the nearby vending machine. 

You crouch down by the cat unable to resist, and it blinks itself awake slowly, turning slate gray eyes your way. It sniffs at your knuckles when you reach out to it. It rubs its cheek against your hand once, and then gets to its feet, stretching mightily as your friends laugh from just inside the entrance. You try to pet it again but it pointedly turns away and curls up again under the frond, further in than before, a little forest deity hidden amid lush scenery. 

You stare at it for a moment longer, looking at how its cheeks squish up against its paws. 

“Pouting doesn’t affect Momo,” someone behind you says.

You look up, and then go still.

“Hi,” Takao says, warm like the early morning sun. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” you say, as if he hasn’t knocked the breath from you. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good. You?”

“Are we really going to do this?” you ask, standing up from your awkward crouch. 

He smiles, and you think he might be swallowing down a laugh. “Do what?”

You scowl at him. “You know what,” you say. “The small talk.”

“It’s polite.”

“Is that your main concern? Politeness?”

This time, he does laugh, low and sweet. “No,” he says, his eyes glittering. “You are.”

Your cheeks heat. “You can’t just say that.”

“Just did,” he says. “Are—are you here by yourself?”

“With friends.”

“Do you think I could steal you away for a drink?”

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I think you can.” 

He smiles at you. “Good.”

He ushers you into the izakaya. It’s warm inside despite the open windows, and the scent of fried food lingers in the air. People’s chatter fills the room up to the rafters, little laughs peppered in like champagne sounds, little pops of joy. There’s another cat curled up on a barstool tucked away in a corner, a ball of white fluff that makes you think of dandelions. 

Yoshikawa sees you first; when she sees Takao behind you, she raises a single elegant brow before turning back to your group of friends. She says something with a lazy roll of her shoulders, and suddenly, all of your friends are trying very hard to not look at the entrance. 

“Oh my god,” you mutter.

Takao laughs, the huff of air stirring against your nape. “They’re pretty obvious,” he says. “Should we go say hi?” 

“Later,” you say.

He follows you to the bar. He’s close, and under the scent of fried food you can make out the faintest hint of his woodsy cologne. 

You sit side by side, close enough to feel each other’s warmth but without touching. The bartender brings you your beers, and you look to Takao as he taps the neck of his bottle against yours. 

“It’s so good to see you,” he breathes, his dark eyes soft.

“Yeah,” you say. “It is.” 

One drink turns into two until you’re both sliding closer to each other in your seat, pressing into each other’s sides. You barely keep yourself from curling into him. He leans in close when you’re speaking, so that his voice is rumbling low in your ear. 

You share some takoyaki and then one of the biggest okonomiyaki you’ve ever seen, the pancake stuffed to the brim with filling and heavily topped. When the food arrives, so does the white cat, meowing quietly at your feet as it winds its way around the rungs of your barstool. Takao holds you steady when you lean down to pet it, his hand firm on your lower back. 

By your third beer, Yoshikawa and the rest of your friend group leaves. She gives you a little wave on her way out the door. 

“Sorry,” Takao says. “I didn’t mean to take up your whole night.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “It’s been…really nice.”

“Just nice?”

“Great,” you admit. “It’s been great.”

He smiles, and it’s that same dandelion fluff smile you remember, sweet and fleeting. 

“Good,” he says, taking a sip from his beer. You watch the way his forearm flexes. “Listen, do you want to meet up again?”

“Yeah, I would.”

His eyes crinkle. “Great,” he says.

You bite down on your smile. 

The two of you finish your beers between lazy chatter. It’s comfortable, as if you never fell out of touch. 

When you leave, Takao waits as you pet the white cat once more, delicately bumping your knuckles against its cheek as it rumbles out a purr. It meows pitifully when you stop, opening its blue, blue eyes with a disgruntled look on its face, and you laugh to yourself, kneeling to give it a few more pets. 

You look for the tabby as you exit the izakaya but it’s gone, likely curled up amid some of the planters further back. You and Takao both stop at the sidewalk, carefully making sure you’re out of the way of any pedestrians, and for a moment, you just look at each other.

“See you soon?” Takao asks.

“Yeah,” you say. “See you soon.” 

“Good,” he breathes, with his eyes so soft that it makes your cheeks warm. 

You say goodbye, and each of you heads home. When you glance back Takao is already looking back at you from the street corner. You give him a little wave, and he jolts before hurrying off.

You smile your whole way home.

***

“It’s so hot,” you complain, flopping down next to Takao on the park bench. “Can we go to the conbini?”

“Popsicles?” he asks.

“No, I want onigiri.”

He raises a brow. “How does that help with the heat?”

“It doesn’t,” you tell him. “The aircon does.”

He laughs. “Oh, of course.” 

You head to the closest conbini, practically swimming through the humid summer air. The air is so thick that you could cut it; there’s rain on the horizon, promised in the encroaching gray-blue clouds hanging low in the sky. 

Inside it’s blessedly cool, the aircon hard at work. The two of you scour the aisles, picking out varying snacks and pointing out new flavors to each other—you try to make him buy a cream stew Gari Gari Kun popsicle, but he refuses—before you head to the cashier.

You settle in at one of the tables, opening your drink as Takao unwraps one of your onigiri, handing it to you before he busies himself with his own food. He gives you a little swat when you reach out for his snacks, making you retract your hand with a laugh. As you pull back, you wonder when the two of you fell back into rhythm.

It’s close to the one you had in high school, but not the same. There’s something new twining through the rhythm, a swirl of notes that resonates through you. It’s an easy flow, a soft ebb and tide, like the calmest of seas. 

“Hey,” Takao says gently. 

“Hmm?”

“Where did you go, just then?” 

You blink and take a sip of your peach tea. It lingers sweet on your tongue as you meet his stoic gaze. His mouth tilts, just slightly, something tucked up secret in the corner of his soft lips. 

For a moment, you just look at him. He meets your gaze easily; he lets you look your fill, as patient as ever.

“Sorry,” you say. “Nowhere important.” 

“Okay.”

You shake your head. “You’re so—” you break off.

“I’m so?”

You bite at your lip. “You,” you say. “You’re so you.”

His smile is small, but it grows, as steady and sure as the sun’s rise.

“I hope so,” he says, almost flippant, but there’s something soft in his gaze; it brushes over you like silk.

“Shut up,” you tell him.

He just laughs, quiet and low.

The two of you chat as you eat, talking about Yoshikawa’s upcoming art show at a trendy new gallery. You’ve been waiting patiently ever since the curator first picked her up as a featured artist. It’ll be nice to go with Takao, for the four of you to be side-by-side again, something that’s becoming as constant as it was in your high school days. 

When you’re finished Takao takes all the wrappers and folds them up neatly, creasing them until they’re practically origami. You bite down on your smile.

The summer air rolls over you as you step back into it, licking across your skin as only wet heat can. You shudder with it. 

Still you meander through the nearby park, ducking beneath low-hanging branches hanging heavy with fruit, the citrus of them permeating the air. It’s quiet, with just the distant shouts of the playground and the whisper of the leaves in the stirring breeze to accompany you both. 

You find yourself at the koi pond without meaning to and Takao wordlessly heads to the food meter as you settle yourself on the rock wall that edges the pond. The surface ripples, orange and gold scales muted in the murky water like a sunset covered by clouds. You trail your fingertips over the surface, and giggle as they mouth at them. 

Takao presses some feed into your palm when he comes back; the heat of him lingers there. Your mark glimmers in the light as you toss in the feed, a needlepoint flash of silver. You can feel Takao’s eyes on it. But then the koi come up in great, arcing splashes, the quiet pond roiling like the angry sea in their fervor, and you laugh as you dodge the worst of it.

Takao chuckles, and he settles down next to you to hand you the last of the feed.

You curl into him despite the heat, skin against skin, a slick slide of a touch before you fall still. The koi are still churning up the water, their gaping mouths breaking through the surface, and you give them what they want. Scales flicker by, a mesmerizing firework show caught beneath the surface, and so it catches you off guard when Takao suddenly says—

“I’m sorry.” 

You go still.

“For what?”

He shifts beside you; when you glance at him, he’s staring into the distance, his dark eyes caught on something that only he can see.

“For high school.”

You breathe out through your nose. “So you’ve said.”

“I was scared.”

“So you’ve said,” you repeat.

He glances at you, then, and his eyes remind you of the vastness of the unending night sky, dark and glittering.

“I’m not scared anymore.” 

You suck in a sharp breath. He waits, ever patient.

“Me neither,” you say, curling your pinky around his, twining around him like thread. 

He cups your cheek, his touch almost reverent, and presses his forehead to yours. “Okay?” he asks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

He leans in and kisses you. It’s careful and sweet.

It feels like coming home.

He breaks the kiss when you’ve stolen each other’s breath away.

 “Our soulmates—” he starts.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say breathlessly, kissing him again. He’s smiling against your lips.  Warmth floods you. You love him, you love him, you love him. That’s all there is. That’s all you need. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you say again.

He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re right,” he says. “It doesn’t.”

Until suddenly, it does.

***

You and your soulmate—Shinsuke, you think, still tasting the honey of it on your tongue, Shinsuke Shinsuke Shinsuke—watch each other. 

The only sound is the steady fall of the rain. 

It’s picked up again, sending the hydrangeas eddying, spinning in a lazy current as their puffball blossoms catch the droplets. More petals flutter to the ground. The blue of them is stark against the dirt, and you think of what a storm leaves in its wake.

Shinsuke lets out a deep, slow breath, and you wince. His amber eyes have dimmed and the last of his smile has washed away, leaving just the dregs of emotion behind, too faint for you to read. 

You feel too small for your skin; your heart is fluttering, a hummingbird thing, trying to press through the gaps in your ribcage. You take in a shallow breath. It tastes of the earth, of drenched soil and summer heat. You choke on it. 

Shinsuke’s brow furrows as you take in another breath, even shallower than the last, and your heart is thrumming, and his eyes are so sharp, so knowing, so kind. You’re caught in the amber of them, the resin of his gaze pouring over you. 

Even the rain seems quiet now. 

His lips part.

Your ribs start to crack; your heart thumps harder against them. Too strong, too fast, too loud. 

His lips part, and you do the only thing you can.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp.

You run.

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

[lephamquynhnhu]

Panacea

Chapter 2: Storm before the Blushing Morn

Dan Feng x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS/ TAGS: The reader has a default name, OOC, mentioned of blood. (This is a work of fanfiction, events are not aligned or relevant to the original work)

Word count: ~2k

Summary: He met you on a drizzling day when hydrangea fully bloomed on its field. Amidst the sea of mild pastel petals, Dan Feng never thought the flowery domain that intertwined your fate was the precise thing withered with you. They said he was a dragon, a hero, a sinner, but never a person with love, hatred, sorrow, or joy like everyone else in this world. However, it was a demi-truth. He committed the cardinal sin because of you.

Note: Do you like...pain?

He revisited on a sprinkle day, his signature ambergris aroma mixed with the freshness of humid forest note. You did not know why, but the High Elder seemed to be into rainy days because every time he came, water definitely showered outside. It has been weeks since you met him for the first time, and thanks to the frequency of his visits, you learn that the nonchalant Imbibitor Lunae gradually displays the other side. Although Dan Feng never clearly shows his emotion, you can tell his mood through the draconic tail. When he feels happy, his tail swings side to side and stands still as its owner is interested in or concentrates on whatever your information. In addition to your surprise, he sometimes even punchlines on your venting stories.  

Under the Mulan's foliage, you slowly gaze at the kaleidoscope sky after rain. A mid-summer breeze that carries the scent of white flowers softly blows through, driving the ripples to gleam on the water's surface. 

Immersing in your haze, you forget what was going to do until the Long Scion gives out his curiousness about the bush of Datura Metel in a corner garden. 

"I have studied an organic pesticide which extracts from their active agents." - The elegant smell of lotus still glistens in the morning dew perfumes in your lungs when nudging into them. Suddenly, you shove the flower cart into his arms and tell him to wait for you at a nearby wooden bench. Dan Feng thinks eternal Spring never leaves this sunlit Shangri-La as he wipes the Mulan's petals out of the seat because the flora seems to blossom in four seasons. 

While idly watching Koi fish under silky leafages, the High Elder does not notice you snicker behind. A forgotten raindrop stagnates on the lotus leaf trail like a lost pearl, arousing the quiet pond like his emerald orbs rising in astonishment. Amid the multi-colored palette, Dan Feng finds your smile is the most gorgeous flower when you abruptly pop up with a posy of Emperical Peony. The beam you flashed him still lingering in his mind as Dan Feng reluctantly takes the gift. Your hands lightly brush together via the exchange, reminding him of the existence of those black gloves since he has not seen you take them off once. Nevertheless, he lets it pass and dances his slender finger around the ombre corolla instead.  

"Thank you, Yi Ting." - Imbibitor Lunae softly mutters under his breath, and as the lost ray shines through frost winter, a faint smile stretches on his usually glacial face. 

On that day in the summer season, Dan Feng realizes that he does not return to your place because of its spectacular. He wants to revisit the Shangri-La because he likes spending time with you.

On an Autumn afternoon painted in a burnt orange hue and wafting with a ripe persimmon scent, you are leisurely proceeding to the Dan Feng's residence while absentmindedly grazing a bunch of white chrysanthemums in hand. Looking at the High Elder Statue at the Dragonvista Rain Hall, your mind winds up reminiscing about the previous conversation.

"Yes?" - Transfering your focus toward his position, you represented the confusion as if hearing him wrong. The quiet Long Scion might befriend you and be your custom guest, but it was an extraordinary phenomenon since Dan Feng has not asked you to deliver flowers to his estate before. He patiently repeated the order while reading his scroll in one hand, and the other halfway was lifting the teacup with expressionless features. Looking at his relaxing manner, you unknowingly realize this house became Imbibitor Lunae's office. 

When immersing thought in the past, you are suddenly pulled back to the present by a low thud of a light collision with a follow-up painful cry. Tears are bubbling in the Vidyadhara child's doe eyes as she feels the pain. You swiftly support her to stand up and inspect the body while trying to comfort the child, which results in two news in this situation. A good one is a scratch, and the bad is her cry getting louder even though you used up all your tricks. 

"Pain, Pain goes away!" - You singsong to conjure an apple lollipop appearing in hand, and tears stop falling as she eyes your apologetic smile with compensation. When you clean the last drop of trail wet on her chubby cheekbones and apologize with head patting, other Vidyadhara children circle you to admire the little show. A defeated sigh escapes your breath as you look at their twinkle glims and secretly count the remaining candy's quantity. Unfortunately, in addition to your trouble, with an invitation from a brunette-haired boy, the group of children tugs your sleeves to play blind man's buff with their puppy eyes. 

"Alright, but I won't be lenient." - You confidently state when settling the bouquet on a stone bench. And you keep your line.

Once darkness invades the vision, you start to track down the children. By listening to their footsteps and sensing the airflow, you catch all of them except Ma Tian, the boy with sheen eyes who cleverly outclasses your skill. Finally, thanks to your florist's exceptional technique, you discreetly declare the endgame while detecting his fabric detergent in the wind's stream. 

"Catch ya, little brat!" - You happily exclaim your victory when circling your arms around Ma Tian's figure. However, you immediately realize something is wrong as a familiar ambergris cologne lingers on your nose, and you are hugging a lean body. Hurriedly removing the blindfold, you see Dan Feng mimic your shocked expression while Ma Tian lolls out his head behind the Long Scion. 

"How long do you intend to embrace me?" - The High Elder clears his throat with a light reprimand nuance laces in but does not seem annoyed. If there is anything you would admire about Imbibitor Lunae besides his glorious feats, the quick recovery from an embarrassing situation is one of them. As soon as you two detach, Dan Feng grabs the bouquet and leads you out of the Scalegorge Waterscape, leaving the cheerful goodbyes of those children behind. You do not understand why Dan Feng is rushing in his strides until you see a pink tint on his tip ears. 

When the sunset light turns golden on the greenery beneath, which gets everything basked in the look of burnished copper, you two arrive at the military memorial area where illustrious warriors rest in peace. Passing through hundreds of black marble graves glides their name, Dan Feng unravels your holding hands as he crunches down to place the chrysanthemum bouquet in front of a stone-carved Bai Heng. 

You know that name. She was once a High-Cloud quintet member and a gifted pilot who sacrificed in the third Denizen of Abundance. People say Imbibitor Lunae is never a person with love, hatred, sorrow, or joy like everyone else in this world, but now you can shout out they are all wrong because of the unfathomable somber besieges in his orbs.

"Life is so short when it comes to mortal organisms'' - He mouths in a calm and unwavering tone after a long silence - "No matter what you do, they definitely die." With his back turned to you, it is challenging to figure out its meaning, yet you can degust a longing taste entangled in that clause. Forgotten fragments of sunlight slowly die on your heels while trekking to the way out, and the crescent vaguely takes place in the saturated navy sky. Although the High Elder rarely shared his thoughts with someone else, you hardly agree with this viewpoint.

 "Even if it is short-lived, even if fate sometimes turns tragic, limited longevity creates the beauty of lives and valuableness because we learn to cherish life, and not all farewells are regretful. Sometimes, death is also an extrication, and I believe we will rendezvous on another horizon." 

Dan Feng follows your graze to the glitter crepuscule, causing the mellow ray to cradle his features. - "Someday, you also turn into ashes?" - A sliver of bitterness in the question soon morphed into those cyan irises as you confirmed with your bright smile. When the two of you pass through the gate, Imbibitor Lunae abruptly informs you of his next arrival with special requests that combine with osmanthus cake and jasmine tea. It is the first time he proactively reserves in advance because Dan Feng neither notices his attendance nor does he appear on sunny days.  

"Do I have to wait for the rain to meet you?" - Only one sentence, it has changed your relationship ever since. You guess that might be the way he expresses his feelings. 

In a dream, I see myself in my childhood state with a bouquet of blue hydrangeas. Strolling by the seashore, the shells confound in golden sand rustles underneath my bare feet as I search for someone. End then, an abnormal bloodred butterfly hovers around to lead me toward that person; we have passed zillions of landscapes and territories, from glacial rivers where white snow permanently coats mounts to the vast rug crafted by countless vivid blossoms. From the nameless barren deserts with magnificent starry nights crown aloft to the rich prairie possesses coast breezes. I keep going, going.

"Hydrangeas is the soulmate of rains." A distant voice echoes from those feeble wings in the entire journey. It feels like Amber Periods have flown until we reach a field with full-bloom hydrangeas that unfold our presence. Suddenly, my companion disappears into thin air, and I notice a nostalgic glimpse waving his hand from afar as if he has been waiting for me for an astronomical long time. 

"You got my wish fulfilled... Thank you, my comrade." - The boy says in a gentle demeanor. His blue eyes shine brighter than any stars I have ever known, and he also disappears like the bloodred butterfly. His silhouette dissipates into thousands of flower petals as he flashes a warm smile toward me. 

"Wait, H...H..." - A tsunami of impuissant waves brews into my heart when I try to call his name, but none of the syllables come out, and tears continuously cascade from my eyes while I witness the lost world fading.

You wake up from a soothing noise of hot steam oozing out of your old kettle and forget the dream cleanly. "You had a fever." - A low tone voice diagnoses as soon as Dan Feng senses your consciousness. Slightly lifting the heavy eyelids, you see him situating beside your headboard with a botanical book in hand. The glorious sun is far high hanging in the sky to pour its honeyed light through your window, which informs you to oversleep impliedly. You do not notice tears rolling down until the Long Scion points out in skimming your complexion and uses his thumb to caress the trail wetness. Sensing no engagement in conversation, Dan Feng shifts his hand to cover your eyesight and tenderly leans forward.

You only feel a pillowy touch on your forehead afterward. 

"Please do not leave the bed today, and take the medicine on time because this is a prescription from the High Elder." - He faux-orders when rendering your vision. Astoundedly grazing the lingering sensation, you did not know that Imbibitor Lunae has a bizarre way of assessing the temperature. 

Winter at Shangri-La never experiences snow, yet it takes some seasonal features such as the gloomy weather all day with northeast wind seething through every direction. Inspecting the murky clouded skyward, you tug the scarf closer when your breaths dimly turn into silver smoke. As soon as you attempt to lift the white lily cart, a hot stream of fluid smelling like rusty iron runs down your chin, which the soil absorbs its falling drops. When you bring your hand to clean the water, it takes a moment to process it is blood. Your irises squeeze as you dumbfoundedly stare at the ivory gloves tainted with the crimson hue. Just as you intend to step forward, the surrounding spins around as though Earth and Heaven are twitching position, and you kneel only to cough out blood that permeates the fabric. The pollen sparkles in the ether after the collapse, and the shivering lily's petals in chilly winds are the last things in your blurring vision.

#honkai star rail fanfic #honkai star rail x reader #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #dan feng x you #hsr dan feng #hsr dan feng x reader #dan feng x reader #dan feng fanfic

[yujo-nishimura]

Whispers of the Desert Kingdom - Part 5

Warning: Sir Crocodile x fem reader, English is not my native language, not proof-read, age gap - forced marriage, a little bit of fluff, a little bit of angst

words: 1122 - a bit longer this time, since it is the weekend ;)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9

The day had finally arrived. Two weeks had passed since your father, the king, had revealed that you were to be married to Sir Crocodile. The time had slipped away like a hazy dream, leaving you in a state of disbelief. Each day, servants and maids had entered your room to dress you in various gowns, experiment with different hairstyles, and apply a myriad of makeup styles. Congratulations poured in from all corners of the world, with floral arrangements arriving as celebratory gifts. Even Vivi, your dear sister, had sent a heartfelt message, expressing her well-wishes and apologizing for her inability to attend the ceremony. The world seemed to be in motion, preparing for the momentous event, while you remained caught between anticipation and a lingering sense of uncertainty. 

Standing in front of the grand entrance to the main hall of Alubarnas church, you were kept at a safe distance from the cheering crowd by the palace's guards. Your heart raced, hidden beneath the layers of your long white gown and the veil that covered your face. The anticipation had been building since morning, and you hadn't seen Crocodile throughout the two weeks leading up to the wedding. As an arranged marriage, you were uncertain of his feelings, but you held onto the hope that love would blossom between you and him with time.

The doors to the church swung open, and your father, dressed in his finest attire, guided you on his arm inside the hall. Diplomats and guests from across the world had gathered to witness and celebrate this momentous occasion. High-ranking marine admirals and even infamous warlords graced the wedding with their presence, their faces mere shapes behind the delicate layers of your veil. Nervousness gripped you, the fear of tripping over your long dress mingling with the excitement and anticipation of meeting your future husband.

As you cautiously lifted your head, the fine layers of your veil allowed you to catch a glimpse of Crocodile standing at the end of the aisle. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored tuxedo, accentuating his tall and muscular stature. A bow tie and an onyx-shaped pocket square, matching the color of your hydrangea bouquet, added an elegant touch to his ensemble. Though you had little say in the wedding details, you had insisted on these purple and blue flowers since they had been your favorite since childhood.

Your ivory satin dress exuded luxury, its soft and lustrous sheen captivating those who laid eyes upon it. The classic A-line silhouette flattered your figure, while delicate lace appliqués adorned the bodice, infusing the design with romance and femininity. You knew you looked stunning as you took slow steps toward Crocodile, still avoiding his gaze. In that moment, you heard him gasp, and your father nodded in approval before stepping down from the podium. Left standing alone in front of the man you deeply adored, unable to meet his eyes, you felt vulnerable and overwhelmed with emotion.

The music ceased, and a hushed silence settled over the hall, awash with anticipation. The priest began his sermon about love and unity, but your mind struggled to focus. Dizziness clouded your thoughts, making you tremble and feel faint. You almost felt sick to your stomach, you never would have thought that one day you would stand here, with your fathers approval marrying a warlord of the sea. Lifting your head cautiously, you sought a reaction from Crocodile, but his gaze remained fixed on the priest, his expression as indifferent as ever. It dawned on you that he did not love you, and perhaps he never would. This arrangement was likely for his own benefit, not for the sake of love. However, you found solace in knowing that this union could still bring you the happiness you had yearned for—being with the man you deeply loved and making your father proud. There was nothing inherently wrong with that.

The priest's words interrupted your thoughts. "And you, Princess Y/n, do you promise to love, honor, and cherish Crocodile, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, as long as you both shall live?"

Your voice quivered, but you managed to utter a faint, "I will."

Crocodile's deep voice followed suit, breaking through the silence. "I will."

The priest continued his sermon, and you suddenly felt the warmth of Crocodile's hand enveloping your own gloved hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Surprised, you looked up, your face flushed. He had noticed your nervousness. A smile played upon his lips as he directly gazed at you through the veil. It was the second time he had acknowledged you, and your heart skipped a beat, filled with hope and anticipation.

He retained his hold on your hand as a young servant presented the wedding ring and he gently slid the ring on your finger. 

"May these vows be a guiding light in your marriage, anchoring you in times of joy and serving as a reminder of your enduring love in times of hardship," the priest concluded.

Crocodile released your hand momentarily, only to raise his own, gracefully concealing the golden hook next to his tuxedo. Without hesitation, he delicately lifted your veil, his movements precise and confident. Finally, you saw him without the veil—his black hair slicked back, his dark purple eyes gleaming in the soft candlelight of the church. A gentle smile adorned his lips, and you were so close that you could catch the familiar scent of sandalwood and the faint trace of cigar smoke. A warmth emanated from your stomach as he leaned in, drawing nearer to you.

"And now," the priest proclaimed, "you may kiss the bride!"

In that fleeting moment, you heard Crocodile's whispered words, "You are mine now!" carrying both the weight of a promise and the undercurrent of a subtle threat. The touch of his mouth against yours overwhelmed your senses, sending shivers down your spine. In that passionate embrace, time seemed to stand still, and the world around you faded into insignificance. However, the guests in the hall erupted into applause, their joyous cheers filling the air and dragging you back into reality. The dual nature of Crocodile's words lingered in your mind as he already broke the kiss and his expression returned to its usual indifference. The nervousness from earlier had mixed now with fear and anticipation. Could it be that he would surpass your wildest dreams, exceeding every expectation you had ever held? In this moment as he gently lifted you, carrying you out of the church under the cheers and applause of the audience you were ready to accept whatever would lie ahead for you. Even if this man would mean your ruin.

#one piece #sir crocodile x y/n #sir crocodile x reader #sir crocodile one piece #x reader #yujowriting #sir crocodile #alabasta

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

Flowers in Brahman (and what flower could have been Takeomi’s)

The easiest to figure out are the cherry blossoms for Senju; they’re easy to see since Senju has a close-up wearing her uniform and her image color is cherry blossom pink.

In Japan, cherry blossoms symbolize optimist, the fleeting nature of life and is a symbol of death and rebirth. Although it doesn’t seem official, cherry blossoms are Japan national flowers and have a great importance in their culture, Hanami being the best-known example.

For Wakasa and Benkei, since I’m not an expert in flowers I did my best but I might be wrong.

Wakasa seems to have camelias on his sleeves. Although red camelias symbolize love (in both the western world and japan), this is not what Wakui was going for with it. In Japan, camelias are known for their ‘noble death’ since they seem to behead themselves when they die. Yoshitsune no Minamoto born Ushiwakamaru (the irl man and myth Wakui based Wakasa on) is believed to have committed sepukku after being surrounded by enemies – sparing himself an honorableness death.

Benkei may have chrysanthemums. In Japan, they symbolize ‘imperial’ is they’re yellow or ‘truth’ if they’re white, they’re also a symbol of the imperial family. Something that should also made a nod to the irl Benkei who is said to have fought Yoshitsune’s enemies (while he was committing sepukku) and who was Yoshitune’s retainer; and chrysanthemums are also known to symbolize loyalty.

As for Takeomi, who has a dragon (or two)…

The reason behind that is that he can’t let go of Black Dragon and unlike Wakasa and Benkei he sees Brahman as that – Black Dragon but under a knew name and without Shinichiro to guide them. Still, if he didn’t, what would have been his flower?

Obviously it’s only a speculation, a supposition, but I think hydrangeas would be a great candidate. First of all, they symbolize pride, and second, they represent the rainy season and, well, ‘Rain Bringer’. Hydrangeas need a lot of water as well (‘hydrangea’ means ‘water vessel’ in Greek and ‘ajisai’ means ‘water drinker’ in Japanese).

Various websites don’t say the same thing about hydrangeas meaning in the western world so I can’t talk about it without thinking I’m wrong but one thing is sure – they symbolize heartfelt emotions, whether they be positive (gratitude, love, perseverance/patience…) or negative (arrogance, boastfulness, cold-hearted…). Some says that blue hydrangeas represent feelings of remorse and apologies but also deep gratitude and understanding. It can also be used to express regret and ask for forgiveness.

/!\ EDIT /!\

I most likely got it wrong !!! Benkei's flowers are lotus flowers, not chrysanthemums !

Meaning : purity (of the body and mind), chastity, and a whole other bunch of spiritual things (such as pink lotus flower symbolizing Buddha)

I guess it can fit irl Benkei since he used to be a monk?

Edit 2:

I dont know anymore

#tokyo revengers #tok rev #tr #tokrev #tr takeomi #takeomi akashi #tokrev takeomi #tr senju #senju kawaragi #tokrev senju #senju akashi #tr wakasa #tokrev wakasa #wakasa imaushi #tr benkei #tokrev benkei #arashi keizo #arashi keizou #brahman #tr brahman #if im wrong and someone who knows flowers want to correct me – please do

[fleur-aesthetic]

instagram | _ellebore

#flowers #floral #dahlias #hydrangeas #roses #blossoms #bouquet #aesthetic #pink #white

[changbunnies]

╔══ஓ๑♡ Changbunnies' Masterlist ♡๑ஓ══╗

! This is an 18+ collection of works, minors do not interact.

! Please read responsibly, and remember that all works are fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

! Works should only be found here, and on my ao3 account of the same name. Reposting my work elsewhere is strictly prohibited.

︵‿︵‿୨♡ One Shots ♡୧‿︵‿︵

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Bang Chan

♡ If You Call Me; college au, strangers to friends to lovers, heavy angst, fluff, slow burn mutual pining, eventual smut, 43.4k

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₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Seo Changbin

♡ I Hate To Admit; mafia au (in which changbin is chief of police, and reader is a mafia member), lots of angst, lots of fluff, multiple smut scenes, 46.7k

♡ Purple Hydrangeas; sunshine binnie x pessimistic reader, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, written for the @skzwritingcafe blossoming love prompt, 7.1k

♡ Misbehave; smut, sub!bin with mommy kink, 4k

₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Han Jisung

♡ White Lines And Red Lights; college au, best friends to lovers, idiots in love trope, pure fluff and mutual pining, written for the @skzwritingcafe summertime confessions prompt, 13.4k

︵‿︵‿୨♡ Series ♡୧‿︵‿︵

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Changbin Series; Outlaw

♡ Part 1, Outlaw; cowboy/outlaw au, wild west au, dubcon, porn with plot, 4.9k

♡ Part 2, Sugar; cowboy/outlaw au, wild west au, references to past dubcon, porn with plot, 7.5k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Ot8 Series; Royalty AU

♡ Connected; chan x reader, princess x royal knight, arranged marriage (reader only), angst, fluff, forbidden love, childhood friends to lovers, 15.9k

♡ All About You; minho x reader, princess x royal knight, arranged marriage (reader only), angst, implied forbidden love, age gap, porn with plot, 7.5k

♡ After The Rain With You; changbin x reader, princess x commoner, fluff and angst, forbidden love, 13.8k

♡ Reverie; hyunjin x reader, prince x lord's daughter, love at first sight, fairy tale elements, fluff and angst, 18.9k

♡ Aurora; felix x reader, prince x duke's daughter, arranged marriage, light angst, fluff, one sided pining to eventual mutual pining, 21.8k

♡ Piece of a Puzzle; seungmin x reader, princess x duke's son, lots of angst, fluff, love triangle feat. hyunjin, fake dating, lots of pining from seungmin, 20.4k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Hyunjin Series; Crave

♡ Part 1; demon au, supernatural au, leans towards porn with plot, see post for additional warnings, 3.6k

♡ Part 2; demon au, supernatural au, coworkers to lovers and love triangle vibes, see post of additional warnings, 6.5k

♡ Part 3; demon au, supernatural au, porn with plot, see post for additional warnings, 6.4k

♡ Part 4; demon au, supernatural au, porn with plot, finale to crave series, see post for additional warnings, 5.1k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ BinChan Series; Little Red Riding Hood AU

♡ Scent Of You; chan x reader x changbin, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, vague allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot, dubcon, 7.8k

♡ Desire; chan x reader x changbin, fantasy/supernatural au, hybrid au, vague allusions to omegaverse dynamics, porn with plot, 10.9k

╚══ஓ๑♡ Changbunnies' Masterlist ♡๑ஓ══╝

#masterlist

[franstastic-ideas]

Language of Flowers

Some meanings behind the flowers that have grown around here in the wild and our gardens.

Marigold (French) - Comforts the heart / Overcomes jealousy

Iris (Purple) - Wisdom

Rose of Sharon - Consumed by Love / Delicate beauty

Zinnia - Thoughts of an absent friend

Daffodil - Rebirth / New beginnings / Hope

Quince - Sincerity / Temptation

Passion Flower - Faith / Religious passion

Forsythia - Anticipation / Prosperity

Daisy - Innocence / Loyal Love

Rose (White) - Purity / Reverence / Innocent love

Rudbeckia - Justice / Love conquers all

Amaryllis - Pride / Splendid beauty

Nasturtium - Victory / Conquest

Crepe Myrtle - Eloquence

Morning Glory - Affection / Bonds of love

Coreopsis - Always cheerful / Love at first sight

Rose (Pink) - Sweetness / Perfect love

Lantana - I am unyielding

Phlox - Unanimity / I am trying to please you / Sweet dreams

Crabapple Blossom - Overcoming irritability

Hydrangea - Devotion / Thank you for understanding

Clematis - Safety / Ingenuity

Daylily - Wealth / Pride / Success / Coquetry

Pear Blossom - Affection / Lasting friendship / More than just lovely

Sunflower - Adoration / Loyalty

Snapdragon - Strength

Peony - Prosperity / Compassion / Happy marriage

Wisteria - You are always welcome / I cling to thee

Gladioli - Generosity / Admiration

Begonia - Cordiality

Petunia - Your presence soothes me / Never despair

Yarrow - Health and healing / Cure for heartache and sorrow

Azalea - Passion / Take care / Romance

Violets (Purple) - Thoughts of you / Loyalty

Dandelion (Yellow) - Faithfulness / Happiness

Hollyhock - Ambition, Devotion to love

Sweetpea - Departure / Blissful pleasure

Cosmos - Innocent beauty / Harmony / Universal love

Dahlia - Dignity / Elegance

Aster - Patience / Delicacy / Contentment

Four o' Clock - Timidity / Evening beauty

Calla Lily - Beauty and loveliness / Modesty / With me you are safe

Venus's Looking Glass - Flattery

Jasmine - Grace / Elegance / Wealth

Honeysuckle - Sweet disposition / Devoted affection

Cornflower - Delicacy / Refinement / Devotion / Hope in love

Chrysanthemum - Joy

Goldenrod - Encouragement / Protection

Calendula - Grace / Overcoming jealousy

#language of flowers

[rpmeme-dump]

Send my muse a bouquet and/or send in 💐 for my muse to make yours a bouquet!

Abatina - Fickleness

Alyssum Maritimum - Immortal Love

Amaranth - Immortality

Azalea - Take care of yourself for me

Baby's Breath - Innocence

Begonia - Beware

Belladonna - Silence

Bluebell - Loyalty

Borage - Bluntness

Buttercup - Childish

Butterfly Weed - Let me go

Campanula - Gratitude

Carnation - Fascination

Coriander - Lust

Cypress - Death

Daffodil - Unrequited Love

Dahlia - Elegance

Daisy - Cheerful

Forget Me Not - True Love

Fox Glove - Insecurity

Foxglove - Insincerity

Garden Anemone - Forsaken

Gardenia - Peace

Grass - Submission

Hawthorn - Hope

Hibiscus - Change

Honeysuckle - Devoted affection

Hop - Injustice

Hyacinth - A game

Hydrangea - Heartless

Larch - Audacity

Laurustinus - I die if neglected

Lavender - Happiness

Lily - Modesty

Lobelia - Malevolence

Lotus - Purity

Magnolia - Nobility

Marigold - Greif

Moss - Seclusion

Mulberry - I will not survive you

Nasturtium - Conquest

Nightshade - Falsehood

Oleander - Beware

Orchid - Refinement

Pansy - Thoughtfulness

Peach Blossom - I am your captive

Peony - Shame

Poppy - Oblivion

Primrose - Sadness

Purple Carnation - Capriciousness

Red Carnation - Admiration

Rhododendron - Danger

Rose - Beauty

Rue - Disdain

Snapdragon - Strength

Sycamore - Curiosity

Vervain - Enchantment

White Chrysanthemum - Truth

White Rose - I am Worth of you

Winter Cherry - Deceit

Wisteria - Regret

Yellow Rose - Jealousy

#roleplay #rp meme #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay memes

[mysterycharacterflowers]

Hello! I am sorry for the delay! The tournament will start at November 18 at 2 pm BRT, the polls will be posted every 10 minutes!

The matches were randomized!

Side A

A bouquet of purple daylily, green carnation, dead leaves, fern, opium flowers and coriander Vs Red Orchid

Violet Vs Red Spider Lily

Dandelions 1 Vs A bouquet of willows and chives

A bouquet of wisteria, black and red carnations and foxgloves Vs A bouquet of buttercup, daffodils, edelweiss and orange

A bouquet of amaryllis, milkweed, bluebells and strelitizia Vs A bouquet of blue and red hyacinths

A bouquet of white, red and black roses Vs A bouquet of white chrysanthemums, orchids and blue hydrangeas

A bouquet of white chrysanthemums, orchids and blue hydrangeas Vs Forget-me-nots

A bouquet of snapdragon, tansy and black eyed susan Vs White poppies

Daisies Vs A bouquet of white clover, chamomile and pine

A bouquet of pink peonies, purple hydrangea and a variety of cosmos Vs A bouquet of asphodel, sage, yellow chrysanthemum, green carnation, plum blossom, stinging nettle, anemone and acanthus

A bouquet of marigold, dandelions, goldenrods and amaryllis Vs A bouquet of sea holly, ageratum, globe thistle, orchid cactus, protea, bird of paradise, mimosa, dianthus, hydrangea and clematis

A bouquet of bleeding hearts and dandelions Vs A bouquet of plastic lemon balm, thyme, hyacinths and anemone flowers, with a single real orange rose in the middle, wrapped in light blue cellophane

A bouquet of snapdragon, yellow poppy and jonquil Vs Blue Rose

A bouquet of yellow orchids, rue, yew, bird’s-foot trefoil, yellow gladiolus, yellow peony, sunflower and yellow amaryllis Vs A bouquet of dandelion, asphodel, poppy, chamomile, red columbine, hydrangea, rhododendron, dark crimson rose and queen of the night

Snapdragons Vs A bouquet of lily, red spider lily, daffodils and milkweed

A bouquet of rainflower, green carnation, camelia, nightshade, mulberry and purple lilac Vs Red Anemone

Side B

Strelitzia Vs A bouquet of blue violets, trumpet creeper, lavender and green carnation

Hibiscus Syriacus Vs Dandelions 2

Desert Bluebell Vs A bouquet of yellow and purple carnations

A bouquet of poppies, daffodils, daisies, ivy, and purple hyacinths Vs A bouquet of gloriosa (flame lily), veronica, jasione, jacaranda, cyclamen, jasmine and freesia

A bouquet of dandelions and buttercups Vs A bouquet of marigold, yellow and white zinnia, phlox, bluebells, cornflower, gladiolus, rosemary, dark crimson rose and purple cyclamen

A bouquet of orange lilies, yellow roses, buttercups, aconite, sunflower, hollyhock and lotus Vs bouquet of jasmine, milkweed, dandelion, poppy and oenothera

A bouquet of oleander, refflesia (corpse flower), trigidia, hyacinth, hollyhock, Iberis (candytuft) and orange tulip Vs A bouquet of lily of the valley and amaryllis

A bouquet of marigolds, tuberose, and dandelions Vs A bouquet of daffodil and pansy

A bouquet of amaranth, orange brugmansia, delphinium, honeysuckle and white aster Vs A bouquet of plumeria, fawn lily, magnolia and star grass

A bouquet of gladiolus, snapdragon, canterbury bells, gloriosa (flame lily) and white chrysanthemum Vs A bouquet of fern, rex begonia leaves, black rose, lily, odessa calla lily and green hydrangea

A bouquet of daisies, butterfly weed, orchids, purple lotus and violets Vs A bouquet of striga, mistletoe, and monotropa uniflora

Thistle Vs A bouquet of chestnut flower, lotus, dandelion, fern, thyme, anemone, geranium, holly, magnolia and bluebell

A bouquet of poppy, zygopetalum, echeveria, dandelion, yucca, twinspur , lotus, tagetes, ursinia, purple hyacinth and hibiscus Vs A bouquet of amaryllis, dicentra, red spider lily and white roses

Oleander Vs A bouquet of blue and purple daisies, desert lilies and black tulips

A bouquet of black eyed Susan, geranium and a tall sunflower Vs A bouquet of forsythia, holly, yellow hyacinth, petunia, viscaria and orange lilys

A bouquet of arborvitae, gladiolus and begonia Vs Spiderwort

#mod talks